First Touch 8

Author's note: This is a work of fiction, any similarity to reality is coincidental and unintended. All parties are 18 or over.

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I'm not really sure where to start this story so I suppose I'll just jump right into it and fill in the details where I think I need to. I apologize I'm not much of a story teller, but I'm not even sure this story will ever actually be published in any way and I'm using this as more of a method to get it all off my chest. Who knows - maybe it'll help someone.

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Chapter 1: First touch

It had been a long day at the office and I was finally home, sitting on the couch with my son Michael when my daughter walked in from dance class. Samantha was actually my wife's daughter from a previous marriage, but I never liked the way "step-daughter" sounded, so I had never called her anything but my daughter. In all the years since I'd met and married her mother I had always treated her the same as I would have had she been my own from the start.

Mondays and Thursdays Samantha had dance class at a studio down the street, and it being a warm early spring she had taken to walking home from class. Samantha had blossomed into an attractive young woman, developing early on but even as a junior in college, still maintaining a love of Disney princesses and dolls that we continually sought to foster. Naturally she had the occasional "boyfriend" but my wife and I were both certain nothing had progressed beyond kissing.

"Rub my feet?" Samantha pleaded as she flopped down onto the couch and deposited her feet into my lap. She fixed me with her saddest eyes. Of course she didn't have to put on the act, I always ended up rubbing the aches and pains that invariably developed from her dance class.

As I set to rubbing her feet, Sam grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels, which my son took as his cue to go play with his Lego in the basement. Michael was only seven and had no interest in the sorts of shows Sam liked to watch.

"Mom still at work?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, till nine thirty."

"Hmm"

"How was dance?"

"Fine."

"How articulate of you." I teased.

"It was fine. Same as always." She corrected with an exaggerated sigh, finally stopping on one channel for more than half a second. It was some teen drama show about a dance team. After a moment the show went to commercial break.

"I'm gonna get my PJs on." Sam said jumping up and heading toward the stairs.

My eyes followed Sam as she walked towards the stairs. Years of dance classes had keep her body fit, and her dirty blonde shoulder length hair tossed back and forth as walked. Sam was not supermodel thin, and had never (At least to my knowledge) worried about her figure; at 5' 4" she weighed about 125 pounds. As Sam disappeared up the stairs, I continued to stare off into space where her little ass had just been.

"Shut up you moron." I chastised myself for once again ogling my daughter. It was happening with increased frequency lately and while I hated myself for the thoughts I often had about Sam - I lacked the conviction to stop myself.

Every few days it seemed I would jack off to an amazing fantasy about her, and then hate myself for it and swear it was the last time. Then I'd been on a business trip somewhere and pull up an incest site and spend hours watching video after video; all the while thinking about what I wanted to do with Sam. I was the worst sort of pervert and I knew it.

I had only married Jessica (Sam's mother) a couple years before, though we had been together for nearly ten years. I loved Jessica unequivocally, and I knew she loved me back. Sam and Michael's rooms were right across from ours, and Jessica's open-door policy meant that our sex life was sporadic, though very enjoyable. Jessica didn't have the time or the energy most days for regular exercise and she had struggled with her weight much of her life.

I loved Jessica dearly regardless of how fit she was, and despite the couple dozen extra pounds she detested on herself, I found her sexy and my lust for her never waned. It of course helped some that she had grown two bra sizes after having Michael and sat at an ever enticing 38D bra size; they sagged slightly when they were unclipped but jiggled in exactly the right ways when she moved.

I was shaken out of my reverie a few minutes later by the sounds of Sam bouncing down the stairs two at a time; noticing I had started to grow hard thinking about my wife, I adjusted myself and I looked back toward the screen just as she rounded the corner. She sat down on the floor in front of me.

"My shoulders too." She said just as her show returned from a commercial break.

"Yes ma'am." I replied, looking down at the smooth shoulders. Sam had never asked me to do her shoulders before, and something in the back of my brain (Or perhaps just my groin) got a little more excited about my hands being slightly closer to her perky A-cup breasts.

Sam had put on a simple pajama set consisting of a baby blue Cinderella t-shirt and matching shorts.

I looked down at her shoulders and noticed she had her white tank-top on underneath as well. "I'd rather it was just the tank-top" I thought to myself as I went to work on her shoulders.

"If you want me to stop, just me know." I told her, she nodded her head. From the outset I knew my hands would go further than any father's should - so in my mind if I let her know she could ask me to stop, it somehow meant that I had free range of her body, unless she said no.

I started by kneading the muscles in the middle of her shoulders on both sides, circling and rubbing my thumbs powerfully along the back of her neck at the same time. Sam never made a sound. Where her mother moaned appreciatively when I gave her a massage or backrub, Sam always sat and just enjoyed it silently.

I was enjoying having my hands all over Sam's exposed body. Her creamy skin seemed to melt through my hands and I idly wondered how she would react if my hands "accidentally" brushed against her breasts.

"You're enjoying this too much" I thought, but once again I was able to convince myself that if I didn't actually push it too far, if I didn't outright fondle her breasts, I wasn't doing anything wrong and my thoughts were my own and weren't hurting anyone.

After about 5 minutes, I stopped abruptly saying "This would be a lot easier without the t-shirt in the way hun."

"Hmm?" She asked without looking up, as if she hadn't heard me. I suspected she had.

"The T-shirt. Pull it off so I can get at your shoulders better."

Sam thought about it for a minute, then pushed away from the couch and pulled the T-shirt over her head. The white tank-top hung close to her body, preventing me from getting a good look. I went back to working on her shoulders, leaning over every so often to get quick glimpses of her cleavage down her tank-top, but never a full view of a breast.

After a while, I worked my hands inside the back of her tank-top and Sam sat forward slightly so I could work my hands down her back.

"Where all do you want me to rub?" I asked, Sam just shrugged her shoulders. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I got the feeling that she wasn't really sore, and just liked getting a massage.

What woman doesn't? I thought to myself.

While working on her back, I would sometimes slide my hands around just under her armpits to rub the sides of her rib-cage and around just inches below the bottoms of her breasts.

After a couple more minutes I leaned forward on the couch a bit and pushed the straps of her tank-top to the sides, and made more of an effort to work on the ball of her shoulders so she wouldn't think the move too odd.

The tank-top did not slide down as I had hoped it would.

Sam sat back against the couch just as my hands rounded to the front of her deltoid muscles and her tank-top ballooned forward for a fraction of a second exposing both of her breasts to my hungry eyes.

Tiny hard nipples jutted out from the ends of small, slightly cone shaped breasts. Sam usually wore a simple padded bra, so seeing her amazing breasts completely free and in their natural shape was both exhilarating and highly erotic for me. I was instantly hard, but far enough away from Sam that there was no way for her to know.

As quickly as they had come into sight, the fabric of Sam's tank-top settled and the breasts I had been imagining seeing for so long had vanished.

I slid my hands down over her collar bone - and massaged the very tops of her pectoral muscles. Without any sign of resistance I became more brave and every third or fourth sweep I would slide my hand down a bit further working closer to the tops of her breasts. During one sweep I turned my hands straight down and slid them along the tops of her breasts, about an inch and a half above her nipples. There was no reaction from Sam.

My heart was racing with excitement the closer I got, but I could hear the telltale sound of my son returning from his basement toy room.

"Daddy, I'm ready for bed." Michael announced, walking from the basement stairs.

"Okay buddy." I replied, returning my hands to rub Sam's shoulder muscles a couple more times. The massage was over.

Half an hour later when my son was asleep in his bed, I walked past Sam's door on my way back downstairs. Sam was already in her bed playing a game on her tablet.

"Shoulders any better?" I asked.

"Yeah. Thanks." Sam replied, without looking up from her tablet.

"Goodnight babe."

"Goodnight"

I wasn't sure how much she had understood about what I had been doing only minutes before. As it often did, my mind wandered through the countless possibilities. I had been touching Sam in a way I shouldn't be, I knew it. Still, she made no attempt to stop me, and showed no reaction as my hands got ever closer to touching her breasts.

I wanted to go further. There was an animal lust in my body that needed to feel her breasts in my hands. But I knew, if I took it that far - I'd want more. And what would Sam think of me in the years to come. I knew she was blissfully unaware of sex at that point; but what would she think of me when her knowledge of sex caught up with her age? Would it hurt her? Would she hate me? Would she tell anyone?

I love my daughter, and I love my wife. I didn't know what to do...