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.
