I woke up, my hair tousled from a long night's sleep. I had been dreaming of him sitting beside me on the bed as I slept. In my dream I saw him slowly draw down the covers, running his hand up my thigh. Gently, oh so gently sliding his hands up my body. He cupped my breasts, gently kneading my nipples, moving stealthily under my nightclothes. I turned provocatively, lying my hands on the pillow beside my head, revealing my cleavage to him from my loose satin camisole. I heard him draw his breath in a sigh of desire.
Cautiously he leaned forward, took the left nipple into his mouth and sucked gently whilst still kneading the other in his hand. I stirred, and my hand came down upon his head, caressing him. Quickly and silently he got up, rearranged my camisole and pulled up the covers. Still silent, he left.
I had been dreaming of him more and more often, and in incredible detail. I could almost believe it was really happening, except that it was my Father! I put the whole matter to the back of my mind, discarding it as just fantasies - however nice they made me feel. I had moved home about a month ago - just after my 21st birthday, which had been a total disaster. My boyfriend, Grant, had stood me up and when I called him he told me he had found someone else. I was devastated. I decided to move out of the apartment and went to find my father. He was where I thought he would be, sitting in the lounge in his house looking through the photo albums at pictures of my mother. He looked up when I entered, a look of hope on his face, revealing sadness as he was again reminded of his loss, in the face he saw now. I knew I reminded him of my mother, I saw it every morning in the mirror. I always wished there were something I was able to do to relieve his pain, but nothing could bring her back.
When I told him what had happened between Grant and myself, he invited me to stay for as long as I wished. I was grateful then, as I am grateful now. My father was delighted to be able to look after someone else; he waited on me hand and foot. I hadn't realized how lonely he had become. It made me almost embarrassed sometimes. In the mornings when I woke up he would have laid out a fresh towel in the bathroom for my shower, brewed up a fresh pot of coffee, and fetched the paper from letter box for me. It was heavenly.
I was working long hours at the office trying to get a promotion, and upon arriving home I was dead tired. I would flop down onto the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table. One evening after a particularly hard day he came and slipped my shoes off my hot tired feet, sat on the coffee table, placed on my foot on his crotch, and proceeded to give me a foot massage. I sighed, wriggling my toes, guiding his strong fingers to the most painful places. His fingers probed into the gaps between my toes through my stocking fabric. I begin to feel turned on by this, and I had to keep reminding myself that it was my father doing this to me. Reluctantly I pulled my feet from his lap, and headed to my room to prepare for a bath. As I was undressing I could hear the bath running, I smiled at myself and thought, it's dad again. Pulling on my robe I walked to the bathroom and peered in. There he was sitting on the side of tub, one hand dangling in the water continually testing its heat, a strange happy smile on his face.
I walked over to him exclaiming, "Thank you Daddy," and gave him a big hug.
He held me tightly, and replied, "You're welcome precious, you are so like your mother." Turning off the tap he left the room, calling over his shoulder, "just sing out if you want me to come and wash your back."
Stepping into the bath was a delight, the temperature was perfect and my dad had added soothing oils that made my skin tingle. I decided I would have an early night and go to bed right after supper. Falling asleep quickly, I dreamt of him again.
He pulled down the covers on the bed, tickling his fingers up my thighs. I parted my legs to get away from the tickle, revealing my white panties and wet crotch to my admirer. He ran a finger lightly along the wet spot, and I moved again. Leaning down he pressed his nose against the spot, breathing in deeply of my aroma. Gently again his fingers pulled the edge of my panties to one side revealing my naked mound to his eyes. My freshly shaven pussy glowed in the pale moonlight. Slowly and with supreme delicacy he tasted me, his tongue making slow sweeps from bottom to top. He penetrated me with his hot tongue only slightly. When I began to moan he stopped, adjusted my panties, and covered me again then left the room.
As time passed I realized that when I went out with other men I felt like I was cheating on someone, but I had no idea why. Every day at home with my father treating me like a princess, he gradually became more and more physical. He gave me back and foot massages more and more often. When he kissed me goodnight, he lingered longer than he ever used to do.
Every morning when I woke up, I felt like I was just on the edge of orgasm. And every morning I fingered myself until I came. One Friday night we went out to rent a video. We decided to choose one each and as I walked around the video store I tried to think of what he would like to watch. I ended up getting a horror movie; I didn't know what my father had chosen. Paying for the videos I was still unable to see the title of his selection. I asked him on the way home what he had chosen, but he was evasive and just told me it was a surprise.