Guilty as Charged

Many thanks for the kind responses to 'Me, Mum and Pans People' and 'Dark Cinema'. This story is an unrelated quickie. Hope you like it.

RC

All characters are 18 or older.

Dorset, England.

When her mother deserted us three years ago, Lyra and I became closer than we had ever been before. It was a difficult time for both of us, and the sudden and unexpected change in my daughter's life devastated her at first. Perhaps it was a cathartic impulse that drew her to me; showering her father with sympathy and attention enabled Lyra to overcome her own distress - at least, to some extent. A shrink might call it 'emotional transference'.

Lyra helped around the house, cooking and cleaning; she appeared to delight in assuming her mothers' domestic role. On Sunday mornings, she tied-back her long dark brown hair and whizzed around our home, vacuuming and dusting.

It was during one of these Sunday sessions that Lyra first wore a miniskirt in the house. From the pleated style, I recognised the short skirt to be part of her school clothes - Lyra was wearing her netball skirt.

I hadn't seen my daughter's legs very much in recent years - she usually wore jeans. Lyra's pleated skirt was exceptionally short and on that Sunday morning I found myself watching her voyeuristically as she zoomed about the room with the vacuum cleaner. I had an erection.

To my surreptitious delight, the sexy netball skirt appeared with increasing frequency. At first it was only present during the Sunday morning cleaning sessions, but as the weeks passed, Lyra began to wear her little school skirt in the evenings, too. While we watched TV together, I stole furtive glances at the white cotton panties that she always wore.

Sometimes we engaged in deep late night conversations. Turning off all the lights, we sat together talking by candlelight, exploring the world from the comfort of our cosy living room. We talked about everything and anything.

On one of these intimate nights, Lyra turned the conversation to sex. "Dad, do you miss... you know... do you miss having sexual intercourse, now that Mum's gone?"

"Yes, of course," I replied easily, smiling.

My daughter was sitting opposite me, relaxing in a big armchair. That night she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with no bra. I noted that her nipples were erect. Her long dark hair hung loosely over her shoulders; I remember thinking how pretty she looked in the soft candlelight.

"Dad... you know we said we could talk about

anything

?" Lyra hesitated.

"Yes, and we can. We do, don't we?" I spoke reassuringly, trying to put her at ease.

Lyra shifted in her seat. "Um... don't be mad, okay?"

"Okay, I promise. What is it?"

"Well... a few weeks ago... I found a DVD in the computer... you know... with girls on it... and men...

doing it

to themselves."

"Ahh..." was all I managed in reply.

Instantaneously, a myriad of contrasting emotions hit me all at once, sending my brain into visceral overload. The initial unpleasant feelings of guilt and remorse quickly vanished, superseded by an all consuming sexual thrill that began in my groin, swiftly encompassing my entire being.

The suspicion that I had been harbouring at the back of my mind was now virtually confirmed: I had been right about the reason for the sudden appearance of Lyra's sexy miniskirt. My daughter had watched the DVD that I had

'accidentally'

left in the computer drive for her to find.

My wicked scheme was no longer a fantasy. The DVD contained a carefully edited selection of short pornographic scenes depicting my dirtiest desires in graphic detail. Utilising our computer's video editor, I had plundered the darker recesses of the internet and pieced together what amounted to a concise

instruction manual

outlining my hitherto secret sexual inclinations. Miniskirts featured heavily throughout, along with upskirt masturbation scenes, dirty talk, and some very outrageous clips towards the end. And my pretty daughter had watched it. Lyra now knew

everything

about my perverted sexual fantasies and fetishes. Well,

almost

everything.

Returning to my senses, I realised that I was physically trembling.

"It's alright, Dad," Lyra assured me. "I won't tell anyone. I know that men have to...

need to

have a

sexual release

... and now that Mum's gone..."

She began gabbling garrulously, filling the discomforting silence with sympathetic reassurances. My guilt resurfaced slightly, but more than anything, I felt relief at my daughter's complicit reaction to her father's apparent shock and despair.

Lyra smiled warmly and left the room.

Relaxing a little, I considered the timeline; yes, I was right... I had left the DVD in the computer about six weeks ago - a few days prior to my daughter's first appearance dressed in her schoolgirl miniskirt.

I sank back into the comfortable sofa. I was naked under my bathrobe and I stroked my erect penis. Loosening the front of my robe, I masturbated, fantasising about letting Lyra walk in and catch me wanking.

I reran the DVD in my mind: it began with a sexy blonde opening her legs and inviting the viewer to look up her skirt. Then the sixties all-girl dance troupe Pan's People performed a naughty routine to the Jackson Five's 'I Want You Back'. The low-angled camera filmed up their pink miniskirts as they danced, showing their knickers and gyrating suggestively to the music. In the next clip, a young woman in a school uniform talked about masturbation. In sexy tones, she seductively repeated my favourite naughty word: "I

masturbate

... I love

masturbating... masturbate

for me..." Then the DVD got

really

dirty; a gorgeous teen in a pleated miniskirt entered a Peep Show booth and...

I heard Lyra's footsteps coming down the stairs. My bathrobe was wide open and I wanked fast... now she was in the hall - still I kept wanking...

Lyra entered the dimly-lit room as I stood fastening the belt on my robe. I sat down quickly, hiding my erection. The candle flame flickered as she walked over to the armchair and sat opposite me, crossing her legs. My daughter had changed her clothes. Now she was wearing a full traditional English school uniform: a white cotton shirt with a striped school tie, long white socks, black shoes, and her navy-blue pleated netball skirt.

My expression must have been a picture: wide-eyed, mouth agape. Gathering my wits, I composed myself.

We stared into each others' eyes in the silent darkness for what felt like an eternity.

Then I could resist no longer; I lowered my gaze, fixing my stare on Lyra's sexy bare legs. Her pleated miniskirt was up, exposing her slender white thighs. She studied me with wrapped attention. She knew all about my miniskirt fetish, and she let me look. I

had

to look.

Lyra broke the long silence, speaking softly, "It's alright Dad, I know this is what you like. You like

miniskirts

, don't you."

"Lyra, I..."

She interrupted me, her voice measured and calm, "Dad, I know we mustn't have sexual intercourse... but if you want to... you can get your willy out."

"Lyra..."

"Dad... I can't do what Mum did for you, but I can do things that you like. It's alright... I'll

never

tell anyone."

As she stood up, I saw Lyra's cotton knickers flash white up her miniskirt. She walked to the back of her chair, nudging it towards me. When she returned to her seat, our knees were almost touching. Although my daughters' bare legs were pressed firmly together, I could see a small white triangle up her short pleated school skirt.

"Dad... do you..." Lyra's voice quivered nervously.

She whispered, "Dad... do you want to masturbate?"

I stared at my daughters knees; her legs were trembling slightly. Again, silence prevailed.

Slowly and deliberately, I grasped the belt on my bathrobe. Lyra watched intently as my erect penis tented my robe, springing up and down uncontrollably. I unfastened my bathrobe and exposed my cock to my daughter.

Lyra gasped audibly, staring fixedly at my erection.

Taking my hard cock in my hand, I gently rubbed my foreskin up and down over the engorged head while she watched.

Her legs noticeably shaking, Lyra parted her knees... just a little. She whispered, "Do you want to look up my miniskirt, Dad?"

"Yes... please."

My daughter slowly opened her legs, showing her white knickers up her skirt, and I had a wank in front of her.

Again, it was Lyra who spoke first. "I know you like miniskirts, Dad. I'll wear a miniskirt whenever you want."

I wanked my cock, staring up her school skirt. I wanted to feel up her legs.

Lyra whispered, "Dad... does it feel naughty

masturbating

in front of your daughter?"

She understood that it excited me when she used that word.

"Yes," I whispered.

I longed to say dirty things to her. "Lyra... do you masturbate? When you go to bed, do your finger yourself?"

She replied quietly, "Yes Dad... I

masturbate

."

I was so worked up, "Tell me about when you masturbate, Lyra."

She thought for a few moments. "Every night in my bed, I think about sexy things... and I

masturbate

myself. I've tried toys, but I like masturbating with my fingers. I masturbate

every night,

Dad. Is that too much? Do you think I

masturbate

a lot?

My cock tingled; glistening pre-cum gathered at the tip. I knew I could orgasm at any moment, but I held back.

"Don't stop," I gasped.

She continued, "Sometimes when you're at work, I go on the internet and I

masturbate

to porn. I watch videos of men wanking their big cocks... and I

masturbate

."

As was often the case, Lyra's nervousness resulted in her talking continuously, "Dad, there were lots of girls in school uniforms on your DVD... do you like my school clothes?"

Sweat beading my forehead, I nodded, hopelessly lost for words.

Lyra spoke softly, "Dad, is there anything special you'd like me to do?"

I swallowed heavily, "Lyra... yes... I... I want to have full sex with you... I want to put my cock up your school skirt and

fuck you

without a condom. Lyra... I want to

spunk

in you."

At that moment to my shock and abject bewilderment, a gigantic hairy fist punched through the living room ceiling sending shattered laths and fractured masonry crashing to the floor, enveloping Lyra and me in a snowstorm of powdery white plaster. From somewhere high above our heads, a deep booming voice thundered,

"You've blown it, Sunshine."