Lines Are There to Be Crossed

CHAPTER 1 - GRATIFICATION

Poppy knew he was watching. She always knew. Just a slight change in the light from the attic was enough. He was there. Watching.

Mr Adams it was, at number 22. He lived alone, never seemed to have visitors - no family even. In a way it was sad but...

Poppy did what she always did in that useless time between school and dinner, she lay on her bed and read from her tablet. She wasn't perturbed by him, and she certainly wasn't going to start changing her habits because of him. If he got his kicks from peeping on 18 year old girls that was his problem not hers.

Anyway Poppy had other important issues to think about. Her best friend Hayley had brought a sex toy into school. She, Hayley, boasted she had used it last night for the first time and that she had reached a climax in about 10 seconds. She had then described in quite graphic detail how it worked, what went where and what all the settings did. Poppy had been particularly interested in the up down sawtooth pattern.

And now she wanted one. More than anything, but there was no way she could afford it, and no way her father would have given her the money without wanting to know what it was for and examining the receipts.

She could just picture the scene: 'Daddy can I have £150 to buy a vibrator?'

Even the thought made her crimson with embarrassment. He would be mortified that his A- student darling would even consider owning such a thing, let alone expect him to pay for it.

Carelessly her hand had wandered between her legs. Her fingers would have to do for now, unless she could get a job. Maybe a couple of weekends at the hospital- they liked her there last holidays. She traced the contours of her vagina through her white panties while considering her other options. Babysitting perhaps, although that paid very badly. Her lips had been wet most of the day thinking about Hayley's toy. She pulled the material to the side and gently rubbed her clitoris, so wet and sensitive, and came quickly in a somewhat perfunctory manner. She called these her functional frigs, no real enthusiasm but somehow needing to be done. Nonetheless as Woody Allen once remarked, there was no such thing as a bad orgasm, and she drifted off to a light contented sleep.

"Oh my God!"

Poppy leapt off her bed abruptly and darted to the window yanking the curtains closed. What had he seen? Was he still there? What if he'd taken photos? Oh my God oh my God!

Right that's it, from now on the curtains remain closed all day and all night. You stupid stupid girl. Usually she only did that under the covers, or in the shower. How could that happen? What if he told her father? 'Yes, I'm sorry to have to tell you this Mr Perkins but your daughter seems to be a nymphomaniac exhibitionist. Imagine my disgust when I was working on my train set in the attic, and casually looked out of the window only to be confronted with...'

"Poppy can you come down please," bellowed her father.

This was it. There would be no coming back from this. By the sound of his voice, he knew already. He hadn't spanked her for a while, but he was no stickler when it came to that, law or no law. But this was going to be much worse: a paddle? Maybe even a whip.

She stood before him guiltily in the kitchen and tried to speak airily.

"Umm... what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just need you to carry the dishes through, they're hot so be careful. I've made us a spicy vegetable curry."

Overwhelmed with relief Poppy carried the hot tableware through to the dining room. Her father followed with the pot of curry. So he didn't know. In a way it made sense, why would he have spoken to Mr Adams? And anyway why would Mr Adams mention it, if he was spying on her then surely the last thing he'd want is- "sorry what?"

Poppadoms? How many?

"Oh, just one. Poppadom is a funny word isn't it?" She was light-headed and talking nonsense.

"Hilarious," her father said drily.

"Poppy Dom. Hee-hee. Are you a Poppy Dom daddy? See, I'm Poppy and-"

"Yes. I get it!"

Her father looked cross so she shut up.

Feeling he'd been a bit harsh he asked softly

"So what did you do today?"

Poppy caught her breath.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's straighforward enough, how was your day? Sorry if my taking an interest in my daughter's life is so terrifying for you."

"Oh. Um, nothing really. Hayley- Um Hayley said something funny but..."

"Have you been home long, I was a bit late today."

"No, I was reading in my room."

"Oh, what are you reading?"

"Crime & Punishment."

"It's great isn't it, do you like it?"

Poppy relaxed, tears welling up. This is how it used to be before- well, before Mum died. He had become a recluse these last ten months, spending all evenings and weekends in his room, hardly uttering a word from one day to the next. Now here he was discussing literature just like the old days. Poppy felt a tremendous weight lifting from her. Who cares whether stupid old Adams saw her masturbating? Seriously, so what? Her daddy was back.

"I love it. How a man can be driven to such terrible things and then be so overcome with guilt. I mean, where does that come from, guilt? Why do we feel it? What purpose did it serve in evolution?"

"Well I suppose murder is pretty serious, I imagine it would trigger some almost biblical feeling of remorse for harming someone."

"But are we born with guilt or do we acquire it?"

"Ah well that's more your grandmother's domain. But I think even a non believer feels a sense of knowing he has done wrong. Maybe it's a kind of self-reflection, how would I like it if someone did that to me?"

"But what about smaller misdemeanours? I mean like....oh I don't know, promiscuity say, or a fondness for inappropriate sexual behaviour. What role is guilt playing?"

"Maybe just trying to curb our natural desire to experience it all. I really don't know Poppy. All I know is, since your mother left us, I have realised how precious it all is, and how utterly tedious and pointless all this pretending to be something for the sake of others is. We create lines. One side is OK, the other is not. Well I say lines are there to be crossed."

He took his daughter's hands and kissed them gently and held them to his lips sighing.

"I loved her so much, Poppy."

"Sssh Dad. I know. We both did."

Poppy stemmed a tear running towards her nose as her father cleared away the dishes. Her heart raced. Oh no! In her rush to get downstairs for dinner she had forgotten to wash her hands. Her fingers absolutely reeked of cunt. He must have smelt them, how could he not? He had had them right up to his nose. And what about her panties? Could he smell them too? Had he spent the meal wondering what on earth that unfamiliar spice was in the curry?

Her life was falling apart. She bade a hasty good night and disappeared to her bedroom.

Back in her room she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. What a strange day it had been. She lay on the bed, curtains fully closed this time, and decided to give herself another seeing to. She was so wet with the heady excitement of it all. Even the idea of Mr Adams watching her earlier sent a perverse thrill through her as she gently caressed her moist lips. When she finished she went to wash her hands and take a shower. As she passed her father's bedroom she heard low moans. I mean, it sounds like- surely he's not-

She pressed her ear to his door and listened intently. She was absolutely certain that he was masturbating. Her own father, how is that even possible? Then her world was suddenly turned upside down for good as he let out a final climactic groan and moaned: "Ooooh Poppy."

CHAPTER 2 -TEMPTATION

Only one member of the household slept well that night.

Next day was Saturday and Poppy had agreed to help her father take some of her mother's old clothes to the charity shop, and then on to the tip with some bits of broken furniture and electrical goods. As they were loading the last of the boxes into the car a voice sang out:

"Morning."

Poppy's heart sank at hearing Mr Adams' voice.

"Morning George," said her father. "Just doing a tip run if you've got anything."

"Ah now, if you'd warned me...the house is such a mess at the moment. Well you must know what it's like, now that.... Um, still I expect Poppy's pretty handy, am I right?"

Poppy reddened. Was he trying to be funny?

"It's hard George and no mistake. Although you've never been married have you? Probably got used to it by now."

"Never get used to it, Tony. Still looking you know. You never know what's out there if you look hard enough."

Poppy was finding his innuendo unbearable. Had he seen her or not? Why didn't the ridiculous oaf just say so?

"You thought of getting someone in George, maybe once a week? Poppy's looking for a bit of extra cash at the moment, maybe she could give you a hand over the holidays."

Poppy made an anguished howl which she quickly covered up by pretending to sneeze.

Unable to find a plausible excuse Poppy was recruited to "do" for Mr Adams once a week. He himself would be at work, so he gave her a spare key and quickly showed her round. Since their houses were identical in layout, it didn't take long. Intriguingly Mr Adams asked her to only do the downstairs rooms.

As they drove to the town centre Poppy considered the job. In a way it was fine since he wouldn't be there. And anyway there was still no concrete proof that he had actually seen her from the attic. It was well paid and she would only need to do it for a month before she could afford the vibrator. So, yes on the one hand he was a bit of a creep, on the other she was taking his money. Maybe she could spit in his milk or something.

There was one other important reason to take the job. She was very keen to explore his attic.

The tip was a half hour's drive and Poppy's thoughts turned to 'the incident' of the night before. That her father fantasised about her had stirred a whole series of emotions ranging from disgust, disappointment, and anger to, finally, extreme horny lust. Maybe it wasn't so strange. She looked a little like her dear mother, and he had no other female companions. Even at work his office was entirely male staffed.

At what point the plan took shape in her mind she couldn't say. Perhaps in a way it had always been there. The excitement that ran through her body when she realised her father had smelt her womanly scent had been overwhelming. She was decided. She was going to seduce her father.

"Dad, what's that place?" She pointed at an old building in the distance.

"I think it belonged to the grain factory that used to be there. All closed down now. I think it's due to be demolished."

Poppy had a thing for old ruins. She had once ventured into a disused mental asylum with a friend. It was deliciously creepy wandering around the empty corridors, occasionally chancing upon a bed or piece of equipment and imagining the tales they could tell.

"Can we go and have a look?"

One good thing about her father was that he was into that kind of stuff too, and he readily agreed.

Getting in was surprisingly easy. No fences to speak of, and nothing was locked. They didn't even have to break any windows. To their amazement a couple of the fluorescent lights still flickered into life and they were confronted with a vast expanse of - well nothing.

"Hmm, well that's disappointing."

Poppy had wandered to the corner where an old machine with enormous grinding wheels rusted away. Some old tools were scattered here and there, but mainly it was just a big old empty barn with an enormous pit along one side, presumably originally for grain storage but now full of gravel and rocks.

"Dad, I need to pee."

"Thanks Poppy, I'll make a note in my diary."

Poppy slid behind the rusty machinery. She knew for sure that he would be able to see her even when she crouched. She pulled her knickers down from under her skirt and let out a long stream of piss which snaked out from under her, seeming to nourish the parched dusty ground as it went. Her father pretended to be looking at the sturdy old wooden doors, but he saw her. Oh, he saw her.

"Anything else here or shall we make our way home?"

Poppy scoured the room.

"These old beams are beautiful aren't they? Really sturdy to hold up that enormous roof. She leaned against one and pushed her back into it, thrusting her chest forward whilst locking her hands behind the post, and looked him directly in the eye. They held the gaze for a few seconds and then her father hurriedly went to the door.

"Come on then let's get home."

This wasn't quite the outcome she had wanted. In her mind Daddy had ravished her there and then, taking her roughly like a little slut against the post. But....was she imagining it or was there something in that look. And why the hurry to leave?

Alone on her bed at last Poppy squeezed two fingers into her dripping wet cunt. She had never felt this turned on, her clitoris could hardly bear her exquisite touch. But Poppy didn't cum. She was simply harvesting scent. She applied it behind her earlobes, her neck, round her mouth. Last night had been an accident, but tonight she wanted him to smell it. She wanted to make him yearn for her. To let him know she had been pleasuring herself.

Her white knickers were absolutely drenched as she pulled them on. She was almost coming just by the sheer friction of them against her skin. As she looked at herself in the full length mirror she pulled up her light flouncy skirt and pulled them down again to reveal her glistening mound in the reflection, then spread her juicy lips apart. Fuck, she wanted his cock so badly. With massive self-restraint she avoided giving that clit one more tickle, which would have surely sent her over the edge, and bounded downstairs for dinner.

It was fish and chips from the chippy tonight, so no cooking, just sat around watching TV with dinners on laps.

Poppy had the sofa and her father occupied the armchair as always. After the meal they tried to watch a crappy quiz show so popular on Saturday nights on British television, but soon gave up on it. Mr Perkins looked across at his daughter and seemed to be wrestling with telling her something.

"What is it, Dad?"

Eventually, almost reluctantly he joined her on the sofa and sat rather awkwardly staring into the middle distance.

"You know, yesterday we were talking about guilt and, and stuff?"

"Yes?"

Poppy turned to face him, her leg tucked under her.

"I just want to live my own way Poppy. My job is boring, I have no friends. No wife. I need something. I need more from life than..."

"Are you trying to tell me you're gay or something?"

"No no. Not that. I- I... "

The phone rang. The phone hardly ever rang, but here it was. Ringing. Like a stupid obnoxious bastard.

The moment was lost forever thanks to a marketing salesman deciding that that was an appropriate time to call about a special offer on electricity this month.

CHAPTER 3 - REVELATION

Poppy dusted around Mr Adams' furniture in a somewhat amateurish and haphazard way. She hated cleaning, and she hated him and all his ridiculous little possessions. His books were all presented in a case and stored alphabetically like he was some great learned professor or something. In fact a cursory scan of the titles revealed he was actually something of a dolt.

She hated doing the kitchen the most. He was a slob. Tomato ketchup and spillages everywhere. She imagined him to be the sort of man who sits around in a string vest with his rubbish dinners on his lap roaring with laughter at some shitty TV comedy.

This was her second week. To be fair to him he had left her double wages last week, since it was the first time, and the place was a terrible mess. But as she sponged the tiled kitchen floor she wished she'd never agreed to all this.

Finally she packed the vacuum cleaner away and with a sigh of relief prepared to leave. However there was just one more little thing to do. With heart thumping she climbed the stairs. If he came home unexpectedly she could just say she had heard a noise; a cat say.

She didn't dwell on the landing, having absolutely no interest in his bathroom or bedrooms. The floors were nicely carpeted up here she would give him that. Then she remembered he was actually a carpet salesman so no real surprise there, probably gets a huge discount.

The stairs up to the attic were also carpeted and she trod noiselessly up the 12 or so steps, and, barely daring to breathe, eased the door open.

The attic was very similar to their own which they used mainly for storage. She had hoped that maybe she had got the geometry wrong and that he had no view into her bedroom after all. But as she formed a gap in the blinds her worst fears were confirmed. From here she could see directly into her room across the street.

So let's see, he would have stood here in semi darkness, and just been able to peer through the -WHAT? NO! NOOOO!

Poppy's blood ran cold as she saw her father enter her bedroom and stand in front of her full length mirror. That he was in her room was bad enough, though there could be hundreds of legitimate reasons why he needed to be there.

No, what sent Poppy reeling was the fact that her father was wearing her school skirt, one of her baggy T-shirts and, as was now evident as he admired himself in her mirror, a pair of her white panties, from which his hard erection was straining to escape.

Poppy could hardly stand, she felt so dizzy. As she watched she saw her father lie on her bed, pull up the skirt and release his cock leaving her panties pushed up against his balls.

He tugged at his large penis while he stroked the panties with his free hand, then all at once he spasmed and his cum shot out onto his stomach and over her skirt. He lay there quivering for a few seconds.

"SHIT!"

Without realising Poppy had been supporting herself on the cord, and suddenly she stumbled forward and the blind flew open. Whether it was the sound of her cry or the sudden change in the light that alerted him, she found herself standing in full view at the window, her father staring directly back at her.

His ashen face told the tale. One might expect he would run out in horror and lock himself in his bedroom, but he was frozen to the spot. His worst fears had been realised. His recent attempt to confess his sexual proclivities to her felt suddenly pathetic. That's what he was though - a pathetic, broken man. And now she knew.

He lay there and simply waited for the inevitable. What would be the point of denying anything? He looked up again at the attic window. Poppy was gone.

Mr Tony Perkins, assistant manager of Frobisher Small Engineering Ltd., father, widower, and now part-time cross-dresser, burst into inconsolable tears.

And that's how she found him minutes later.

"Dad?"

A fresh wave of sobbing as he buried his face in the pillow.

She stood in her doorway helplessly and looked down at this pitifully absurd sight. She had fully intended to have a showdown, possibly even sever their relationship for good. But when she saw him she felt nothing but sympathy. He was grieving still, and he had no-one to confide in. A tortured, poor man drawn to extremes to try to exorcise the demons that plagued his every moment. Life for him without his wife was unbearable.

She sat beside him on the bed and placed a tender hand on his back. He stiffened then turned slowly, the relief in his eyes melted her heart. He collapsed into her arms and sobbed a little more, but that well was finally running dry. Soon he would talk, try to explain, justify, beg for forgiveness. But not yet. For now he just needed to be held.

As night began to fill the room he finally spoke.