Glancing into her room, he saw the usual mess of clothes strewn over the floor. Following the trail led to her bed, where in the darkness with her sheets pulled completely over her head, her body mimicked a rock in shape and appeal. He sighed and wondered, not for the first time, why he didn't have a daughter like the ones in online erotica. They always fell asleep with their legs spread and bed sheets nowhere in sight; bright Nordic tresses matching the color their ever-exposed trim pubic hair. He sighed again. Thinking about a buxom blonde lying in bed would do him no good. Sure, it'd give him yet another reason to jerk off before he went to bed, but it wouldn't bring him any closer to having her want him. Yet, one of these days, she'd react predictably to his come-ons. Sheβd be vulgar and wear an over-short skirt, pulling it up to let him lick and separate her tender wet slit. Oh yes, and then she'd go down gleefully, and turn her lap her tongue against the tip of his shaft.
One of these days.... but alas, not today.
...his daughter wasnβt the type. She was good-girl to the extreme; he cursed her Catholic schooling, and bemoaned the conservative college heβd sent her too. The sight of her uniformed had made it bearable for a little while. He smiled broadly, blinking his eyes and thinking of the days when sheβd come home and prance around in a pleated skirt. She kept the same one till senior year, and every year the hemline rose up her leg till she threatened to spill out from it entirely. That was when the school decided to step in and change the skirts to skorts, taking away the joy of seeing the light green pleats flapping between her legs...
Breaking from his reverie, he was about to turn away when he heard a welcome sound. A moan, one that most definitely came in the exactly pitch as her voice. He popped his head back into the room, watching for a long instant. His fingers twitched against the hard wooden door frame. Was this moan some fantastical figment of his warped mind? He lingered then risked all--stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. Without the bright hallway light spilling into the room, it took him a few minutes of blinking and quiet cursing to get his vision back. His hearing, though, was perfect and he heard another moan followed by the rustling of fingernails against a pillowcase. He smirked. Naaaaah....couldn't be. Not his daughter. The denial walked hand in hand with his anticipation as he took several shaking steps towards her bed. There was *definite* movement under the covers. He closed his eyes, useless to him anyways in the dark room, and imagined what he would see if the shapeless blob of bed sheet was moved away.