Prom Night

All of the participants in this story are over the age of 18.

Prom Night

Like every little girl, daddy was my hero. When I was little, he picked me up when I fell over, literally, and as I got older his helping hand which aided my recovery was much more metaphorical, but even more necessary.

While I've always been his little girl, it seemed like an overnight change that I was one day that little girl, to the day I felt like a grown woman. I recollect him picking me up from my first day at school (mum had taken me) in my little skirt, with my knee high white socks and patent leather sandals. Suddenly, he was taking me for my sixth form Prom dress the day after my 18

th

birthday. This time I was seriously hung over, my feet ached from dancing in very high heels and I wasn't entirely sure whose cum had stained the dress I was still wearing when I woke up.

Mum and dad were divorced by then, and I mainly lived with my mum but spent a lot of time with my dad. This was mainly because he wasn't my mum but also (shockingly awful though it is to admit it), he was much more generous than she was. Spending money on his little girl made him happy (possibly because it eased his guilt over cheating on my mum and thus not being there all of the time), and I can't deny I exploited that.

So when I went shopping for my Prom dress, I made sure dad took me.

The choice was overwhelming. Every shade and hue was available, most of them with a metallic glint, and with hemlines of varying lengths, all the way from covering my feet with a train to barely covering my crotch, and every single dress ensured my boobs, which were not enormous but were youthfully pert, actually held up even better and looked even bigger.

First, I out showing him a sparkling blue dress, with a sweetheart neckline, a train and a thigh split.

'What do you think?' I asked, a mixture of giddy and slightly nauseated. I tried to disguise the second feeling.

Dad just glanced at me, pulled a face of lukewarm approval, replied 'It's lovely,' then looked away. I stomped slightly back to the changing room, wondering if bringing my dad and his apparent lack of interest was actually a better option than bringing my mum.

Next I showed him a quite obscenely short scarlet dress with a halter neck and my boobs pulled right up.

'Is this better? Worse?' I enquired, skipping out of the changing room.

He looked up from his phone again, shifted in his seat, pulled a puzzled face and said, 'Yeah, that's nice.'

Deflated, and a little frustrated, I went back and tried another dress. Ankle length, cobalt blue, spaghetti straps, criss cross back, with a split that ran all the way to (and slightly past) the very top of my thigh.

I felt amazing in it. When I walked out, I felt as if I was gliding and my nausea seemed to disappear.

'Well?' I asked, impatiently. He hadn't even looked up. 'Dad!'

'Oh, wow,' he said, 'that's lovely.'

I realised that was as much as I was going to get and decided that was approval. Dad looked back down to his phone and shifted again.

Dad paid for my dress and then I trailed my him around more shops for heels (which he bought), new knickers (as there was no way I could wear a bra with that dress), handbag and tiara. Dad bought them all with only minimal interest.

'Thank you so much,' I squealed as I hugged him, heading back to the car.

'You know you're welcome, Princess,' he answered with a wide smile and a voice that betrayed a sense of exasperation and relief and absolute warmth. I couldn't wait for Prom and I couldn't wait to wear the dress.

Summer was glorious. Exams got in the way but I was able to spend time in the sun once the main exams had passed. The last one or two were late in the cycle and required little focus, so I spent a lot of time in a variety of gardens in a bikini, making sure I had a tan for the night of the Prom.

When I sunbathed at my mum's I had to wear my bikini tops. She didn't want the neighbour (or his teenage son) getting over excited and thinking I was a loose woman. However, my dad's house had no one overlooking the garden and he never objected to me being topless. He was probably used to it from our holidays. Whenever he took me away I was topless as often as possible.

It was important that come Prom night I had a tan as all over as possible, and that meant my cleavage needed to get as much sun as possible.

Exams finished, friends started to drift off, but we knew we had Prom to look forward to. Most friends didn't go away before this. It felt like a rite of passage, a last hurrah before we all drifted off, potentially rarely to see each other again.

Emily, Evie and I planned to get ready at Lissy's house with her, after we had spent the day getting nails, hair done, and (for Evie and Lissy) their tans topped up.

We were at the salons from early in the morning, and then I was going home to get my dress before I drove over to Lissy's house. It was late afternoon when I got back to dad's house.

Unlocking the door, I walked in and called for dad. There was no reply.

'Dad,' I called, again, louder.

'Just a minute,' he called down from upstairs. 'I'm just out of the shower.'

Putting down my keys, I was about to wander upstairs to get my dress then head back out. Dad came down the stairs, seeming a little flustered.

'Shit, sorry Princess,' he said, hurriedly. I thought you were coming back later. I'm off out with Alan for a game of golf before I come over to see you off.'

He hugged me, briefly, and picked up his own keys.

'What time will you be there?' I asked him.

'I'll get there at 6.15,' he replied with a smile. 'Right, I'm off.'

He hugged me briefly and then he was gone, barely able to hear my warning of 'Don't be late,' which I shouted after him through the closing door.

Heading upstairs, I found my dress, my knickers and my heels. I knew I would have to consider whether to wear my knickers; the split in the dress was so high that it actually went past the part of my groin that the knickers would sit on, and I knew I couldn't have them on show. However, my tiara was nowhere to be seen, and a princess can't be seen in public without her crown.

I searched my bedroom, my wardrobe and even the spare room for it. Drawers, wardrobe, window sills, under pillows, under the bed: nowhere. Texting my dad, I felt impatient and a little stressed that I couldn't locate something I couldn't remember moving. To add to my frustration and exasperation, my text wouldn't deliver. I even text my mum, not because I thought she would know where it was (she wouldn't go anywhere near dad's house) but just because it made me feel better to be doing something.

Have you checked in your dad's room?

she replied via text.

I hadn't. And why would it be there?

However, I'd run out of places to look so I opened my dad's room and went in. I looked around quickly and saw nothing. No tiara. His room was meticulously tidy and clean, so I didn't look too hard.

As I was walking back to my room across the landing, I noticed a wisp of bright blue fabric poking out from under my dad's pillow. Lifting up the pillow, I found the thong which I had been wearing yesterday. I was unsure what to think or why it would be there. Holding the pillow, I wasn't sure what to do. I knew I had put it in the washing basket in my room last night, and I knew there was no reason for my dad to have them there.

Picking them up, they were still warm and felt heavier than the small amount of sheer material would warrant. Then I noticed they were also wet. Unable to draw my eyes away from the wet, heavy panties, I held them up and examined them, as if I was inspecting a strand of fascinating DNA across my fingers.

'Why would they be warm?' I asked myself.

I opened them, and the full realisation hit me hard. I gasped, audibly.

'Fucking hell,' I exclaimed. 'Fucking, fucking hell.'

My tiny thong was thickly coated in still warm cum. It dawned on me like a polar sunrise that my dad, who had rushed downstairs, had been wanking into my freshly worn panties when I had arrived home. He must have just been cumming into them as I walked in the door and shouted, and in his panic he had thrust them under the pillow.

My mind raced and my heart beat fast and heavy. I was sure it could almost be seen through the thin material of my t shirt. What had my dad been doing? Why had he been using my knickers to wank into? My own dad, wrapping my knickers around his hard cock, and stroking it.

Unsure what to think or do, I sat down heaily. I couldn't take them - he would know I had found them. But I didn't think I could leave them there, full of his cum, under his pillow. I leaned forward, my breath catching in my throat as I tried to think about how to deal with it and process it.

I had so much to do. I had to find my tiara, get to Lissy's house, and now I had to deal with my own dad masturbating into my knickers. My own dad. How could he? Why would he? He had always been so caring, so thoughtful, never inappropriate.

I held my hand over my face and tried to concentrate. What should I do?

Suddenly, I realised I was experiencing another sensation. I was aroused. I had no idea why, but thinking of my tiny panties, coated in the smell of my wet pussy, wrapped around the hard cock of my own dad, was making me wet. Feeling stressed usually meant I needed to masturbate (and my inability to locate my tiara and running late was making me anxious) but now I had the image in my head of my dad, lying down where I was sitting, with one hand round his cock and my knickers sliding up and down his erection as he wanked. I wondered what he thought of. Was it just the fabric? Was it the sluttiness of them? Was he thinking of me, his daughter, as he came?

My pussy ached as I thought of it. I thought about watching him, pleasuring himself and cumming hard into the lace of my panties.

Almost without thinking, I found myself reclining on his bed, my head on his soft pillow, my pussy beginning to throb.

I held the thong my own dad had unloaded into and as I lay down, my clitoris feeling hot, my tiny denim skirt rode up, exposing my legs. Closing my eyes, I let my empty hand wander down my body and inside my knickers, skipping over my smooth, freshly waxed pussy and searching desperately for my clit.

My little pink panties were tight and the muscles of my abdomen and groin tensed and relaxed as I started to rub, my imagination filled with the picture of my father's muscular erection hard inside my thong, his hand frantically pumping, desperate to fill that thong with his hot cum.

I rubbed harder, my finger dipping into my already wet pussy to lubricate the tip. Then I slipped it back up, sliding the hood back, pressing down hard on my clit and rubbing it hard with the finger I had just had inside my wet hole.

Grasping the side of my now very wet little panties, I yanked them down, stripping them to my knees clumsily as I maintained my ever more fascinated grip on that blue thong. I was exposed, my legs spread as wide as I could given the restriction of my underwear at my knees, my slit smooth and wet with the evidence of my unexpected arousal.

Opening my eyes, I opened my thong, and scanned it quickly so I could see where my dad had most emptied his load.

I had no idea why the very thought of my dad pulling his cock made me so achingly horny, but I reached down and rubbed my clit with the wettest part of my thong. The thick pool of cum lubricated my burning clit, and the lace slid easily over me while I pressed the cum sodden fabric onto my bud.

The involuntary twitch of my rapidly approaching orgasm started in my pussy and my stomach. I rubbed herself hard, my eyes closed again as I imagined my dad's thick, creamy load erupting into my knickers. I wished I had seen it. Then I was cumming too, his cum mixing with my juice as I gasped out loud.

'Fuck,' I cried. 'Fuck me, holy fuck.'

My orgasm hit me hard, my thighs shaking, my pussy spasming and my abdomen tensing. I came, hard, long, my young pussy wetter than I could remember for such a long time, and I bit my bottom lip to stop me screaming more obscenities.

Breathing in deep, short bursts, I lay and wallowed in the orgasm that swept over me like a cyclone. I opened my eyes, my orgasm began to subside, and I began to get my breath back.

'What the fuck was that?' I wondered to myself, looking down my body at the hand that held my thong over my now soaking wet hole.

I couldn't remember a time when I had ever thought of my dad masturbating at all, let alone feeling turned on by it, and in those circumstances. My dad had been using my underwear to pleasure himself. I should be appalled, disgusted, raging. Right now, I should be planning to put as much distance between him and me as possible. And yet...

We had both walked around the house naked, but it was never sexual; it was just how we were. I'd run around the bedrooms looking for what I wanted, my boobs unfettered and bouncing, while he was dressed and speaking on the phone or fixing the curtain rail. He had taught me not to feel self-critical, to feel proud of my body, of who I was, to enjoy being free.

Had he been looking at me that whole time, and then sneaking off to wank over what he had seen? And why wasn't I angry? Why was I lying, my legs spread wide, my pussy covered in his cum, and my mind whirling through how I should feel and how I did feel.

Of course I had seen his cock, but never though of it like that. We weren't nudists, but we weren't ashamed to step out of the shower or run downstairs for something.

Now, though, I couldn't help but wonder...how long had he been jerking off it into my underwear? How many pairs of panties did I own that he had emptied his balls into?

Most of all though...why was it turning me on, leaving me desperate to see him stroke his cock? Why, suddenly, did the thought of my own father jerking off over my underwear make me so wet?

Now I was facing two post orgasm problems. One was where to find my tiara, though that almost seemed ridiculously unimportant now. The second, and more pressing, was what to do with the tiny blue thong that now combined my own orgasmic flow with that of my much loved father.

The same dilemma faced me. Remove it, and he knew. Leave it, and it was now even wetter.

Suddenly, I knew how to resolve the second problem. Jumping off the bed, now flecked with the occasional wet patch where my pussy had leaked, I slipped off my dripping wet, pink panties and popped them in the laundry basket in the bathroom. Walking into my own bedroom, I picked up the bag I was taking to Prom. Balling up the cum drenched thong, I slipped it inside the handbag and smiled to myself.

Have you seen my tiara?

I text to my father, as if everything was perfectly normal and I hadn't just found out his secret and was now hiding a secret of my own.

After the briefest of pauses, he replied.

Kitchen. Microwave.

That really was a brief answer.

I took my panties for Prom (a tiny black, jewelled thong), and stepped into them, quickly pulling them up and under my skirt. I ran my hand over my pubic mound and they were so tight, so close to my still wet pussy. I smiled, gathered my things for the evening and ran downstairs.

Dad was right. There, sitting on the microwave for no reason whatsoever, was my tiara. I picked it up, added it to my possessions and off I skipped to drive to Lissy's.

Later, we were all ready to leave. We had arranged a limo to pick us up at 6.30 and the parents were all coming to arrive by 6.15, to watch us make that last journey together. Of course, there were dramas (hair straighteners burning a hole, shoe misplaced, nail coming off) but we were ready when we said.

I knew my mum would be there, and my dad, as he had said, but I wasn't sure how I would feel or react. I blushed at the idea of seeing him - my face burned as I thought that seeing him might be awkward, I might not know what to say or where to look. Or I might say too much and make it obvious that I knew.

We were all giddy, we all felt grown up and unstoppable. Evie was so beautiful - red hair, amazing long legs, a beautiful dress that sat majestically on her like water in an aquamarine lagoon. Lissy was much more sassy and rebellious. She wore a pin striped suit, with a shirt and tie, but finished with towering heels that made her way taller than the rest of us. Emily was the most outrageous. She opted, as always, for showing off as much as she could. Her blonde hair fell in ringlets on her shoulders, her bright pink dress refused to stay any further down her thighs than barely covering her crotch, and her heels were so high I knew she wouldn't be able to walk for long.

Then there was me. I felt divine in my dress. It was long and graceful, and at 5'4 I was just tall enough for it to look elegant. My chestnut hair was straight and it felt like it swished over my tanned shoulders. The bodice of the dress pulled up my boobs, making them seem bigger, and it was only just held my nipples in check. And the thigh split...it really did go beyond the line where my panties would have sat. I knew that would be the case, and it felt so naughty to be wearing no underwear at all.

We walked out of the front door, to greet our parents in the garden. I was at the back, taking deep breaths as I considered how I would feel seeing my dad, next to my mum, being civil for once. But I knew his secret. I knew what he had done. I knew it made me so fucking horny I had masturbated with the same knickers too, on his bed, where he had lain wanking.

My heart raced, my mind turned in torrents like bubbles in a whirlpool, I felt nerves racing down my legs. Then I saw him, next to my mum. I couldn't stop thinking that she had once sucked his cock, stroked it, probably swallowed his cum, sat on his cock. And now his daughter, her daughter, couldn't stop thinking about that same cock, and how hard it was with my delicate and pussy stained panties wrapped around it.

To my surprise, I didn't feel sick. I didn't feel mortified. I didn't feel as if I wanted to run away. Instead, I felt butterflies, a tingle in my stomach that spread down to my bare, smooth and recently satisfied pussy. Instead, as I tottered over in my high heels, squealing, I embraced them together and felt that thrill of arousal as my dad wrapped an arm around my slender and constricted waist.

'How do I look? I asked them.

'Beautiful,' my mum replied, smiling broadly, yet with dew coating her eyes as if joy was causing her to cry. 'You look so grown up.'

I turned to my dad and bit my bright red lip.

'Well? I enquired. 'What do you have to say to your little Princess?'

My dad's eyes widened a little, and he seemed to be lost for words.

'I never thought of you as so grown up,' he finally replied.

I smiled back, beaming and bouncing slightly on my bare toes.

'You're going to have such a wonderful night,' my mum said, still holding off tears, but only just.

I nodded, feeling almost tearful myself, and took a little sip from the champagne I was holding.

'Don't get too drunk,' she advised. 'You'll want to remember tonight.'

I turned to my dad and looked into his eyes. He was looking right back at me, blinking as he smiled.

'Oh, don't worry mum,' I replied without looking at her. 'I'm going to make sure that I have a night I'll never forget.'

Continuing to look at me, my dad shifted a little and looked as if he wasn't sure where to look next. I continued to stare at him, before I turned to my mum.

'So,' I sang, as the late June sun beamed down us in the suntrap of a garden an warmed my chest, 'I know I was going to stay here tonight with Lissy, but I thought I'd come home instead. I'll want to tell you all about the night.'