Repeat

Standing just inside the screen door, I looked out across the lawn. Within the tall iron fencing, I saw her rising from the far end of the pool, ascending the ladder, her long wet hair seemingly plastered to her back, her wet blue swimsuit hugging her curves nicely and emphasizing her femininity.

She had certainly grown up over the years. Starting as the little girl I had adopted, she had transformed into a wonderful woman, both in body and in spirit.

I wondered if she knew that I was watching her, that I was taking a break from my work and had come to the kitchen to retrieve another Coke from the refrigerator when I had noticed her swimming again. I wondered if she could feel my eyes upon her, caressing her with the intense intimacy and the sincere respect of a deeply-trusted lover.

She bent forward to pick up the towel she had left on the lounge chair and began to dry herself. Her back was still toward me, and I wondered if perchance someone in the neighboring houses was also watching her, admiring her, wishing to become one with her.

I no longer needed to wish.

I could still vividly remember how she had returned from college at the end of her first semester, crying instead of thankful that the semester had ended, tearful instead of eagerly anticipating the holidays. The breakup had occurred just as she was about to drive home, and I was quite amazed that she had made the two-hour drive at night and not hit anyone or anything along the way despite the tears overflowing her precious blue eyes. I remembered holding her close, kissing her forehead as I had done so many times before, kissing away her tears, and then how she had kissed my lips and did not stop, and how I had been too surprised to stop her...

With her first year of college behind her, she was home for the summer, enjoying a few weeks off before she would spend the summer babysitting a neighbor's twin boys once school had ended for them. I watched as she set down the towel on the side table, drank from the bottle of water, and then turned toward the pool.

The lone yellow stripe across the upper front of the blue swimsuit drew my gaze to her chest. How many times on her visits home during the holiday break and on weekends throughout the semester had I gently suckled a breast? How many times had she pushed them together around my erection until I had splashed her neck with my undying love? How many times had she given me a lap dance and rubbed her swells against me while I tried to refrain from touching her like a proper "customer?"

She saw me. I was standing close enough to the screen door for her to plainly see me even though I was definitely in shadow and she was very much drenched in sunlight. Even at such a distance, I could see her smile, and I noted how her eyes softened. I gave a wave which she returned before I stepped away, retreating to the small home office and closing the door.

It was hard to concentrate. My mind did not want to get back to work, instead remembering the first time I had made love to the woman near the pool. In my mind's eye, I relived that night of her return: the way the kisses were soon joined by caresses, the tentative undressing, the lengthy foreplay which had her gasping even before I slowly pressed into her supple body, her tight clutches as her climax forced me to succumb to her shameless giving of her all...

A soft knock startled me from my thoughts, and she entered, her eyes consuming me. Even though we lived alone and had no visitors at that time, she closed the door behind her, for a moment leaning against the wall while wearing only a wet form-hugging swimsuit and her favorite fake pearl earrings.

Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said.

The interruption of my thoughts had not interrupted my arousal, and I noted how her eyes quickly descended me and again rose to my face. I did not mind, and in fact made her very aware of my arousal as I pressed myself against her.

We kissed. It was a kiss full of desire, of love, of respect, yet there was a tangible undercurrent of need.

Outlook alerted me to a conference call with a client which was scheduled to begin in five minutes. Sadly, I tried to step back from her arms, but she held me firmly to her.

"Quickie," she suggested. "Please, Daddy..."

How many years had it been since my last quickie? I remembered that -- in a hotel room following the final night of a trade show, bending a competitor's sales rep over the bathroom counter and truly fucking her with all my might as she bit her lip hard enough to bruise in her effort to not scream from the plundering while she rapidly rubbed her clitoris. That was just days before the adoption was finalized.

...and it seemed that my next quickie would be with the girl I had adopted, although she was very much not a girl anymore. She was very much a woman, and with her body and her heart, she definitely appealed to the man in me.

I was torn. I was hard, throbbing, wanting desperately to plunge into her warm wet depths, wishing I could bathe her soul with my love. Yet I had a duty to the client.

...and to her. I do not believe that I could ever be so violent toward her. Our lovemaking had always been exactly that: lovemaking. We had always taken our time, worshipping each other like deities, enjoying the subtleties from initial touch to foreplay to climax to cuddle.

"I'm sorry, Princess," I admitted, fortunately retaining my ability to think with my head. "I need to be fully and mentally prepared for this conference call."

"Okay, Daddy." There was no mistaking the sadness in her voice or in her eyes. I tried to content her by giving a breast a gentle squeeze before finally escaping her hold and returning to my desk.

Yet as I was picking up the telephone headset, I felt her hands on my shoulders. Throughout the conference call, for all fifty-three minutes of it, she massaged my shoulders and the back of my neck, and twice even kissed the small bald spot atop my head. She had me quite relaxed, yet she also had me quite aroused throughout the conversation with the client.

"Please," she whispered into my ear as I set the headset back onto its holder. "I'm wet for you..."

I stood and took her into my arms, hugging her tightly, enjoying the feel of her breasts against my lower ribs. Certainly she was aware of my erection pressing against her.

And then I picked her up, and not for the first time, I carried my daughter up the stairs to her bedroom, the room which had really become her storage area instead of the place where she slept at night. Not since Spring Break had we made love upon her bed, and I knew the symbolism of such an act in her bedroom would not escape her.

As soon as I had settled her upon the bed with her head resting on one of the larger pillows, she reached to her side and brought the stuffed Wish Bear to her chest, the old Care Bear giving her a girlish appearance and charm despite the very adult act about to take place upon her powder blue bedspread. She smiled seductively, countering the presence of Wish Bear, although the fact that his face was practically being squashed into a breast presented an intriguing contrast in its own right.

As she lay upon the bed, I stood and slowly undressed. Her eyes ravaged me, my age clearly not repulsing her and my status as her Daddy clearly not deterring her. That was fine, for while I still in some ways viewed her as my daughter, as much my daughter as if she had been formed in part from my own genes, I could also see well past her daughter status to the loving heart within her, the loving heart I had helped to hone over the years.

As I stepped out of my underwear, she rose from the bed, leaving Wish Bear resting against a pillow as she dismounted the bed and knelt before me. "Princess..." I whispered, brushing a hand through her blonde mane as she took my engorged sex into her small hands and cradled my testicles and my erection as if they were fragile and priceless artifacts from an ancient civilization.

She closed her eyes, parted her lips, and moved her head forward. Still officially properly dressed, she took me, her Daddy, into her small mouth. The bobbing of her head, the languid movements of her tongue, the suction behind her lips all combined to thrill me to the point of softly moaning, of trying not to thrust too much into her mouth given that we knew from several previous attempts that she could not take me into her throat. My hands seized her head, yet I tried not to guide her bobbing motion, allowing her to pleasure me with her mouth as her fingertips gently kneaded my heavy testicles.

Soon, however, I simply had to nudge her away. I was breathing hard, dangerously close to climax, such was her always-improving ability to entice me. Accepting my offered hands, she rose to her feet, grimacing briefly from the protest of her knees, standing before me, a hand dipping down to grasp me again and stroke me gently as I groaned into her mouth during the promising kiss.

My hands rose to her shoulders and began to peel away the swimsuit. She released me, stepping back slightly, blushing just faintly under my appreciative gaze as she removed her lone garment and rendered herself barren before me. I noted the wetness at the crotch of her swimsuit and was inwardly thrilled and amazed that I had made her so thoroughly aroused without really having done anything for her yet.

We kissed again as I backed my daughter toward her bed, separating as she sat and then fell backward, her legs dangling over the edge. With great care and respect, I parted her thighs and gazed upon her wet sex before kneeling, closing my eyes and inhaling her amazing musk.

"Please..." she pleaded softly again.

I sampled her. I savored her nectar, as well as her escalating breaths and the feel of her thighs closing around my head. I held her open for my tongue to better worship her. I occasionally dipped a pair of fingers into her precious passage to explore within her. Once or twice I even groaned, for my slow adoration of her body kept sending pulsing signals of increasing need directly to my groin.

"Daddy!" she squealed. That was the last clear sound I heard before her thighs were crushing my ears, her fingers pulling at my short hair, her body in constant motion against my face as a deluge of love washed over my hand and wrist and anointed my chin.

She was still breathing fairly hard as I stood and positioned myself. I somehow found the willpower to take my time in penetrating her very womanly body, which resulted in our voices singing an intimate duet intended only for us to hear and enjoy. Fully sheathed within her, I carefully repositioned her legs so that her ankles were hooked over my shoulders, and as I securely held her thighs, I made love to her.

I made love to my daughter. No quickie like she had requested earlier. This was lovemaking: slow, gentle, respectful, heartfelt lovemaking. It was just as amazing as the first time -- perhaps even more so given that, unlike the first time, there was no nervousness, only the solid confidence of true lovers engaging in the most intimate of joinings. Through several positions, the lovemaking continued, even though the phone in the small office rang several times in an attempt to dissuade us from our mid-afternoon conjoining.

Our lovemaking culminated with a lengthy cuddle as my erection faded within her. Even long after the act, the intimacy was still very much evident in how we touched, how we kissed, and even in how we gazed. But at last, it was time for me to return to the office downstairs, to momentarily leave the idyllic romance behind and once again plunge into the world of logistics consulting.

When I walked out of the office and closed the door to officially end the work week, I returned to the kitchen to retrieve another Coke from the refrigerator when I noticed her swimming again. I could only smile to myself and hope that a repeat of the afternoon was at hand.