Over the next several days, Katie became more and more open in displaying herself to me. She stopped wearing a bra around the house. Each outfit seemed to show off her chest, and the rest of her delectable little body, more than the last. On Monday, she had tight jeans and a t-shirt that was stretched out of shape by her huge boobs. Tuesday, she traded the jeans for a plaid skirt. On Wednesday, the t-shirt was shortened to a midriff-baring piece that ended just below her tits, hanging several inches away from her taut tummy. Thursday, the skirt gave way to Daisy Dukes cutoffs.
Her behavior loosened up, too. Still calling me Daddy, she seemed more dependent than I'd ever seen on getting my approval. "Do you like this outfit, Daddy?" she asked every day.
There was a spring in her step that I hadn't seen in years. That, combined with the increasingly skimpy outfits that she wore, meant that whenever she was in the room with me my eyes were glued to her body. Her lovely blonde hair. Her fantastic, bouncy huge tits on her slim dancer's body. Her taut, toned little waist. Her delectable, wide hips and her perfectly round ass thrusting out behind her. They were all in motion whenever she and I were in the same room, and I couldn't take my eyes off her.
She loved it. Loved having my eyes glued to her perfect little sexpot body. Often, using a flimsy excuse to get something from the kitchen, she pranced across the room, pirouetting as she went so that she could show off every part of herself to me. As she twirled, smiling happily in the knowledge that I was watching, her skirt flew in a circle around her, exposing her gorgeous dancer's legs and her tight ass -- all for me. All mine.
And the outfits! Sometimes she wore gauzy, see-through white blouses that showed off her kissable bra-less tits, while other times all she wore on top was a baby blue bikini top that tantalized as it alternately concealed and displayed her amazing 32F cleavage. Flouncy skirts one night alternated the next night with tight body-length leotards that showed every curve to me.
My favorite, though, was the worn-out old green nightie that she'd had for years. It had been through the washing machine so many times, and had been so worn out by her growing bust that it was completely sheer and stretched to the tearing point around the center of her breasts.
I loved the look of it, loved the way it reminded me of how my little girl had blossomed into a petite sexpot whose hormones had literally made her burst at the seams with sexy voluptuousness.
Katie especially loved wearing her sexy green nightie on nights that she and I watched TV together. For some reason, we both were fans of Gilligan's Island -- I guess the predictable, juvenile stupidity of the show appealed to both of us. On those nights, Katie usually liked to tie her blonde hair up in pigtails in the manner of the show's character Mary Ann while she snuggled with me on the couch.
Up until our recent self esteem campaign began, the Gilligan's Island nights had been a tame business. Katie used to sit at the opposite end of the couch from me, bundled up in her normal shapeless army surplus clothing with the extra covering of a blanket. Elaine, who had more normal adult tastes and claimed to believe watching Gilligan's Island actually lowered a person's IQ, usually retreated to the bedroom to read a book.
Now, though, Gilligan's Island time became a time for extended Daddy-Daughter foreplay. On Wednesday and Thursday nights, one of the cable channels had double features of two Gilligan's Island episodes back to back. Obedient, subservient little Katie, dressed in her short green nightie and pigtails, began by bringing me a cold glass of white wine, then she snuggled next to me on the couch under my extended right arm. She gently took my right hand by the wrist and placed my hand onto her breast, then snuggled deeper into the crook of my arm.
"Am I as pretty as the girls on Gilligan's Island?" she asked me one night.
"Sure you are, sweetie," I answered. I squeezed one of her fantastic breasts -- much more than could fit in my groping hand -- and went on, "Your pigtails are 'way cuter than Mary Ann's. And your breasts are so much bigger and softer than Ginger's!" I squeezed her ultra-sensitive tit for emphasis, and felt her shiver in response. "I like you better than both of them put together."
As the show continued, Katie sought out my hard cock and gently caressed me while my pants stayed on. While The Professor endeavored to make yet another improbable device out of coconuts and bamboo, my fingers teased Katie's nipple through the flimsy nightgown.
Katie's need for Daddy became more urgent. During the commercial, she sat up for a moment and unzipped my trousers and pulled them off, then settled back to lazily stroke my cock while we went back to watching the show. "Daddy," she murmured dreamily. "Daddy Daddy Daddycock. I love Daddycock."
Elaine chose that moment to walk through the room on her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Along the way, she glanced at the TV briefly to see Mr. and Mrs. Howell blathering about martinis and yachts, then looked over at her glassy-eyed daughter stroking her Daddy in a lust-fueled haze.
I chose that moment to tweak both Katie's nipples as a show for my wife. Katie squealed slightly and spasmed in a tiny orgasm. Elaine smirked at me in approval.
Then I heard a slight ripping sound. It was the green nightgown, finally giving way after years of being stretched to the tearing point by Katie's humongous boobs. My twisting Katie's nipples through the material had finally been the straw that broke the camel's back, creating a hole in the fabric right over the nipple.
"Oh, Daddy! My nightgown!"
Elaine paused as she was crossing the room and came over to the couch. "Sit up, sweetie," she said. "Let me take a look at it."
Katie dutifully sat up on the couch. Elaine knelt on the floor in front of us and examined the tear, hefting Katie's big tit with both her little hands as she did so. "Take a look, Daddy. What do you think?" she asked.
"I'm so sorry this happened," I said to Katie as I bent down to look more closely. Elaine's and my fingers overlapped as we played with Katie's sensitive tits. "Does the tear in the material chafe at all?" I asked.
"No, I . . ." Katie didn't get to finish her sentence as I slipped my mouth over the nipple peeking through the tear in her sheer nightie. I felt one of Elaine's hands on the back of my head pushing my mouth onto our daughter's swollen nipple, while her other hand held Katie's luscious tit up to my lips.
"Daddy, the fabric!" Katie moaned as she weakly gave in to my sucking. "It might tear more . . ." she complained, even as I heard the sound of more threads ripping. The hole was widening.
Elaine stood up. "Daddy will take care of you," she said soothingly. I felt, rather than saw, Elaine take her daughter's trembling hand and place it on the back of my head. Then I heard Elaine's footsteps leaving the room. "Enjoy your TV show," she said, then crossed the room and sat in an easy chair to watch us.
I looked up from sucking my daughter's breast to glance at her face. Katie was staring ahead blankly at the Gilligan's Island rerun. Her hand on the back of my head, then her whole upper torso, began shivering with pleasure. Her fingers curled into claws, clutching my hair and pulling me into her breast. She began sighing and mewling. Then when I brought my hand up to her other breast and started tweaking her other nipple, she began spasming in earnest.
