"John, I'm starting the early shift tomorrow morning. You're going to have to get Marcie off to school every morning for a few weeks."
"Ok," I groaned, half dreading the hassle and half excited by the prospect of being alone in the house with my nubile young 18-year-old daughter every morning while we were running around in various stages of undress. Even when Sue was there, Marcie almost drove me bananas, running around the house in less than she would be allowed outside with. She might be my daughter, but I wasn't really into taboos and she was one hot little number. I could only imagine what she did to the young pricks in her classes. At least Sue allowed me to beg a piece of pussy from time to time, to relieve some of the pressure.
The next morning at breakfast, Sue reminded me, "Remember now, if you let her miss the bus, you've got to take her all the way across town and that traffic is murder around the school."
"Don't worry about a thing, Babe. We've got it all under control, don't we, Kid?" I grabbed my little hotsie and hugged her close.
"Oh, Dad. You've got to stop calling me a kid. I'm not a kid anymore. I'm legally an adult, now." She stuck her chest in my face as if to prove that a fine set of firm little apples proved absence from the Kid Party.
"Yeah, my little baby is growing up. That's for sure."
She flashed me a grateful smile.
When Sue had gone, I laid down the rules of the game. "Ok, here's how it's going to work. Since you're no longer legally a child, I'm not going to treat you like one. That means I don't yell at you, nag you or continually remind you that you're going to be late. It's up to you to be responsible enough to get ready on time. If you do, then we'll get along just fine and I will feel like giving you more freedom in many ways. If not, that means that you aren't as grown up as you pretend and I'll bust your ass like the little kid you're acting like before I drive you to school. Deal?"
"Deal. You really aren't going to yell at me?"
"That's right."
"And you will really bust my ass if I'm not ready?"
"That's right."
"I'll report you."
"For what? Child cruelty? I thought you wanted to be considered a grownup. This is how grownups act. You don't see me yelling at your mom to get ready, do you?"
"No, but she yells at you."
"Yeah, but that's just the way she is. It has nothing to do with age or maturity. It's just a mother thing. Now, I'm going to take my shower. You choose your path. Ok?"
"Ok."
I left the door to our bedroom slightly ajar while I undressed so that an inquiring mind would be able to inquire. Since our bathroom was in the master suite, I never bothered to close that door while I showered. No one could see through to the bathroom from the hallway or into the shower stall without trying to, so there was no evidence that I was offering a view of my naked body to my teenage daughter, although that's exactly what I was hoping would happen.
I made sure I always faced at an angle to the bathroom door as I showered, so anyone peeking around the corner wouldn't be able to tell I could see them in the mirror I had placed in a far corner. It that allowed me a good view of the doorway and part of the bedroom.
I lathered up good and didn't have to work very hard to get a lot of meat hanging between my legs. Just the thoughts of possibly doing a bit of unsuspected flashing was enough to keep it pretty hard. Nevertheless, a little stroking emphasized the problem.
About five minutes into a good, hot shower, with suds galore making my dick slick for the stroking, a movement out the corner of my eye caught my attention. She was watching! Oh shit! Now my prick pump went into overdrive. I must have gained an inch in length and at least that much in girth as I realized my hot little vixen was not only gazing with awe at the pole I was stroking, there was also a lot of lust in her gaze.
If it wasn't lust, something was making her hand drift toward her crotch. She must have taken my threat seriously, because she appeared to be fully dressed and ready to go at a time when she would normally still be dawdling around the house. She had her skirt up and her hand in her panties, rubbing something very hard and fast, in time to my stroking.
Just to check the connection, I redoubled the heat of the beat and watched as she met my speed, stroke for stroke.
It was too much for an old man. My balls drew way up into my belly, as if reaching back for the granddaddy of all loads, then blew cum in great, slimy ropes all over the shower stall. The first gob even sailed over the door and hit the mirror over the sink.
As soon as my eyes would focus, I sought out my mastur-buddy to see if she had made it. And how! She was leaning woozily against the door frame as if she were about to pass out, with her hand still rubbing at that thing.
By the time I finished taking an actual shower, she had gone and was sitting on the couch, knees together and books in lap, the perfect picture of a very responsible young lady, ready for school.
"Well, well. Maybe somebody is growing up!," I observed.
"I told you I wasn't a kid anymore."
