Watching my drunk daughter by Zillapat
Explore the captivating erotic tale 'Watching My Drunk Daughter' by Zillapat. This provocative story dives into complex relationships and tantalizing scenarios that will leave you breathless. Discover a unique blend of desire and vulnerability in this unforgettable narrative. Perfect for those seeking steamy and thought-provoking content.<br/>
This is a work of fiction. I don’t condone or participate in sexual activities of under-age persons. If this content is likely to offend you, please choose a different story. Constructive comments (good and bad) on my writings are welcome, but please don’t spam the story. , My name is Bill and I’m a 40-year-old British guy, with a beautiful family. My wife, Sarah, who is a year younger than me. Her parents were originally immigrated from Hong Kong, so she has classical Asian features, a sexy trim body, long dark hair, and dark brown eyes. We have a daughter, 16-years-old, who we call MJ for short, and who in so many respects is developing into the spitting image of her mother. MJ has a more youthful, angelic face, framed by long silky dark hair that cascades down her back almost to her butt and a fringe that covers her forehead, a trim 5’ 2” figure, with smallish perky breasts, which I guessed were probably no more than a 34B, and a cute little bubble-butt. Being a fusion of Asian and Western DNA, she is extremely pretty, with a cute nose, gorgeous dark brown eyes, and an endearing smile, which always seemed to catch the attention of boys.
Despite all this attention, MJ still has a girlish innocence, still somewhat shy of boys, focusing more on her schoolwork with seemingly little interest in dating. In fact, her mother, still being somewhat traditional, actively discourages her from dating, citing that it would “distract her from her studies”. Consequently, I don’t recall her ever going out on a serious date with a guy. Of course, she goes out with friends from time to time, which are mostly girls, although she has a couple of male friends, who she has known for years, but for some reason or other her male friends always seemed to be gay, perhaps because she feels safer with them. I remember how they used to play dress-up together when they were young and even experiment with makeup. More than her attractive looks, her innocence and sweet personality are endearing.
Sarah’s parents live in Chinatown in London, where we first met before relocating to Leeds, a city some 200 miles north of London. I had accepted a new job and had moved there about 5 years ago. Although the pay was slightly less, we both enjoyed the benefits of living in a small country village, a 30-minute drive from the city. We had been able to afford a nice home, which was larger, with an expansive garden that Sarah took full advantage of, growing flowers and fresh vegetables. The air here is so fresh, combined with the smell of the countryside and the quietness, apart from an occasional passing car, it contrasted completely from the over-priced and frantic lifestyle of living and working in London. Moreover, we would never have been able to afford such a nice home in London, so on balance the quality of life was so much better and totally offset the small reduction in salary. Sarah didn’t work, mostly spending her time on looking after the home, and of course, taking care of MJ. As a mother but perhaps a bit too controlling, probably a result of her Asian heritage.
I had developed an enjoyable habit of popping to the village’s local pub, a charming establishment, serving hand-pulled traditional ales, and decorated with dark woods, the shelves and walls adorned with a vast array of memorabilia, old photographs, and antiquities. The pub was mostly frequented by locals, both young and old, familiar faces from around the village, mostly guys, occasionally accompanies by their wives or girlfriends. Like all small communities, the pub was the social centre of the village, a kind of forerunner of Facebook, a carry-over from an era before computers and mobile phones, a meeting place, where one would catch up with news, local gossip, and share stories at the pub rather than via a phone. Sarah never fussed at me about going to the pub and I would never over-stay. It became an outlet for me, a way to destress from work. Over the years, I had become friends with the landlord, Dave, who always had a friendly and welcoming demeanor, but he and I got on well on a personal level and would often spend time chatting whenever he was not busy serving other customers. Occasionally, we would even head out and play golf together. Dave was a widower, having lost his wife a few years before, to cancer, and to my knowledge had been single ever since.
About a week ago, Sarah had decided to take a trip to London to visit her parents as it was coming up to her father’s 65th birthday and she wanted to be there with to share it with him. Conveniently, due to some important work commitments I had to stay home, but she was happy to go on her own. Sarah’s parents were old-school Chinese, keeping themselves to themselves, operating a mini supermarket; they rarely took time away or ventured out of their community. I was somewhat relieved to not have go with her. Her parents spoke a little English, but I knew that most of the conversation would end up being in Cantonese. I always felt like a bit of an outsider to Sarah’s family; I remember when we first told them that Sarah and I were going to be married it took them some time for them to get used to the idea. Consequently, they were always polite to me, but in an almost formal, detached way, lacking any visible outward sign of warmth. Again, I put this down to culture and tended to just accept that this was normal. My decision to move 200 miles away only made my relationship with them more challenging, almost as if I had taken their daughter to the other side of the world, but Sarah had willingly and happily accompanied me. She often called them and knew that she was only a 2-hour train ride away.
As it was just MJ and me, I had postponed my almost nightly visit to the pub, instead, making sure I was home for MJ, rather than leaving her home alone. Friday night rolled around, and I had made my mind up that tonight I was going to go there. I guess that I still felt a bit uncomfortable leaving MJ alone in the house, not because she wasn’t responsible, just that I didn’t want her to feel alone, so somewhat on the spur of the moment I offered her the chance to come with me. Surprisingly, she jumped at the opportunity and happily agreed before dashing up to her room to change.
Whereas in reality it was only about 10 minutes or so, it seemed ages before she came back down. I was struck with how beautiful and grown she looked. She was wearing an attractive long blue dress, the type with short off-the-shoulder sleeves, with a white flower print, that hung down almost to her mid-calf. Her hair was down, laying across her bare shoulders and she had applied a little eyeshadow and lipstick. She was wearing a pair of wedge sandals, which added a couple of inches to her height and seemed to alter her posture slightly. MJ smiled and did a little twirl for me, she looked stunning, transforming almost by magic from scruffy teen into a beautiful young woman.