Charlotte’s Dildo by Mystic47
This is a re-write and repost of an earlier story. I’m learning better grammar, better ways of expressing an idea. , As I did every night before I went to bed, I went to check on my children, to make sure they were asleep and tucked in for the night. My twin sons were spread out on their bunk beds, arms and legs bent and angled in every which way, blankets a jumble under them, normal sleep mode for both. I peeked in on Charlotte, my firstborn. Charlotte was well into puberty, a maniacal nutcase one moment, then the sweetest little daddy’s girl the next. My wife was tolerant of her most of the time but once in a while I heard from the girl’s frustrated mother, “You deal with her, I’m done!” I had a much less eruptive relationship with my daughter, we were bonded close ever since she could toddle from her mom to me. Charlotte was developing into a pretty teen girl, and the more she changed, the more aware I became of the nasty, pimple-faced, drooling little bastards hanging around her, and, as time passed, I noticed she was becoming less repulsed by the opposite sex.
I opened the door wide enough to let the hall light shine on Charlotte and got the shock of my life. She was lying nude on top of the covers, a small dildo clutched in her left hand. The girl was asleep so didn’t see or hear my reaction. I stared, stunned for a few seconds, then backed into the hall and closed the door, my mind was blank, I wasn’t thinking, I was only fixed on the image of my daughter lying naked on the bed with a sex toy in her fist. After a few moments of calming quiet, I cautiously opened the door again to see if my imagination was playing tricks on me. Nope, there she was, in all her glory, holding a dildo. I started breathing again then began to look at her. My daughter was about 5’3, but my wife and I agreed she was still growing. She weighed maybe 100 pounds and up till that moment, I wasn’t too concerned about how the weight was distributed. I looked her up and down, my eyes taking in the soft, perfectly round mounds of her breasts, the coat-button sized areolas with smallish nipples. She tapered from shoulders to a waist that couldn’t have been more than 24 inches around, then her hips flared wide to the top of her thighs. Her stomach was youthful flat to the slight mound of her pelvis, the top of her pussy slit was visible through a thin cover of curly light brown hair. Her slender thighs were angled apart so I could see her vagina from top to ass, the folds of her pussy looked rounded, full, mature. The inner lips, the labia, were peeking from the slit of her cunt. Except for a constellation of four small birthmarks under her left breast, her body, her skin, was flawless and smooth. I moved my eyes to the dildo, it was maybe five inches long and shaped like a genuine erection, it even had a set of balls. The tan toy didn’t look like a vibrator, just a hand-operated fake prick. I stood rooted in the doorway staring at the scene on the bed, knowing I should leave, but unable to make my feet move. I finally regained my senses, moved away, and closed the door again. As I went to my room only one thought occupied my mind; my daughter had grown up in the time it took me to open, then close her door.
I thought about telling my wife what I had seen but quickly tucked that thought away. I’m pretty sure she would try to confront her daughter just then; I didn’t think that waking Charlotte and raising a ruckus about a sex toy at 10:30 on a school night was the best idea. After reassuring my wife the kids were all safe and snuggled in their beds, she dozed off, but I lay on my back, unable to sleep. The room was dark, but I didn’t need any light as I stared at the memory of Charlotte’s body. She sure as hell didn’t look that ripe when she was flitting around the house in clothes. I didn’t know what to do with my discovery and the longer I thought, the more questions arose in my mind. Should I ignore it? Investigate further? Tell her mother? What was she doing with that dildo, had she gone all the way, use it to pop her cherry, or was she still modest enough to be experimenting? Was she messing around with the skinny, knuckle-dragging, vacant-eyed, teen boys she was hanging with? My daddy concerns were on high alert and I knew I should do something.
About 4 that morning I slunk back to my daughter’s room and eased open the door. Charlotte was cuddled under her blanket, snuggled into her pillow. I stepped to the bed and looked down on her pretty profile, and for the first time, saw my child as an alluring female, not my girl. Ashamed of the rush that tickled my nuts, I shifted back from the bed where my barefoot stepped on something cool and rubbery, I looked down to see the dildo poking from under my toes. I picked it up gingerly then did something that shamed me even more. I put her play prick to my nose to see if I could catch her scent, again my balls stirred. I had to escape my thoughts so I bolted back to bed, I wasn’t aware that I still held the plastic prick until I lay down. Unsure of what to do with it, I dropped it behind the bedside stand, to the floor against the wall. I didn’t get a wink of sleep that night. That morning, I was in the kitchen pouring a much-needed cup of coffee when a loud explosion of voices echoed through the house, “Which one of you was in my room last night!?” Charlotte was yelling at the twins.
They denied in unison, “Not me.”
“Don’t lie you little creeps, one of you, probably both had to be in my room, I know it!”
My wife jumped in, “Charlotte, what the hell are you yelling about?”
“They were in my room mom, they had to have sneaked in when I was sleeping.”
“Why would you think that?” asked my wife.
Charlotte’s voice dropped about 20 decibels, “Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” Just as her mother came to the kitchen, I heard my daughter threaten her brothers, “One of you took something from my room, I want it back or you’ll both catch a lot of hell from me.” I immediately knew what she was missing.
Charlotte was edgy that morning. It was only after the twins left for the school bus that she regained some composure, was a little more at ease. Again, my wife asked her what her problem was, but our daughter assumed one of her puberty-driven Stephen King personalities and snarled at her. After a short confrontation, the girl left for classes too, my wife Pearl came to me, “She’s being impossible! What the hell is wrong with the little terror? You have to talk to her Will, I can’t anymore.”
At that moment I knew I wouldn’t tell my wife about Charlotte’s new hobby, but I started to chuckle, Pearl looked at me, “What’s so funny?”
“Do you know what your dad says about the years you were a teenager?”
My wife wasn’t in a mood to be reflecting on her childhood, “No, what?” she grumbled.
“He’s told me a couple of times, that from the time you started puberty until you were about seventeen, he was not a husband and father, he was a referee. Now I know what he was saying.”