But there were other things. MJ would come up behind me when I was at my home office desk marking papers and put her arms around me. Nothing unusual there, but she would be braless, and I’d swear that her nipples were erect and that she had purposefully dragged them across the back of my neck before she kissed the top of my head lightly and said something like, “Hello, daddy, what’s for dinner?”
Other times, MJ would come out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. The towel would be tied over her breasts and barely cover her pussy. Almost always, at these times, MJ would drop her hairbrush, or something else, behind herself, and she would turn, bend over, and with straight legs, pick it up. Her ass and trimmed but furry pussy would be peering back at me.
Or, I would be sitting on the couch watching TV when MJ would sit on my lap, put her arms around my neck, and then wriggle her ass on my groin, ‘trying to get comfortable’.
MJ would kiss me on my lips softly, sigh, and say, “I love you, daddy. I love you forever and ever. You know that, right?”
“Of course I do, MJ,” I’d reply, doing my best not to get an erection.
I failed abysmally most times.
MJ couldn’t have helped but notice my growing dick under her perineum, but she never said anything if she did. She would simply wriggle her ass again and sigh contentedly.
Things continued like this for another three months, and it all became a bit of torture. With MJ’s flirting, or so it seemed, and her ‘accidental’ showing off her snatch and small tight ass two or three times every night, I was in a state of constantly denied sexual arousal.
Feelings and desires that had been long suppressed came roaring back to life, and I began having entirely inappropriate dreams about my daughter. Dreams of waking up to find MJ on top of me and guiding my rampantly stiff dick into her hot and wet snatch.
In these dreams of the night Molly and I had taken each other’s virginity, MJ’s face and her mother’s would switch and swap back and forth until they became one in my mind. In these dreams, I always came, and I’d wake the next morning feeling less ‘tense’ but as guilty as hell.
One afternoon after school, MJ, for some reason, decided to show me through some of her routines. She came into the lounge wearing nothing but her leotard and started to warm up.
MJ had the same tiny breasts, barely a ‘B’ cup, as her mother and had the same big nipples.
It was either a little cold in that room, or MJ was sexually excited because her nipples looked hard enough to take out an unwary eye.
Facing away from me, MJ went through a series of exercises designed to warm and stretch her muscles. With legs straight, she bent over and touched her toes, then took the back of her calves in each hand and moulded her body down along her thighs.
With a cheeky smile, MJ opened her legs a little so she could pop her head through and give me a wink.
Bent over so far and stretched so much, her leotard had ‘wedgied’ between her butt cheeks. I was treated to the incredible sight of my daughter’s shaved perineum and taut ass cheeks gazing at me above her smiling face.
I didn’t dare move in case my extreme erection became obvious.
MJ straightened and turned to me. Staring into my eyes, she turned her right knee out and lifted it until it pointed straight up at the sky, well, the lounge’s ceiling, with her toes extended and stretched as far as possible.
If you’ve seen a girl doing the splits, it was exactly like that, except MJ was balanced on one foot and not on the ground.
MJ did a slow pirouette. With my mouth dry, I watched MJ’s barely covered pussy slowly rotate into view.
Putting that foot on the ground, MJ repeated the move on her other foot.
It was too much to handle. I got up quickly and ran down to my bedroom. I got there just in time to grab a couple of tissues and get them over the head of my cock as I came copiously to the vision of my daughter’s barely covered pussy.
I sat there on the bed, ashamed, for a very long time. It was the first time, ever, I was glad my late wife wasn’t still with us. I’m certain Molly would have been as disgusted with me as I was with myself.
‘What kind of pervert has orgasms over his own daughter?’ I asked myself.
Night had come, and I was still sitting on my bed staring into the abyss when MJ knocked on my door.
Making sure the soiled tissues were well hidden, I said, “Come in.”
“I made some dinner, dad,” MJ said. “I did old English sausages, chips and eggs, your favourite.”
She gave me a tremulous smile as if she was the one who had something to be ashamed of.
Checking I had done my trousers back up, I stood and then replied, “Sounds good, MJ. Have you finished your training for tonight?”
“There were some other things I’d like to have shown you, but maybe I can save those for another night.”
I could have sworn her smile was a ‘knowing one’, as if she knew I had orgasmed to her display. But I quickly put that thought out of my head.
The following weekend to this was Val’s 70th birthday. Everybody was going to be there. The brothers would all be there. Fred was bringing his wife and three almost adult children. James, now called Jamie because his fiancé insisted, was coming along with her. His two kids from his first marriage were coming with him. Matt, who was still living the life of the carefree bachelor, even though he was as old as me and should have known better, would be there.
Robbie was flying up from Melbourne, and my other two boys would be there. It was late summer, so we were all going to stay at Pat and Val’s. The youngsters would share tents outside, and we had gotten a heap of camp beds and mattresses to put under the porch and in the garage.
It would be crowded, noisy, and all so much fun. I was really looking forward to it.
Fred’s wife Marcie was an established cook, her culinary skills the envy of the rest of Pat and Val’s extended family. Marcie reckoned she could handle most of the cooking with help with the preparation so that Val would get at least her birthday off kitchen duties.
The week until the Friday we were heading to Brisbane was excruciating. Every time I turned around, I’d find MJ smiling at me, staring at me, or smiling and staring at me.
Twice, as she came into the lounge to give me a kiss goodnight, her towel somehow fell apart and onto the floor. My daughter’s lithe, taut and toned body would be beautifully displayed before me.
Another night, dressed in only a tiny night dress and without knickers, MJ insisted on climbing onto my lap as I sat on the couch watching the late news. Her pussy was warm on my crotch.
I’m sure it couldn’t be true, but I was certain my daughter was sexually aroused.
MJ kissed the corner of my jaw and stroked my chin opposite where she had kissed. Something her mother used to do when she wanted me to take her to bed and make love to her.
How could it be like that? MJ had only briefly met her mum on the day of her birth. How could she be doing something her mother knew would guarantee I stopped whatever I was doing and took her to bed?