by Sable Drake
Besides, Mom would kill him.
It would, Toni thought, be interesting to see what he would do. Would he have the guts to talk to her about it? What would he say? If she started showing off her body around the house when he was there, all innocent-like… if she arranged 'accidental' nudity like pretending to take in a clean towel when she was bathing and then having to flit-fast-run-quick down the hall to her bedroom with only a small hand towel clutched in front of her… if she pretended to fall asleep in front of the television while wearing one of her sleepshirts with the hem all rucked up to show tiny panties…
What would it take to make him mention it? What would that be like? Daddy all uncomfortable, blushing and clearing his throat, suggesting that maybe she should dress more modestly around the house?
"But why, Daddy?" she'd ask, all big ingenuous eyes.
"Because you shouldn't go around dressed like that," he'd say. "In front of other people."
"It's just you," she'd say, and laugh. "It's not like you're a boy. You're my father!"
Make him have to tell her that, father or not, he was a man with a man's urges, and a man couldn't help responding to the sight of a nubile young female body even if it was his daughter's? Ha! That'd be good. Make him admit that he was a piece of pervert scum. Make him confess to looking at her, thinking about her!
She could really get some mileage out of that. He'd feel so eaten up with guilt that he'd never dare criticize her for anything. He'd have to side with her against Mom on this whole job-and-rent business.
That'd teach him for looking at her boobs and getting all this stuff started in her head. She'd show him who had the real power here, who was the real boss.
Thinking that, Toni fell asleep. It was a light sleep; she was unable to descend fully because some part of her was listening for Mom to come home, for Mom and Daddy to go into their bedroom and start squeaking the bedsprings and clattering the headboard.
When it didn't happen, she woke up enough to roll her head toward the clock. Almost midnight. The house was quiet except for the low rumble of Daddy's snores.
Had they, and she'd missed it? No… she would have heard it if they had. Mom was noisy. Toni had inherited that trait from her, though she'd had to stifle her ecstatic shouts sometimes with Devin, when they were at his house or hers and anyone else was around.
So they must not have done it.
In the dark, a mean and sly little smile curved her lips. They hadn't done it, and she had a pretty good guess why. Daddy hadn't been able to. Daddy had shot his wad already, in the shower, busily fantasizing about Toni's boobs.
Take that, Mom.
What did he tell her, she wondered? A headache? Too tired? Too much on his mind? Yeah… that last one… but what would he have said when Mom wanted to know what was bothering him?
Finally, she sank into a deeper, blameless sleep, and woke to the beeping of the alarm and the smell of coffee wafting up from the kitchen.
She got up, saw her clothes discarded where she'd left them, and felt her face warm up as she remembered. Her face, and her…
From down the hall, she heard Mom and Daddy's bedroom door open and close. Toni, her laundry gathered in her arms, opened her own door.
There was Daddy, wearing pants but bare-chested, carrying a plain white shirt and a clean pair of socks. His hair was combed back from his forehead and he was freshly shaved.
Yawning, Toni padded barefoot into the hall. Her black hair was a tousled just-got-out-of-bed mane. She was very conscious of how short the sleepshirt was, how much leg it exposed and how the shimmery fabric molded to her tits and to her butt.
Daddy saw her and stopped. Something like panic flashed in his eyes. An exultant, triumphant jab–gotcha, Daddy!–shot through her.
"Morning, Daddy," she said, and continued on to the small bathroom at the end of the hall. On the way, she contrived to let the pair of panties fall unnoticed from the bundle of laundry she carried.
The rest of her clothes, she dumped into the hamper. She kept the bathroom door open a crack long enough to see Daddy staring at the wispy-white crumple of cloth. For a second she thought he might pick up the panties, and she knew as if by telepathy that he was thinking about it. Thinking about grabbing them quick and hiding them in his pocket, so he could take them out later.
And what? Sniff them? They'd been saturated with her musk. Would he maybe even use them next time he jerked off? She thought about him with her panties all bunched up in his hand as he massaged his cock with them.
But Daddy, his hands clenched at his sides, did not pick them up. He only stared for a long, long moment, his throat working convulsively. Then he shot a nervous, furtive glance at the bathroom door, but the crack through which Toni was watching was too thin to let him see her.
He turned and walked away, moving stiffly. She saw him heading down the stairs. Grinning, feeling all stoked up on power again, Toni latched the bathroom door and stepped into the shower.
The panties were still in the hall when she was done. Toni retrieved them and put them in the hamper with her other clothes. She dressed in tight black denim cutoffs and a pink tee shirt with a low scooped neck, and headed down to the kitchen.
Their kitchen was ridiculously nice for three people who never cooked. It was roomy and clean and inviting, with terra-cotta tile on the floor, mirror-shiny stainless steel appliances, decorative copper pots hanging on the walls, and glass cabinet doors that showed neat shelves of dishes. There were built-in cutting boards and knife racks, a rotating spice rack, a breadbox with sliding door.
But only the coffeepot and the fridge and the microwave ever got much use. Really, the room served more as Mom's greenhouse than it did a proper kitchen. The windows were full of herb gardens. Potted plants hanging from hooks in the ceiling above the wide counters.
Daddy was in his usual spot at the end of the kitchen table, the newspaper open before him. A coffee mug sat beside a small plate with a bagel on it.
Toni got herself a cup of coffee and popped the sliced halves of a bagel into the toaster. As she went about these mundane morning tasks, she could feel his gaze following her around the room. Of course, whenever she looked at him, he was concentrating on the paper. But she could catch his reflection in the shiny glass and chrome of the cabinets and appliances… Daddy watching her cutoffs ride up as she bent over to pick up a 'dropped' butter knife… Daddy eyeing the outline of her bra through her shirt…
"Where's Mom?" Toni asked.
Daddy jumped like a kid surprised with his hand in the cookie jar. The newspaper made a fluttering noise. "The health club," he said. "Aerobics class."
"I should start going to that," Toni said, though she had no intention of ever doing so. Sweating in a gym? Getting sore muscles on the machines, or bouncing around while some slut in a thong leotard told her no-pain-no-gain? No-thank-you. "Daddy, do you think I'm getting fat?"
Ha, now she had him. Now he had to look at her. Openly. As she sucked in her stomach, causing her tits to jut way out, and as she turned this way and that like she was trying to see her own ass.
"You're… you're not fat," he said.
"I don't know… my butt is so huge." She placed her palms on it and slid them up and down, over the pockets of the cutoffs.
His eyes seemed to glaze over.
Toni trilled an innocent laugh. "Oh, well, guys like a woman with curves, isn't that right? Someone with a little meat on her bones? Isn't that what they say, Daddy?"
"That's what they say," he echoed woodenly.
She let her happy look dissolve into a worried frown. "It's true, though, isn't it? Not just a lie to make the fat girls feel better?"
"Every man is different," Daddy said. "I can't speak for every member of the species. But, overall, yes. Men like curves." He returned his attention to the newspaper, though Toni would have bet a hundred bucks that he couldn't make sense of a single line of print.
"Mom's so thin, though." And, God, she was getting a ki
ck out of this. Enjoying putting him on the spot. "I wish I looked like that."
Which was a bald-faced lie. Toni thought Mom was too thin, all angles and lines, like a crane or heron or one of those other stilt-legged birds. Mom had boobs the size of teacups, and a flat, boyish back end.
"You look fine, honey," Daddy said.
"Fine?"
"Great."
"You're just saying that."
"No," Daddy said. "It's true." He was turning red.
"You don't think I'm too big up here?" Affecting naïveté, she skimmed her hands over the slopes of her breasts.
Daddy's elbow hit his plate. It smashed on the terra-cotta tile, his half-eaten bagel skidding off to disappear under the fridge.
"Oops!" Toni cried, and hurried over to crouch beside Daddy and pick up pieces of broken crockery.
"My fault," Daddy said hastily. "I'll get it."
"It's okay." She knew he had to be getting a nice view of her cleavage, and what must he be thinking about, having her hunkered down right near him, her head on a level with his lap?
The chair legs squawked on the floor as Daddy shoved back from the table so fast he almost tipped over. He shot to his feet. "Really, Toni, I'll clean it up."
"Okay." She crossed to the fridge, then got down on her hands and knees with her ass waving in the air, while she fished around underneath searching for his bagel.
In the stainless-steel front of the appliance, she saw his reflection–slightly blurred and distorted but discernible. He was standing beside his chair, staring fixedly at her. She supposed that he was really getting an eyeful now. The seat of her cutoffs was pulled up snug between her legs, defining her cleft. Quite a bit of cheek was exposed, too.
She found the bagel–it was gross under there, bits of cereal and dried food all gummed up with grease and dust bunnies. "Yuck," she said, bringing the bagel out pinched between thumb and forefinger. "I'll get you a new one."
Daddy belatedly bent and began picking up the smashed plate. He was very red now, and averted his gaze as she ambled toward the trash can with her hips rolling–except, she saw in the glass-fronted cabinet, his head swung around like it was on a swivel once she had passed him.
Poor Daddy. He really had it bad. And all right, it was pretty rotten of her to get a kick out of this, but she couldn't deny that she really liked the smug thrill of having him completely enthralled. He was under her power. She could wrap him around her pinkie finger if she wanted.
The way he had devoured her with his eyes! Like she was a big yummy dish of peaches and cream that he wanted to eat up. Glut on. Gorge himself. He must have been standing there looking at her ass and thinking how much he'd like to squeeze those ripe round half-globes in both hands.
Of course, he wouldn't dare. He could only look, and it wasn't even safe for him to do much of that. He had to sneak his looks on the sly, thinking she was oblivious, thinking that she couldn't possibly know what kind of an effect she was having on him. He must be hating himself for it, unable to stop stealing those glances, unable to stop thinking about it, knowing it was wrong and there'd be hell to pay if anyone ever found him out.
As soon as the last bits of plate were picked up, Daddy practically fled the room. Toni hid a smile. She had gotten to him, all right. He hadn't even finished his coffee.
He avoided her for most of the day. Mom was in and out of the house, and reminded them at lunch that she was leaving Friday morning to go spend a week with Toni's Aunt Claire, who'd just had a baby and whose Navy husband was still away on active duty. Toni had to be sure and water her plants while she was gone. Daddy needed to remember to get the car's oil changed.
She also nagged Toni for the umpteenth time about the job thing, and said that they expected her to start paying rent on the first of next month, so she'd better get cracking.
Daddy didn't say a word, and Toni felt a flash of anger. He should have been on her side. Why wasn't he defending her, sticking up for her? Why wasn't he telling Mom to lay the heck off? They didn't need the income. It wasn't like her parents would be unable to make their damned old house payment if they couldn't squeeze a couple hundred bucks a month out of their only child.
But Daddy kept silent. It dawned on Toni that Daddy was probably thinking about Mom being gone for a whole week. Mom gone, and just the two of them alone in the house? Just him and his buxom daughter? No wife to provide him his nightly nookie, and the constant ever-present temptation of delectable young Toni?
This brightened her mood considerably. He was going to go absolutely bonkers by the time Mom got back. He'd be about to explode. Unable to think straight, maybe needing to beat off a few times just to make it through the day… and with her always there, untouchable and so, so sexy…
Friday night, after Mom had called to say her plane got in fine and she was at Aunt Claire's and that the new baby was adorable but the older kids were hell on wheels, Toni settled herself in the living room to watch television.
Daddy was in his chair, a book on his lap. This made her think of the way boys she'd known would sometimes carried strategically-placed books to hide their helpless horny erections. Every now and then, he'd turn a page, but Toni didn't think he was really reading.
No, Daddy was enjoying the view.
It was a good view.
Toni had gotten comfortable in another of her satiny sleepshirts, this one black with red trim and a red-and-gold Chinese dragon embroidered on the back. It was modest enough, knee-length, but it had high slits up the side and when she shifted position on the couch, it bunched up around her hips.
She pretended like she didn't notice this, being engrossed in the television. But Daddy noticed, all right. She could see him out of the corner of her eye.
Would he suggest she put on something more concealing? She didn't think so. How could he do that without admitting that the sight of her was distracting him, even arousing him?
And he wouldn't really want her to change into frumpy old flannel pajamas, anyway. He liked what he was seeing.
All she had on underneath was a tiny pair of lacy black panties. The longer she sat there, aware of Daddy's heated gaze, the more those panties seemed to chafe at her most sensitive spots with a friction that was at once wonderful and infuriating.
It was too bad Daddy had seated himself in his chair. If he'd been on the couch, she could have curled up next to him, still all innocence like she had no idea what was going through his mind.
Just Daddy and his little girl, cuddling on the couch to watch some TV together. How could there possibly be anything wrong with that? Only the dirtiest old pervert would have read something suggestive into it, after all. No nice, decent Daddy would have thoughts like that. The guilt would eat away at him like acid.
She wished she could lie on her side, with her head resting on his thigh like a pillow. Daddy would be paralyzed, afraid to move, afraid to touch her in even so innocuous a manner as to pat her on the shoulder… and of course he would get hard, his stiff cock bulging only inches from her head… him trying desperately to will away the erection… but the more he'd think about why he had to will it away–her head, right there, so close, the warmth of her cheek and breath through his pants–the more impossible a task it would become.
He would have been trapped, not daring to push her away because that would require an explanation–Why can't I sit with you, Daddy? Won't you love me?–and certainly not daring to stay that way… and every time she moved her head, she might get closer and closer to accidental contact with that part of him… which he couldn't let happen.
Daddy would have gone crazy from frustrated lusts. Why'd he have to go and sit over there?
The more she thought about it, about resting her head on his warm leg and knowing that he was swelling into ready stiffness only inches away, the more it excited her. She didn't want to actually do anything, no way; it was the idea of Daddy in the trap of wanting her and not being able to ever, ever have her that got her juices flowing.
<
br /> Though Daddy remained steadfastly in his chair, Toni moved to lie on her side anyway. Her knees were drawn up, her head on the armrest of the couch. The sleepshirt was smoothed down taut over her rump, but by the time the news came on at eleven, Toni had managed to shift and wiggle enough to cause it to ride up.
She pretended to fall asleep, though really she kept her eyelids slitted and watched through her lashes to see what Daddy would do. Would he think it was safe to look more openly now? He certainly wouldn't do anything else. He wouldn't dare.
But he did look. When she stretched in her 'sleep' and turned onto her back, letting one leg dangle off the seat of the couch, she heard his breathing go ragged. Her sleepshirt had pulled up to the middle of her belly, baring her hips, baring the lacy black triangle of her panties.
The news ended. Daddy got up from his chair, and as he crossed between Toni and the bright screen of the television to retrieve the remote she'd left on the coffee table, she clearly saw the prominence in his pants silhouetted against the opening credits of a late-night talk show.
He clicked off the set. For a few moments he stood with his back to her and his head down, arms at his sides and hands clenched into fists. Then, slowly, with an agonized groan like he hated himself for doing it, he turned and looked down at her.
Toni resisted a shiver. She felt oddly powerful and vulnerable at the same time. He was right there, tall and strong. But she was protected. He couldn't touch her.
What, she wondered, was he thinking? With her eyes almost totally closed, she could not read his expression. Was he looking at her panties, maybe seeing a few wisps of dark hair escaped around the edges? Was he telling himself that Toni was a sound sleeper, that she would never know if he touched her, just once, just a little, just to feel the texture of her nipples through the satiny shirt?
