A Summer with Dad

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Babes

“It’s grass,” I thought, noticing the prickle against my skin. Then opened my eyes and saw a sky that was the bluest it’d ever been. It felt warm and wonderful lying under the sun, only I couldn’t remember exactly where I was— or what I’d just done.

But before remembering anything, a face appeared. It was one my brain easily recognized. I knew the contours of that square jawline and those soft brown eyes. And I laid there mesmerized, watching their rapid movement. They were looking through me, and when I began to speak, I saw his expression change from one of deep concern to relief.

“Daddy,” I whispered, “what are you doing here?”

I started to sit up and felt his powerful hands embracing my shoulders, easing me back down. “Relax Em,” he said, calling me by my nickname. “Just relax for a minute.”

Nothing in me could resist him. My father grabbed my legs, and lifting them under his arms, took my socks and shin guards off. I felt the cool air hitting my calves, and noticed my shirt sticking to my skin. I’d been sweating… and the shin guards meant I’d been playing soccer. Then in a sudden rush everything began to make sense.

I turned my head to see the concerned faces of my teammates. They’d all taken a knee. “Ugghhh,” I groaned.

Sensing my embarrassment, my father reassured me, “don’t worry, Em. You were about done for the day anyway.”

The team doctor came running up. He poured some water on my head and neck then asked me to drink a little. As I did the world around me started coming back into focus. “It’s nothing too serious,” he said, “mild case of heat exhaustion. Just make sure she gets plenty of fluids and plenty of rest. Stay out of the sun for a while — maybe take the next week or so off.”

“A week?!” I yelped, trying my best to stand up. I would have given him a piece of my mind, but my stupid legs decided to stop working again. Then I felt my father’s hands on my shoulders, steadying me.

“Yes, a week,” the coach said, breaking into the conversation. “You’ve got bigger things to worry about than summer soccer. You’ve got college tryouts this fall which means you can afford to take some time off now to relax and refocus. Go home, Emma. Get some rest. Don’t even think about arguing with me on this.”

I stared at my dad, expecting him to argue on my behalf but, “I’ll make sure she gets some rest,” was all he said.

“Good,” coach said. “And Emma… don’t worry. You’ll be back on the field soon enough. We’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped when I felt my father squeezing my shoulders.

“Okay,” I said, frustrated to have admitted defeat. I was angry but should have been thanking him for the time off.

On the way home I reclined the car seat as far back as I could, staring out of the window in silence.

“It’s just a couple weeks,” my dad said. “You’ll be back out there before you know it.”

I refused to answer, choosing instead to maintain my silent stare out the window. Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw his hand creeping towards mine. I’ve always loved my father’s hands. They’re so big and powerful, and when he took mine in his it felt like I was 10 years old again, not 18 and about to head off to college.

At last I turned and looked at him. He was smiling.

“I don’t care if you’re mad at me. I’m just happy you’re okay,” he said with a laugh.

His words made me stop for a second and realize just how glad I was that he’d been there. When I realized how sorry I’d been feeling for myself I almost laughed. “Me too, daddy” I said, a smile breaking over my lips, before adding, “you think we can stop for some ice-cream on the way home?”

He started laughing. “Of course! Whatever you want, Em. The next two weeks are all for you.”

***

When I woke the following morning, I felt more exhausted than I’d ever felt in my life. I hadn’t noticed the toll that sprinting up and down a field in 90-degree heat had taken on me. It was embarrassing that my dad had come to my rescue in front of all my teammates, but by now the feeling had started to fade. And the more I thought about it, the more excited I got for taking some time off. The heat outside was stifling, even in the morning, and sitting in air-conditioning for a week or two sounded spectacular, even if it would be a little boring.

I was used to being busy. This would be the longest amount of time I’d spent away from sports and school in years, and I worried I might go stir-crazy with so much time off. Apparently, my mother did too.

“She has to do something,” I heard her yelling at my dad. “I can’t stay home with her right now. It’s the end of the fiscal year and our budget is due. You know that, Richard.”

“No.” I heard my father’s answer in a defiant voice. “The doctor said she needs to take some time off, and I think she needs it too — and we need it, Ann. This is our last chance to spend some time together before she goes to college.”

“Well, bedava bahis Richard,” she answered with some snark in her voice, “I can’t afford to take vacation right now. So, I’m sorry if I’m a terrible mother. But if you want her home, you stay home with her. You cook her meals. You do her dishes. And you pick up her clothes.”

“I never said you were a terrible mother — stop putting words in my mouth. And fine, I’ll stay home with her. I just thought we could all use a little break right now, that’s all.”

“Work is my break, Richard. So, let me go take a break, and you two can do whatever the hell you want, per usual”

I didn’t listen to any more of the argument but heard the door slam as she left for work. I rolled over in my bed, struggling to get back to sleep. She was such a bitch sometimes. I don’t know why she treated my father the way she did, but their arguing seemed to escalate every year.

He was a good man, my father. He worked hard and was as loving as he was patient. He was warm and gentle, and good with his hands. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix or get to work. He was a real man’s man. But as hard working as he was, he could still relax and have a good time. Everything seemed to come to him with ease, although he was never arrogant or pompous about it. He was an all-around good guy and everyone, including me, loved him for it. Deep down I think my mother was jealous, not only of his success, but of all the love and attention he got.

It was him I’d spent my youth looking up to, not her. And it was he who’d taught me what I needed to know in order to excel at sports and school the way I did. And it was his laugh that lit up my heart. Whatever space he occupied always seemed full and loud and loving. I felt I could be myself with him, that I never needed to wear armor, that I was, and always would be, his little girl.

But as much as the daughter part of me loved him as a father, the girl part of me loved him as a man. I wasn’t the only one either. My teammates often asked me about him when he showed up on the sidelines. And more than once I got the impression, they were a bit jealous. At 6’1″, with a chiseled jaw, a big smile, and a hard body I could understand why. I always imagined that if I ever got married, I’d want it to be to a man like him…

My thoughts gave way to daydreaming about the two of us getting away from my mother — about where we’d end up going together. Then imagining his muscular arms being wrapped around me, I fell into a deep peaceful sleep.

It was a while before I woke again. The sun had started to set and rubbing the sleep from my eyes I rose from the bed and made my way to the living room where I found my father reclining in his chair. He’d passed out watching baseball. I wanted to change the channel to something else and went to grab the remote, but when I reached for it, I paused for a second.

Leaning over him I inhaled deeply. His smell, it was incredible — a mixture of sweat and grass from having been working outside. I felt my stomach tingling as I inhaled one more time, then looked down and saw that my shirt was open; if he opened his eyes he’d be able to see my breasts and how hard that smell had just made my nipples. And right then, as if he could hear me think, I saw his eyes open.

Panic set in. I immediately stood straight up, my heart pounding inside my chest.

“Sorry,” I said, “just grabbing the remote.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, handing it to me.

As he did, I saw his eyes drop to where my nipples were pressing against my shirt. They lingered there for a second, longer than the disinterested glance of a father should have lasted. He was checking me out and I could tell he liked what he saw.

My face turned beet red. I snapped my arms across my chest hoping to hide my arousal.

“S-s-sorry,” he said, stammering out an apology, “It’s so cold in here. Aren’t you —”

But before he could finish, I burst out laughing, embarrassed for both of us. “It’s fine,” I said, smiling and waving my hand in the air, “they’re just boobs. And yes, if you couldn’t tell, it’s a bit nippy in here.”

When he saw my reaction, he began laughing too. “Is that what those are?” he asked with a sarcastic smile.

I rolled my eyes at him and took a seat on the couch, changing the channel to some movie I couldn’t have cared less about. My heart was still pounding though. The air felt thick. “What the fuck?” I wondered, “how am I so turned on?”

And even though the rest of the evening passed like normal, I knew something inside me had changed. I couldn’t get his look out of my head and replayed the scene over and over before falling asleep that night. Only in the version I played we stared longingly into one another’s eyes. Nothing was said, but we knew what the other was thinking. I moistened at the thought of him knowing how turned on I was. “But he’s your father,” I thought, “it’s not like that…”

***

The next morning, bedava bonus I woke to the smell of pancakes and coffee. Pulling on some loose sweatpants and putting my hair up, I debated about whether to wear a bra or not. “Nah,” I thought, “it’ll be more comfortable without one. Besides, what happened yesterday was a fluke.”

As I arrived downstairs, I found my father making breakfast in the kitchen. “Morning, Em,” he said with a smile, “coffee’s on the table and your pancakes will be ready in just a minute.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” I chirped in a cheerful voice, pulling up a chair.

As he cooked, I studied him, watching his muscles flexing beneath his t-shirt each time he flipped a pancake, and staring at his pajama pants. I wondered if he was wearing underwear. The thought that just one thin layer of fabric was the only thing keeping me from seeing exactly what kind of a man he was ran through my mind.

“Uh-oh,” I thought, “you’re doing it again.” Then had to quickly reassure myself, “but you’re only thinking it. They’re just thoughts. It’s not like you’ll act on them. Everything’s fine. Relax…”

“You alright back there?” I heard him ask, interrupting my internal dialogue.

“Of course!” I said. “Thanks for making breakfast, Daddy.”

I smiled at him as he delivered the pancakes, trying to make as much eye contact as possible without seeming weird. I wanted to know if that look yesterday really had been a fluke.

“You’re more than welcome,” he said, smiling back at me, staring deep in my eyes before quickly turning back toward the stove, “whatever you need just let me know. Your mom already took off for the day so it’s just you and I.”

He started organizing the kitchen while I worked on my breakfast, stealing glances at his body every chance I got. Then I saw it. As he was turning to put the eggs back in the fridge, I saw it —it was his cock, dangling between his legs, clearly outlined against the fabric of his pajamas. Mesmerized, I watched it, swinging back and forth as he moved about. “Oh my god,” I thought, “he’s not wearing underwear.”

The fact that he wasn’t shocked me. My parents had always been fairly uptight when it came to sex, never being ones to walk around naked or talk to me about the differences between boys and girls. Sex had always been a taboo topic in our house, so knowing my father had chosen to forego underwear, that he’d put as little as possible between the two of us, was both shocking and exciting.

I wasn’t naïve. I knew what sex was, and how much boys wanted it. I’d even given blowjobs and fucked my boyfriend a few times before we broke up for the summer. But with him it’d always been awkward and unsatisfying. He didn’t know what he was doing any more than the other 18-year-old boys. And that was just it — they were boys — nothing like the man standing in front of me.

So, I sat there watching my father, wondering how big it was and what it might look like up close. It’d been a month since my boyfriend and I had broken up. And as awkward and unsatisfying as it was, I still missed the sex. Masturbation will only take you so far, and my fantasies had been running a bit thin lately.

“Anything else you want?” he asked, again snapping me out of my trance.

I looked up at him and smiled. “I’m okay. Thanks, Daddy,” I answered, holding his gaze for another second. It was only a second, but it sent shivers down my spine. When he turned away, I had to adjust myself in the chair. I was making a mess inside my sweatpants.

Then he made a plate for himself and sat down while I continued eating my breakfast, trying to get the images of what I’d just seen out of my head. I felt my nipples stiffen, and scared that he might notice again, arched my back, trying to put some space between them and the fabric of my shirt.

He spoke to me as we ate. “Is there anything in particular you want to do today? I was thinking we could relax in the AC for a bit, then maybe take a bike ride to get some ice-cream or something?”

“That sounds great!” I said, a little too enthusiastically.

He looked up at me and cocked his head to the side, then smiled and said, “I’m so glad you’re home. Come fall we won’t get to do this very often.”

I smiled back at him, reaching across the table to touch his arm. “Me too.”

We went back to our food, eating and drinking in silence, but wrapped in one another’s company. And for just a minute it felt more like we were a couple than a father and daughter — as if the boundaries established by our normal routines had shifted. For the first time in my life, it felt like he and I were finally alone together, and it was wonderful.

We sat there for a while before, pushing myself away from the table, I said, “I think I’m gonna go take a nice long shower.”

My father smiled, “I think I’ll finish cleaning up.”

By the time I turned back from the stairs to look at him he’d already started clearing the table. He was putting deneme bonusu dishes in the sink when I ran up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I pulled his body into mine, pressing my breasts into his back — my nipples still hard from watching him earlier. I wondered whether he could feel them. A part of me hoped he would.

“I love you, Daddy,” I whispered, resting my cheek on his back.

He began rocking us while I held onto him and wrapped his arms backwards over mine, pulling us closer. “I love you too,” he said. “Now go take a shower. I’ll pick a movie for us to watch.”

“Okay!” I blurted out, releasing him from my grip and giggling like a schoolgirl as I ran up the stairs.

When I entered my room, my clothes couldn’t come off fast enough. They fell around me as I began reaching for my nipples, pinching them, gasping at the release of tension that followed the pain. Stepping out of my sweatpants, I ran my hands all over my body, stopping only to spread my ass so I could feel the cool air hitting my already drenched pussy.

“Fuck me,” I thought in frustration, staring at myself in the mirror, “at least you look good.” The years of school sports had gotten me in shape. My body was smooth, soft, and tan, with plump B-cups sitting above a toned stomach. But what I loved most about myself were my legs, shapely and athletic, that lead to a thicker than normal ass. I wondered if my father had ever noticed.

“See, you do want him to notice,” I thought.

And I did. I longed for it. I thought about how I’d hugged him downstairs, my nipples pressing into his back, and wondered if he was thinking about it too — if he thought about me the way I thought about him.

I fell back on my bed. Unable to contain myself any longer I spread my legs and thought about my father. “Daddy,” I groaned, sliding my hand over my swollen lips. Being wet was normal for me, but this different. I was dripping.

A shudder ran down my spine as I looked at the door and slid two fingers inside.

“He could walk in right now,” I thought, and imagined him watching me, his little girl, fingering her pussy and squeezing her tits. Then I thought about that bulge under his pajama pants I’d seen earlier. I imagined how thick and heavy it was, and how good it would feel sliding inside me.

“Oh, Daddy!” I groaned again, my fingers flying across my clit while the others were working themselves in and out of my wet slit. My legs started shaking as images of my dad taking me from behind, on top, and underneath gave way to thoughts of what his cock, soaked in his own daughter’s cum, must taste like.

I stuck out my tongue to taste his phantom cock. My body stiffened and my toes curled as the first orgasm took hold of me. Snatching my fingers from my pussy I shoved them in my mouth, licking them clean and savoring the taste of my own cum. “Fuck me, Daddy,” I said as the orgasm peaked, saying it loud enough that if he’d been standing outside my door he could hear it. I wanted him to hear it.

And I wanted to cum again, louder this time, and jammed my fingers back into my cunt. I began slamming them into me as hard and deep as I could as I opened my mouth even wider, sticking my tongue out further and begging for my father’s cock to cover it with semen — almost being disappointed when it didn’t. I was finger fucking myself into oblivion. Lost in a haze, my legs split back and further apart. “Fuck me, Daddy,” I repeated to myself over and over as my second orgasm came crashing into me. “Fuck meeee!” I was practically screaming.

It was exhilarating. My orgasms built and pounded and crashed, and only after about ten minutes did they even began to subside. When they finally did I laid there daydreaming, gently tugging at my nipples, lazily playing with my creamy snatch, recovering from the two of the most incredible orgasms I’d had in months.

“I wanted him to hear me,” I thought, but doubted he did.

After relaxing for a few more minutes I got up, wrapped myself in a towel and popped into the hallway to take a shower. Before making it to the bathroom, I heard footsteps. I turned, looking down the hallway, and froze. It was him, standing in the doorway to his room bare chested with a funny look on his face.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he said, “I was just checking to see if you were asleep.”

My eyes roamed over his body while we stood there in awkward silence, moving over his muscular chest and arms, and finally dropping to his pajama bottoms. “Holy shit!” my mind screamed, “there’s a fucking tennis racket in his pants! Say something, quick!”

“I know right,” I blurted out with a nervous laugh before realizing that what I’d just said made no sense whatsoever. We continued staring at each other for a second before I recovered. “I mean — I was just relaxing.”

He turned and started into his room, “okay then — well, I think I’ll just lie down for a bit then. If I’m not up in an hour come and get me okay?”

But he closed the door before I could answer, leaving me stupefied, struggling to comprehend what I’d just seen. My mind was racing. “Had he heard me? How loud had I been? Had I even closed the door, or did I just imagine I did? And why the fuck am I still standing here!?”

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