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Subject: Title story: "Delighted In His Daughter" Author: Incestor 57674143
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Date: Mon, 24 Oct 2005 16:58:40 +0000
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Delighted In His Daughter Chapter 2
When her dad got home for lunch, he looked weary from having sat at his office
desk doing that catch-up work.
"I don't mind if we don't go riding, daddy," Pam crooned, sitting on the
deeply cushioned chair which was her father's favorite, and swinging her legs
almost happily.
She was wearing her favorite cut-offs and a thin blouse.
Her dad stood looking down at her, pipe in mouth, magazine in hand. Then he
smiled. "Your mother told me that she had decided to call a truce with the new
folks next door. You, uh, think you ought to go over there dressed like that?"
Pam grinned. "I always dress this way on Saturdays, daddy. We don't want to make
them think we're stuffy!"
He smiled, and she made way for him as he sank into the big chair himself.
Pam perched on the arm of the chair and draped one hand around her father's
strong shoulder. She was sitting high enough above him that she could look down
between his legs, without his being aware of it.
It was the first time Pam had ever even thought about staring at a male the way
she did now--especially her own father!--but she had to see if he was showing
anything down there. And he was.
He was showing quite a bit, in fact.
To her surprise and consternation, Pam felt that same crawly itch coming back
into her spicy little cunt.
It was shameless of her to sit there cruising her dad's crotch as if he were
some high school boy and she were Betsy Meeker!
Her dad glanced up quickly, almost catching her staring like a little whore at
the adequate outline of his penis. Pam colored at the cheeks and gave her father
a jerky smile.
"You might invite Mr. Pauley and his children over tomorrow night for some ice
cream," her dad said, casually. "I promised your mother I'd make some hand-
freezer cherry. We might as well get to know the Pauleys, eh?"
"Okay, daddy."
He patted the upper part of her leg once or twice, then went back to his
magazine.
Pam could feel the imprint of her father's hand stinging on her flesh as if he
had pinched her instead of patting her. Then she swung off the chair and went
into the kitchen.
Her mother had just piled a plate high with some of her favorite homemade
cookies. The aroma filled the kitchen with the savory promise of very good
eating, indeed.
"Pam? Are you going to prance over there in those awful cut- offs?" her
mother asked.
"Oh, mother. I just went through all this with daddy. He said I looked fine."
Apparently the small lie satisfied her mom, because she handed her the big plate
of cookies without a word. But when ...
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