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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
A Father�s Love
Chapter One
It had been a terrible accident. A truck driver had fallen asleep and
crossed into the oncoming lane. His victim had been trying to get a tape
unstuck from her car�s tape machine. The truck smashed into her as she
tried to pull the tape out.
Mark Sanders stood watching the passengers as they disembarked.
He waited for a five-year-old to come down the ramp. He looked at the
row of a dozen windows on the United Express plane and wondered if his
daughter was still behind one of them, clutching her teddy bear, perhaps a
lollipop in her other hand, waiting for the stewardess to escort her.
He saw a girl with long hair come through the door of the plane. She
was dressed in jeans that looked deceptively old, as if they�d been sewn
together with swatches of other people�s clothing. Her hair was caught by
a light breeze blowing across the runway and it swept back, revealing a
bare belly. He thought he saw something gleaming in the girl�s navel.
Above her flat belly her ribs could be counted in her flesh, she was bone-
thin, with stick-slender arms to match her narrow torso. Her legs,
wrapped tight in her jeans, looked long and elegant, except for her hips,
which had a gentle flair to them, the fat of her waifish body arranged
there seemingly to attract attention. There was one other part of her that
seemed built to attract attention, and it bounced easily now in a halter
top, the knotted shirt unable to contain it. Her chest. She bulged in front,
her twin mounds of flesh barely contained by her halter, no bra beneath to
still the endless bouncing of her gourds as she came down the ramp.
�Sheesh! Kids today, the way they dress!� Mark said to himself. He
shook his head. The girl�s hair looked lovely in the breeze, like gold
spinning free of a loom, but she�d festooned it with gaudy pink and black
feathers. As she came closer he saw she wore something around her neck;
it appeared to be made of little skulls. There was a bracelet on one of her
arms, amidst a collection of neon-colored bangles, that had the same
pattern; little bone-faces, each grinning out at him as she came close and
passed through the gate into the open-air waiting area. Mark was about to
turn away from the sight of this gaudy teen to look for his little one again
when he noticed his own name on her jeans. �Saunders� was sewn in
small letters across the left side of her waist, in thread that was colored
blood-red. �Oh, shit!� Mark swore.
The girl turned her head, still walking. She looked at him. A spark
of recognition flared in her overly-made up eyes. He saw it and then felt
himself tense. This was his daughter! Of course-- it had been eight years
since he�d seen the little five year old with the teddy bear. Had it really
been eight? Yes! Mark gasped. He extended his hand.
�I- I think I�m your father,� Mark stammered. The girl�s face lit up.
He saw, beneath the trampy makeup and odd death-rock attire, a sudden
cherubic glow.
�Hi, dad!� the girl said suavely and smoothly and with only a little
giddy emotion. She embraced him. He hugged her. He felt the slender
wonderfulness of her body, the press of her luscious breasts. It scared
him. He felt as if he were suddenly on a date, giving some new conquest a
hug before taking her out. He stepped back from the girl and looked at her.
She smiled up at him. So she was 13, he told himself. What a prize she
must be for the boys back home!
Except she was to live with him now, assuming that was alright
with her. Mark ran his hands down his daughter�s arms, feeling for
bruises.
�Are you okay?� Mark asked his daughter.
�Yeah, I�m fine dad,� the girl answered.
�I�m so sorry about your mother,� Mark said. And he was. She had
been a beautiful woman. A tear came to the eye of Mark�s daughter. Mark
felt a wave of sadness pass over him.
�They say she died instantly,� the girl said.
�Yes,� Mark answered. He felt himself want to sob, but managed to
hold it back. �It�s too bad your mom and I didn�t get along,� Mark said.
�I know,� Sylvie, Mark�s daughter, answered.
�You folks will want to move on inside the terminal. We�re going to
be putting some luggage here,� a man in a uniform said, interrupting Mark
and his daughter. Mark turned and saw a baggage train of the next flight�s
luggage waiting to pull into the waiting area.
�Alright,� Mark said. He put his hand to his daughter�s waist,
against the small of her back. Politely she turned; why did he still feel
like he was escorting his latest date, he asked himself? He looked again
at the girl. This was his daughter! She was shorter than the women he
dated, he reminded himself. She was dressed like she was going to a
concert, and not the operas or ballets that his dates favored. And she
walked with a kind of insouciant devil-may care attitude, not asking about
how his week had been or breathlessly telling him about some business
strategy she�d devised. His daughter must have sensed something of his
thoughts for as they passed into the glass-enclosed terminal she said to
him, while seemingly eyeing two boys loitering by a soda machine,
�So what kind of women do you like?�
�Hmmm? Oh-- well, women like your mother, dear,� Mark assured
his daughter. �Lawyers, doctors-- one woman owns her own business.�
�Really?� Sylvie gushed. �I�d like to meet her!�
�Yes. She sells, uh,� Mark swallowed. Was he allowed to say the
word to a girl of this age? �Lingerie,� he forced himself to say.
�Oh!� Sylvie smiled. Her face glowed with delight, perhaps just a
hint of embarrassment.
�Something you could use,� Mark almost said aloud, as he watched
his daughter�s breasts bounce in their halter. The boys by the soda
machine watched them pass.
He lived outside of Santa Fe. He owned a small engineering firm. His
latest job was building a one-story medical building for a group of
doctors. He told his daughter about his life and his occupation; she told
him a little about how her mother and she had lived in Grand Rapids.
�I�m sorry you had to leave in the middle of summer,� Mark told his
daughter.
�It�s alright,� Sylvie said. She looked out across the desert. She
gazed at a plateau off to their left, rising up from the flat sand. �Mom had
put me in summer fun, even though I told her not to,� Sylvie said. �It was
totally boring.�
�Sorry,� Mark said.
�So how did you and mom meet?� Sylvie asked. Mark swallowed. He
wanted to tell his daughter that they met in the college library or at a
class, perhaps a seminar on religion or something, but after a moment he
admitted,
�Spring Break.�
�Mom always said I was born because of Spring Break,� Sylvie said.
Mark bit his lip and nodded.
�That�s true,� Mark said, and quickly added, �We were very young.�
The next morning at breakfast the circumstances of Sylvie�s birth
again managed to pop up, as she was eating some Sugar Smacks Mark had
bought for her. They were her favorite cereal. At least, they had been
when she last visited, when she was five.
�So was I born at Spring Break?� Sylvie asked her father.
�Uh, no,� Mark said.
�Oh,� Sylvie said. She blushed a little.
�Yeah,� Mark said. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Sylvie was
dressed in a bikini top. She had arrived at breakfast saying she wanted to
go to the beach. Mark had explained that the nearest beach was five
hundred miles away but the girl hadn�t bothered to change. There was only
a wall air conditioner in the kitchen and it didn�t work particularly well.
With the desert heat already beginning to seep into the kitchen as the sun
climbed skyward, her top was the perfect attire. But it made Mark
nervous; he felt as if he were sitting across from a Playmate of the
month.
�So you and mom did it at Spring Break, huh?� Sylvie asked her dad,
munching casually on a mouthful of Sugar Smacks.
�Yes,� Mark said.
After breakfast Mark was going to do the dishes but Sylvie insisted
on doing them instead.
�You don�t have to wash dishes now that I�m here,� Sylvie told her
dad. She smiled at the engineering work that he�d brought to the breakfast
table with him.
�I don�t want to make you feel like you have to do chores,� Mark
protested to his daughter. �Especially gender-stereotyped chores.� Sylvie
laughed.
�Dad, I�m only 13. I don�t think a few dirty dishes are going to hurt
me,� Sylvie said. Mark watched as his daughter collected up their things
and took them to the sink. She was wearing flannel pajama bottoms. They
hugged her slender hips. Mark noticed how the girl�s skin looked like
smooth light-colored chocolate.
�I guess you spent a lot of time swimming back in Michigan,� Mark
said to his daughter.
�Yeah,� Sylvie said. She turned on the faucet in the sink. The water
rushed out, fresh from some distant aquifer, the girl picking up soap and
squirting it down onto the dishes. She began brushing them with a
bristled sponge. �That�s mostly what they make us do at Summer Fun,�
Sylvie said. She moved her hands and, unconsciously perhaps, her bottom
began moving too, back and forth in her flannel pajama bottoms.
�Sorry if you were bored,� Mark said.
�It�s not exactly Spring Break,� Sylvie said.
The girl was washing their dishes and Mark was trying to
concentrate on his engineering work at the breakfast table when suddenly
he saw her hands rise up from the bubbles in the sink and, still laden with
suds, reach down to her flannel pajama bottoms. She hooked her thumbs in
her waist. Mark felt himself harden involuntarily in his crotch as he
watched his daughter begin to push down her pajamas.
�Sylvie, I--� Mark was about to say, when he saw a small bow pop
free, on the right side, of his daughter�s pants, followed quickly by a bow
on the left. Suddenly he saw his daughter�s bare bottom cheeks, split by a
thong running down her ass crack.
�It�s alright, dad. I�m wearing something underneath,� Sylvie said.
She smiled back at him. She shucked her pajamas the rest of the way
down off her ass and then down her thighs. They slid past her knees, and
down her calves and when they had come to rest, coiled around her ankles,
she didn�t bother to step out of them. Instead she put her hands back in
the sink and resumed washing dishes.
Mark blinked. He gaped at his daughter�s behind. It was sweet and
small and high. It was naked too, except for the thin bit of fabric running
up between the cheeks. With svelte grinding motions the girl wiggled her
ass, beginning to hum as she worked, seemingly oblivious to what her
little display was doing to her father sitting behind her. He was rock
hard, and all too aware of an uncomfortable fact of Sylvie�s conception.
After the dishes were done, with no beach and no pool to swim in,
Sylvie went into the living room. She lay down on the carpet in front of
the T.V., watching MTV. Her pajama pants remained by the sink; she had
finally stepped out of them when she finished scrubbing their dishes.
Mark took his engineering work into the living room. He wanted to be with
his daughter. At some point they would need to discuss how she was going
to spend her time. It was only July; did she want him to stay home with
her or would she be alright with him going to work every day? Mark
glanced with mild annoyance at the T.V. He usually liked to see what was
happening on the news at this time of the morning, but he didn�t want to
make his daughter change the channel. She seemed engrossed by some
guys with long hair and bones through their noses who were banging away,
nonmusically to Mark�s ears, on guitars. Then just as suddenly Sylvie
seemed to lose interest. She reached forward for the remote control,
which was lying on the floor several feet in front of her. It proved to be
just out of arm�s reach. With teenage indolence the girl didn�t try to lift
herself up to get it. Instead she wiggled forward on the rug, snake-like.
As she did her panties, caught by friction against the rug, began to slide
down her hips. The top of her ass crack came into view, then more as the
girl slid farther forward. By the time Sylvie had grasped the remote her
panties were halfway down her bottom.
�Oh!� the girl said. She turned. She reached down with her hands to
pull up her panties and then her eyes caught her father�s, which were
looking at her rather silly position on the floor.
�Sorry,� Sylvie said. She ran her hands across the little bows tied
at her waist, the bows that kept her panties bound to her hips. But she
didn�t pull her panties up, despite her intention; instead, with her eyes
still locked on her father, she inched her panties down just a little more.
Mark gasped. His daughter�s archly curving bottom cheeks quivered like
twin puffs of cream, newly risen in some child�s toy oven. Unlike her legs
and her back, which had been tanned by the sun, her ass was pale white.
Obviously she hadn�t been allowed to wear a thong bikini at Summer Fun;
why was she wearing it now, in front of him? Sylvie reached for the
remote, seemingly oblivious of her naked ass, her rolled down panties
showing all but the space between her casually parted legs. With the
remote now within reached, she grabbed it and flipped the channel. A
woman began to chat about birth control. �Oh! Lifetime. I like this
channel,� Sylvie announced.
Mark went back to his engineering work, or tried to. His daughter
watched T.V. for about fifteen minutes, listening to the lecture on birth
control. Then, turning her head and pressing her cheek to the rug, she
sighed and seemed to want to sleep, but she lazily reached back behind
herself and undid the bow holding her bikini bra on.
�I wish I could tan,� Sylvie said. Mark had just begun to concentrate
on his office work when he noticed his daughter slip the ties of her bra.
She drew them off her back, baring it, and put her face back against the
rug. The girl was luscious, and now, with her pajama pants lying on the
floor in the kitchen and her bikini top undone, her panties rolled down, she
was practically naked!
�Sylvie,� Mark said.
�Yes father?� the girl asked, innocently turning her head and looking
back at him over the slope of her naked back and the arched rise of her
bare behind.
�I-- uh, we--� Mark said. He wasn�t sure how to begin. �There�s the
matter of our relationship,� Mark said. Nervously he watched his daughter
bat her eyes. Such innocence! How could he explain to her that he was in
danger of getting hard over her? Mark grimaced.
�Danger my foot,� he told himself. He was already hard, and he
snapped his thighs shut, fearing his daughter might notice. Except it
hardly helped. His legs simply pressed his hard groin up beyond the level
of his thighs. �You�re a young woman, honey,� he said aloud to his
daughter. She didn�t seem to understand. She gazed with angelic eyes at
him. �You�ve, uh, developed since we last met,� Mark said, and he
swallowed.
�Oh, sorry, daddy,� Sylvie said. She reached down and pulled up her
panties, awkwardly, the thong remaining askew and not fitting into her
ass crack. She had her hair pinned up and now she reached up and pulled it
free of a hair scrunchie, which she tossed onto the carpet. She tossed her
head and her hair fell across her back. She put her hands on the rug,
putting one hand on top of the other, and disconsolately settled her chin
against them.
�I may not be your real father, that�s all,� Mark said.
�What?� Sylvie gasped. She flew up from the rug, oblivious to the
fact that her ripe naked breasts wobbled free on her chest as she turned
and faced her father. Her panties, still ringing her hips, were made more
askew by her movement. A glimpse of her bush showed as she sat with her
legs half-turned. Her hair trailed from her head, hanging in her eyes and
falling down over her suddenly stiff nipples.
�Oh shit! I didn�t mean to say that,� Mark said. Sylvie�s eyes showed
confusion; fright. She lifted her hands, for the first time conscious of her
body. She put them over her boobs, or tried to; the things were so big that
her palms could not completely cover them. Down below, her pussy hair
still peeped from under her misaligned panties.
�Please don�t lie to me, daddy,� Sylvie implored her father.
�Well, you see, Spring Break was pretty wild,� Mark said to his
daughter, or to the girl who might be his daughter. �I-- I wasn�t the only
boyfriend your mother had at Spring Break. I wasn�t really her boyfriend, I
was just some guy she met. Among others,� Mark said, feeling very
awkward, his embarrassment showing now in his daughter�s eyes. �Your
mother wound up pregnant and, well, I was nice enough not to demand a
paternity test.� Mark looked down, realized he was still hard and jerked
his head back up, only to be confronted with the sight of his daughter�s
naked tits. Her hands had slipped down in her shock. Her tits were
luscious! Big and round and sticking right out at him! A few strands of
her hair hanging down from her head tried to block his view, completely
without success.
�So you�re not my daddy?� Sylvie asked, a tear coming to her right
eye.
�I could be,� Mark said. �I�m sure I am,� he added, blushing now,
wishing his �daughter�s� top wasn�t lying on the carpet next to the remote.
�I mean, your mother needed someone. Her family was giving her a lot of
crap. So I just didn�t contest the thing, you know? Some of the other guys
did, but I didn�t. So when she suggested to me that we get married, I said
okay. That�s probably why it didn�t work out,� Mark told the girl. �So your
mother and I broke up after a year. I missed you,� Mark said.
�I missed you too, daddy!� Sylvie said. She jumped up. She ran to
him, wearing only her panties, which clung for dear life to her lips as she
bounded across to him and threw herself in his lap. She hugged him; she
kissed him, and not on the cheek as she�d done the night before when
they�d bid each other a chaste goodnight in the hall. Now it was on the
lips, and he felt shock as she did it, and she must have felt it too, for her
breasts, pressing against him, quivered violently.
�Even if you�re not my daddy, I want you to be,� Sylvie told the man.
�Yes,� he agreed. She looked down at her naked tits.
�I guess I should put something on, I mean if we�re not related or
anything,� Sylvie said.
�No, that�s alright,� Mark said, and for the first time in his life he
allowed himself to feel a brief sense of lust for this girl; she was
gorgeous! Big fat ripe breasts set high on a model-thin body. �Stay just
as you are,� Mark said.
�Really?� Sylvie asked. He sensed that the girl found delight in the
way he was looking at her now, as a man looks at a woman, apprising her,
finding her beautiful.
�Yes,� Mark said.
�My boobies won�t bother you?� Sylvie asked, giving a little laugh as
she said it.
�No, they won�t,� Mark said. Gently he lifted a finger and touched
her right tit, right on the areole, then up on the nipple, depressing it as if
it were an elevator button. The girl laughed, her face showing joy.
�They stick right up, don�t they?� Mark asked of his daughter�s
nipples. He touched the other one.
�Yes,� Sylvie smiled. �They do, daddy.�
�I�m seeing someone,� Mark told his daughter, when she was finally
dressed and they were in the car together, going to his office for the
morning.
�That�s good, daddy,� Sylvie said. Mark looked over at his daughter,
dressed now in a snug t-shirt with �P.O.D.� written on it and wearing a
checked miniskirt.
�She looks rather like you,� Mark said. Sylvie smiled sweetly.
�Blonde hair, statuesque figure. She runs an accounting firm,� Mark said.
�Then I�ll have to meet her as well as the woman with the lingerie
shop,� Sylvie said.
�Yes,� Mark agreed. He blushed. �I�m rather popular in Santa Fe,� he
said. He was only 29; he�d been 15 when he�d bedded Sylvie�s mother.
�You�re still young, and well-to do, what woman wouldn�t want
you?� Sylvie told her father. �Heck, I�d want you if--� Sylvie blushed and
stopped. There was silence in the car, and a creeping sense of discomfort.
Mark was all too aware of his daughter�s slender legs pressed to the seat
beside him, the same legs that had been draped over his lap a half hour
earlier, snugly pressed against him as she kissed him. For her part Sylvie
was aware of her father�s firm hands on the wheel of their car, piloting
them toward a destination she could only guess at. A destination which
made her feel awkward between her legs, as if she were missing
something there, something which only he could fill.
�So this is the little lady, hmmm?� Jill asked Mark, when he
presented his daughter to her. The girl nodded happily. Mark smiled.
�Yes, this is the five-year-old I told you about,� Mark said to Jill.
�She�s quite busty for a five-year-old,� Jill laughed. They were in a
lingerie shop. It was called �Jill�s Secrets,� and Mark had promised his
daughter they�d see it after lunch. The girl looked around wide-eyed, but
without quite the abject innocence Mark had hoped to see in her eyes. She
knew the names of several types of garments and when she began sorting
through a rack of demi-bras Mark decided to leave her with the woman for
awhile.
�I have some work I have to drop off,� Mark said to Jill and his
daughter.
�Of course,� Jill smiled.
�See you, daddy,� Sylvie said, absorbed in the bras which were
designed to make her breasts stand up, as if on a shelf.
�Be back in an hour,� Mark said.
�Take your time,� Jill replied. She turned and admired the girl. She
was quite a looker. Sylvie found a bra she liked and turned and showed it
to Jill, pressing it to her chest, lifting her breasts with her hands.
�Would you like to try it on?� Jill asked Sylvie.
�Yes!� the girl enthused. She was still in her street clothes; Jill
pointed to a curtained dressing room but said,
�You can try it on right here if you like. There�s no one else in the
store.�
�Oh, thank you!� Sylvie smiled. She pulled up her top. Her breasts
bounced free of her shirt as it cleared them. She wore no bra underneath.
She tossed her shirt over the rack of bras and fitted the demi-bra to her
breasts. Jill saw that she needed help with the clasp and went round
behind her and helped her clip it together. Then she had the girl turn so
she could see the effect of the bra; it was marvelous, lifting the girl�s
already high breasts even higher, showing them off like twin treats. Jill
smiled; the girl blushed.
�It looks perfect on you,� Jill said, and the amazing thing was that
it wasn�t even a junior-sized bra. It was a full-sized woman�s bra, and
here was this little waif already fitting into it! They tried on more,
different colors, and when Sylvie was fitted into a black one, offering her
white breasts on their shelf-like cups, Jill laughed and put a finger into
her mouth, seemingly studying the effect, thrilled by it, and suddenly
reached down and traced Sylvie�s areola with her wet finger, the right
one, watching the girl tense and gasp as she did it. �Sorry,� Jill said,
when she�d realized what she�d done.
�No, it�s alright,� Sylvie said. Jill smiled at her. Sylvie smiled
back. Jill wet her finger again and touched Sylvie�s left areola, circled
the nipple, the girl tensing all over again and drawing her breath in
sharply.
�I think this is the one,� Jill said of the bra.
�Yes, daddy will love it,� Sylvie said, and then gasped. �Sorry,� she
said, and blushed with embarrassment.
�No, you�re father�s quite a hunk,� Jill said.
�Yes he is,� Sylvie agreed. �Oh, please don�t tell anyone I said that!�
Sylvie implored the woman.
�I won�t, dear,� Jill said. She looked at the girl, arrayed in her little
black bra, her miniskirt high on her thighs, fashionable black shoes on her
feet, mid-sized heels, perfect for a young girl not ready for high heels yet.
�I feel so embarrassed saying it,� Sylvie said to Jill.
�I can fix that,� Jill said.
�You can?� Sylvie asked. Jill hesitated. She hadn�t meant to say
what she�d just said, but it was out now, and she wondered if she should
share with the girl the little treat she reserved for women who
sometimes wished for something more than just lingerie. Jill twirled a
finger in her hair; it was long and blonde, like the girl�s.
�Do you really feel embarrassed about your feelings for your dad?�
Jill asked Sylvie.
�Yes!� the girl insisted. �I mean, he�s my father!�
�I have other clients who sometimes feel embarrassed about things
in their lives,� Jill said. �I offer them a way of cleansing their thoughts,
perhaps you�d like to try it?�
�What do you mean?� Sylvie asked, genuine interest showing in her
eyes.
�Pull down your skirt,� Jill said.
�Alright,� Sylvie said. The girl reached back and unzipped her
miniskirt. She eased it down her thighs.
�Panties too,� Sylvie said, seeing that the girl wore red-colored
satin undies underneath, perfectly gaudy and out-of-place for a girl in a t-
shirt and black shoes. The girl complied, and Jill stepped into a back
room. When she returned Sylvie was standing obediently, her bush
showing, her skirt pooled around her black shoes and her red panties
ringing her calves. Jill had something behind her back.
�Turn around,� Jill said. Sylvie obeyed, awkwardly trying to step
out of her skirt as she turned and push her panties down the rest of the
way but Jill said,
�No, dear, just turn. Never mind your clothes. They�re not in the
way.� Sylvie found herself facing the back of a heavily upholstered chair.
There were several in the store, where women trying on underwear might
rest between fittings. She was about a foot from the back of the chair and
Jill, coming up behind her now, pushed her forward until her belly pressed
to the chair�s back. �Bend forward,� Jill told the girl. Sylvie tried to
turn, to see what Jill had in her hand, but the pressure of the woman�s
palm against her narrow shoulders forced her to bend forward. Her bottom
arched, her belly accepted the top of the chair and felt itself pushed
inward by it. Jill touched Sylvie�s lovely white bottom-spheres. The girl
gasped. She felt the woman�s hand brush first her right cheek, then her
left, smoothly appraising her ass as if it were something for sale in a
store! For a moment the girl thought the woman might be trying to select
a pair of panties for her, then she saw Jill draw a flat black leather-
covered object out from behind her back. It was a paddle!
Just then the bell announcing a customer rang, as someone opened
the front door to the store. Sylvie started; she tried to rise. But Jill
looked, saw who it was, and snapped,
�Stay!� Footsteps sounded on the portion of the floor near the front
of the store that wasn�t carpeted.
�We�re back here!� Jill called. The girl tried to rise again, but Jill
kept a hand firmly against her back. �Be good, remain just as you are,�
Jill whispered to the girl. �It is your father.�
�My--!!� Sylvie gasped. Jill had to press very hard now as the girl
again tried to stand up. Then Sylvie, hearing her father call out, just as
quickly relented, as if wilting with embarrassment at the sound of her
father�s voice.
�You�re back-- oh!� the man said, his voice catching hard in his
throat as he saw his upended daughter. Jill stood behind her, a black
paddle poised in her hand. The girl�s white ass showed like a rising moon,
unblemished, but obviously not for long! Jill raised an eyebrow as she
looked at Mark.
�Did you know your daughter has a crush on you?� she asked the man.
�I-- no, I-- yes,� Mark admitted. Sylvie� little bottom wiggled
nakedly as she twisted uncomfortably before him, bent forward over the
chair.
�She wants to cleanse herself of this thought,� Jill said.
�It, uh, would be helpful,� Mark admitted, feeling guilty because
even now he could feel himself stiffening at the sight of his daughter�s
naked white behind. Jill saw his arousal and said,
�We will attend to you later, sir. But first I think we should do
something about your daughter, don�t you?�
�Yes,� Mark said, and felt a sudden dryness in his mouth. Jill turned.
Sylvie�s ass visibly tensed, the little cheeks drawing tight together,
tighter even than they�d been when she heard her father walk in.
�When is the last time you paddled your daughter?� Jill asked Mark.
�Never,� Mark said.
�Then clearly it�s called for,� Jill said.
�Yes,� Mark gasped. He expected the girl to cry out,
�No, daddy!� and he certainly would have saved her, but she said
nothing, remained bottom-upwards over the back of the chair, tensely
waiting.
�Shall I hit her, then?� Jill asked Mark.
�Not too hard,� Mark said. Again he waited for a protest from his
daughter, longed for it, but she continued to offer her little behind to his
eyes.
�Stick your ass out more,� Jill said to the girl. To Mark�s heart-
thumping surprise, his daughter obeyed. Jill touched the girl�s bottom
again. She shivered.
�Are you ready to be punished for falling in love with your father?�
Jill asked the girl.
�Yes!� Sylvie gasped, and Mark knew, as he guessed his daughter
must, that the �love� Jill was speaking of was not of the platonic kind that
fathers and daughters were permitted to share.
Jill brought down the paddle. It thumped against Sylvie�s ass
cheeks, hitting both equally, pressing them inward for a brief fleeting
moment. Then the paddle bounded away, and Sylvie�s ass rebounded,
showing a mark where the paddle had hit her. Mark felt a lump in his
throat. The delicious white spheres of his daughter�s ass now were pink.
The girl let out a heartfelt gasp. Her ass shook, as if trying to throw off
the pain.
�Another one?� Jill asked the girl.
�Yes,� Sylvie said, after a moment. She pressed her belly tighter to
the chair back, offering her bottom more completely, the space between
her cheeks now opening a little as she thrust her little ass farther toward
her father.
And toward Jill, who brought the paddle swiftly down again. It hit
her again, bounced away, leaving bright pink in its wake. The girl offered
up a sigh. She lifted her head a little. Her ass reverberated from the
blow, her hips shivering.
�Again?� Jill asked.
�Y- Yes,� Sylvie said without conviction.
The paddle came down harder this time, and when it hit Sylvie let
out a scream. As it bounced away her father saw red where before there
had been only pink.
�Stop!� he cried. Sylvie�s little behind shook violently. Her back
writhed. She tried to stand up. Jill had to press hard to keep her down.
Then suddenly Sylvie lost her nerve and her hands flew back. She pressed
them to her bottom cheeks, but gingerly, for to touch herself now was
somewhat painful. �That�s enough,� Mark said to Jill. The woman allowed
Mark�s daughter to stand up and turn around. Mark was presented with the
sight of his daughter�s breasts lifted and offered by the demi-bra, her ripe
nipples poking out at him as she kept her hands behind herself, on her
bottom.
�Apologize to your father for falling in love with him,� Jill told the
13-year-old.
�I�m sorry, daddy,� Sylvie said. A tear appeared in her right eye.
�It�s - It�s alright,� Mark told his daughter. She looked so lovely
standing there before him! He wished he could keep her just like that.
Contrite, prettily dressed in the black bra, her panties down by her ankles,
her bush showing, a perfect pint-sized version of the woman he�d once
loved.
�Kiss your father,� Jill told the girl. The 13-year-old blinked and
looked at the woman. Mark did too. But Jill was insistent, and with the
paddle so easily poised in her hand, seemingly wanting to give the girl
more, Sylvie finally stepped forward. With her panties still round her
ankles and her breasts nakedly displayed in the bra, she pressed herself to
her father and lifted her face to him. She stood up on tip-toes. He bent to
receive her mouth. She kissed him. He proved not unwilling; the kiss
lasted for more than a minute, the girl�s bottom wriggling all the while,
until at last Mark cupped it and stilled it. Sylvie gasped as she felt her
father�s fingers touch her where she was so sensitive; Jill smiled.
The next morning as Sylvie washed their breakfast dishes she had
the same skirt on, but Mark noticed that it seemed shorter. He studied it
for awhile, absently intrigued by it, and finally concluded that yes, it was
shorter. Had the girl gotten taller during the night?
�That must be it,� he told himself, but the next morning she was in
the same skirt again, and now it was shorter still, nearly up to the cheeks
of her ass! �Honey, is that the only skirt you have?� Mark asked his
daughter.
�No,� Sylvie said. There was a hint of guilt in her voice.
�Well I think you�re outgrowing that one,� Mark said.
�Really?� Sylvie asked. He sensed little-girl mischief in her voice
now.
�Yes,� Mark said, and felt a sudden sweatiness in his palms.
�I�m not, daddy,� Sylvie said.
�Yes. I think you are,� Mark said. �In fact, I don�t want you wearing
it downtown today. It�s-- It�s too short, honey.�
�I like it this way. Let�s stay home today,� Sylvie said.
�I have to go to work, honey,� Mark said.
�Daddy?� Sylvie said, her back still to him as she washed their
dishes.
�Yes?� Mark said.
�I�m shortening my skirt. That�s why it seems too small for you,�
Sylvie said.
�Why are you doing that?� Mark asked.
�I wanted to see if you noticed,� Sylvie said.
�Of course I noticed. Your ass is almost sticking out,� Mark said.
Sylvie scrubbed the dishes harder and suddenly the sponge went flying out
of her hands.
�Ooops,� Sylvie said. She turned. She bent forward and reached
down to retrieve the sponge from the floor. Her skirt rose behind her. Her
panties showed. They were red ones, like she�d worn in the store. She
was wearing her black shoes and she looked delicious just now, bending
over to get the sponge, her ass showing and her tits hanging down in a
little knotted halter top she was wearing. Suddenly, her breasts fell out
of the top. Sylvie let out a cry of embarrassment and jerked up, forgetting
the sponge. She clapped her hands to her breasts and tried to force them
back into the halter top. Just then her eye caught her father�s.
�Don�t. You look lovely just like that,� Mark said to his daughter. He
stood up from the breakfast table. He walked over to her. She waited for
him; she didn�t try to repair her top but just stood there, her hands
clasping her breasts. When he reached her he didn�t help either, at least
not with that. Instead he took her by the waist and eased his hands back
behind her and then forward again, feeling her thrusting bottom and the
gentle flair of her hips.
�I think you need another spanking,� Mark said to his daughter.
�Yes, daddy,� Sylvie said.
Mark moved a chair, as his daughter waited, so that its back faced
into the middle of the living room. Then he guided his daughter over to the
chair, her breasts still hanging awkwardly out of her top, her hips
quivering as he pushed her with a hand in her back. When she was against
the chair he told her to bend forward. She did. But the chair�s back was a
little too high for her to bend over it like she�d done at the lingerie shop.
He ground his teeth in dismay. He could feel the disappointment coursing
through her as she tried to offer her bottom to him but could not.
�I- I want to make love to you!� Mark suddenly confessed to his
daughter.
�Me too, daddy!� Sylvie answered, breathlessly fast.
�But this is awkward,� Mark said, seeing now how his daughter was
trying to adjust herself to the chair, to lean forward with her hands
pressed to its back, shoving her ass back at him like some bitch in heat.
He wanted things to be perfect for his daughter, not tawdry or difficult.
She looked at him with her back bent, her hands flat upon the chair�s back,
her legs straight, the pose one of gawky silliness. He felt an
uncomfortable strain in his pants. They could do this like two teenagers
or they could do it the way he wanted to, masterfully and with delicate
ritual. He chose the latter. �Stand up,� he said to his daughter. She
blinked. It was as if a moment had been shattered. She blushed; was she
to be the one left feeling guilty by what they had just attempted? Mark
put a hand on his daughter�s ass, he touched her shoulder with his other
hand. He straightened her. �No. It�s alright,� Mark said. �I will have you,
but we will do it a certain way, with beauty and with grace. Not like this,
not as a stolen moment in the living room.� When she was upright he
turned her and kissed her. She shuddered against him as he did.
�I love you, daddy,� Sylvie said, as she crushed herself against him.
�Mmmm,� Mark answered, loving the feel of his daughter�s pink lips
against his own. When their faces were apart again he looked deep into
her eyes, which were rich blue, and said,
�I know a place. I almost took Jill there. It�s where men and women
meet and--� He paused. He did not need to say anymore. He felt his
daughter�s breath against his lips. He kissed her again, hard.
30
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