A Daughter's Lust, Restrained

This is the first of three parts in the "A Daughter's Lust" short series.

This is the father/daughter version of a set of the "It Doesn't Count" series of three-part stories. All are basically the same with slightly different character relationships. "It Doesn't Count" involves a brother and sister, "A Mother's Lust" involves a mother and son, "It Doesn't Matter" involves an older woman and her daughter's young ex-boyfriend, while "It Shouldn't Matter" involves a young woman and her younger sister's ex-boyfriend. You can read any or all of them, according to your tastes, but the vast majority of all parts of all stories are the same.

This new, father/daughter version, "A Daughter's Lust," is a late addition to the original collection.

-- The Author

Don glanced down at Amy's slim, manicured hand. It rested just millimeters from his, with her long, delicate fingers beside his own, on the table between plates littered with the remnants of a moderately expensive lunch. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her, but her hand wasn't touching his. He looked up into her eyes, seeing a mischievous twinkle there. She'd placed her hand there, just that way, on purpose, as a subtle reminder.

Don had to look away. He felt a blush rising in his cheeks. A quick glance told him Amy was grinning, enjoying his discomfort. He didn't know why this was all so much easier for her. He was supposed to be the one in control. He was her father.

Of all of his children, Amy, the youngest, had always been the restrained, careful, planning one. She was the one that didn't take unnecessary risks. She was the one that played by the rules. She never cut in line. She never spoke out of turn. She never pocketed a bill that someone else had carelessly dropped. And Amy was the one that tried to make sure she had a royal flush before she made even a small bet.

He was in his mature, conservative fifties, and she in her wild twenties, yes, but he was still more daring. He knew he was more experienced, especially in affairs of the heart. Or, rather, especially when it came to sex. She thought he was a hound, acting up during his mid-life crisis. He thought he was well traveled, and doing pretty well since losing his wife, Amy's mother, so many years ago. It had been hard, at first, but now he enjoyed the role of sensual, casual lover instead of responsible husband and father.

Amy took her hand away to reach into her purse to pay the bill. Don felt a sudden sadness as she did so.

"Let me, today, Princess," Don offered. "I've been letting you pay too often."

Amy looked up at him with her sea green eyes, her hand at rest in the maw of the purse. She hesitated a moment before continuing to look in it for cash.

"No, honey, I've got it."

She had never called him honey before. It sounded strange, and a little unsettling. She'd been saying things like that throughout lunch.

"No, let me, come on," Don argued.

"It's the twenty first century, sweetie," she said, looking up at him with a smile. "Men don't have to pay for their dates anymore. Anyway, I have a job."

Don glared at her, letting his face harden into ice.

"It's not a date, Amy."

"Whatever you say, lover," she said, smiling, as she dropped some crumpled bills onto the check on the table. "I've gotta get back to work. I'm running late."

She rose from her seat, then walked around the table to pass him on the way to the exit. As she reached him she suddenly bent down to put her broad, full mouth to his, or almost to his. She stopped with her lips just a hair's breadth away. He felt one long, warm breath caress his lips.

She made a slow, soft kissing sound, then was up and off, never having touched him. Don watched her walk away with a motion that made him sit up straight. He felt something stirring in him. He tried his best to ignore it.

* * *

It had happened, or rather started, rather innocently. He'd stopped by to visit her at her apartment on Friday after work. She was getting ready to go out for the evening with friends. He just wanted to get back some CDs she'd borrowed.

As long as he was there, she'd said she wanted his opinion.

"Be honest. Brutally honest, if you can."

"About what?" Don asked, not really listening, as he sorted through her collection looking for anything that was his. She had far too many rap and hip hop albums. That stuff made his skin crawl. He'd thought she had more mature tastes than that. At least, she did with everything other than music.

"As a guy, not as my father, just as a guy."

The way she'd phrased that made him pause. He swiveled his head to look her in the eye.

"Yes?"

"As a guy, on a scale from, say, eight to ten... am I hot?"

"Eight? Eight to ten?"

"I'm feeling fragile today. You can't go lower than eight."

Don grunted as he turned back to selecting music. Amy always felt fragile. Or rather, she always felt insecure. He didn't know why. She was smart. She was fun. And she was a total knockout, and she knew it. Don had spent an embarrassingly large part of his life telling his friends that no, their sons couldn't date her, so let it go. Some of them had even hinted at wanting to take her out themselves.

"Come on, Dad. Okay, have it your way, on a scale from five to ten, how hot am I?"

"Are we talking hot as in simply attractive, or hot as in getting a guy to try to get into your lonely pants?"

Don had said it without looking up. His bored, tired tone of voice said he wasn't looking up, in case she didn't notice. It was an awkward thing to say to his own daughter, even if she was "all grown up." He felt a bit uncomfortable as soon as he'd said it, wishing he could take the words back.

"Into your pants hot," she answered, ignoring the inappropriateness of his comment, including the "lonely" part.

Don sighed loudly, realizing that this wasn't going to stop until he gave it his full attention. Fine, if that was the way she wanted it.

He stood up to look her over. Only now did he notice that she was dressed to kill. It was funny that he hadn't even noticed that she'd changed since he'd arrived. If she weren't his own daughter, he was sure it would have hit him like a whole bottle of tequila. He wondered now which friends she was going out with, and who she was actually going after. He fought down a surge of inappropriate jealousy.

She wore a tight fitting, short, black dress. It was almost too low cut, showing too much of his little gir's cleavage in a way that made Don a bit uncomfortable. She obviously wasn't wearing a bra. High heels, makeup, lipstick, dangly earrings, she had everything she needed to get any guy that wasn't gay to do anything she wanted, for, with, or to her.

"Turn around," he ordered.

Amy looked him in the eye, hesitating, as if she were suddenly too shy to model for her father. She slowly spun in place, spinning her head to keep him in her sight the whole time. Her long, straight, pale blond hair flew around her as she whipped her chin from one shoulder to the other, taking her eyes from his only in that instant, but looking right back into his as soon as she could.

Don silently whistled in his own head. He didn't really need Amy to spin around to know what her curves looked like. She would have looked hot in flannel pajamas. It had been driving him crazy since she'd grown into a mature woman, one that he couldn't think of that way, yet she was built so that no man could do otherwise.

He'd gotten used to it by now. He'd numbed himself, over time, to his daughter's amazing sex appeal. But when he stopped to look at her, to really look at her, his blood started pumping faster. Bodies like hers didn't come along very often. Faces like hers didn't come along very often. Finding them together, on one sweet, warm, intelligent woman, simply didn't happen, ever.

Don knew that for a fact. He'd been searching for years now for one woman that was half of what Amy was, and no one he'd met had ever come close. She thought he was a rogue because he never dated the same woman more than three times. She'd never know that it was because he knew he was never going to meet a girl as unbelievable as the one he'd raised, the one that he could never have. She herself had set the bar too high for him.

"Well? How long is this going to take?" she asked, growing impatient. He sensed that she was afraid that he wouldn't give her a ten.

"Nine and a half," he said, out of spite.

She wrinkled the corner of her lip at him, demonstrating a mix of disappointment and irritation.

"You lose a half a point because you're my daughter," he explained quickly, feeling guilty about hurting her feelings, no matter how slight the insult was. She really was too sensitive. "A half a point because I can't do any of the things the sight of you brings to mind."

She immediately broke into a warm smile, which had its usual effect on Don. He suddenly felt warm himself. It was mostly a contented warmth, the result of making her happy. It was also a slow burning, surging warmth, the inevitable result of seeing a beautiful, sexy woman smile at him lovingly.

* * *

Amy loved getting compliments from her father, more than from any other man. She shouldn't, she knew. He was her daddy, but that was what made his words special. If she could get him aroused, she knew she'd gotten it right. If she could send her own father into heat, she knew she was a hot bitch.

It helped that he was sexy himself, a ten on her own personal scale, father or not. She generally liked guys that were different from her. She liked them dark and Mediterranean looking, and her own age. Older guys, and blond, clean-cut guys were a turn off, except for Don. He had sandy blondish hair, a color that naturally hid a growing amount of gray, with clean facial features that were too even, too symmetrical. But he also had a strong cut to his jaw and his cheek bones, with dirty blond and gray facial hair that he only shaved every few days. It made him look more rugged, and careworn, and authoritative, and he knew it.

He usually wore a bit of a scowl, or at best a serious, thoughtful look. The contrast between that stern, harsh, manly demeanor and the brightness of his wide smile was knee weakening. Whenever he switched from one to the other, Amy's heart jumped.

Amy lowered her head, so that she could peer at him seductively from under her brow. She sauntered toward him with an exaggerated sway to her shoulders and hips, holding her hands to her thighs as she walked.

"What can I do to earn that half point, Daddy?" she asked coyly.

He broke into that wonderful grin. Amy felt herself instantly melting. She lost her composure then, letting a broad smile creep onto her face as well to hide her embarrassment.

"No, really," she said, suddenly self-conscious, abandoning the game. "We're meeting some guys tonight. One of them has potential. I want to be ready. I want to be a hit."

Her father rolled his eyes at her, just like he always did. It was one of those cute habits she loved in him, but he didn't know what it was like to be a woman. He didn't know what it was like to have to radiate being untouchable and accessible, both at the same time. She had to seem interestingly disinterested. She had to make it clear that she was what every guy wanted, a prudish slut. She had to make a guy think she was hard to get, or would be for almost anyone but him, because he was so special and attractive to her.

Guys were so hard to manipulate into doing what they already wanted to do. It was annoying.

Dad also didn't seem to understand that there was always competition. A girl couldn't just look good. If you were out with friends, then you had to be hot, hotter, hottest. Not too hot. You couldn't look like the whore in the group. But the prettiest rose got the most bees, or at least it got them first.

"Trust me, Baby, you'll be a hit," her father said, with an unconscious, appreciative leer.

"Promise? If I wind up coming home alone tonight, will you make it up to me?"

"And just how would I do that?"

Amy was feeling wicked again. Her self-conscious mood had already passed. She loved teasing him. It was so easy. As smooth and as in control as he was around other women, he frequently lost his composure around her. And as careful and as timid as she was around everyone else, she always felt comfortable and unrestrained around her father.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with a half leer of her own. "I guess you'd have to show me what another guy would have done, if you hadn't messed me up by telling me I was already hot enough."

"Sure," her father said grimly. "I could get a pencil and paper and draw diagrams for you."

"That would hardly do it," Amy said, glowering. "No, you'd have to show me."

"Amy, I'm your father. Stop it."

"I didn't say you'd have to do it, silly. You'd have to show me."

"How? Bring someone else home for a demonstration?"

"Yuk, no. I don't want to see you with another woman."

She realized that she'd let a touch of real jealousy creep into her voice. She glanced at her father to see if he'd noticed. His face was unreadable, cast back into that sexy, stern, hard glare he used so often. She actually had to look away to compose herself, as she felt her knees start to tremble at the sight of it.

Amy wasn't sure herself what she was saying. She wasn't sure why she'd started this line of conversation. It had been fun a few sentences back, but it had suddenly grown awkward. She didn't know what she was saying, or thinking. He did this to her sometimes. He just had that effect on her.

"You'd just have to show me, I guess," she told him. "But without touching me. We're father and daughter, so we couldn't touch."

"No, we couldn't."

His voice was cold, but in a funny way. It was more like he was struggling to take all emotion out of it, than that there wasn't any there. Amy looked at him for a moment, considering.

"Well, I've got to go. Have you found what you want?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject and glancing at her pile of CDs.

"What? No! You haven't given me a chance."

"Well, hurry up. Or better yet, just let yourself out. You have your keys, lock up when you leave," she said, hurrying over to the door in tiny, high-heel safe, tight-skirt constricted steps.

As she stepped out into the hall, she glanced back at her daddy to see him looking at her. She knew he'd be stealing a glimpse of her ass. It made her feel good, confident, as she headed out for the hunt.

* * *

Amy fumbled awkwardly with the keys to her apartment door, feeling a bit dizzy. The cool night air had made her feel more sober than she really was, but the sudden warmth of the stale building hallway brought the mind clouding sensations back in force.

She leaned her head against the door for a moment, trying to gather her wits, then looked back at the key ring. She systematically picked out the bolt key, put it in the lock, and turned. It didn't budge. At first she thought she'd turned it the wrong way in her confused state. When she thought about it more, she realized that she'd used the key the correctly. It was just already unlocked.

A moment of panic hit her, thinking that someone had broken in again. Then she realized her dad must have forgotten to set the bolt. That was so unlike him, but she'd been ripped off enough times that it really bothered her. She angrily put the other key in the doorknob, turned it, and whipped into the room, quickly closing the door behind her.

Without bothering to turn on the lights, she flipped her heels off, first and foremost eager to release her feet from their torturous prison. In the same moment she reached back to unzip her damn dress. It was sexy, but it was too tight and confining, and ultimately it was a failure, too. All that sex appeal came at an annoying price, and it hadn't even paid off. She was alone. Again. The guy was a jerk. They were all jerks.

She shimmied hurriedly out of the dress and slip both, letting them simply fall to the floor, right at the doorstep, in a heap. Only then, once completely naked and free, did she walk towards her bedroom, while reaching up to remove one earring.

It was dark, but the city's distant streetlights feebly lit the room unevenly with a dim, oddly faded, orange glow. After taking only two steps, she suddenly knew that she wasn't alone in the room. Her heart raced, but the rest of her froze. Someone, someone large, moved on the couch, sitting up, facing her. She half turned back toward the door, wondering if she could get there and open it quickly enough to get out.

It took a moment to realize the guy on her couch was her father.

* * *

Don put his hands to his face, rubbing it fiercely, trying to wake up. He groggily took in the dark room, his daughter near the door, and the four empty bottles on the low table in front of him. He squinted his eyes shut one more time, before opening them wide.

Amy was naked, he realized with a shock. She stood, frozen in an awkward pose, with two hands to one ear, and her head tipped to that side. Soft light fell on her breasts, accentuating the dark creases beneath them, where they curved evenly away from her body, up to nicely pointed, pale nipples. Her legs were partly spread, as if she'd stopped in mid stride, so that while he couldn't clearly see her pubic hair in the dark, the gap between her legs was wide and obvious, and tempting.

Don hurriedly put one hand across his brow, although only after he knew he had looked at her for far too long.

"Sorry, Princess. I didn't mean to fall asleep. It got kind of boring, and I think I drank too many beers."

"What are you still doing here?"

Her tone was angry. He peeked under his hand to see that she'd moved her arms to cover her breasts, but did nothing to hide the rest of her. He immediately retreated further behind his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut for good measure.

"I forgot your keys," he told her. "I thought I had them, but I didn't, and I didn't want to leave your place unlocked."

"You could have called my cell," Amy admonished.

"No. You acted like the evening was important to you. I didn't want to wreck it for you. It was no big deal."

"It was a big deal. You wasted your whole evening. And as it turned out, I wasted mine, too."

Her tone had softened. She was still angry, but at least now it wasn't aimed at him.

"You can open your eyes," she said into his darkness.

Don lowered his hands and looked at her, only to see that she was still naked. She'd returned to the task of removing the earring, leaving her breasts exposed to him again. He forced his eyes up to meet hers as quickly as he could. Only when he met her eyes, her face strangely expressionless, did she turn to head into her bedroom.

"I'll be right out. I just have to get all of this worthless jewelry off," she said, her tone still annoyed.

Don set about gathering up his beer bottles, guiltily feeling that he shouldn't have had so much of it at her expense. A part of his mind wondered why she'd let him see her naked, but he shook the thought away as unimportant. She was just his daughter. It wasn't that big of a deal.

The incongruous image of Amy, nonchalantly standing naked before him, came vividly, unsolicited back into his mind. He wasn't sure what had gotten into her. It was out of character for her, unless she'd become so accustomed to his being around that she'd lost all pretense of modesty. He didn't think he could remember ever having seen her naked, not since she was a kid. Not that he hadn't tried, just once or twice, he had to admit.

For Don, she was no longer just his little princess. She was far too much of a woman for that. He felt an erection growing as he worked the memory of her body over in his mind, trying to recall every thing he'd seen, every detail. She was simply too good looking. He'd imagined himself with her any number of times, and felt no shame for having done it. He'd challenge any guy to have her as a daughter and not do the same thing.