Chasing Dad

Inspired by Donna

Life had been real tough since my son, Josh, was born four years ago. I was just eighteen at the time, and his dad, who was a guy I went to school with, left town as soon as he knew I was pregnant, and never came back.

When Josh was about a year old, I couldn’t stand living at home anymore and managed to get myself a council house about ten miles away. Although the rent was fairly low, I’ve had to live from hand to mouth since then. Mum and Dad like to help out, but I’ve got some pride left, and don’t take that much from them. A year ago, things got a bit easier when I put Josh in day school. It meant that I could get a part-time job in a supermarket, stacking shelves. The money wasn’t brilliant, but it helped to get some luxuries, like make-up for me and toys for Josh.

About April this year, I was at my folks’ place with Josh for an evening, when some good news came my way. Mum said that Dad’s boss had just given him an all expenses’ night out for two at some fancy new restaurant that had just opened in town. It was a reward for some good work that Dad had done during the last fiscal year. Mum asked if I would like to go with Dad, as she didn’t feel up to it. I should tell you that Mum is house-bound since she had a car accident six years ago, and spends her time in a wheelchair. Anyway, I didn’t have to think twice about the offer. I hadn’t been out for over a year, and even then it was just a couple of drinks down the pub with s girl from work. I gave Dad a big hug and asked him to set a date so that I could organise a babysitter for Josh. Dad suggested that he pick me up at seven-thirty that Saturday.

Come Saturday, I put Josh to bed at five and went for a shower. I had asked a neighbour’s daughter to sit for the evening, offering her ten pounds for her trouble. She said she’d get here at about seven-fifteen. As I sat at the bedside table, putting on my make-up and doing my hair, the feeling of excitement at being taken out overwhelmed me. I love Josh to bits, but being a single parent at my age isn’t what I had planned for my life. It got so that a date with Dad was this special. Sad, huh?

At six-thirty, I went to the wardrobe to pick out my outfit for the night. That’s a laugh. I mean, it’s not like I had much choice. In the end, it was a toss-up between a dress or a blouse and jeans. I figured that the restaurant would be quite posh, so the dress won out.

As I picked it up and slipped it from the hanger, I realised that I hadn’t worn this in over four years. I knew that it would still fit, because it was a stretchy type material and was meant to be clingy. But I was concerned about how I would look in it; I mean, I had given birth in the intervening years. So, I slid it over my head, wriggled around a bit, and went to have a look in the mirror. I was very pleasantly surprised by my reflection. Having Josh had increased my boobs by a couple of inches, but I was really pleased to see that there were no horrible bulges around my waist or hips. I had never really thought about it before, but my figure was probably better now than it was when I was a teen. One thing though, no way could I wear this dress with any underwear; it was just too tight. So, I undid my bra and manoeuvred out of it, before raising the dress and slipping off my panties. Now this is a very versatile garment; you can wear the top of it demurely on the shoulders, or as sexy as you, like by pulling the straps low down your arms, giving it a latin-type look that reveals the tops of your boobs. Also, you can wear the dress at just above the knee, or, by hiding folds under the wide belt, pull it as far up your legs as you like. Being as I was going out with my Dad, I chose the conservative option. The dress was a kind of lime green colour, and one of the reasons that I bought it all those years ago was because it came with a pair of matching sandals. They were very sexy, with just a strap over the toes and around the ankle. Because I’m only just over five feet tall, the four-inch heels were essential for my self-confidence. It was difficult getting used to wearing them again, as I’ve only worn flat shoes for the last four years. Anyway, when the babysitter saw me, she said I looked very pretty, so that made me feel good too.

I heard Dad pull into the driveway outside, bang on time. I gave final instructions to the sitter, and Dad gave her the number of the restaurant in case of emergencies. Then he showed me to the car, opened the door for me like a real gentleman, and we set off.

It was about a twenty-minute drive to the restaurant, during which time Dad and I chatted easily about our day. We parked up and went inside. The place was packed, and we were told by the receptionist that there would be about a forty-five-minute delay. Neither Dad nor I were concerned by that, we were in no hurry whatsoever. Dad suggested that we step into the lounge for some pre-dinner drinks.

The lounge was crowded too, but I was ushered to a seat at the end of a lovely deep seated couch, and Dad was offered a more formal chair to my left. The waiter asked to take our drinks’ orders. Dad was driving, of course, but said that he would be OK to have a couple of drinks. However, he said that he would prefer to have them with the meal. For now, he would be happy with just a mineral water. I dithered over what to have, until Dad suggested that I have a glass of champagne; after all, his company was picking up the bill. I had never had this luxurious drink before, but I knew it was expensive and extravagant, so, I said, why not?

When the drinks arrived, Dad and I stopped talking while the waiter did his job. During the silence, I just happened to look up at Dad, hoping to exchange a little comforting smile, but I couldn’t grab his attention. Well, what I mean is that I couldn’t grab his attention with my eyes, but it appeared that I could with my boobs. Dad was staring intently at them. It wasn’t that kind of daydreamy, not really concentrating, stare either. It was a full-blooded stare of admiration. It caused me to look down at myself to see if a boob had popped out of my dress or something. Although there was a lot of cleavage on show, I took comfort in the fact that everything was securely tucked away inside the material. What was obvious, however, was that my nipples were sticking out of the stretchy top like bolt-heads, and these were the objects that had attracted Dad’s attention.

When the waiter turned away, I picked up my glass and expected Dad to pick up his. But he was still locked onto my breasts. So I gave a little cough to attract his attention back to my face, and he immediately looked up and suggested that we drink a toast. We clinked our glasses and I took a big gulp of my first ever glass of real bubbly. The taste and effervescence were just as good as I had always been led to believe.

We talked easily for the next ten minutes or so, at which time Dad noticed that my glass was empty and ordered me a refill. As I was halfway through the second glass, I noticed that Dad was staring at my bust once again. But this time my own reaction was different. The champagne had gone straight to my head and I was feeling a little giddy. But knowing that Dad was looking at my boobs made me feel a little aroused. Like I said, it had been so long since I had been out with a man, that I had forgotten what it felt like to be looked at with desire. I felt guilty that my arousal was caused by my own Dad, but he was making me feel like a real woman, and not just a mum, for the first time in over four years.

Dad’s attention was causing me to squirm in my seat. I polished off the glass and told Dad that I was going to the ladies’ room; I needed to cool down some. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I was surprised how flushed I looked. I remembered it was the kind of colour my skin used to turn after having hard sex. I went into a stall, lifted my dress, and sat down. My pussy was soaking wet. I put a finger down there and felt that my clit was hard, too. I started rubbing it gently. My right hand had become my best friend over the last four years. But I realised that I shouldn’t be doing this. For one thing, I didn’t have enough time to bring myself off. But for another, this was an itch that I just could not afford to scratch; a girl is not supposed to be fantasising about her own Dad, no matter how starved of sex she is. But I just couldn’t shake the feeling. I was really horny for the first time in ages. I tried hard to cool down, but then I realised that I didn’t want to shake it off. I wondered what I could do. Then it came to me; I could flirt. Sure, that would be no harm. After all, hadn’t I flirted with him when I was a teen? I mean, it’s almost expected that a daughter and father flirt with each other. It’s part of family ritual and bonding. I could tease Dad tonight, and then go home and get the vibrator out. That would be perfect.

While I was still in the stall, I decided that part of the flirting would be to give Dad a better show of my body. I justified it to myself by thinking, if he wanted to look, then that was his business. I pulled the shoulder straps down my arms, so that the top of the dress was a straight line that just about covered the upper part of the dark circles around my nipples. Every time I breathed, my boobs threatened to leave the confines of the dress; it would drive Dad wild. Then, I shimmied down and slid the hem of my dress upwards until it was about mid-thigh. I hid the extra folds beneath the wide belt that accentuated my waist. When I looked in the mirror just before leaving the ladies’ room, I was staring at the reflection of one teasingly hot babe.

Jeez, I was feeling so sexy as I walked back to the lounge. I knew heads were turning in my direction from all over the place. From where Dad was seated, I knew he could see me coming from a long way off. Maybe it was the tapping of my heels on the wooden floor, or maybe it was my willing him to look up at me, but from about twenty yards away, I saw Dad lifting his gaze in my direction. From that very moment, I deliberately slowed my pace. I walked sensuously in a dead straight line, one foot in front of the other, swaying at the hips. I wanted him to get a long, hard look at his sexy daughter. Two things crossed my mind: Would Dad avert his gaze out of embarrassment or a sense of propriety, and would he acknowledge the change in my clothing arrangements? I prayed that the answer to both would be no. If he failed to say anything about my change, then it would mean that he was gaving tacit approval. It would also give me his unspoken permission to continue with my flirting.

Dad’s eyes unashamedly followed me all the way to my seat. As I sank down into the deep couch, I slowly crossed my legs towards him. Dad made no effort at all to hide the fact that he was admiring my slim thighs. Then, as I leaned forward to pick up my third glass of champagne, I followed Dad’s eyes as they focused in on my heaving bosom. I could almost hear him wishing for them to pop out. When I thanked him for the drink, I called him ‘Daddy’. I have never called him this, it’s always been ‘Dad’. But I thought that the new version was far sexier, and he didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Simply wiggling my raised shoe was enough to transfer his stare away from my boobs and back down to my legs. God, this was so easy, and so very, very sensual. We carried on a meaningless conversation for about five minutes, when the waiter arrived to take our orders. Ten minutes later, he returned to say that our table was ready. For the first time since I had returned from the ladies’ room, Dad took his eyes off my body and looked into my eyes as he let me past to go into the restaurant. Knowing that he was staring at my tight ass made me feel wetter that a pond.

We were shown to a circular table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, hardly overlooked by anyone else. There was a semi-circular seat around the back of the table against the wall, with two place settings next to each other. I went in first and Dad followed. The waiter unfolded the napkins over our laps. I realised that leaving mine where it was would obstruct the view that I wanted Dad to have of my legs. Unfortunately, the table cloth was too close also. So, playing the teasing game, and without making any effort to disguise my actions, I deliberately hiked my dress further up my thighs. So that now, as Dad leaned back in the seat, he could see bare flesh from about mid-thigh to, well, to a point of indecency, that’s where.

Poor Dad. I noticed that he hardly touched his food, since that meant having to lean forward, thus taking me out of his field of vision. We were both playing the game and it was terribly exciting and dangerous. After two or three more glasses of wine I was feeling very woosey and even more flirtatious. During giggly conversations, I began to touch Dad in that friendly manner that people have when they are close. I started by flicking his hands, then by holding his arm, and when I felt comfortable with that, I squeezed his knee, playfully. Dad, in response, grew more courageous, and began to rub his leg against mine, whilst pretending not to notice. At one stage, I very deliberately dropped my napkin ring onto the floor, making no effort at all to make it look like an accident. Dad didn’t need to be asked. He was on his knees under that table like he was looking for treasure. As I turned my body to face his side of the table, I let my legs part slightly. Cheekily, I asked if he could see it. Whatever he thought the ‘it’ was, he said that he could. I lifted the tablecloth to catch him peering up at what passed for a dress right at my neatly trimmed love box. When Dad surfaced again, his face was red, and he was careful to place his napkin over a bulge that had appeared in his lap.

After having a brandy, Dad thanked me for being such good company, paid the bill, for which he would be reimbursed by his boss, and said he would take me home. It was a warm spring evening, so I hadn’t brought a coat with me. As we walked the short distance to where Dad’s car was parked, I feigned a drunken stumble, forcing Dad to save me and giving me the chance to grab hold of him around the waist. As my right hand rested on his big belly, just above his belt, I felt his right hand moving down from my waist and onto my hip. By the time I had steadied myself from the pretend fall, Dad had gotten himself a good feel of my right ass cheek.

I pretended to have to lean against the car for support as Dad opened the passenger door. As I fell into the seat, I swung one leg in before the other to give him another view up my dress, which was pulled up so far that it was almost indistinguishable from the belt around my waist. I have to say that I was very, very randy by now. The combination of alcohol and flirting had removed all my inhibitions. If Dad showed any signs of wanting me, wrong as it may be, I would encourage him. I just wanted to be fucked that night.

When we pulled up into the driveway at my place, I asked Dad if he would like to come in for a coffee. I was really upset that I had to beg him to consent. I mean, after all the teasing I had given him at the restaurant and in the car, I thought he would have been dying to see more of me, if you get my drift. I had enough presence of mind to realise that my current attire wouldn’t look too good in front of the sitter, so as Dad locked the car and I made my way into the house, I pulled my dress down to full length and covered my boobs. I thought I saw a sense of disappointment cross Dad’s eyes when he saw what I’d done, but after waiting to see the sitter get safely to her house just down the street, I rearranged my appearance to the slutty daughter look. If Dad knew the game I was playing, he didn’t let on.

Feeling really horny, I gave Dad his coffee and sat on the arm of the couch right next to him. I crossed my legs so that I could teasingly brush his calf with the heel of my shoe. Taking a deep breath, I asked Dad if he would like to spend the night, especially as he had had a couple of drinks. Dad smiled and said that Mum would be worried, and besides, he didn’t fancy a night on the couch at his age. I put my arm around his shoulders and began to twirl the little bit of hair he had by his ears. It was then that I said it.

‘Who said anything about the couch, Daddy. My bed’s big enough for two.’

I knew immediately that it had been a mistake. Dad clenched his fists and stood up, his empty cup falling to the floor. The look of anger in his eyes was something I had never seen before. He just turned and left without saying a single word. As I heard his car pull away, I went up to bed, crying like a baby.

I awoke the next morning and grimaced when I remembered how foolish I had been the night before. How could I have hit on my own Dad? More to the point, how could I ever face him again? And what if he tells Mum?

It was over a week before I heard from Mum. She phoned up out of the blue one evening, asking why I hadn’t called. At least I knew that Dad hadn’t told her how stupid their daughter had been. She asked when I was coming round next, but I told her that I was so busy with work and looking after Josh, that I’d have to get back to her. I couldn’t risk going there and seeing Dad; not yet, anyway.

But about two weeks after that, my life started to change for the better. I was given more responsibilities at work, with an appropriate rise in pay, and I met a man. Mike was forty-eight years old, divorced, with a grown-up son and no ties. He was a company representative who did business with the supermarket where I worked. He asked me out on a date, we had a great time, he gave great sex and he adored Josh. Things were looking up.

Mike and I had been going out for about two months, when one sunny day, he suggested that the three of us go to the zoo, stopping of at my folks’ place on the way. He was keen to meet Mum and Dad, but I had been putting him off. Apart from the fact that he was about the same age as Dad, which I knew wouldn’t go down too well, I hadn’t spoken to Dad since the night he walked out on me. Eventually, Mike convinced me that it was about time that he and my parents met, and told me to get myself and Josh ready.

I was really nervous as we drove to Mum and Dad’s place. So bad, in fact, that I gave myself a really big headache. It needn’t have bothered me, as it turned out, because both of them immediately took a shine to Mike, and the age thing never came into it. Trouble was, that I knew that the migraine was here to stay. So I asked Mike if he would drop me off at home before taking Josh to the zoo. Before Mike could answer, Dad mentioned that the zoo was in the opposite direction to my house and that he’d be glad to take me home. I was nervous about being with Dad again and declined the offer. But both Dad and Mike ganged up on me and forced me to accept. Reluctantly, I said goodbye to everyone, and got into the passenger seat next to Dad.

I sat staring out of the passenger window, feeling the silence covering me like a shroud. Eventually, Dad spoke. It was not a pleasant tone, and I knew bad things were to come. His previous pleasantness had all been an act for Mom and Mike’s benefit.

‘I see you’re wearing your whore’s outfit again. Is that how you got your new boyfriend?’

I looked down at my dress and shoes. Dad was right; they were the same as I had worn on that disastrous evening at the restaurant. I felt embarrassed and humiliated as Dad tore into me for being a no good tramp. I looked forlornly down into my lap as he ranted on about how bad I was. In the end I couldn’t take any more. I told him that it hadn’t been all me that night, and that, perhaps, he shouldn’t feel so proud of himself. I reminded him of how easily he found it to stare at his daughter’s legs and breasts. When he denied this I became angry.