Holly Pt. 02

I heard her tell me that she knew what I did with her panties - and that was sometimes the reason she didn't always wipe herself (even though I knew that that wasn't actually the truth - I'd found her panties dirty that way before I'd ever written about it or of what I'd done with them).

For as much as I wanted to believe she was doing it for me, I knew my stepdaughter was simply a dirty girl. She simply didn't seem to care.

Or did she?

Actually I didn't care about the reasons - I just loved that she was.

The truth is I simply couldn't escape the memory of what had happened with her in the bathroom.

Couldn't.

Even if I'd wanted to.

The truth is, I didn't want to.

Ever...

Holly was my stepdaughter. Who I helped her mother raise. Who I watched Saturday morning cartoons with. Who I helped with homework. Who I hugged and held close when, for whatever reason, she cried. Who I loved every bit as much as if she'd been my own flesh and blood. Never made the distinction, honestly. Had always considered her my daughter. Still do.

I should never have had the thoughts I had about her. Never. Should never have begun to look at her the way I did.

Should have never seen her in the way I did.

Should never have looked at, noticed, her large tits, her big ass.

A dad doesn't look at his daughter that way.

But the awful and wonderful memory of what I - 'we,' she had said 'we' - had done continued, unabated, to play itself out again in my mind's eye.

It filled me with guilt.

God, what had I done?

It filled me with lust.

God, what I wanted to do...

I leaned back against the washing machine, gasping - and wanting Holly and her big, dirty ass to be there with me.

Legs apart and bent at the knee to steady myself, I pushed my pelvis forward, pushed my exposed cock forward into my slowly moving hand. Holly's panties pressed to my face, my nose, I inhaled deeply the scents of my stepdaughter's crotch. The smell of her cunt - young, fresh and tangy - a young girl's pussy pushing overly ripe, sweaty, the fabric pressed against her on a warm day, her natural juices and discharges and smelling slightly of pee and her favourite perfume, the scents of my stepdaughter captured in the cotton lined crotch. And the odor of her ass. It, too, sweaty and smelling of both sweat and the natural odor of her anal stickiness after a warm day in snug jeans - and whatever dirtiness remained after she'd used the toilet. The smell of Holly held in those worn underpants I held to my face, my nose.

As I inhaled the smells of my stepdaughter's crotch and the memory of she and I in the bathroom took over my mind, my hand began to move over my throbbing dick faster. My hips had begun to move in time with my hand. Precum formed on the tip and smeared slickly over the head and, down over the shaft under my moving hand.

I forced myself to slow down. I had to. If I didn't I'd cum in seconds and I wanted to make this last a little while longer.

It was early yet.

Nobody would be home anytime soon.

I knew I had time to fully enjoy the smells in my stepdaughter's panties - and the memory of what I'd done with her.

Again, I was wrong.

Holding my stepdaughter's worn underpants to my face and inhaling the odors of her young pussy and wonderful big ass, I stroked my cock, remembering what I'd - we'd - done in the bathroom.

Though I fought against it, my body had a will, needs, of its own. With the smells of Holly in my nose, my fist pumped faster as remembered images of her and I filled my mind's eye. Precum began to leak freely from my pee hole by now, making both my prick and my hand slick. My hips moved, thrusting forward into my gripping fist. I felt it beginning. The briefest thought flashed through my lust filled mind of pausing long enough to search for another pair of Holly's panties - or my wife's - in the washing machine to wrap around my cock and stroke myself with till I came and coated the strained crotch with sperm. Something I'd done that before with my wife's worn panties, smelling and licking at one stained dirty pair with another wrapped around my prick. I loved the feeling of those panties sliding on my aching dick as I smelled and licked at the stained panties I held to my face.

But these weren't my wife's worn panties I was sniffing and jacking off with. It wasn't the smell of my wife's wonderful cunt, it wasn't the odor of my wife's fat ass that filled my nose.

These were my stepdaughter's underpants pressed to my face.

And right then my body was in no way willing to stop.

I wanted, needed, to taste what I was smelling in fabric I held to my face. Taste what I'd tasted before in Holly's worn panties - just a hint of what I had tasted only days ago as I knelt behind my stepdaughter. I parted my lips against the cotton, opening for my tongue to -

"What are you doing, dad?" I heard my stepdaughter ask, quietly, so softly. Almost a careful whisper. From a million miles away and right next to me.

Holly.

Startled - no, shocked - my heart lept, skipping a beat or several. I jumped and froze, dick in hand, panties pressed against my face. My head jerked in the direction of her voice. The afternoon sunlight coming through the laundry room window was a bright spotlight on me as if I was alone, exposed, on stage. And the audience was my stepdaughter, watching my shameful performance.

Holly.

Where had she come from?

I hadn't heard the bus hiss and squeal to a stop at the corner - when had she gotten home?

I was alone in the house.

I knew it.

Apparently I wasn't.

And I didn't know it.

She was looking at me, her big blue eyes blinking, catching the light. She held an arm load of clothing that she tossed onto the top of the dryer. Washcloths, towels, jeans and a shirt, a pair of socks or two, a bra...and...

"Dad," she quietly, gently, asked again, "what are you doing?"

Everything was time elapsed.

High speed and slow motion.

The laundry room seemed to swirl around me...

What the hell was she doing home?

With a jerk, I turned my body away from her. Taking my hand and her underpants from my face quickly - as if she hadn't already seen - I made a futile attempt to cover my exposed prick, covering it with my stepdaughter's underwear. My erection died quickly from the shock and my prick grew soft, a drop of precum clinging to the tip. The fabric of her panties quickly drank up the liquid that leaked from the head of my suddenly softening cock as I covered it. My face was instantly aflame, burning, with embarrassment and humiliation. I couldn't have responded to her if I'd tried. I had no words. Some unintelligible strange noises came from my mouth.

"Dad..." my stepdaughter said, still speaking softly. She gently laid a hand on my shoulder.

I jumped again and looked back over my shoulder at her. The expression on her face was soft. Caring. Concerned? Her blue eyes found my gray eyes. She blinked once, twice.

I realized she'd changed clothes. She'd worn a pair of jeans and a button up shirt with some sort of floral pattern when she'd made her way to the bus stop that morning. She now wore a pair of snug gray sweatpants that hugged her hips and big butt nicely - I'd looked her over more than a few times before when she'd been wearing them - and one of my old t-shirts that was a little too long for her but held her large breasts nicely. I think she liked to wear my old shirts for just that reason. Those old shirts showed off my stepdaughter's big tits. I could see the outlines of her bra straps on her shoulders under the worn cotton.

How could I even notice such things when she'd just caught me jacking off with her...?

"Are those my panties?" she asked just above a whisper.

She spoke so softly.

I loved her voice.

I hated her question.

"H - Holly -" I struggled to speak.

Even after what she'd told me she'd read, even after what had happened between us just days ago, I was petrified she'd seen what I was doing.

Why?

I don't really know - other than it seemed so wrong. My stepdaughter had just found me masturbating as I held her worn underpants to my face. It just seemed - and felt...wrong, regardless of what had occurred a few days ago.

The humiliation, the shame, the embarrassment, was faster than immediate.

She shouldn't have seen me like this. Shouldn't have seen what I was doing - I was jacking off with my stepdaughter's worn panties.

And she'd just caught me doing it.

And she knew I'd done it before. Many times.

The truth is that even after what I - we, she'd said we - had done in the bathroom, I was horrified by the fact that my stepdaughter had caught me doing something like this.

Horrified by the fact she'd just caught me doing something she already knew I did with her worn underpants.

She already knew.

She'd read a confession I didn't know I was making at the time I wrote it.

She already knew and she'd told me that she knew.

'I know what you do with my panties, dad...'

Why her catching me doing something she already knew I'd been doing, something as relatively innocent, considering, as jacking off with her worn underpants - after I'd spent an afternoon licking her ass - was so humiliating, so embarrassing, I can't say. But it was.

"Are they?"

I could only nod, eyes to the floor.

It almost hurt to look at her and it seemed the ability to speak had left me.

She smiled gently, almost... kindly, at me.

"Were you thinking about me?" she asked softly.

I nodded again.

The panties she'd caught me smelling were hers. She knew that.

Who else would I be thinking about?

Why would she ask?

Did she just want to hear me admit it?

"Y - yes, chick," I managed somehow, "I'm so sorry, Holly, I - "

"Don't be," she said.

Her voice was so quiet.

So sweet and wonderful.

And so horrifying.

I'd begun to tremble inside and out.

"Were you thinking about the other day in the bathroom?" she asked in that wonderfully soft, quiet - and frightening - voice.

"I've been thinking about it, dad," she whispered, "A lot."

Ashamed, I nodded.

"Y - yes," I forced myself to answer, my voice hoarse, just barely above a whisper.

She smiled again.

"I loved doing that with you, dad," she said, blue eyes watching mine, "and I like knowing how much you liked it too. I love what you wrote about it."

Yes, I'd written about what I'd done with my stepdaughter. Like I'd written about what I'd been doing with her panties.

I'd written about how I'd looked at her rear as she was holding her panties away from her body when I was supposed to be looking to see if she was injured...

About how I saw and loved the sight of her big asscheeks...

About how I felt the sweaty warmth from between them on my fingers as I rubbed her - supposedly - injured tailbone...

About how I caught the scent of her butt drifting up to my nose...

About how it made me feel...

About how she'd surprised me when she had suddenly pulled her jeans down, offering...

About how I felt when I knelt behind her and pushed my face against her butt...

About how the smell of her back there inflamed me...

About how she shocked me when she slid her panties down and her big beautiful ass was revealed to me...

About how she made me feel when she pulled her fat asscheeks apart and told me she wanted me to lick her ass...

About how I loved the odor and taste of her dirty ass. The smell and taste of her... shit...

About how awful I felt afterward...

About how I feared she would hate me...

About how I wanted to do something like that with her again...

After quickly scrawling the words across the pages, I'd set my journal and pen back into the drawer of my nightstand and slid the drawer shut.

I'd written about it for Holly, for her eyes.

I wasn't positive she'd ever even read my words. I only hoped she would.

I prayed she would.

I just wanted my stepdaughter to know, understand, what she did to me.

I needed her to know.

She knew.

I just didn't realize how well she knew.

And she'd told me...

"I like reading what you write about me... So please don't stop, please?

Dad... promise you won't stop - please don't stop writing about me ok?"

"I'd never hate you dad," she whispered, answering questions I'd not asked her only written about, as she stared into my eyes - maybe into my soul, "I love what we did in the bathroom, dad - and I wanna do that again too,"

Oh, god, if she had any idea of what I wanted to do with her, to her.

She did.

She was so close to me - and despite the humiliation of what my stepdaughter had caught me doing, I felt my body begin to react to her closeness.

She smelled slightly of sweat and lavender.

Lavender is supposed to be a calming scent. It didn't calm me.

I could smell the faintest hint of body odor and perfume after a very warm, almost hot, spring day. Chick had sweated during her day at school - perhaps at lunch when she and her best friend had sat outside in the warm spring sunshine, perhaps during her Phys-Ed class when she played volleyball (or whatever sport the girls coach decided they would practice as she searched for team prospects), perhaps from her walk from the bus stop under the bright surprisingly warm for this time of year sun.

She smelled...wonderful.

The sunlight that came through the laundry room window to highlight my shame also caught and highlighted both the reddish and bluish streaks in my stepdaughter's dark hair and glinted in her blue eyes.

Did I say she was beautiful?

She was.

She is.

At 18 my stepdaughter was my 18 year old self's vision of perfect female hotness.

Big tits and a large fat ass - that was sometimes a little dirty.

She was what my teenage mind had fantasized about all those years ago - the hidden thoughts and desires I had that no-one I knew of shared, ever mentioned. The nasty desires I had that hardened my young cock. Desires that burned me alive in my bed at night. Desires I couldn't explain or really understand. Desires that drove the fantasies I had about those chubby girls I went to school with... Desires that drove me to look through the laundry baskets of the females I knew, searching for panties that had a hint of...

My stepdaughter was the image of what my teenaged mind and body lusted for those many, many, years ago.

Holly was perfect.

Both in body and..dirtiness.

I saw her eyes drop to my hands which, absentmindedly, as I paid more attention to her than myself, had fallen slightly away from my crotch. I realized she could see my cock as it slowly began to come to life again.

She reached out, touching the bunched up fabric I still held near my crotch in some all but forgotten attempt to hide myself from her eyes. I jumped a third time. My stepdaughter's hand was suddenly so close to my -

She rubbed the material between her fingers as if she were checking to see how soft they were. As if she were deciding whether or not to make a purchase. Were these good enough? Soft enough? Was the quality right? Was this the right fabric to cover her delicate, private parts? Were they worth the price?

My stepdaughter's hand was only an inch or so from my hardening prick. She lifted her gaze back up to mine.

"I wondered if you would look at my panties," she said quietly, "to see if I was... cleaner. You told me I should be more careful about that."

I turned my eyes from hers, embarrassed, as I remembered what I'd told her as I tried - and failed - to end the situation I'd found myself in from going any further when I'd sat on the toilet seat behind her only days ago.

"Chick..." I whispered, staring at the wall opposite her, "I..."

She grabbed my arm, tugged on it. I turned my head to look at her, to her face, her eyes.

She glanced down at my crotch and my cock that had begun to swell again then back to my face.

Her bright blue eyes glistened. The softest, gentlest smile on her lips.

Did I mention she is beautiful?

"You don't have to stop, dad," she whispered, "I like watching you do that."

I could only stare at her face, into her eyes.

"When I read about what you were doing with my panties... God, I thought that was so nasty, dad, so...hot," she whispered, "I knew some guys did that and I always wondered if a guy would ever think about stealing my underpants and, you know..."

She drew closer to me and I felt her warm breath on my face, "I wanted to catch you doing it..."

I was glad she hadn't.

But she just had.

"H - Holly -" I heard myself whisper.

"I've been cleaner, haven't I?" she whispered, "my underpants shouldn't have even smelled very much. Did they, dad? I mean, if you checked..."

"Y - yes," I managed, "I mean no - I mean -"

She giggled softly as I stumbled and fell over my words.

"You've... checked, haven't you?," she said, "You've been looking at my panties again, haven't you?"

She sounded almost teasing. But her face showed nothing of wanting to embarrass or humiliate me. Instead I saw...compassion? Love..? Was there a glint of arousal in her eyes? Or was that my own lust reflecting in those glistening blue pools I couldn't look away from?

"Chick...please don't..."

"Tell me," she whispered, "please...?"

I felt the warmth of her breath wash across me with each word.

I couldn't really respond.

I wanted to.

I tried.

"I - Holly - chick - I..." I stammered.

"You have been, haven't you, dad," she said, again almost teasingly, "Tell me..."

Not a question as much as a statement. Less a request than a direction.

"I..."

Again, my voice failed me.

She watched my face intently.

"Ch - chick," I finally managed to whisper, "Y - yes, I...I...You know I did..."

"Dad," she asked in an almost urgent whisper, "Tell me... Did you...touch your dick when you checked to see if I was... cleaner? I mean... Did you... you know... masturbate?"

For whatever reason, Holly saying that word, 'masturbate' - which is what I'd done, thinking about her - such a clinical word, it sounded so...dirty...when she said it. Sounded so nasty.

Sounded so...sexy...

As shocked and embarrassed and ashamed as I was by her catching me masturbating, my body had begun to respond to her words. Respond to my stepdaughter asking about, talking about how her panties should have been cleaner, about how they might have smelled. Respond to her body so close to mine.

My cock, that had so quickly softened at the shock of finding my stepdaughter home had just as quickly begun to stiffen again.

So close to her fingers...

"Do it, dad," she whispered, "make sure I did what you told me to do. Make sure I wasn't too dirty yesterday."

The hand she had at my crotch tugged at the clump of gray nylon I still held there, pulling gently up - and slowly I lifted my hand, following hers. Tugging on that gray fabric, she lifted her hand, and mine. Raising her hand - and pulling mine - towards my face

Her hand dropped away. Silently, with only her eyes, she encouraged me.

I continued to lift my hand, raising the bunched up fabric upwards towards my face.

I couldn't stop myself from bringing my stepdaughter's panties towards my face and I couldn't take my eyes from hers.

I pressed the bunched up fabric, the stained cotton lined crotch exposed, to my nose, inhaling. The scents of my stepdaughter's crotch again filled my nose as she stood mere inches away watching.

"Oh, god," she gasped so quietly I wasn't sure she knew she was speaking aloud, staring at my face and the panties - her panties - I pressed to my nose. She seemed fascinated.

I moaned quietly as the smell of her crotch flooded my mind and wrestled away any thoughts I had had of resisting...

I think I both loved and hated her right then.