Kitten & Father in Florence Ch. 04

"I shouldn't say it," he murmured.

"Then don't, she replied softly, recalling her own thoughts.

"But I want to," he replied, rubbing her back.

"Me too."

"What?" her father asked.

"I shouldn't say it either."

"Maybe we both shouldn't then."

"But we wanted to."

"Um-hmm," he agreed.

"Then you first, and I will."

There was a long moment of silence. Her head was on his shoulder and she felt his head nod. After another moment, he murmured:

"It was never so good. ... all of it with you."

She nodded and replied:

"With you too, ... but I was thinking about affection and loving, that our 'making love' was the ultimate."

He nodded again and after a moment murmured:

"It was, it is," and embraced her. She nodded, turning her head and kissing him. He murmured again:

"Sorry, for just comparing it - us - with anything in the past."

"If we both think it's that good?"

Her father sighed with a moan and stroked her back, then replying softly: "We do."

She raised her head and kissed him. His hands slid down and clasped her ass. Their tongues just found each other to confirm their agreement. Then he gently slapped her ass with chuckle and said:

"I'll have to suck your very nice breasts another time. Have to go again."

"But with your fingers in my pussy," she replied. He nodded again.

The intense emotional content of their conversation was gone, both snickering as they got up and went to the bathroom. They exchanged almost sheepish smiles as they silently took turn using the toilet and washing. When they returned to the room, they both glanced at the open beds and at each other.

"Which one?" her father asked.

"Mine; I want to wake up again that way."

"Not sure which one that is; looks like they're both 'ours'."

"They are, but this one was just mine."

She moved towards it, and her father followed, turning off the light as he joined her, curling up behind her and immediately sliding his arm around her and holding her breast. She nodded with hum and murmured:

"Very nice."

"All of it, and not just 'in every respect'."

"What I meant," she agreed, reaching back and rubbing his ass.

He moved his hips closer behind her, but replied:

"Can't promise that you can wake up that way again."

"Then your fingers."

"One way or the other, for sure," he agreed, squeezing her breast and rocking his hips.

They murmured good night. She wanted to say "Daddy," but didn't, and they fell asleep.

During the night, they both turned over. He rolled back, and she following him, her arm on his chest. When he rolled on his other side, having to move back from the edge of the bed, for few moments, she was awake enough to make space for him, then curling up behind him, moving further down the bed, her head off the pillow, drawing her arm up under her head, the other one around him.

When they woke up that way, he had to go to the bathroom. She woke up, as he slipped away under her arm. When she heard him using the toilet, she smiled to herself, pleased that the sound didn't make her think that she had to, too. Had he drunk more of the wine than she had? She lay there, waiting for him to return, wondering what he would do or say.

He crept back under the covers, raising her arm off the bed to move closer, facing her. She opened her eyes and said:

"Good morning."

"You too," he replied, as their arms went around each other. Then he chuckled and said:

"It's going to have to be just fingers."

"Oh goodie!" she replied spontaneously with her childhood expression, so inappropriate to what he had said, but her delight that he had just made it come out. He chuckled and rubbed her back, replying:

"Almost as good as when I said that you could take riding lessons?"

They both laughed out loud, hugging each other. When they had recovered, she moved back up on the pillow and smirked, replying:

"Now you know why."

"But you didn't, back then."

"But we do now!" she answered, drawing her thigh up over his, holding it up, until he drew his up between hers. Her thighs held it, and they both nodded, chuckling. She squeezed his thigh again and murmured: "There's still space for your hand, your fingers."

His hand slid down and slapped her ass, and he replied:

"Wondered if you would say something like that."

"Don't they want to, at least, one of your fingers?"

He scratched her ass with his middle finger. She nodded and murmured: "It does."

He nodded, and his hand slid down between them, and his fingers played in her pubic hair. She rubbed his back and hummed, and his fingers found the front of her pussy. She hummed again and murmured: "Yeah, do that, until I go all wet."

He nodded and rubbed the little swelling between the start of her pussy lips. She hummed with a nod, then moaned; it felt like her pussy was already wet enough. She felt his cock stir, touching her thigh. Of course, it was always arousing for her, when she had had her fingers in Marlie's pussy. She moaned again, hoping that she didn't have to tell her father to put his finger in her pussy.

She didn't. When she moaned again and nodded, he nodded, and his finger slid down. Her thigh twitched up, and his hand was down between her thighs, his finger finding her opening - wet opening, his finger slipping easily in her. She moaned louder with another nod. She didn't have to tell him anything. He moaned, and she felt his cock slide up her thigh. She was going to have to take care of it, wanted to, but not now, although she was already anticipating feeling it her mouth.

Did she want to let him just do it, give her an orgasm, or would he want to talk, hear her talk? It didn't feel like his finger needed any instructions. "Uhn!" No, it didn't! It was just so good, being aroused without having to do anything, and almost just as good the other way - with him and Marlie, giving them pleasure. She loved knowing that she was just giving pure pleasure. "It's better to give than to receive." Hardly! Not when his finger or mouth or cock were arousing her! And the words before the collection in the church were the least appropriate thing to remember, when her father was fucking her with his finger!

So deep in her pussy, deeper than hers or Marlie's could be, and two of Marlie's didn't feel as big as his one. He moaned when her pussy contracted on it, and she felt his cock twitch on her thigh. But her pussy wanted it to feel more like when his cock was in it.

"Two," she murmured with a moan, then felt his finger draw back and another one join it, both plunging into her again, twining, twisting. It couldn't feel as good as his cock in her did, but it felt so good, feeling them wiggling - like hers enjoyed doing it in Marlie' tight pussy! She moaned; it was a little like their girl-girl thing, knowing how it was feeling for his fingers.

Was his twitching cock also wanting to feel how her pussy was clutching his fingers? As though it wanted to keep them from moving, but wanting them to, her hips twitching to help them. Enough fingerfucking; he had proved that he could, and his cock wanted to. She moaned and rolled back. He had said it; she could: "Fuck me!"

His hand followed her, his fingers still moving in her wet pussy.

"Cock," she murmured, drawing up the thigh that had been on his, that had been squeezing his.

Good Daddy! He rolled towards her, over her, and "mounted her." Where had she learned that expression, from the French? His cock plunged in her pussy, almost without his having to directed it, but he immediately had, as though he had been waiting for her to ask him, beg him to. He moaned and fucked, and her other leg drew, her thighs clamped around his waist, her feet hooked together again.

She moaned in the appreciation that she had recognized how much that was part of fucking and let her rock her hips up to meet the thrusts of his cock in her pussy. He was going to have to suck her breasts some other time. His hands were again clasped under her shoulders, catching the jolts of her body, as his hips pounded against her ass.

Come with me, she insisted in her thoughts, but it was just a hope that he would; she wanted her own orgasm too much to try to delay the arousal that was overcoming her, as she gasped and whimpered, hardly aware of his gasps and groans, as his cock pumped in her clutching pussy.

God, yes! Her pussy was spurting! And he was grunting! Could she really feel his spurts in her pussy, like she loved to feel them in her mouth? Feel them or not, she knew they were there; her pussy was so wet, not just from her; she felt and knew that her pussy juice was what was running down to her asshole.

Her father collapsed on her, still moaning. She hugged him, her legs dropping down on the bed. Maybe - surely - a girl shouldn't love her father like she did, the way they did, but since they did? And it was better than anything she could imagine. And he had said about the same. So be it. She squeezed his cock, and he nodded, almost as though he were agreeing with her. When she squeezed it again, after they had recovered, it slipped out. He nodded again, but with a chuckle and said:

"Before you leak even more," and quickly moved back between her legs.

When she understood that he wanted to lick her, she hummed with smirk and drew her legs up, rolling her hips up. His tongue lapped up from her asshole. When it twitched, she felt more liquid slip out of her pussy and made it contract again. His tongue found it and searched for more in her opening. She chuckled and tousled his hair, feeling her pussy contract again in response to his tongue's searching. After a last lick, he raised his head and gave her a wry smile, remarking:

"Never thought I would do that, want to, but I make more stains on the sheet than your sweet juice does."

"If you say so. Thanks. Maybe I was just sleeping alone, playing with myself, just wishing I wasn't."

"Like the first night?"

"No, but I might have after that, if we hadn't."

"Without my noticing?"

"Probably not."

"And then I would have. Oh, we would have, if that had happened - somehow."

"More fun, the way it did. Hm-hmm! But if you don't want more to lap up, I'd better go to the bathroom."

"Me too," her father agreed with a grin.

"Shower," she suggested, as she sat up.

He nodded, and they hurried to the bathroom. When their streams arched out, they both chuckled. Then he reached down and let hers fill his hand, shrugging and murmuring:

"If I can do that," and tasted her urine.

"If you can," she replied and caught the last of his and tasted it.

They both shrugged with wry smiles. She said:

"Tastes better than you do."

"Um-hmm, but not as good as you do," he replied and embraced her, looking for a kiss.

Their tongues licked around the other's wet lips and then caressed for a moment. They started their shower, enjoying passing the soap back and forth and rubbing their soapy hands all over each other. They rinsed and dried themselves. When he turned to shave, and she was about to return to the room, he glanced back and said:

"But don't wear the tightest shirt you have."

She grinned, shaking her head, appreciating that he had remembered that she wasn't going to wear a bra. Her other polo shirt was the same size. She thought of wearing a thin blouse, but admitted to herself that it would be too provocative, especially the way she was feeling, thinking about sex, when nothing else distracted her. Nothing was, as she got dressed, cheerfully looking forward to the day in the museum, and on the way to it, a long walk, lots of guys who might enjoy seeing her.

When her father joined her, she felt bad about having had that thought. There he was, naked, smiling at her, making her nipples pop out, nodding in approval. How could she think about other men, when she had him - had him every way a woman could? Yes, she was definitely a woman now, even if she was still her daddy's Kitten. No, especially because she was her daddy's Kitten.

They had breakfast, nodding at the other guests. He had taken a copy of the International Herald Tribune, and they talked about the news, nothing to make her nipples pop out, and something to keep his eyes off them. She wondered if he had the same thought. They did pop out for a moment, but then relaxed. She recalled Marlie's more prominent nipples, thinking that they would show through her polo shirt even when they weren't aroused.

They returned to their room and then set off. As they were leaving the hotel, her father smirked slightly and murmured:

"If you're going to be like that, maybe I can see if you were right, that all the other girls are."

She nodded with a smile, feeling less bothered about her having wanted guys to see her. They both enjoyed themselves. After the first couple of males noticed her, her nipples didn't pop out, unless the man or boy obviously smiled. When they passed the market on the way to the bridge across the Arne river, a young man at a stand, smiled and said "bella," holding his thumb and finger together. Her father scowled at him, but she heard him chuckle softly.

She was also pleased that he saw that she had been right about the other girls. Once, he even murmured "very nice," but then was looking at a building. She chuckled, knowing that he was referring to the young blonde approaching them. On the old bridge, with its shops on both sides of the walkway, they looked at the displays of gold jewelry, wondering who bought it all. Then an April shower was threatening, and they hurried on to the Palazzo Pitti.

In the picture galleries, they were overwhelmed by all the paintings. She showed off what she had learned in her course. Her father listened attentively. She noticed, however, that he was sometimes distracted, looking more at a group of young girls with a guide, who was speaking Dutch. Of course, there were nudes in some of the painting, but the ones with the biggest breasts were 17th century, fleshy women. Then in the middle of one large gallery, they found an over life-sized marble statue: "Vittoria" by Vincenzo Consani. They smiled at each other. While they looked at the pictures in the gallery, they chuckled softly, when they noticed one or the other of them taking another look at the statue. Before they left the gallery, they returned to read the label, discovering that Consani was a 19th century sculptor.

On the way to the next gallery, he whispered:

"Maybe the ideal figure in the last century was more like what I like."

"Me too, as long as you only look at statues and pictures. Oh, you're right. In the course, well, more in art books in the library, we found plenty you would like. He couldn't have flashed them all up on the screen without suggesting that he liked to see them all, the French artists, especially."

"Oh, even I have seen a few paintings by them. Mmmm! You're right, just naked girls standing there, or lying, just lovely nudes, no excuse that they're supposed to represent Victory - like here - or Architecture, yesterday."

She nodded with a grin and drew her shoulders back. He looked and whispered:

"Nor anyone's daughter."

"Or maybe so," she replied with her impish smile. He scowled, but then nodded slightly, giving her breasts another brief glance. She wondered if he had seen that her nipples has popped out again.

It was lunchtime, when they finally had been through all the galleries. When they were in the colonnade to the courtyard, they discovered that it was raining and had lunch in the museum restaurant. They still had other collections to see in the palace, and dutifully continued their tour.

The only nude they saw, was a "very nice" statue on the far side of small courtyard, which they saw again through a window on the second floor. The objects in the exhibition were, however, interesting and a remarkable representation of the wealth that had collected them all. They both chuckled, when they caught up with the group of Dutch girls, who had obviously been caught by the rain, when they went out for lunch. Their damp shirts revealed which ones weren't wearing bras, most of them, the others with too much to go without. She enjoyed seeing them as much as her father did, looking for nipples that were like Marlie's, again pleased that her father could see - even better - that she had been right about other girls going without.

When they left that part of the museum, it wasn't raining. They decided to forgo the other collections, since it looked like another shower could come along. As they returned to the Ponto Vecchio, the old bridge, the first drops came down. She remembered the Dutch girls, liking the thought that her polo shirt would cling, like a couple of theirs still had been. The first few drops were cold, and her nipples popped. Her father noticed and urged her to hurry along onto the bridge, where they could stand under the raised covers for the shop windows. When they stopped, he remarked: "Before you try to win the wet t-shirt contest."

She scowled, but with wink, and shook the front of her shirt.

"Didn't help much," he whispered and then looked in the shop window. After a few moments, he asked:

"Want a souvenir from Florence?"

"Something from here?!"

"Why not? Better than something that has no value, ^that just says Florence, Fiorenza."

"You mean it?" she asked, looking at all the glittering gold objects."

"This is kind of special; I want you to remember it."

She looked at him with nod, smiling slightly with hum, then whispering:

"Very special."

"Then let's find something you like," he replied.

They went in the shop. The woman greeted them in English, and her father said that he wanted something for his daughter. The woman nodded and drew out a tray of gold pins. They looked at them, her father looking at the prices, and they exchanged glances. She shrugged; it was his gift. The woman drew out another tray. She thought the things looked more expensive. He looked at her again, and she shrugged again. He smiled and said:

"What would you like, something you can wear?"

"Maybe a bracelet or chain with a cross or something? The woman suggested.

"A chain would be nice," she replied, giving her father a glance, who nodded.

The woman presented a tray of chains: thin gold ones, just something to hang a cross or religious medallion on, like she had seen girls wearing. There were a couple on the tray that had larger links. She looked at her father and pointed to them. He smiled and ask the woman if she could show them more. She could, looking pleased. He glanced over at her and asked:

"See one you like?"

"Really?"

"Well, most of them, I think," he replied, glancing at the ones with the heaviest links, something she thought only a man could wear.

"Not them," she murmured, then pointing to one with a little larger links than those on the previous tray, adding:

"If it's not too expensive."

Her father picked it up and looked at the price tag. When he scowled, the woman smiled and said that she could let him have with a discount. She still had no idea what the price was, but her father asked her if she wanted to try it on. She nodded, and he handed it to her. She thought he could have put it around her neck himself, but that would have too suggestive of their relationship, and maybe the woman didn't really think she was his daughter. She fastened it and smiled at her father.

The woman said that it was very becoming on her, that it looked just right for a girl her age. Her father agreed. While he paid, she turned away.

"Oh, thank you, Daddy," she enthused and kissed his check.

Outside the shop, with a wry expression, he murmured:

"I hope she thinks I really am."

"And if not, same difference," she replied softly.