Nude Melissa

He knelt there, covered by the scrub, hidden behind a straggly clump of greenery and gave up his morality. Eammon traded his honour for a few minutes of grubbing around on his knees spying on his own flesh and blood.

He watched, eyes bulging, his cock doing the same when the girl oiled her breasts and pudenda.

"Dear God..." he muttered when Melissa started to rub between her legs.

He was stroking the length of his meat, his stare stuck to the girl, unbreakable when she rolled onto her front, hips working, grinding against her fingers. Eammon was sure his daughter was about to come. She was panting and groaning -- and what a sound her groans were, so thrilling in their bestial urgency -- as she fucked herself with her fingers.

Eammon felt the rush of his orgasm, biting back on the cry of pure ecstasy that threatened to burst of him.

Then his daughter stopped and rolled onto her back, an arm over her brow. Eammon slowed his pumping fist. He watched her as she gasped for breath, soaking in every detail of the girl's body. He moaned when Melissa sat upright, his position in the scrub, the angle in which he was situated to his daughter giving him a near perfect view between her thighs as she studied her vulva. When she flicked her clitoris and moaned, Eammon stroked his cock, the lust surging through him again, brighter and hotter than before.

Just as Eammon felt the gush of his ejaculate was imminent, he gulped in disbelief, a heavy stone of dread thunking into his guts. Melissa was kneeling, her expression anxious. The girl squatted there apparently poised on the brink of flight.

Panic squeezed the man's vitals, a hand of dread that paradoxically gripped his guts and loosened his sphincter at the same time.

If she came at him and saw him crouching, a fist around his cock, it would all be over. The noble sentiments of their earlier conversation, the bond they'd established all gone.

Eammon swallowed heavily, damping down on the whine he could feel rising in his chest.

Then, for some inexplicable reason Eammon couldn't fathom, Melissa rested back on her haunches, squatting with the lips of her pussy dangling in plain view. The girl lifted a hand to her breast and Eammon gawped, breathless and unbelieving as his daughter fingered those meaty flaps and, in a fluid motion, her legs liquefying, ended up on her back.

Eammon cranked a fist along his cock. He'd never felt it so stiff, so fucking huge, and he watched his lovely girl as she writhed and moaned, his eyes never leaving her while he gnawed his bottom lip and spurted gout after gout of jizm into the sandy ground. His dick was still spitting, threads of the stuff clinging to a branch of some unknown bush as, with a primordial instinct of self-preservation driving him, he scrabbled away from the scene of the crime, Melissa's grunts and mewling masking the sound of hasty departure.

The guilt filled him immediately. It seemed that, as the semen pumped out of him, a disproportionate volume of remorse flooded in and a heavy curtain of foreboding settled over Eammon as he scuttled back to the caravan.

The events came back to him, a sequence of impressions that left him certain that Melissa had known he was there. Hadn't she frozen like a deer sensing unseen danger? He'd seen the look on her face and watched her rise onto the balls of her feet, one fist on the towel ready to push off and run.

But, if she had intuited someone spying, why had she carried on masturbating? What was that all about?

The man grew perplexed, confused by all that had happened. He unlocked the door to the van and banged the door back on its hinges, his mind filled to bursting with scenarios. He considered taking the car and going, just fleeing from everything and putting distance between himself and Melissa.

In his bedroom, Eammon stripped out of shorts smeared with jizm. He forced himself to breathe slowly, struggling to decide what course of action to take.

In the end he decided to front it out. He'd be cool and at as if nothing was untoward. He would volunteer nothing, only respond if questioned. And, if Melissa did start asking about how he'd spent part of the afternoon, he'd tell her a bald-faced lie; he'd say he'd been sleeping.

He was a copper, for fuck's sake. He could lie easily enough.

Eammon waited for his daughter to return, anticipation fluttering inside him.

6

Father and daughter sat at the little round table in the dining area of the caravan. Melissa watched her father as he ate, studying him, looking for clues, any indication he'd lied.

"This is good," Eammon complimented through a mouthful of pizza.

"I just opened the packet and stuck it in the oven," replied Melissa. "It didn't take much doing.

Eammon nodded, jaw working. He swallowed.

"Did you have a good sleep?"

Melissa gave a nod of her own.

"Yes, I didn't get much sleep last night. I had a doze when I was sunbathing, but I was knackered all the same."

She kept an eye out for any reaction from her father at the mention of sunbathing

No response other than a moue of empathy pursing his lips. If he was the one who'd spied he was hiding it well.

"I know what you mean, Mel. I needed to sleep myself."

Eammon lifted a slice and bit into it.

Melissa began to doubt that the mystery stalker had been her father. In fact she had begun to think she'd imagined it, that there had been nobody there at all. She thought back to what she'd done, the lewd performance for what she now thought was most likely to be a figment of her imagination.

But what about the scuffed ground? How could she deny the evidence she'd discovered when, after quickly hauling on the bikini bottoms and covering her breasts with her tee-shirt pressed to her chest, Melissa had scoured the area around her and found the ground disturbed? What about the spots of that unidentifiable something -- which could so easily be spunk -- on the sandy soil?

Her mind began to work on the denial: an animal could have been responsible for both phenomena. Anything, a rabbit even, could have made those marks. The damp stains she wasn't so sure about, but there was probably some innocent explanation for those also -- Spray from a small mammal marking its territory? An animal that she had scared off with her grunting and groaning?

Then the girl's mind turned to what she'd done. Her face warmed. Melissa was both appalled and embarrassed by the fact she had actually masturbated while under the impression her father was watching.

But the thought of it, to her horror when she'd calmed down and analysed her actions, still shifted something dark and primordial inside her. That climax had been the most intense she could remember ever experiencing. She'd fingered her pussy hard and rubbed her clit raw, exhibited herself in the most obscene way, or so she'd thought, for her father.

What had she said? Something like "Wank it, Daddy"?

Her father's voice brought Melissa back from her mental turmoil.

"Are you all right, Mel?"

Her head snapped up and she saw the puzzled expression on the man's face.

"Uh ... Yes. Sorry, Dad. I'm fine. I was away with the fairies..."

"You look a little flushed there, baby."

Melissa rose and pushed the chair with the back of her legs. She needed to get out from under her father's gaze. He was a policeman, he'd know if she told him any lies. And she would have to lie, there was no way she could tell the truth if he asked her any probing questions. Melissa couldn't hear herself saying: "I'm okay, Dad, just a little embarrassed because I had three fingers wedged in my cunt when I thought you were watching me wanking".

"I'm just a bit warm, that's all," she muttered, her eyes sliding from the man's face. "I think I'll just have a shower." Melissa couldn't look her father in the eyes, certain he'd be able to read her soul if she did. "I'll have a shower and cool down." She paused at the door and risked a glance over her shoulder. "We could go to the pub, couldn't we?"

Eammon considered the suggestion. "Yeah. Why not?"

Melissa dropped the tee-shirt into the laundry hamper. The pub had been a good idea. A distraction. Better than sitting in with her dad; he'd be less likely to notice any agitation on her part that way.

The girl paused with the denim cut-offs in her hand. She looked down into the canvas hamper and saw a pair of her father's shorts nestled there among the clothes he'd worn the previous night. Melissa was certain that the shorts hadn't been there earlier in the day because, having had the vague domesticated notion of putting a load of washing in the machine, she'd checked before heading out to sunbathe. Then, in her hurry to get out in the sun she'd forgotten the chore. But the shorts hadn't been there. She was certain.

Her Daisy Dukes fell to the floor before she reached into the hamper.

Melissa pulled out the shorts. They were stiff with ... something. Stained and crusty with whatever Eammon had spilled on them.

But, Melissa surmised when she recognised the silvery snail-trail for what it was, her father hadn't spilled anything, what it looked like to her, and she was no detective, not like her dad, but the evidence suggested he'd been pulling his cock and come all over his clothes.

7

"You were there, weren't you?"

Eammon looked up, a slice of pizza in his hand. His eyes went from Melissa's face to the evidence balled in her fist as she thrust the shorts at him like an accusation.

"It was you. You were there..."

"Mel ... Oh God, Mel." He was on his feet. Eammon banged his hip on the table as he moved around it. "It isn't what you think," he babbled. "I ... I..."

Melissa's heart thumped in her chest. She could hear a roaring in her ears as an arterial burst of reckless lust flooded her and heat exploded between her legs. Light-headed and giddy, her voice seemed to come from a place that, to her, sounded very far away. It also sounded strange -- thick and glutted, the voice of a woman with a sudden, desperate and overwhelming desire for fucking.

Her father had been there; he'd hidden and watched her masturbate. Melissa's cheeks burned at the knowledge that she'd suspected his lurking presence and then so lewdly flaunted her sexuality, had basically put on a show for him.

Far from being disgusted with herself -- or Eammon come to that -- Melissa found the whole episode wildly erotic. It might have been the sheer thrill of the forbidden, the lure of something so dark and illicit that motivated the girl ... But she wanted to do it again.

A part of her knew the risk, understood in some lucid section of her brain what a huge gamble her next words were going to be. As though involved in an out-of-body experience the girl saw and heard herself, witnessed the scene as a third party.

Melissa could see her father standing by the table, his jaw slack, eyes wide as he stared at the shorts in her hand. She watched her own mouth move, lips in slow motion while the sound came to her like an old seven-inch slowed to thirty-three RPM -- Words through water or swimming through treacle.

"You saw, didn't you, Daddy? You watched." Her father's head moved in slow-motion. Up and down, up and down. "I'm going for that shower, Dad," Melissa drawled. And then she said it: "You can watch me if you want. I know you like to watch."

8

It took him a few seconds to realise his daughter was naked. What had grabbed all his attention was what she held in her hand so it took a moment to realise the girl wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing.

Melissa had found the shorts, the ones all spattered with jizm. Shit, she had him sussed.

"It was you. You were there..." Melissa accused.

Eammon couldn't think fast enough, had no excuse to hand. Panic gripped him and he rose to his feet.

"Mel ... Oh God, Mel." Eammon banged his hip on the table as he moved around it and didn't register the pain. "It isn't what you think," he babbled. "I ... I..."

But she had him bang to rights. He'd known the girl had sensed a presence in the clearing. Hadn't he seen her poised for flight? It wasn't that he didn't have form; he had committed the same crime before. Melissa had known he'd been to the clearing in the past, of course she did, he'd confessed to it.

His daughter's nakedness registered then, but it was she said and the way she said it that caused his cock to stiffen with such sudden urgency.

"You saw, didn't you, Daddy? You watched." And Eammon nodded without realising that he was. "I'm going for a shower ... You can watch me if you want."

Melissa turned and walked out of the room and, when Eammon caught a glimpse of tan-lines and taut buttocks, he gulped heavily.

It took his brain a good half-a-minute to catch up with his penis.

What had she just said? ... Watch her if he wanted?

Eammon took a step, a stiff-legged lurch like Frankenstein's monster before he staggered across the room.

He moved along the corridor and found her in the little cubicle, the door open while Melissa stood under the spray, the glass screen opaque.

Water cascaded over the girl while she showered. She was turned away from her father, oblivious to him standing there goggle-eyed at the oh-so-feminine shape of her.

And then she turned.

Their eyes locked.

"Melissa," Eammon gurgled. He cleared his throat and, above the hiss of the shower, called his daughter's name again.

"Did you enjoy watching me this afternoon, Dad? Do you like seeing me like this?"

Eammon sucked in a lungful of air humid through his nose when his daughter cupped her little tits in both hands.

"Mel--" he croaked.

"It looks like it, Daddy." Melissa pointed to the front of her father's shorts. "It looks to me as though you like watching me a lot. Are you excited?"

"Mel ... Oh, Melissa..." Eammon groaned, powerless to utter nothing but his daughter's name.

The shower snapped off when the girl turned the tap. She stood inside the cubicle, the glass dotted with drops of water, steam dissipating quickly.

"I knew you were there, Dad. And I did what I did this afternoon because I wanted you to see." The glass door slid open and Melissa reached for a towel. "You liked watching, didn't you?" She towelled her hair with brisk rubs before moving closer to her immobile, slack-jawed father. "You liked it so much you did it too."

Eammon gulped and looked to where the girl's hand pressed against the ridge at the front of his shorts.

"You watched me, Daddy," the temptress whispered. "You watched me and you touched yourself at the same time. You came all over your shorts.

"And you thought I'd be angry with you, didn't you?

"Because you spied on me before.

"But you were wrong. I'm not angry. Not at all. The thing is, truly, I was so hot because it was you watching me that I came so hard. I came and came, Daddy.

"It was so hot, Dad, doing that and thinking about you being all stiff for me made me all squirmy and wet.

"And now ... I want to watch you do it."

Melissa had him unzipped and unbuttoned before Eammon could fathom what was going on. He blinked in surprise when his shorts pooled around his feet.

"Fuck," Melissa muttered when she saw the huge, arrogant jut of her father's erection. "Daddy," she murmured, "your cock's massive."

It all rose inside the man. All of it. He remembered Melissa's display in the clearing and understood she'd known he was there. She'd masturbated with the knowledge her own father was lurking in the undergrowth. His daughter had done all of it so she could show off.

"You bitch," Eammon mumbled, "you dirty fucking bitch."

Enflamed by her own passions, aroused beyond her experience at the sight of her father's impressive cock, Melissa's eyes flashed fire. She spat back," You're the nasty one, Daddy. You're the one who spied on his daughter." She gave a vehement nod, adding, "You pulled that thing, didn't you? You looked at me and tugged it 'til you came."

"Yes," Eammon hissed, the sibilant drawn out in a viper's hiss. "You're so lovely, Mel. I couldn't help it--"

"Show me," the girl said, interrupting her father. "Let me watch you." She flicked her fingers towards the bedroom. "Now."

Nude, her hair lank and with her body still damp, Melissa moved past her father, her hip brushing his cock as she went.

In a fugue of amazement, without truly understanding what was about to happen, Eammon followed. He found his daughter lying on the double bed, his bed, and the girl looked up at him, reclining on the pillow as she flaunted her sex at her father.

With her legs wide, breasts bare and pert, the girl's stomach so spare of excess flesh it was merely bisected by a single crease of latitude that bisected her navel, Melissa offered the man a hot-eyed stare.

He stood at the foot of the bed and watched his daughter split her labia with a finger, the cerise core of her taunting him as she splayed the lips and held herself open.

"Look at me, Dad," Melissa said, her voice cracking. "Play with yourself. Let me see you do it. Look at me while you pull your cock."

"Jesus," Eammon grunted. "No," he whispered. "I shouldn't..."

But, even as he uttered the words, his actions contradicted the sentiment.

"Yes, Daddy," Melissa breathed, eyes locked on her father's fingers closing around the girth of that terrible thing. "Wank your big dick." Her finger moved over her clitoris and she winced. "Wank it, Dad. Pull that big ... Fucking ... Thing." Melissa groaned and slid down the bed, hand busy between her legs, buttocks lifting as her hips thrust upwards.

Eammon fisted his length, tugging at the gristle and mumbled incoherent mutterings of disbelief.

"Melissa," he grunted. "I'm going to--"

And the stuff pumped out of him, great gouts of semen that flicked from him and rained down onto the bed.

A stray spurt splashed against his daughter's foot and the girl yelped, jerking the limb back as though scalded.

"Oh God, oh fuck..." Melissa groaned. "Look at that stuff! Daddy," she mewled, chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes glazing. The girl's forearm moved with brisk action as her fingers swirled over her vulva. "Cum, so much cum. Fuck ... I'm coming, too!"

"What have we done, Melissa?" Eammon breathed when the girl ceased writhing and moaning and his own climax had cooled. He slumped onto the bed at its foot. "That was just wrong ... We ... we never should have let it happen."

Eammon's body tensed when his daughter's body moulded against his back. Her arms were around his neck, her face nuzzled against his shoulder.

"But it did happen, Dad," Melissa muttered. "And I want to do it again. I loved it, I really loved it, Daddy. It was so sexy. Please, can't we do it again, later?"

Eammon sighed, a rebuttal rising. They couldn't do it again. It was wrong, just plain wrong. This was his daughter! He should exercise some self-control.

He swivelled, the intention being to flatly refuse. But when he saw the girl's face, looked into her eyes and then glanced at the youthful beauty of her nakedness as she knelt on the bed just inches away, he knew, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, that he wouldn't be able to refuse his daughter.

9

Eammon Morgan woke with a start. He sprang upright, jack-knifing at the waist and sat up in bed with the covers bunched around his middle.

"Morning, Dad," Melissa said, her pretty face wide open and smiling.

The man blinked and watched his daughter saunter into the bedroom.

"How do you feel?" she asked. "A few too many last night?"

Eammon felt the mattress dip when the girl, nude, perched on the edge of the bed. He felt heavy, leaden, senses dulled by the gallon of beer he'd poured into his face the previous night.

The ale hadn't helped. Not a bit of it. No matter how quickly he drank Eammon couldn't obliterate the knowledge of the sin he and his daughter had committed. He'd left the pub and reeled into the campsite, his tread heavy as he blundered through the kitchen-cum-diner to the caravan's toilet cubicle. He'd pissed like the proverbial racehorse, recycling the beer before stumbling into his bedroom.