Pure for Daddy

Part One

It took me a while to reach a growth spurt. I didn't start developing fully until my late teens. My father was very sweet to me: He bought me my first training bras and he taught me about sex, masturbation and menstruation. He assured me that all these things were natural and healthy, and I grew up very liberal-minded.

By the time I hit the age of 18, I was an old pro at things. I knew what to expect every month, knew that I should wear a bra outside the house, but one piece of the puzzle was missing: Sex. I was a virgin and desperately horny, waiting for the first handsome man to come along and take me.

I seemed to lean towards older men.

To me, they seemed to embody maturity, handsomeness, masculinity and sexiness. I loved grey at the temples, slight lines at the mouth and crinkles at the corners of their eyes when they smiled. The more I wrote in my diary and looked at the facts before me, the more I realized a great number of things I found attractive were also qualities my father possessed.

My father is a very handsome man. He stands at an average height, maybe 5'10" or so and has a slender frame. He has dark hair peppered with grey and many of the physical qualities that I have talked about. But it was more than that. He was caring, sweet, very compassionate and very accepting of my dreams of becoming an artist. Some parents may not be thrilled about this choice of career, but he was nothing but supportive.

My mother passed away shortly after my seventh birthday and it was just him and I to lean on one another. We both missed her deeply and we were able to pull each other out of that deep darkness by supporting each other and being there for one another.

To my knowledge, my father had never had any lovers since my mother. He just seemed so pure and non-sexual and innocent that it seemed he could do no wrong. This is not to say that he was perfect; he had somewhat of a temper and could be demanding, but beneath the rough exterior was a gentle soul.

In May of my senior year in high school, I turned 18. It was shortly after this that his behavior seemed different or odd to me. He spent more time alone, and when he was actually around me, he seemed uncomfortable, or maybe even distant. I didn't know what was going on with him, and he and I weren't really the types to confide in our deepest struggles and feelings; in our household, those were things better left unsaid.

So, I continued my education and my part-time job to keep me occupied and figured maybe he was going through some sort of midlife crisis and to just let him be. Little did I know, he was not letting me be.

One evening, on a Friday, I was watching one of my favorite films, Rear Window, and realized he had been in his bedroom for a couple hours and I hadn't heard a peep out of him. I was beginning to get an antsy, anxious feeling. The telephone rang beside me on the in-table and I jumped about a foot. I answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hi Leah, it's Mr. Henderson from the bank. Is your father home? I need to speak with him."

My father worked as a bank teller at one of the local banks and Mr. Henderson was his boss. I told his boss that I would get my father if he wanted to hold for a minute. That was alright with him.

I put down the receiver and went up to my father's closed bedroom door and knocked gently.

"Daddy? Mr. Henderson is on the phone. He needs to talk with you."

I heard a sigh in the bedroom and a squeak of his desk chair. He opened the door and smiled awkwardly. "Thank you, sweetheart. I will take the call."

He went downstairs to take the call in the living room. I was just ready to go downstairs and continue my movie, when something on his desk caught my eye: It was a journal, opened, but faced downwards on the desk. I knew I shouldn't have been thinking about it, but the curiosity inside me won the battle and I went over to see. I was hoping there would be some confessions in the diary that would give me a clue as to his odd behavior. What I read next, I read with astonishment and shock:

" -- I can't help but think about her all the time. I know she's my daughter, but I can't stop myself from wanting her. Her sexy little body, her beautiful brown eyes and brown hair. Well, what can I say? She's the spitting image of her father! I think she knows something is up; she's very perceptive and intuitive, but could I tell her? No! Because she would just think of me as a freak and a pervert -- and rightfully so! When she goes alone to her bedroom and shuts the door, lately I've been watching her through the keyhole -- and some of the sights I've seen have been beautiful. I've seen her playing with sweet little pussy, I've seen her dress and undress; all the visions I've imagined of her are ten times better when I peep through that hole."

At that point, I heard my father angrily groan downstairs and I gently, but quickly, put the diary as I had found it and snuck out, gracefully flouncing down the stairs as if I had no cares in the world.

My father had gone into the kitchen and was making a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches and asked me if I wanted one. I said no.

"More for me then," he said.

"Dad, what did Mr. H want?"

"Karen at work has a slight family emergency, so I'll have to take her place tomorrow. But luckily the bank is only open till noon on Saturdays, so it's a half-day."

"And the extra money will be nice too," I added.

He nodded. "Yes, it will, princess."

I sat down at the kitchen table, his back to me while he stood at the stove. Now I was the one who was feeling awkward and uncomfortable. I watched my father as he prepared his dinner. He still had on his slacks and white button-up shirt from work. The first thing he did when he came home from work was take off his tie and unfasten the top button or two. I had to admit he had very nice chest hair. It was dark and thick and curly. The perfect type to finger with my tiny fingers and -- stop thinking this way, Leah! He's your father!

But I was both fascinated and repulsed by his feelings for me. I was also flattered that such an attractive, sexy man was sexually interested in me. It also turned me on that he had been watching me. I did play with myself quite a bit when I was alone in my room and the fact that my father had been peeping through the keyhole made me cream my panties.

"Well, maybe I will have a sandwich after all," I added to the silence. "I am rather hungry."

"Okay kitten, no problem."

We sat at the kitchen table together and talked about school and work. I tried to remain as normal as I possibly could, but inside I was storming with lust.

Part Two

I was unable to tame my lust for my father and when he left for work the next morning at 7:30, I raced up to my bedroom, closed the door, locked it and fell on my bed. I was still in my pajamas and I tore everything off immediately.

My pussy, I could feel and hear, was glistening with wetness. I trimmed it regularly and all that was left of the hair was a soft, small triangle of dark hair between my legs. Occasionally I liked to play with myself in front of a mirror, my legs spread open wide; I liked my pinkness, how my hole dripped with my desire.

This time I did not use a mirror. I began by licking my fingers then sliding my hand down my tummy to my hole, gently sliding in one finger. Once my tightness had clamped onto my finger like a vice and I was relaxed enough to keep going (I could only fit one finger inside), I began sliding my finger in and out. My hair was fanned out over my pillow and my eyelids lowered. My mouth was open in ecstasy, biting my lip and then looking down as I fingerfucked myself.

My other hand also slid down to the wet prize and I manipulated my rosebud of a clit, which was now hard like a button. I rubbed it, thoroughly enjoying my pleasure. I played with myself often and, I have to say, my father was now centerstage in my new fantasies.

I had never seen his dick before. I was imagining it was a nice, big, fat one, one that would fill my need. I imagined him hovered above me like the arch of a bridge, looking deep into my eyes as his cock slid in and out, his powerful hands on my hips, his sexuality making itself dominant inside my walls. His beautiful, dark eyelashes opening and closing slowly as he looked at me with such love and lust, knowing he'd never want another girl.

I could feel my energy stirring and increasing. I wiggled furiously, my butt jostling and my tits jiggling as I got off with only my own body to help me. I was one horny girl. Horny to cum and horny for Daddy.

And with a little grunt and sigh, and a slight bit more effort, I came twice. I could feel my cum flood over my fingers, washing away my sin with new sin. I moaned and whispered, "Daddy...fuck me Daddy."

After I was done cumming, I gently withdrew my hands and lied naked on the bed, reflecting. Yes, it was wrong to feel this way about my father, but I couldn't help it. I had begun to see him in a new light: someone as sexual instead of pure, someone with needs instead of someone stoic. Someone, in short, who was human and just wanted pleasure like the rest of us.

Not too many daughters see their father in that light. But the revelations of his diary made me see him that way, and, right or wrong, I began to feel romantic love for him. I had always felt platonic love for him, but this was slightly different: I thought about how he looked, I thought about his smile, I thought about his depth as a man.

His diary entry was a great explanation for his recent behavior towards me. He was avoiding me so that I could not read his intentions through his actions or words. He was entirely right when he described me as "perceptive and intuitive." Now I knew why he had been acting so odd around me; he was uncomfortable about his feelings and embarrassed and ashamed. I wanted to let him know it was alright, that I welcomed his feelings for me and that I wanted him and I to come together.

But the questions I asked myself was this: What is my next move? Do I break down and confess that I read his diary? Do I ignore my feelings for him and keep them private? Do I let him know how I feel? Should I let him know that I know how he feels?

I decided that I was going to begin our journey by teasing him. As I said before, I wanted to become an artist when I was older, and sometimes I really did go upstairs to my bedroom alone to sketch or to write...but I decided that once my door was shut, I would make spectacular shows for him to jack off to.

Part Three

My father came home around 12:45 that afternoon and I greeted him with a big hug. I had on a clingy dress, I was fully made-up and perfumed and, as I couldn't help but notice his lustful gaze at my low-cut dress, I informed him I had a date and was running late. I rushed out the door with a quick peck on his cheek and he barely had to time to utter a "have a nice time, princess."

The boy I was seeing was named Jacob. Despite his not being a much older man, I liked him quite a bit. He was a year older than I was and in college. He was tall and skinny with bright blue eyes. He and I saw each other occasionally and made out, but it never went further than that. I got the impression he just wanted to get into my pants, and the way things were going in my life in the last 24 hours, I was more obliged to let him, in fact, get into my pants -- or at least my mouth. All for my father's benefit.

After Jacob and I had lunch, I asked him over to my house. He looked at me, surprised.

"Is your Dad home?"

I nodded. "Yes, but we can get around that. I just really want to be with you," I lied.

In record speed, we drove back to my house and my father was disgusted when he saw me come in the front door, holding hands with this guy of mine. My father was on the couch watching an informercial and snacking on potato chips.

"Daddy? Can Jacob and I go up to my bedroom to work on a story together?"

Jacob was an art student at the university about a half-hour away, which is where I also wanted to go for my art education. That's how he and I had become friends, out of our love for the creative stuff.

My father looked at us suspiciously. He eyed Jacob with special disinterest. I pleaded with him with bright eyes and raised eyebrows; I occasionally smiled and nodded to urge him in the affirmative. My father reluctantly agreed -- and then said, almost happily, if we wished to, we could close my bedroom door as we worked. We obliged.

Upstairs in my room, I shut the door and locked it. Jacob and I stood there looking at one another and laughing awkwardly. I began with a kiss. He responded almost automatically, rubbing his hands up and down my body. Although I was reluctant to admit it, his kisses and his caressing were turning me on. My body responded, and I could feel the flood in my panties as if liquid had just gushed inside them. Though he was not as sexy as my father, I felt the need to submit to Jacob.

You know that feeling you get when you feel you're being watched? That was feeling I had when I was making out with Jacob in my room. And I liked it. I wanted my father to see how much pleasure I was getting, how much desire I could feel from a man.

I pressed myself up against Jacob and I could feel his erection in his jeans. He stroked my hair gently as we kissed and he moaned to me: "God, I'm so hard."

I giggled. "I know." I took off my dress and heels and I got such a thrill now knowing that my very own Daddy was at my door, peeping through the keyhole at us. I wanted him to see my nakedness, how lush and beautiful it was in its pure state of sexuality.

But purity was not on my mind at the moment. Jacob and I whispered to each other in between kisses. "Do you want to suck on it for me, Leah? Please, baby."

"No." I said stubbornly.

"Oh, come on, baby. You made me so hard just seeing that little naked body of yours. Let me cum already, Leah."

I heard a bump at my door, and I knew that my father was out there jacking his cock off to this scene. I imagined him jerking his cock, squeezing it till precum oozed out the tip. I wanted to drive him crazy. I wanted to make him so horny he couldn't stand it anymore.

These thoughts made everything with Jacob seem even more sexual and sensual. I got on my knees before him and unbuckled his belt, pulling down his jeans and boxer shorts. His cock was beautiful. It was like marble and it was the first cock I had seen in person (I was quite a porn fan). It was a bit intimidating, though. I wasn't expecting it to be so large or so hard. There was a hole inside me yearning for my father and I filled it with Jacob's dick.

As I knelt before this young man, I was ready to give him the most precious blowjob of his life -- the best he had ever experienced and would ever experience. His soft hands were combed into my dark brown hair as I began to kiss his cock, leaving prints of my lipstick behind on his exposed skin.

Jacob threw back his head and moaned, stuffing his thickness even further in my mouth. I wasn't doing this for him -- I was doing it for Daddy. I wanted to give him a show. Jacob's cock was not long, but it was very thick and veiny. My head bobbed up and down as I took him inside my hot, sucking mouth. I was so willing to please. Little did Jacob know that my father was also getting pleasure from watching his little girl give her first blowjob.

I sucked on him and jacked him off at the base of his dick. I was so wet now. His cock was dripping, my pussy was dripping, everyone was dripping with sweat and desire and filth.

Jacob grabbed my head and started to pump his dick in and out of my mouth. I didn't mind. I rather enjoyed it, being used like that. Jacob bucked his skinny hips wildly and I gagged, stretching my mouth sideways to epic proportions. My eyes watered and I looked up at him with deep, dark bedroom eyes.

"Oh damn, oh fuck, Leah. I'm going to cum. Where do you want it, baby? Tell me, quick."

I eased my mouth off of his cock and giggled, a string of saliva connecting my mouth to his meat.

"I want it on my tits."

He groaned. "Oh damn, Leah. You know I love your tits."

He was jacking off and I played with my tits, looking down at my hands, then up at his strained orgasm. Finally, he could not take my playing with myself any longer and string after string of cum fell upon my tits. Some of the ropes of cum would go a little off-balance and it ended up near my face, and I would try to catch it by opening my mouth, as if I were trying to catch a kernel of popcorn in the velvet.

Jacob was done cumming on me and I felt very nice and dirty. Like such a bad girl. I didn't do the blowjob for Jacob; I did it because I knew my father would go wild for it. Oh, it was my first blowjob, and it was a success because it made my Daddy proud of me. I was a good little cocksucker and now he knew it.

Jacob pulled up his jeans and left, shutting my bedroom door behind him once again. I sat there, kneeling for a while, scooping the cum from my face and tits and eating it. It tasted very good. Sticky and salty, but I enjoyed the taste of it. I really didn't mind that Jacob had left. He had served his purpose.

Now sticky with cum, I went into the bathroom that connected to my bedroom and took a bath. I hummed along as I bathed myself with a plush washcloth, making sure I got every nook and cranny.

After my bath, I slipped on my bathrobe and quietly -- almost cautiously -- opened my door. There was no one there now, just as I had suspected. My father was a very clever, intelligent man -- he knew when to stay and when to skidaddle. I looked down the hallway and noticed that his bedroom door was shut yet again.

I was going to go back in my room and write in my diary, but something got my attention: Near the bottom of my dark-colored bedroom door was a white stain. Could it be...? I touched the stain with the tip of my finger and realized it was my father's cum. It was gooey and the texture was just like Jacob's who I had blew less than an hour before.

I rushed into my bedroom, locking the door behind me, anxious to scribble all this down in my diary. I made a quick entry:

"I can't believe it! Daddy really has been watching me through my keyhole. I don't mind, though. I enjoy knowing that he can see my lovely body, and today I gave my very first blowjob while he watched. I know he was out there for two reasons: 1) I heard a bump outside the door when I was blowing Jake, and 2) There was cum on the door! I love knowing that he was watching me being naughty. Jake is alright, but I sucked him off just for my Daddy. But how shall I continue this little game we have going here?"

I knew exactly how to continue.

I slipped on a pair of tight jeans and a sweater and went downstairs to watch some television. It was a very tame activity for what had just happened -- but the fun was only beginning.

Part Four

As I sat downstairs on the couch and flipped through the TV channels, it occurred to me that, while Jacob had taken my mouth, I also wanted to give a blowjob to Daddy and I also wanted him to take my virginity as well. Curled up on the couch, I got out my textbook and started my homework. I was watching an old rerun of Johnny Carson when my father walked in.

"Good afternoon, sweetheart," he said to me in a vivacious manner.

His demeanor had certainly changed. With his odd behavior (which I finally figured out the reason for) and his naturally unenthusiastic attitude towards his life, I found this cheerful greeting somewhat out-of-character for him. I enjoyed it nonetheless, though.

"Hi Daddy, I'm happy to see you." I put down my textbook as my father took a seat in his old recliner.