Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na:
Odsłuch ebooka (TTS) dostępny w abonamencie „ebooki+audiobooki bez limitu” w aplikacji Legimi na:
by Victoria Blackstone
Published by Lot’s Cave
Chasing Daddy, © 2017, by Victoria Blackstone
All Rights Reserved
Cover by Morgaine Wrightman
All Characters In This Book Are Age 18 Or Older
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the Lot’s Cave website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Lot’s Cave Novel
It all started innocently enough; the first time I became aware of my vagina, of the tingling sensation I got down there when I climbed onto the sofa, straddled my father’s knee, facing him, and began to wiggle ever so gently, the question I’d come to him with, forgotten.
He stared at me curiously for several long moments before his gaze dropped to where his leg disappeared beneath my skirt. He looked amused. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”
I shook my head, unable to speak, unable to think. He broke the spell a moment later, though, when he lifted me up and set me on his lap, sideways. He’d pulled me to his chest and kissed the top of my head.
We never talked about that incident, nor the next or the next.
I found him sitting on the sofa, watching TV, some game or other, the volume up a bit. I climbed onto his knee. “Can I sit with you?”
He tickled my belly. “Of course, sweetheart.”
His attention returned to the TV, while his hand settled on my thigh, his fingers just at the hem of my dress, and as his thumb began a lazy massage, my hips began to move.
I have no idea how long I sat there, enjoying the occasional teasing of his fingertips, when, every few moments, they would move across my skin, up beneath my dress, then back down, over and over, and though I don’t think he was aware of it, he was creating the most interesting sensations on my skin. And his thumb, the way it teased the soft skin of my inner thigh... Good Lord, how I wished he would go higher! I wanted so desperately to rub against his thick fingers, to feel them against my most intimate place. Timidity, though, forced me to settle for squeezing my thighs together, every few moments, until I grew dizzy, my head swimming in a cloudy fog.
Eventually, I collapsed atop him, my cheek to his chest, his warm scent enveloping me as I drifted. His hand began to move, and even through the haze, I followed his progress as hand eased up my thigh, slowly, up, then back down, over and over again, occasionally going high, until his fingertips reached the top of my thigh. I shivered then, and he pushed his hand further beneath my dress, over my ass, then up onto my lower back. It remained there, caressing me, leaving me languid. I released a breath as I pulled myself tighter to him.
He kissed the top of my head. “Okay?” he whispered.
I nodded, my eyes closing, his scent suffusing me as I drifted off.
I found myself on his knee at least once every couple days for the rest of the summer, invariably cuddling up to him afterward, while he held me tight to him, whispering his love for me.
I must have known, at least on some level, that my mother wouldn’t approve of the little rides I took, for I never did it when she was around.
Conscious awareness of her potential disapproval came several months after the first incident. I’d draped myself over him, straddling him, my thighs spread wide around him as he watched some game or another. I rolled my hips, looking for the hard lump I knew would soon present itself, then again a few moments later. Instead, he lifted me up and set me across his lap. I remember reaching down, my palm just coming into contact with my tummy when he caught my wrist. He brought it up and kissed my open palm, his head shaking. “Wait,” he whispered. A moment later, my mother entered.
I have no idea what she said, but when we were alone again he said, “Does it feel good when you sit on my lap?” I nodded. He smiled. “You’re getting to be a big girl now, and making yourself feel good that way is a really private thing. Do you understand?” Again, I nodded, and again, he smiled. “You can rub yourself down there, but you should only do it when nobody else is around. And don’t try to put anything in there or you can hurt yourself, okay?”
I nodded. He kissed my forehead then pulled me to him. But I was antsy, my stomach a bundle of knots, and as he turned his attention back to the TV, I slid my hand down my stomach to try to quell the dull... I don’t know what.
I can still remember the first time I actively teased him. I’d just turned eleven. He’d recently begun to discourage me from sitting astride him. I was addicted, though, to the feel of the lump in his pants against my sex. I was addicted to his scent. I was used to the feel of his fingertips as they drew random designs on my back while I rubbed up against him, and I didn't want any of it to end.
As usual, he was watching TV, a drama this time. I lay down on the floor with a magazine; Seventeen or Teen Beat, I don’t remember which. What I do remember were the butterflies in my tummy. I’d worn my shortest skirt, pulled up on my waist, just a little bit, just enough that he would be able to see every bit of my legs, as well as my panties, and as the minutes ticked by, I flipped from one page to the next, pretending to read, my legs bent at the knees, feet moving slowly to and fro. I had no idea whether he was watching me or not, but I was going on the assumption that he was. I was excited and I wanted him to see that. My excitement was enhanced by the knowledge that allowing him to see my panties was a no-no. Right or wrong, though, I couldn’t help myself. I pushed my hips into the carpet, the movement subtle, and a moment later I relaxed. A few moments later I did it again, closing my eyes as I concentrated on the tingling. Soon, I was moving my hips in small circles.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Hm?”
“What are you doing?”
His tone told me he wasn’t upset, just curious. “Reading.”
He nodded slowly. “Think you can do that in your room?”
My brows drew. “But I want to be out here, with you.”
He made a face. “Okay, but try to hold still.”
I smiled. “Kay.”
But I couldn’t. I was excited. I reached back to scratch the back of my thigh, pulling my skirt up in the process. The imaginary itch scratched, I ran my fingers up to tease the edge of my panties, the butterflies in my stomach going crazy, my heartbeat pounding in my chest. I bent my knees, bringing my feet up, my back arching.
I removed my hand as I glanced over my shoulder. “Hm?”
“I think you need to go to your room, honey. You seem...” He shrugged. “Maybe you need some alone time.”
I frowned, and though I didn’t want to, I got up, pouting, and headed for my room.
A little while later I returned to the front room and curled up on his lap, my head on his chest. He kissed the top of my head, his arm wrapping around me. It took several minutes for me to gather the nerve to bring my hand up to his face, to touch the tips of my fingers to his lips. His eyes slid closed, his chest expanding as he inhaled. He kissed my fingers, then pulled my hand down to his chest.
I couldn’t help the smile, when I felt him growing under my bottom. He excused himself to the bathroom several minutes later.
During his absence, I’d moved to the opposite end of the sofa, my head on the arm, and when he returned, I pressed my feet to his thigh. He turned a smile on me, his gaze dropping for the briefest moment before coming back up. He shook his head, his hand closing around my foot, his thumb pushing gently into my sole, making me moan. “Like that, sweetheart?”
I nodded, lip caught in my teeth. I wondered if I’d ever get the nerve to sit as I was now, knees apart, dress at my waist, but with no underwear covering my little girl.
A few nights later I found my parents in the front room, watching TV; a sitcom. I leaned over the back of the sofa beside my father, and lay my head on my folded arms. He turned, one brow up. “What’s up, pumpkin?” he whispered.
I shrugged. He reached up to tweak my nose, then returned his gaze to the TV. I moved my lips to his ear. “Will you kiss my finger?”
He turned. “What’s wrong with your finger?”
I couldn’t withhold a smile as I brought it up and touched it to his lips, tracing first the upper and then the lower, watching his eyes close as I did. He licked his lips, his eyes opening, his head shaking. I held his gaze a moment before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Night, Daddy.” I moved to my mother and kissed her cheek. “Night.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
I’d just gotten under the covers and comfortable when my father entered. He sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at me for a long moment before reaching out to move a lock of hair off my forehead. “You have to stop doing that.”
I pulled the covers up a bit. He shook his head. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart, it’s just...” He blew out a breath. “I love you, you know that, right?”
I nodded, smiling. “I love you too.”
He cupped my cheek, a smile pulling his lips, his head shaking. His gaze dropped briefly to watch as he brushed his thumb over my lip. “You’re about the prettiest girl in the world,” he whispered. He leaned over, then, and pressed a kiss to my lips, the softest kiss, like a butterfly landing then taking off. But it left my stomach turning in the most delicious way.
He pulled back. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”
I shook my head, smiling impishly.