A Father's Love

I have accepted that I am basically two people. If you were to meet me, you would see a 53 year old man who has a well paying job, large home, and wonderful family. Yet under that, there is another me--a primal, haughty man of which I am most proud.

Why? I shall put it plainly: a mere three weeks after my eldest daughter turned 18, my dream was met and I started doing depraved things with her.

Yes, it's a cold thing to say, and an even colder thing to which to admit. And it might sound questionable, even despicable to add that she all but allowed me; I'll be the first to admit that I know how to manipulate her. Still, I know deep down she has enjoyed our time together.

I should start at the beginning. Laura has always been a sweet, caring, quiet girl, though recently she's ended up as a soft, curvy thing--having slowly but noticeably been gaining weight.

Naturally, that weight gain was a sign that her whole body was changing, much to my enjoyment. I noticed these things, despite the fact that she tried to wear loose and bulky clothing to cover it up. When no one was around, I would let my gaze linger, drinking up her wonderfully changing form. I got bolder: I started the habit of walking in on her while she was changing or getting out of the shower. That still wasn't enough: I wanted more.

Cold, wet, hard, hurting rain came one late October night in her senior year, three weeks after she turned 18, and I knew the time had come for more. The timing couldn't have been more perfect, with my wife out at a graduate class, and my son out with friends. Added to that, Laura was part of the marching band, and I knew they had been out in that awful rain for a few hours. When she came home, she was quite the sight: her hair wet and stringy, her whole body shivering, and her nipples clearly rock hard through her heavy sweatshirt. She told me she needed a hot bubble bath, and I smiled broadly.

The time had come.

From downstairs, I listened to the sound of her filling the bath, then a pause, then her stepping into the tub. I knew that she was now up there, feeling warm and naked and safe. I felt almost out of breath, trying to silently climb the stairs to the second floor. Then I was at the bathroom door; I needed to steady my breath. I closed my eyes, asking myself if this was truly a line I wanted to cross.

Eyes still closed, I confidently knocked on the bathroom door and heard my voice call out to Laura using my pet name for her: "Marshmallow?" Then my hand was on the door knob, my eyes alert, and I opened the door.

She was a spectacular, suds-covered sight. I heard a quiet answer, but my eyes were drawn to the floor. Not out of modesty, mind you, but the wonderful sight of her pile of clothes on the floor. My eyes stopped at her bra, drinking up the sight of her delicate, lacy, expensive pink bra. My little girl clearly was growing up.

And my confidence had fully returned. "Sweetie," I started with a caring and concerned voice, "I was concerned that you were cold. That you might get sick."

"Well... I'm in the bath, so...." Ah, she was so much like her mother; no real backbone to tell me to get out, but the ability to make a simple statement sound grouchy.

I ignored her hint to leave and kneeled down, getting close enough to her that she clearly felt uncomfortable. I, on the other hand, felt punch-drunk by being so close to this teenaged body, by seeing the soft luminescence in her young skin. I answered her, saying, "I know, Laura. I just don't want you overdoing your soak." I saw her turn red, and I knew I could exploit her weakness. I let authority pour into my voice as I added, "I'm going to grab the washcloth, then your bath will be over."

The washcloth was floating lazily in the water near her feet. I snatched it, unable to hide the growing smile. I picked it up and stared at Laura's beautiful face. She stared back, a quizzical look on her face. I saw that she truly thought she had misunderstood the situation, that she thought she was wrong about me wanting to cross some line. Her gaze made me feel guilty and unsure.

"Close your eyes, Marshmallow." I paused, just a moment. If she resisted in any way, now would be the time. I saw the flicker of indecision in her head... then her eyes closed.

She was mine.

Excitement flooded me, and I had to remind myself to go slow. I could still scare her off. I steadied my hand and softly ran the washcloth over my daughter's face. My head was still spinning as I watched the water flow down her cheeks, neck, throat, and shoulders, meeting the bathwater again.

"Good girl, good girl," I said softly, wanting to keep her calm. I put the washcloth back into the water, letting it soak.

Then, a wonderful moment that almost made my heart stop: Laura lifted her hands to wipe the water from her face. This made her chest rise out of the soapy water, and I took in a sharp breath. Her large, growing, teenaged breasts seemed to float without any regard for gravity, and the slightest edges of her dark pink areolas peered out from under the suds. She paused for a moment, realizing what had happened. By the time she had wiped her eyes and opened them, I was staring hard into her face. She shivered from a wisp of fear, and seeing that fear made me only the more determined.

I realized that I was still holding the water-filled washcloth. I brought it to Laura's chin, rubbing around her neck. It was a visceral feeling, being so close to her neck--I felt something rough and primal coming alive in me. I went around lower, this time from her shoulder, across her collarbone, then her other shoulder. I paused, wanting to race ahead but needing to pace myself.

I put the washcloth into the water for a third time. Softly, caringly, I said, "You know I love you very much... right, Marshmallow?" I was a bit surprised by the regret in my voice, the edge of sadness in my heart. For some reason, my mind flashed back to years earlier, when my wife and I had bought our innocent daughter her first bicycle. I shook my head. No, it was now, I wanted this now. I wanted her adult, growing body.

She nodded, knowing that I loved her. I exhaled and continued. "That I'd never..." I paused, thinking. I'd never hurt her? I couldn't promise that, for tonight or the future. "My love for you means I'll always protect you."

I brought the wet washcloth up from the water, squeezing it. We both glanced at it, knowing more was to come. I looked at Laura, and she nodded slightly. Was she nodded that she knew I'd always protect her? Or for me to continue? Or both?

I decided I simply did not care. I smiled my best fatherly smile. "That's my good girl." I brought the washcloth to her collarbone and started to move lower.

I tried to act calm, but I knew that in a few moments, I'd be touching her. I glanced at her face; she was staring straight ahead, almost trance-like. I continued rubbing lower, and then my hand was on the top of her left breast. I simply could not believe that the moment had come, that I was about to grasp the breast of my little girl. I quickly slid the cloth down, and through it I could feel Laura’s entire large, pert breast. I gripped it, feeling its softness and weight, and I let out a deep, slow, satisfied breath.

The animal need to continue flooded me. I moved the cloth and my hand again, sliding to her right breast. I held it a bit softer this time, absolutely loving the feeling. I looked at Laura's face, and caught her closing her eyes. I looked at her for a moment--looked at her like a plaything or an object. Her face turned red. I wondered if it was from excitement or embarrassment. I realized that I enjoyed the idea that it was the second one.

Holding her puffy, wonderful breast, I was struck with an irony. I spoke, using her nickname. "You really are a marshmallow, Marshmallow." I lightly pulled up her breast, adding, "So sweet, so soft." I thought she would laugh, or at the very least smile, but she said nothing. I was not happy that she didn't respond. I added a firmness to my voice. "Right Laura?"

She barely whispered a "Yes."

I felt a quick flash of anger. How dare she, my daughter, who lived in my house and ate my food, be shy and borderline disrespectful with me? I spoke down to her. "Baby, what do you say to a compliment?" It then occurred to me that as her body had changed and she had gained weight, my wife had told me that our daughter was sensitive about her overall appearance. I added, "What do you say when a man is kind enough to compliment you on your body?"

The comment hung in the air for a moment; I hoped that it stung her and reminded her to be grateful.

Louder, in a voice that was oddly high and soft, she said, "Thank you."

Unacceptable. She had to say more. "Thank you for what."

She paused, clearly thinking. I felt an odd flash of anger and arousal, both annoyed that she wasn't smarter, but glad for it

"Thank you, Daddy, for the compliment."

I couldn't help but smile. That was my little Marshmallow: compliant and open for criticism. Fatherly love filled my heart and I leaned forward to kiss her forehead. A truly unplanned coincidence was that the washcloth and my hand slid off her breast and onto her upper stomach. I felt her tense up, and I wasn't sure why. I kissed her forehead, and she relaxed.

I felt such paternal pride looking at her face that my lust disappeared. This was my darling, beautiful girl. I wondered if I should simply pull back my hand and leave. I glanced at my hand, lying underwater on her stomach, and I realized why she had tensed up. She thought I was going lower, past her stomach, between her legs. Lust flooded me, and my parental concerns disappeared.

My fingers pushed the washcloth aside, and for the first time my hand was on my daughter's naked flesh. It felt electric to be touching her stomach like this. I smiled, and Laura's eyes opened and looked up at me. This was finally happening, after all the time I had longingly been looking at her. It was happening and she hadn't dared to stop me!

I wanted to truly touch her. My hand slid up and I cupped her left breast again. Its softness was even better than before. My fingers lazily brushed her nipple, hardening it. My hand moved to her other breast and I felt its weight. "Ohh, what a beautiful girl you've turned into lately."

With a smile, fake or real I could not say, she said, "Thanks Daddy."

Still clutching her chest, I moved closer to her. I kissed the side of her head and whispered, "I love you, baby." I put my other hand around the back of her neck. It was a move of intimacy, and a reminder of my power over her. My hand slid down again to her upper stomach. My wife would be home fairly soon. The time had come to make sure Laura could keep our secret. "This is between you and me, right Laura?"

She nodded her head and said simply, "Yes Daddy."

My hand was fully on her stomach now. My fingers moved back and forth over the curve of her stomach, a curve that had grown along with the rest of her. I could feel her shamefulness over her weight gain. I lightly grabbed at her tummy, wordlessly reminding her that when starting to turn into a porker, attention from a man should be respected and thanked. Even if that man was her father. "No need to tell your mother then?"

Laura breathed in unevenly--the breath of someone close to crying. She held her breath for a moment. It was a long moment. A lot--too much--could be lost if she wavered now. But my little Marshmallow came through for me. The moment passed, and she said evenly, "Our secret, Daddy."

I kissed her head again, loving that she was kind enough to say that, loving that she was not smart enough to say no. It made me love her all the more.

I slid my fingers down her body, past her tummy. A few inches lower, I first felt my daughter's soft pubic hair. It was enchanting, and she was saying nothing. I moved one finger lower, caressing the crease of her pussy. I desperately wanted to push into her, but there would be time for that later. For now, time was short, and I wanted to leave her with directions.

I kissed her head again, and kindly whispered, "You didn't have this much hair down there the last time I saw you naked." Now it was time to see the whole of her. I slid my hand up her thigh and to her knee, both of which were incredibly soft and smooth. My hand left the water, and pulled the bath lever up. The water started to drain away. I stood up and looked down at her.

As the water level lowered, Laura crossed her arms over her chest. I felt sympathy for the poor thing--it was, after all, quite an evening of emotions and feelings. "You're an amazing girl, my dear Laura." The water was now below her sides. I frowned, looking at those arms covering her chest. I wanted to see her properly, not covered. "Lower your arms," I said casually. I simply had to see her limber, growing, teenaged body.

Yet I was still looking at her arms. She hadn't done as I said. I looked into her face, sternness holding back my anger. "Laura, I don't want you to cover up in front of me anymore." Yes, that was right. After tonight, there would be more.

She paused, and then nodded. Her arms fell to her sides, and at last I could see her large, growing, sudsy breasts. It was a spectacular sight. They were large enough as it was, but within the confines of the tub, and with her arms at her sides, her chest was pushed up. It quivered with each nervous breath she took.

Time was short now; my wife would surely be home any minute. I smiled kindly and motioned to the bath shelves that held shampoo, conditioner, razors, and so forth. I said, "Oh, and why don't you take care of the hair down there." I started to walk out, adding, "It's not becoming for a girl your age to have anything but her natural, naked beauty down there." I glanced back at her; she was looking down, between her legs, her face red. That's right, I said to myself, feel outright ashamed at the hair down there. No man should have to deal with it, least of all on his daughter.

I was now at the bathroom door. I turned, looking once again at my daughter. I paused, feeling a bit choked up over the intimacy we had just shared. "I love you very, very much, Marshmallow." I walked out, closing the door behind me.

I then heard two things: first, from the driveway, was the sound of my wife's car returning. Next, from the bathroom, was the telltale sound of shaving cream being sprayed out of the container.

I had done it. My daughter had become my private, scared, beautiful, wonderful plaything. As I walked downstairs, I smiled. I looked forward to again seeing my daughter's naked body and sweet smile the next time we had the house to ourselves.

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