I Smithson: Tempting daddy

But if Daddy didn't have a girl, then what? Maybe he didn't! Maybe that was why he got hard before. Maybe he was hard all the time. Now she was sure he had an erection. She wondered if it had grown any since the last time she'd seen it. Then it'd been fat and thick and so long she couldn't believe it. Oh, how it glistened and shone when he shoved it up into her mother's hungry pussy.

Sometime later today she would come right out and ask him if he had a girl. Nothing wrong with that!

Leslie, still naked, went out into the kitchen, her young breasts bouncing prettily, her long hair flowing down softly on her bare shoulders. She stood in front of the open refrigerator debating what she wanted to drink.

"Leslie," her father called from the master bedroom. In here James Groten had set up a miniature "office" in one corner. All the while Leslie had been in her room, she'd heard his typewriter clacking.

"Yes, Daddy?"

"See that wine in there? The red stuff?"

"Want me to give you some?"

"You're a very bright girl," he laughed facetiously.

"All right… all right!" Leslie answered, but then her question had been a foolish one. She opened the bottle. "Can I have a little, too?"

"As much as you need," was his response. This was another thing about Jimbo that she just adored. He never forbade her things like wine, cigarettes, late hours, even loud music… as long as she didn't insult anyone, invade their privacy or act stupid. What other girl in her group back in Chicago could say the same? Not one!

Balancing two wine glasses, she padded on bare feet down the narrow corridor leading to her father's room. She did not have one single thought about her body being so ravishingly naked. She was completely oblivious to the seductive motions of her breasts, to the enchantment of her snowy white thighs and the exciting sensuality of her curly pubic hair, an impossibly neat and beautifully defined triangle.

Being extra careful not to spill the wine, she inched up to his desk. His back was to her. She put the glasses down. Jimbo was concentrating and had hardly heard her enter. Then he stopped typing. He turned to thank her.

This was the first time he noticed her sexually bet he said nothing. She sat down on the end of his bed. She crossed her naked legs naturally, this gesture having the effect of obscuring her delightful crotch. Her long hair fell down over her naked breasts, but her nipples peeped through. They were erect, and Leslie was suddenly terribly conscious of this fact.

"Well, Jimbo, here's to us all moved in, huh?"

He faced her. He had to shift and disguise his hardening penis. No, he wasn't embarrassed. If anything, he was absolutely, totally surprised at his physical reaction.

"Yes, darling, here's to us, brand new, together. Here's to a new life. Here's to better grades in school! Here's to happiness… for you, for me, and for the rest of this foolish world!"

They drank together, their eyes smiling across the rims of their wine glasses.

"Daddy, I got a personal question…"

He interrupted her: "I have a personal question."

"Daddy, I'll take it over again. Sorry. I have a personal question. You don't have to answer."

"Ask!" He smiled. He drank from his glass. The wine was tangy, strong, expensive.

"It's personal," she warned.

"Ask!"

"Do you have a girlfriend here in New York?"

"Nope."

"Play to find one for yourself?"

"Yep!"

"Okay then, Daddy," she hesitated, "I want to know this… I want to know… it's important."

He saw she didn't want to go on. "What's wrong, darling?" he asked. He put down his glass and went to her. He sat down on the edge of the bed close to her. He put his arms around her naked shoulders. He saw just the suggestion of a tear in her pretty eyes.

"Daddy, I mean, Jimbo, until you find one, a girlfriend, do you think I could… I mean… that I could kind of… well, you know, be close to you? Oh, I don't mean like a wife or a girlfriend, but you know, maybe hold you when you get lonely, or scratch your back or you know things like that, huh?"

He sensed what she was driving at.

"Darling," he replied, kissing her dampening eyes as they looked up into his face, "you're my best and only girlfriend. I love you. Yes. You can do anything you wish. Just remember our rules."

"Then I can still run around naked if I want to… and you, too, when we're alone here at home, not like back in Chicago?"

"We can even take showers again together, darling, if we want to."

Leslie squealed with delight! "And sometimes if I get lonely all the way down the hall, can I crawl up in with you, Daddy?"

"Anytime, sweetheart," he answered. He got up and returned to his desk.

It wasn't until he heard her go into her room and turn on her favorite Rolling Stone album that he stopped to think over the significance of what his daughter had said.

Young girls were strange creatures! And Leslie among the strangest. Sometimes she was so exquisitely desirable as a female he wished she belonged to another father. At other times he was so boyish she embarrassed him.

He remembered his early erection, no doubt stimulated by the sight of her half-exposed pussy hair while she'd been sitting on the couch, her pert nipples protruding through the almost transparent material of her robe.

Well, he decided, returning to his typewriter, being totally naked would be a hell of a lot less seductive and sexually arousing then being half naked.

He thought little more about the subject and returned to his work.

In the lives of most of us the first day in a new school can be filled with horror, repulsion and even bring on acute vomiting.

Then some of us are blessed. The homeroom teacher is an exquisite treasure of feminine loveliness. We have the best room in the whole school. It's even on the ground floor so there are no steps to climb and it doesn't require the brains of an engineer to escape out of one of the rear classroom windows in springtime when that curious fever strikes the school masses.

Such was the case of Leslie Groten. The homeroom teacher was a charming, extremely good-looking middle-aged man named Mr. Spire. He was gray at the temples. His aquiline nose was sheer perfection. His hands and fingers were delicate, and his physique was that of a natural athlete. Leslie beamed when she presented her schedule card to him.

"Well, my dear," Mr. Spire began, "I've heard some excellent reports about you. Tell me, is the fire still burning?" He laughed and Leslie loved the teensy wrinkles in the corners of his gray eyes.

"Seriously, my dear Leslie, I'm hoping you'll enjoy us here in the East. We are quite different, you know. More sophisticated!" He grinned. "But seriously, we do take a different view of things, and you'll begin to notice this after several weeks. In fact, we are less sophisticated than any community in the entire country. We are meaner, tougher, more indifferent, more independent and more obnoxious!"

"You make it sound just wonderful," Leslie joked.

Mr. Spire liked the young girl. She had spirit! And, something else, he noticed, allowing his eyes to scurry over her voluptuous figure as she stood by his desk. She had adorable breasts, nestling warmly and firmly under her expensive woolen sweater. She was wearing a plaid miniskirt and, he imagined, pantyhose. Her sleek leather boots were obviously costly and they flattered her shapely legs. She had firm rounded thighs and under the silky nylon of her sheer pantyhose, he imagined her flesh to be snowy, milky white and flawless.

Her complexion was as pure as the driven snow. He loved her pretty eyes and he could see the pools of sensual passion eddying and rippling deep inside their stunning blueness.