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Chasing Daddy

82 pages1 hour


Some girls chase boys, some chase other girls. Over the years, I’ve learned I’m not terribly picky.

As the days passed, I became more and more distracted, unable to think of anything but my father. I stared at him almost constantly; at his lips and at his hands, and as he came from the shower just now, at his chest. He’s everything the boys at school aren’t: manly and sexy and mature and loving. I caught up to him just as he entered their room, and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing myself to his back, my cheek on his shoulder. He’d stopped, and it was obvious he was nervous.


“I just want a hug,” I whispered.

He blew out a quiet breath and, a moment later, turned, pulling me to him, and kissed the top of my head.

“Warm,” I whispered.

“A good shower tends to do that.”

I moved my cheek against the hair on his chest. “You smell nice.”

He moved to pull away. “Come on, sweetheart, I need to get dressed.”

“Want help?”

He laughed nervously. “No, sweetheart, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I lowered my gaze to his stomach, to the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the towel, and slowly I reached out to run my nails over the skin there, the soft hair mesmerizing me.


I shook my head, my gaze on my hand as I reached for the towel.

“Baby, please,” he whispered.

Again I shook my head, pulling slowly, watching, fascinated, as the towel fell, his penis springing up a bit, bouncing where it hung, heavy. I reached out.

“Baby, no.”

I ignored him as I touched a fingertip to it, but I pulled away when it jerked up against my hand. I smiled as, again, I reached out again. Again it twitched. I lifted my gaze. I wanted to see his eyes, to watch his reaction the first time I touched it. I bit my lip as my fingers wrapped around it, as I squeezed, gently. “Warm,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “Sweetheart...”

I moved then, my gaze dropping to his lips, my eyes closing as I pressed mine to them, my hand still squeezing him, my heart racing as he began to harden.

I felt her hands on my shoulders, pulling at me, gently, and I broke the kiss, my gaze on his, his on my mother’s.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she said, her tone soft.

I released him, though it was the last thing I wanted to do, and as she turned me, directing me out into the hall, I turned my head, my gaze on his penis, now sticking out at a low angle, swaying gently. When at last the wall came between us, I shook myself out of my daze. She brought me to my room and sat me on my bed, her hand coming up, the backs of her fingers caressing my cheek. “So beautiful,” she whispered. “You’re going to give him a heart attack.”


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