She was 16: shoulder-length auburn hair, fair complexion, and but few hints of the "baby fat" that disappears during a girl's transition into womanhood. Shy but not awkward, she wanted him badly. He didn't know this, however, and there was no way that she was going to let him know.
He was 35: average looks, average build, average job, average life. As a single, overworked father, everything about him was average. Well, most everything... He wanted her badly, too. Unfortunately, she didn't know this, either, and there was no way that he was going to let her know.
The obvious problem here was age. Her age. And his age. And the difference in their ages. It all amounted to a situation that just should not have been. There was a bigger problem here, however... a much bigger problem. He was her father. She was his daughter.
The following "mini clips" are glimpses into what happens when deep sexual perversions -- those so-called "dirty genes" -- get passed down a generation...
===== Laundry Day =====
Thursday was his day off, and it also happened to be the day she had softball practice. This meant that Thursdays were when he caught up on the more "motherly" duties of being a single father, and this inevitably included the laundry.
He walked to the master bedroom and grabbed the clothes hamper, filled with his own last week's dirty clothes. That was the quick part. He then had to walk to his daughter's room and gather her dirty clothes. Her room always looked as if a natural disaster had hit it, so he spent considerably more time in there.
Don't let his seemingly good intentions fool you, however, for his laundry ritual was far from ordinary. See, with his daughter out of the house, he had more than his normal 20 "morning minutes" with which to satisfy his needs, and most of this time centered around his daughter's bedroom.
Albeit a disaster area, gathering up his daughter's worn clothes didn't take much time. The bulk of his laundry time was usually made up of what he did with the clothes...
After making a single pile of his daughter's worn clothes, he would close and lock her bedroom door and lower and close her blinds.
He would then pick out a fresh, clean pair of her underwear; he had his favorites, but he had done this so many times, he had surely used them all several times each. His fresh selection in hand, he would have a seat next to the pile of dirty laundry. He would pull his pants down to his ankles and begin to stroke his cock with the fresh, clean pair of his daughter's panties. With his free hand, he'd begin to methodically sift through the pile of worn garments, looking for those with the greatest left-over "essence" of his daughter still present.
He would press her worn panties to his face, smelling them, savoring the young, sweet aroma of his young progeny. As he stroked his cock more quickly, he'd even occasionally take some of the fabric into his mouth, sucking on the sweet fibers with great delight. As his orgasm approached, he would put aside the clean pair of panties and would ultimately jerk his load onto the worn pair he'd been smelling and sucking on. After his load was spent, he often took the worn pair of panties, now saturated with a combination of their juices, and would stroke his still-erect cock a few final times with the damp fabric.
After pressing the worn pair of panties to his face for one final breathe of perversion, he'd dress himself, gather up the remaining laundry, and go about his seemingly "normal" day -- after returning the "clean" pair of underwear to its original place in his daughter's dresser drawer...
===== Leftovers =====
He would always shower first in the morning. They had multiple bathrooms, but he needed to be up for work well before she needed to be up for school, so they almost always shared the main bathroom. Over the years, she had learned (assumed, really) that her father's morning ritual included a morning wank.
She'd never seen him in the act, and only once did she recall hearing what she thought may have been a moan. Nonetheless, she had been growing more and more aware of the consistent timing of his morning ritual: He'd be in there for a good 20 minutes prior to turning on the shower. She never heard a toilet flush, but she'd always hear the sink on for a few seconds prior to him getting in the shower.
Today, he woke up late because a power surge screwed up the clocks. She heard the bathroom door close, and a few minutes later the shower turn on. She didn't pay it much more attention. An hour later when it was her turn in the bathroom, she picked up her toothbrush and was immediately caught off-guard.
Looking down, she saw a small puddle of cum on the edge of the sink, and a few streams of cum in the sink itself. A wave of nervous, excited sexual energy rushed into the pit of her stomach. With a single finger, she scooped up a stream of cum from the sink bowl and put it to her lips, then into her mouth.
As she sucked on her cum-covered finger, she pulled down her panties just enough to gain access to herself and shoved two fingers deep into her pussy. She fingered herself hard and fast, and with her opposite hand, reached back into the sink -- this time with two fingers -- and scooped up the remaining cum, again sucking the lukewarm nectar into her mouth.
Not interested in savoring the moment, she bent her knees just slightly and pressed her lips into the pool of cum resting on the edge of the sink. She slurped the last of her father's cum into her mouth as she brought herself to her own orgasm. Content with the job she'd done cleaning up after her father, she licked her own thick wetness from her fingers. Without stopping to as much as ponder what she'd just done, she turned on the water and stepped into the shower...