2 comments/ 68102 views/ 15 favorites Maybe, Maybe Not By: adamuneven "-Pass me the wrench?" "This one?" "No, the small one. -Thanks." Sometimes Amy thought about one of her father's thick, calloused fingers sliding smoothly between her legs. How would it feel exactly, a finger like that? "I think that's done it." He ducked out from under the sink. "Can you run the water?" She reached to turn on the tap. He was sitting on the kitchen floor by her feet. He could probably look up her short skirt if he wanted to. Would she like that? She wasn't sure. Maybe. Yes and no. He was peering under the sink again, reaching back to do something. -If he looked up now... Something fluttered in her stomach. "Yeah, there we go. Job done." She had to move out of the way. He was getting to his feet and they smiled at each other. "You can turn the water off," he told her. Amy did so. "Do you want a Coke?" he said, and when she nodded added; "Great, grab one for me too, will you? I'm going outside for a smoke." She found him sitting on the wall rolling a cigarette; fingers and thumbs. The tip of his tongue touched the paper. He wasn't sexy but sometimes thinking about him was. Such thoughts made her feel... -naughty-? He lit the cigarette and smiled and took the Coke. The sun or the cigarette smoke made him narrow his eyes. "I should have been a plumber," he said. "Good money in it." The low wall was warm on the backs of her legs as she sat down beside him. "Why don't you take it up now?" He looked at her as he popped the can; "-What, and give up making wiper blades?" They both smiled. She knew how much he hated his job. The can of Coke looked small in his hand... -his big hands- Sometimes Amy thought about them touching her. The hard skin would scratch where it touched. Fingers and thumbs like pliers pinching sensitive.... "-Nice out here today," he said and exhaled a stream of smoke. "But I'd better put the tools away." He pinched the end from his cigarette. She knew if she ever tried doing that she'd burn herself. She watched him go inside. The thought of him was sexier when he wasn't there, when she wasn't actually talking to him and looking at him. In real life he was just her father. "Have you got any plans today?" "-Just studying." "No, seriously," he said, "-have you got any plans today?" She laughed and he smiled. "I am," she insisted. "I'm going upstairs now." They were in the hall and he stepped aside to let her pass. Sometimes in the stories she read online lecherous fathers watched their nineteen year old daughters scamper upstairs in their short skirts in the hope of catching a glimpse of their white panties. Hers were red, not that she thought he'd look. -But he might. She scampered up the stairs with that thought dancing in her mind but when she reached the landing and glanced behind her he was already gone. Sure, they were only stories after all... -sexy, arousing stories- But she wouldn't go there she told herself as she went into her bedroom. Not yet anyway. -But hold that thought. Maybe leave it on a low heat for later. That would be nice. Sweet. Sexy. Thinking about it made her feel good. Happy inside. It was something to look forward to. It was warm in her bedroom. Sunlight on her bed and the carpet. Someone down the street was using a mower as she sat on the bed and opened her books. She started to read but somehow her father got into her thoughts. If she considered it seriously she wouldn't want to do it with him, but if she considered it for fun, like a fantasy, it was pretty wild. It could make her wet if she thought about it long enough. She never really got into her fantasies in any detail; they were more a lot of soft focus images and erotic thoughts smoothly blended together... -like his big hands gently caressing her- -and sometimes his thick finger moving deliciously between her legs- -sometimes he'd just hold her close- -sometimes she thought about him spanking her, coming over all stern and masterful with his deep voice, and ignoring her protests- '-Amy, come here,' he'd say. 'Bend over.' Then he'd be looking at her bottom. Lifting her skirt. Looking at her panties... She could see that clearly in her mind but she didn't truly know how she'd feel if it ever happened; scared maybe. Or sexy. Or scared and sexy. -Books, she thought then. Get a grip! Books. Read. Study, and she made an effort to push such thoughts from her mind. Not yet. Later. Maybe. -Probably, actually. And finally she managed to get some work done... ...at least half an hours worth until she heard him outside her room. "I'm just going to take a shower," he called. "Okay." He didn't open her door. He passed and she heard the bathroom door close. -Sometimes she thought about him in the shower too. Sometimes she imagined they shared a shower; steam, soap suds, slick, wet bodies. She hardly ever saw his face in her fantasies. He was just a body from the neck down. A masculine chest. An erection. –It might have been anyone's except she knew that it was his. -The two of them in the close confines of the shower cubicle. His big hands slick with soap. Her nipples hard. Water trailing over her breasts. And when he touched her... Amy found herself gazing, unseeing at her books. She didn't know why she kept thinking about him. There were lots of guys she might have fantasised about. Lots of situations. Younger guys. Maybe it was an authority thing, obedience; being told what to do... -Amy, come here- -that set her mind racing. Now he was in the shower getting wet and soapy. Maybe washing himself down there; hands, soap, water... Did he masturbate? She didn't really like to imagine it. But if he did, what did he think about? -Amy, come here. Bend over. In a story a young woman might slip into the bathroom now and watch her father shower through the condensation on the glass. Might see a patch of dark shadow at his groin. A glimpse of his erection. Might overhear the sounds he made as he touched himself there. In a story. The sunlight through the window was warm on her bare legs as she sat on the bed. It was nice to feel it on her skin. Down the street the lawnmower stopped and she heard a dog bark far away. It was summer out there. She liked her bedroom. It was small. Private with the door closed. She curled her bare toes into the deep, soft rug beside her bed and quietly thought about her father. She didn't think anything would ever really happen between them. –Wouldn't it just be all too embarrassing in real life? Would she like it if it did? But dreams were another thing. Anything could happen in a dream. In a fantasy. One of the favourite themes she liked to read in a story was where the father watched his sleeping daughter. The daughter wasn't always asleep. Sometimes she was just pretending and turned over with a sigh and deliberately parted her legs so that he could look at her down there. Or apparently inadvertently revealed a swollen nipple to his hungry gaze. Then there was the kind of story where the young woman masturbated unaware that her father was watching her. That was pretty wild too. And stories with a spanking theme. Actually they were all good. Now Amy thought about her father spanking her. She was wearing clothes and then she wasn't. She was completely naked, across his lap, and he was spanking her hard. -very hard- -and he was hard- She put aside her books; she had to do it, do something, get off. The urge was growing as it always did; appealing and exciting. Anticipation, still with a low key sense of wrong doing. Enough survived of that to double her pleasure. She gave in to it and quickly moved her bottom to the edge of the bed then lay back. -She thought; what if he comes in now and catches me? What if he was watching somewhere? She moved her hands up and down her body, slower over her hips, down and up again, lifting her short skirt and exposing her panties. Feeling naughty. If he was watching somehow, if he could see her, he'd want to see her breasts. She lifted her T-shirt and imagined he was nearby. She caressed her breasts then bared them and teased her nipples as she opened and closed her legs. And she gasped and slipped one hand between her legs and quickly closed them to trap a small sweet orgasm that came as a pleasant surprise. Then rubbed herself towards another. Slow then fast. Naked, she thought; she wanted to be naked for him. Let him spank her naked. Let him see everything. She shed her clothes quickly in the afternoon sunlight. He's in the shower, she thought excitedly. Just one door away. She lay on her bed with her legs wide and stroked her inner thighs. She touched her breasts and squeezed her nipples- remembering- fingers and thumbs like pliers... and naughty Amy, bend over... and his thick middle finger slipping smoothly and deeply between her legs, faster in and out, fast and thick, untiring... -Oh Godddd- She raised her hips, her fingers busy between her legs. -Oh God- oh God- oh Go- -spank me Daddy- - I've been a naughty girl- -his big hand rising and falling- -his thick finger pushing deep inside her and twisting- - his hands kneading her breasts- -pinching her nipples- -his face between her legs- -his tongue darting- -his thick erection- She climaxed three times; two small, one big, her hips going up each time to meet them thrusting. Then she collapsed, exhausted, breathing fast, coming down hot, happy and satisfied. -For now- Was he still in the shower? She didn't know. She dressed quickly. Her fantasies by then all dissolved; put away, but not forgotten. "Do you want to watch a movie?" he said later. It was just getting dark. Amy was freshly showered and her hair was still damp. They watched The Blues Brothers, one of her father's favourites, sitting side by side on the couch as the room grew dark and the air turned cooler. Amy remembered a story she'd read; father daughter, watching TV. They'd started to touch each other in the flickering light. -But nothing like that would ever happen between them- Would she want it to? She wasn't sure. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe, Maybe Not Ch. 02 (for Pam, because you asked...) "-I should have been a musician," Amy's father said. "There's good money in it." They shared the three seater couch with an empty space between them. On TV the Blues Brothers were playing a gig at Bob's Country Bunker. Amy smiled. He had a guitar in his bedroom and couldn't play a note. She liked to watch her father watch TV. If it was something he liked he often smiled to himself. Now he smiled at his own joke and turned back to the screen. The only light in the room came from the TV and it flickered on his face painting shadows then erasing them. -If he was going to touch her she wondered how he'd start. Her skirt was short, even shorter now she was sitting down. Perhaps he'd do something lame like a shy guy in the cinema; stretch, then put his arm around her? Or would she feel his big hand on her knee, gently caressing before slowly moving higher as they both stared at the TV as if nothing was happening? Would she dare to open her legs? She didn't know. She might, the way she was feeling then. Amy wondered absently if there was something wrong with her. It seemed all she thought about lately was... -sex- -masturbation- -her father- And those kinds of thoughts always made her heart beat a little faster. Made her feel nice inside... -guilty, but nice.. She played with her hair and watched the movie. Sometimes she glanced at her father as she wondered just how aware of her he was; like right now he could be thinking how short her skirt was, stealing glances at her legs... -dreaming about her panties- -wondering what colour they were- -perhaps even thinking about touching her and wondering how she'd react.. The thought occurred to her that they could both be thinking along the same sexy lines and neither of them would ever know. That was kind of exciting and sad at the same time and Amy sighed and was surprised when her father turned to look at her. -Was it that loud a sigh? "All right?" he asked. She nodded and smiled. "-Bored?" "Nope." "We could watch something else." "This is all right." He looked at her a moment longer; what was he thinking? She didn't know. She couldn't know. He turned back to the TV, crossed his feet at the ankles, and stretched out his legs. In the stories she enjoyed everything just happened, one thing followed another, someone made the first move and it all went from there... -hot father, daughter action... -big, warm hands on soft, sensitive skin... -experienced fingers... -panting and breathless whispers... Amy was aware of her body reacting predictably to her thoughts and she gently squeezed her thighs together. -If only real life was the same as stories, she thought. If only she knew what he was thinking, or if he even thought of her that way at all... -if only this, if only that... I'm sitting in the dark beside him and I'm wet, she thought, with an accompanying secret thrill of pleasure. She pressed her bottom a little deeper into the soft couch. -I'm wet Daddy... -do you know how wet? -let me show you.. Thinking about it was pretty wild and made her even wetter. She had to resist the urge to squirm. She had to control her breathing and concentrated on taking long, deep breaths. And all the time she stared unseeing at the TV- the picture was just a blur of colour- as she felt the warm pulsing waves emanating from her vagina and spreading throughout her body. -And becoming more urgent, more demanding, by the second. She felt bad; naughty bad. Sometime, next time they watched a movie, she wouldn't wear any panties. She'd sit beside him with her vagina open and bare under her short skirt... -and wet... -and she'd open her legs just a little... And she wouldn't wear a bra and she'd watch him closely to see if he noticed her nipples. Amy fingers gripped the edge of the couch as her fantasy carried her away. She'd pretend to fall asleep with her legs open just like in the stories. He'd look at her, rest his hand on her leg, then move it cautiously higher, lifting her skirt as it went. She might moan or sigh or pout as she pretended to dream. -and whisper 'Daddy?' as his thick finger traced the wetness there, exploring.. -and let him gently ease her knees still wider apart... -until he could see everything and watch what his finger was doing.. -sliding wetly deeper with delicious, unbearable slowness.. -all the way in, then slowly out; in, and slowly out; then a little faster, and two fingers.. -two thick, slick, pumping, plunging fingers... -her father's fingers- -making wet sex noises between her legs... Amy realised she couldn't sit there a second longer, couldn't bear the agony of desire, the urgent need to cum a second longer. She stood up quickly; too quickly, and got a head rush. And now her father was looking at her but she couldn't look at him. Her face was hot and burning; he'd know something was wrong. She avoided looking at him. He was a shape on the couch at the edge of her vision. "-I just remembered when when. I just remembered when I was upstairs. –The computer. I think I left the computer on. Upstairs..." She couldn't talk, couldn't think; had to go, and she turned away and hurried from the room, blushing furiously. She wasn't aware of climbing the stairs or opening doors but next she knew she was in her room intent on only one thing. Her room was dark except for a square of yellow light on the wall from a streetlamp across the road. She climaxed almost the instant her hand touched her wet panties. She shuddered and bit her lip but it wasn't enough. Still standing, and with one hand braced on her computer work station she slipped her other hand inside her panties. She moaned softly with deep pleasure; -it felt so good. Her finger played around her clitoris and she opened her mouth as the breath caught in her throat... -and she rocked her hips.. -as her finger caressed.. -magically... -faster.. -and faster... Her hair hung down about her face as her vagina spasmed.. -as her hips jerked- -as her climax exploded- -claiming her- -and killing her- With a cry of pure pleasure and release Amy jerked at the waist, once, twice. She doubled over and her knees bent and she slipped to the floor, lost in the throes of orgasm. Maybe, Maybe Not Ch. 03 It was raining next morning when Amy awoke; another great British summer. The sound of the rain on her window brought her down and made her feel... -a little miserable -melancholy -disappointed? Why disappointed she wondered? -because it did.. -because it did that's all.. -and because her fantasies about her father seemed to be getting out of hand. Like an obsession. Even now, lying in her bed and looking blankly at the ceiling, he was stealing into her thoughts. -She let him in; she couldn't have kept him out if she'd tried. What was it about that? She didn't know. She just liked to think about him and about the sexy things they might do together... -a whole bunch of wild stuff... How much of it was her own imagination and how much of it was the result of the stories she'd read she didn't know. -When did she start having sexy thoughts about him? She didn't know that either; it just happened. Did she really want him? She wished she could think about it objectively but her fingertip was already describing lazy circles around her nipple... -it didn't help the thinking process, -but it felt good... She didn't see how it would ever happen in reality unless they were two very different people. That was sad but probably true. Yet knowing that didn't really help; it just made her ache even more for something she'd probably never experience. -so near but so far... Her thoughts slipped smoothly from trying to be realistic to remembering her arousing plan to sit beside him and watch a movie while she wore a short skirt without any panties... -that was the kind of thing that happened in stories.. -slut daughter... Her fantasies were like watching time-lapse photography; this and this and this, without any awkwardness or soul searching... -nice things happened, -he fondled her breasts; then lifted her skirt, Lying in bed her mind kept inventing one sexy scenario after the other and her hand moved lower. Amy realised it wasn't just the sex. It was also.. -love, -and security, that she wanted, -and understanding? -perhaps a father who was more than a father and more than a friend? -a lover too, -was that even possible? She didn't know, -but if it was.... The enticing thought made her heart beat a little faster and she rubbed herself gently but she didn't want to cum. It was nice enough just to touch herself as she thought about him. It made her feel good. For once there was no rushing sense of urgency or aching desire to climax.. -she was pleasantly wet, -warm and comfortable, -drifting and dreaming, It felt about as good as it could get, -as if she could lie there all day, -listening to the rain and gently touching herself... There was one father daughter delight no one ever seemed to write about very much. Amy thought it would be nice, so nice.. -just to spend a night in his bed, -safe and warm, -and loved, -and feeling special, -lying beside him in the dark. She could see it; see them; imagine it; how it would feel with... -nothing to worry about, -nothing to fear, -innocent and sweet, -his strong arm around her, protecting her from... -whatever; everything, nothing, -life, -stuff.. Amy sighed. They were sweet dreams, a little different to the thought of his thick finger slipping smoothly in and out, or his big hand falling sharply on her vulnerable bottom; or fingers like pliers pinching... -but so what? So what? He was the same man and it was really all the same, -wasn't it? Amy showered and dressed. The rain stopped and the sun came out. Her father came home from work at 2:30pm. They talked. He fell asleep in the armchair and Amy went up to her room and studied for a couple of hours before she started thinking.. -so what about it? -it's never going to happen, -it might... -but it probably won't, -she could make it happen, -but she probably wouldn't... It was always like that; one part of her mind seemed to pose the questions, while another more realistic part provided the usually negative answers. Her thoughts went back and fore like the voices of a couple gently arguing with each other; one a dreamer, a romantic, with a taste for sexual fantasies, posed the tantalising questions, while the other less imaginative, more realistic, had all the answers and invariably shot her dreams down in flames. It was like having two different people in her head, opposing factions, -the slut and the prude? and her thoughts constantly bounced back and fore between the two. How was she supposed to resolve something like that? She didn't know but she planned to give it a lot of thought. Later Amy stood in her bedroom and looked at her face in the mirror, -there she was, still the same, looking back. Her expression revealed nothing of her thoughts or the mixed emotions warring inside her. It was getting dark outside, -evening, -movie time.. Her father was waiting downstairs. She was wearing a short, pale yellow skirt, and a T-shirt that was a little too tight across her chest.. -revealing, -did she dare? She could feel her heart beating as she contemplated her reflection; could almost feel the blood coursing smoothly through her veins. She had butterflies. Her cheekbones shone in the fading light. Her T-shirt seemed to glow in the shadows. "-Amy? The movie's just starting. Are you coming down?" Her father's deep voice carried clearly up the stairs. "-It's just a movie," he added. "It's not like we're expecting company." She smiled and told him she'd be down right away. Still looking at her reflection she lifted her skirt and feeling, -daring, slowly peeled down her panties, -already damp. And dropped them on the floor. She felt naughty to be naked under her skirt. Next she pulled off her T-shirt and quickly removed her bra. She saw her breasts briefly, naked and full, her nipples already beginning to harden. When she put her T-shirt back on they showed clearly through the thin, soft cotton. -God, what was she thinking? -she couldn't, -she could, -she wouldn't, -she would.. She felt nervous, excited, aroused, and apprehensive. She had to force herself to turn and open her door before she changed her mind or lost her nerve. It had to be now, -she had to find out, one way or the other. She enjoyed the way her unsupported breasts moved gently as she slowly descended the stairs and was acutely aware of her nakedness under her thin clothes. Her father was sitting on the couch with his back to her. The TV was on and the room was getting dark, -Daddy, look at me, -don't look at me, -touch me, -don't touch me.. Two empty spaces on the couch, -she suddenly saw herself there, leaning back against the arm, her legs splayed for her father in the flickering light from the TV... -as he lowered his head towards her.. -premonition, or fantasy? -whatever, it set her pulses racing. Her father wasn't sexy but the thought of him was, -the thought of him, -and the two of them together. Did she really want it to happen? She was seriously beginning to believe she did. He looked up at her as she moved around the end of the couch, -and seemed to hesitate, -and stared, then collected himself and smiled, and turned back to the TV. -But he did look, Amy thought excitedly, -he did, -right at my chest, -so he knows I'm not wearing a bra, -and now he's thinking... Something turned over inside her as she sat down beside her father. She ached to be touched but she waited. Would he touch her? -maybe, maybe not, -but she surely hoped he would, -and before too long, the way she was feeling. As encouragement, as a hint or sign, and feeling, -naughty, -guilty, -shameful, and wanton, Amy sighed, and as her father turned to look at her she opened her legs, just a little... (Definitely) The End.