Asstr Dad

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Asstr Dad

Mg7, fath/daut, 1st, inc, nc, con, drug
A daughter, a cold, some medication. . . oops!
I heard her calling as I left the bedroom. Walking down the hall I stopped and looked into her room.
"Hurry, Daddy!" she said with a grin, hips raised off her bed as she pulled her jeans over her bubbly bottom, panties slipping down to reveal seductive bubbly buttocks. "Mommy's gone grocery shopping. Hurry!"
I got an immediate erection, feeling tight inside my restraining jeans. Pulling the T-shirt over my head, I started stripping, watching as Emma pulled her panties down, kicking them off with legs moving frantically. Soft yellow cotton panties flew through the air in an arc, landing at my feet.
She pulled her T-shirt off; her hairless eight-year-old pubis a plump mound rising between bony hips and small legs. "Daddy, hurry!" she urged breathlessly, rolling off the bed.
My erection jutted out from a thick pubic bush, bobbing slightly as blood pounded. I dropped my clothes to the floor as Emma turned, looking over her shoulder, "C'mon hurry", and bent over her bed, her petite bottom curving into a seductive little globe.
A bead of precum leaked from my tip as she parted her legs, a sexy gap expanding at her crotch to reveal her small plump vulva, rounded labia forming an alluring tightly closed little cleft. "We don't have long, Daddy. Hurry!"
Moving towards her my erection throbbed painfully as she parted her legs further, her small buttocks separating, her tiny anus appearing and below, her cleft peeling open to reveal the glistening moisture of arousal, a sexy clitoral hood and the dark smudge of her tiny, tiny vaginal opening.
Grasping my erection I knelt behind her, Emma, heaven on earth.
My discovery of heaven on earth started with an accidental, inadvertent, and unthinking act.
I'd been charged with looking after Emma while Peggy was away on a sales conference. It wasn't the first time I'd been in this position as Peggy was a successful sales executive for a specialist robotics engineering company in the valley.
I knew the routines, I knew how to keep Emma's endless energy focused, and I knew how to keep her entertained so she didn't miss her mother during the five-day separation.
What I didn't know was how to comfort her or medicate her when she was sick. I'd never been in charge on the very rare occasions when Emma would come down with a bug. But colds and flu were rampaging through school and found Emma with unerring determination. Thus I was picking my seven-year-old daughter up from school early.
"Don't feel good, Daddy," she said sadly, her cheeks feverishly red.
"S'okay, honey. I'll give you something to make you feel better as soon as we're home," I calmly told her. The problem was what? I hadn't a clue.
A brief phone call to Peggy had me searching through the vanity. "Give her a dose of cold and flu medication and put her to bed," had been my wife's unflustered advice. I didn't know the green liquid that clearly stated 'For Cold and Flu' was for adults only. I didn't realize there was a different version in Emma's bathroom. And, like all men, I didn't read the instructions.
"Open wide," I asked nicely, a tablespoon of green gunk hovering in front of her small, firmly closed mouth. "It'll make you feel much better," I added, reassuringly.
Emma did not appear to be convinced, her lips narrowing as she clamped them together, feverish eyes staring at me in disbelieving defiance.
"I'll give you ice cream!" unlocked her reluctance. And, true to my word, after two tablespoonfuls of green gunk and a frown of disgust from her, I gave her a bowl of ice cream, strawberry, "my favourite, Daddy," she advised seriously, if not feverishly.
Wrapping a blanket around her I asked her to eat up. She still had to change and, per Peggy's instructions, get to bed. She accepted my urging with a weak smile, shovelling a spoonful of ice cream into her little mouth, pinkish bits smearing her cute cheeks. With her occupied I hastened to her bedroom, turned down the covers and hunted endlessly through her dresser drawers for suitable bed attire, finally settling on a loose nightshirt type of thing with a blue prancing unicorn on the front.
Returning to the couch I found Emma slumped over, head on the armrest, arm outstretched and ice cream bowl upside down on the carpet, melting ice cream a spreading pink stain. I was quite shocked and worried. Peggy had not mentioned anything about this sort of reaction.
After quickly reassuring myself Emma was, in fact, alive, breathing softly and regularly, I placed a rather frantic call to Peggy, berating her for not warning me.
"What exactly did you give her Greg?" she asked with some forcefulness.
"The green goop. Night-time something or other just like you said," I answered, rather indignantly.
"Greg," she said with some exasperation, "why the hell did you give her adult medication?"
Adult? She'd said nothing about child medication. How was I supposed to know they were different? "Listen Peggy," I started, "you told me to give her the 'cold and flu' medication. I did. If you'd been a little more specific, perhaps I'd have understood there were different versions. Anyway that was the only one in the cabinet," I added with righteous indignation.
"Greg, for God's sake, it's in her bathroom! Just how much medication did you give her?" Peggy demanded to know.
"Um. . ." I was beginning to suspect I should have read the label, "two spoonfuls?" I said sheepishly hoping for a power outage or her cell phone battery to die suddenly.
"Um. . ." Oh-oh. "Tablespoons?" I quickly added in my defence, "That's what you gave me when I had the flu."
Clearly she thought I was. But I was smart enough not to answer her with a denial. A brief silence ensued in which I thought I heard vague muttering, perhaps cursing.
"Greg, put her to bed and keep a close eye on her for the next ten hours. If it looks like she's in distress at any point, take her to the hospital. Jesus Christ!" There was a pause. She added, "Call me if anything happens," before hanging up. I definitely heard her call me a twit before the connection was broken.
Reassured my daughter wasn't going to die I carried her to her room. And, it was over the next ten hours as I watched over her. . . perhaps not watched over her. It was over the next ten hours as I looked after her. . . well, perhaps not that either; it was over the next ten hours that I discovered there was a heaven on earth.
I was surprised to discover there was something wonky in my mental wiring. I might never have known if it wasn't for a distinct twitch in my penis when I reached for the button on Emma's small jeans. I should have been able to blithely change her into a nightshirt. It wasn't as though I had never seen Emma in various stages of undress before. But, for some strange reason, the act of opening the button of her jeans was rather exciting all of a sudden.
I knew my wiring was off when I actually felt an illicit thrill without guilt or self-disgust. That was a shock too. So, when my penis slowly erected inside my pants as I unzipped her jeans, I explored the unfamiliar feeling I was experiencing. It fascinated me. It was so unexpected, a side of my character I'd never known. I actually found the act of uncovering my insensate daughter arousing. Seeing her pink cotton panties in the open waist of her jeans was sexy. Imagine that? A seven-year-old arousing, sexy!
It might have been her condition that freed a hidden perverseness inside me; for there was no question in my mind what I was feeling was perverse. Sexually excited by a preadolescent? That was perverse in the extreme. But deny it I couldn't.
I left her on the bed, on her back, the top of her jeans open and pink panties showing. I sat for a while looking at her, wondering where it had come from. I had no idea. Even weirder was I didn't seem to care; I rather liked the attraction. Illicit touching of an underage girl, incestuous touching of my daughter, it was quite thrilling.
As one is wont to do when aroused, I successfully argued that no harm could come given her current condition, insensate, drugged by a twit of a father. What possible harm could come to her? It wasn't as though I planned on hurting her I rationalized, just a peek, a touch, maybe a feel, and with my penis heavily influencing my brain, perhaps a taste. What harm was there in that?
Thus, reassured my intentions were entirely safe, I returned to the arousing task of unwrapping my daughter, a little present for daddy.
Slipping her jeans off her was an exercise in joy. I'd never realized chaste cotton panties held such allure. They had a remarkable ability to look childish and sexy at the same time, quite an achievement I thought. It had to do with their simultaneous loose-tight properties. Loose gathers sort of shielded parts of her anatomy, like the gusset, which tweaked the imagination with intrigue. Yet soft cotton stretched across Emma's surprisingly prominent mound and, even better, had a slight dip outlining what I imagined must be her little cleft.
All in all I was quite enthralled with the discovery of girlish panties. They had a strong impact on me. In fact, I was quite uncomfortable wearing pants now. With the pure logic of a miswired mind, I rapidly discarded them before turning my attention to her T-shirt.
It took some wrestling to get the thing off over her head. I kept being distracted by a pouty pubis mounding pink cotton. But with determination and perseverance and gentle tugging Emma was eventually naked except for sexy panties.
I noted, as I stood in admiration, my seven-year-old had no curves to speak of. Her small body seemed a perfect rectangle, sides perfectly rectilinear. Being a logically driven man I found that quite attractive. But when she started shivering I realized my mistake. In the excitement of undressing Emma I had forgotten she was sick.
With alacrity I bundled her under the covers, piled blankets atop and stood back. Emma looked forlorn in the bed, a lost and lonely little girl. The bed, a twin, looked far too big for her. It made her look petite. She looked uncomfortable with her soft dark brown hair plastered to her forehead and soft eyelashes resting long on rosy feverish cheeks. She still shivered despite the pile of bedclothes.
In my own feverish state, just a different type of fever, I argued that clearly she needed more warmth and what better warmth could there be then another body. Thus, with my daughters comfort in mind, I stripped and slipped into her bed.
To warm her and comfort her in her sickness, I rolled her onto her side and cuddled up behind, curling my knees up. I knew this would provide the most skin-to-skin contact. It was the action of a concerned father, and was very rapidly displaced by other, more interesting actions. Emma had tiny little nipples that seemed to bead slightly when I felt their outline with my thumb. My erection was uncomfortable, poking awkwardly into her leg so, since I had to be with Emma for several more hours, I adjusted it into a more comfortable position.
Unfortunately for Emma, but most fortunately for me, the only comfortable position was between her legs and this may have given rise to what followed.
You see, Emma had silky soft thighs. They were warm from her fever. And to add to the situation, she was still shivering, a rather arousing symptom of her suffering. I'd been suffering too. My prurient thoughts coupled with careful observation of Emma's almost naked body and the newfound sexiness of cotton panties, had brought about a rather heightened state as evidenced by a rather engorged penis.
An inadvertent twitch of my hips added to my suffering. I discovered the delight of Emma's soft sexy thighs caressing my erection. Another gentle, exploratory stroke brought slipperiness into the equation. Before I could change my mind or consciously consider my action, not that I would have, I was slipping my erection through her legs, enjoying silky warm skin that caressed me, precum that lubricated beautifully, and the feel of small globular buttocks in my groin.
I was feeling rather excited by this new experience. It was unexpected and deliciously illicit. It seemed to tap into the exact spot in my brain that was misswired, a bit wonky. The idea I was getting sexual stimulation with Emma's seven-year-old body thrilled me no end. So, with pleasure seeping through me, with my mind nicely befuddled from arousal, I held Emma tight and fucked her between her legs. As I felt that delicious feeling, the first stir of an orgasm, a tingling sensation, straining, excitement, my erection expanding, and heaviness in my groin, I gently slipped my hand over her sexy cotton panties to cup her tiny, mounded pussy, groaned, pulled her small body tight and climaxed. Semen tore out in a wondrous explosion of pleasure and, seeking to extend this glorious feeling, I thrust and spurt my way to a fine, satisfying orgasm.
I proceeded to behave like most men and fell asleep, satisfied and satiated. And, when I woke, I proceeded to not behave like most men. I believe waking up with the aroma of a little girl that you love tickling your nostrils, the feel of a little girl's body cuddled to you, being naked, the scent of sex, and holding a cotton panty-clad preadolescent pussy might tempt any man. It did me.
Peacefully relaxed and bereft of guilt from blessedly wonky mental wiring, I fondled my still sleeping daughter over her sexy cotton panties. I traced the deep edges of her small pubis, slipping my finger between her pouty labia and silky legs. I explored the shape of her mons, a pad of pure sexuality, and gingerly felt the outline of her short cleft.
It surprised me not when tumescence returned. In fact, feeling my penis extend and slip through Emma's cum-covered thighs was quite delightful. As I bent to kiss her sweat-dampened hair my brain took another interesting turn. The scent of her fine hair and feel of it on my lips was immediately followed by curiosity. Would Emma smell the same all over? And with mounting interest I wondered if she might taste different in exciting little places.
With the exception of sweat soaked sheets from Emma's fever, and some sweat contributed by me, I was remarkably comfortable. But the dampness raised an interesting problem. How could I explore Emma's petite body without exposing her to the chill of the air?
As I noodle this technical challenge around I was interrupted by the phone ringing. Walking to my bedroom, my waving erection reminded me some of the dampness in Emma's bed was my semen. I'd have to fix that at some point.
Picking up the phone I started to say hello.
"What took you so long to answer the phone Greg? Is Emma alright? Is she worse?" Peggy started, without so much as a hello.
"Well? What's happened?" she asked insistently.
"Relax Peggy. I've been keeping Emma close. She's never left my sight just like you told me," I said. I had to be quite careful in what I told Peggy. She had a remarkable ability to detect when I was bending the truth, as it were.
"Emma is sweating like a pig. She's feverish and blessedly asleep," which was true. Blessedly asleep, thank you.
"If her temperature is high you should try to bring it down, Greg," Peggy sagely advised me.
Of course I should. How? "Um... exactly how would I do that?" I asked.
"Well, give her a bath in tepid water."
That raised some problems. "Uh. . . Peggy, you do remember Emma's asleep. I don't think she's in any condition to take a bath."
I heard Peggy muttering. It sounded like she was denigrating all males in the world. "Greg, for God's sake, just take a bath with her," she stated as if it was entirely normal. Then again, had my wonky wiring not been present, it might have been normal. Nevertheless, she'd solved my technical dilemma.
"Okay. If she doesn't cool down in the next hour or so I'll give her a bath." I tried to put on my nonchalant front.
I like to accommodate Peggy but that request was somewhat murky. "Sure honey. When?" I asked.
"Greg, you're a twit. Call me if she gets worse. In fact call me if she gets better. If there's no change let me know."
As I stood stark naked in my room, erection wilting from this conversation, I tried to work my way through her request. It sounded like she wanted me to call her under any circumstances. It was rather confusing.
Being the well-trained husband that I was, I knew challenging her female logic would bring me nothing but grief and further confusion as she tried to explain how simple it was. "I understand," I said sagely; rather cleverly I thought.
And that was that. Hmmm. Bath. An interesting idea. My conversation with Peggy was quickly forgotten as I went to my bathroom, turning on the taps to an appropriate temperature. Walking back to Emma's room my erection returned with vigour. A bath might prove just the thing, I thought.
Emma was still curled on her side, shivering with fever. I wrapped a blanket around her and carried her to my room, placing her on the bed before heading back to strip the sheets from hers. They were quite damp and cold. They also had a rather large semen stain on them which, when I saw it, brought a certain stiffness to me. Memory is such a wonderful thing, I mused.
Tossing the sheets to the top of the stairs, I checked the water temperature in the bathtub, turned off the taps and carried Emma into the bathroom, unwrapping the blanket as I went. I faced a conundrum as I held her hot, shivering body; how do I get her panties off without putting her down on the cold tile? It was an exciting conundrum to have. Taking Emma's panties off could prove rather erotic.
However, despite my wonky-wired brain, fatherly worry took over and I stepped into the bath, sank down with Emma in my arms and let the warm water cover us to our necks as I held her. I rather enjoyed an unexpected benefit of my fatherly instincts. Water had a magical effect on cotton panties. All the simultaneous loose-tight properties vanished as they formed seductively to her body. I liked how they now emphasized the plumpness of her pubis. In fact it made my erection strain. Seeing her delicate cleft seductively outlined in childish pink was quite thrilling. It was thrilling enough that I decided to trace it, feeling how it curved down between her small thighs and merged seamlessly with the crease of her buttocks. This whole bathing idea of Peggy's was quite inspired.
With some slight readjustment to Emma's position, moving her legs over my thighs and her back against my chest, I admired the swell of her pussy, as did my erection, which rose majestically between her legs to rest against it.
All sorts of possibilities passed through my mind as we soaked in the lukewarm water. And, while I had a desire to explore all of them, one seemed of pressing urgency. I felt sure Emma would feel more comfortable without wet panties on. I knew I'd feel better without them. So, with careful tugs, I slipped her sexy, wet panties down, my eyes riveted to her mons as it appeared. It was a very interesting exercise. First I had to move her legs together which, needless to say, caused a delightful squeezing of my erection that poked between them.
It became more complex when my erection stubbornly got in the way while tugging her panties down further. It was pure good fortune that solved the pesky issue. The feel of her little bare buttocks on my stomach pointed to an elegant solution. Thus inspired, with two glorious globes in my palms, I raised her petite bottom and let my erection take its natural position. I have to admit it was with a heartfelt sigh that I let her bottom down. Small, soft buttocks surrounded my penis, a delightful valley aligned with it too.
In this new, very satisfying position, Emma's pussy became a more prominent feature of her anatomy. It seemed to rise into a mountainous pad of seduction, h
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