Taboo Father

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Crawling back into my father’s bed
didn’t seem an option at the time. I kinda felt I’d gone too far, that last week of summer. Yet I still longed for his touch.
We weren’t very physical at the time. We did not hug or kiss. I don’t think we ever touched unless accidentally.

This is what I decided to change. I kissed my father again, just like I used to when I was little. I kissed him before I went to bed, when I was about to leave or when he said something nice about me.
I hugged him too, when he did something for me, when I’d done something that made him proud or just because.
He did not say anything about this either, except that I ‘seemed happier’ those days. Perhaps I was, but he was mixing up cause and effect.
Just hugs and kisses weren’t enough though.
One night, several months after that last week of summer, my dad was watching sports from the sofa. I was wearing black panties beneath a too large t-shirt, they were lace and covered only a small part of my backside.
I approached him. He was sitting in the corner, leaning back with one arm on the arm-rest. I sat down sideways on his lap, using his arm as back-support.
“What are you doing?” He asked me, not taking his eyes off the TV.
“Sitting on your lap.” I replied cheekily.
“I noticed.” He replied. “Why?”
“I remember sitting on your lap all the time when I was little. I wanted to see if I could still fit.” I explained.
My dad grunted. Probably thinking that I would get bored of it soon enough, he let me be.
He had one hand behind my back and the other was holding the remote. I knew he wouldn’t use that as long as the game was on. He was holding it to keep his hand occupied, not knowing what else to do with it while I sat on his lap.
I leaned to the side, resting my head against his chest. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was all I’d be getting for now.
It was enough.
The next time I did it, I waited again until he was watching something that interested him enough to stay seated even while I crawled into his lap.
I made sure he did not have the remote nearby, so he had no choice but to place his hand somewhere on me. He chose my knee.
I had turned a bit more this time, placing my back against his chest. This way I could see the TV as well. I was not very interested in what he was watching, but it was better than the uncomfortable position of before.
“Are you afraid to touch me?” I asked him.
I felt his muscles tense up and realized my question might’ve sounded a bit naughtier than I had intended.
“We use to cuddle all the time and you never kiss or hug me any more.” I explained, trying to make it sound more innocent. “Even when I was naughty, at least you’d still spank me.”
What I said was true though, those past few weeks, all those interactions had been initiated by me, not him.
“Well, once you became a teenager, you made it quite clear to me that you didn’t like hugs and kisses anymore.” My dad explained. “Though if you’re naughty enough, I might still spank you.” He teased.
I blushed. “Well, I’m not a stupid teenager anymore. I’d like my hugs and kisses back if that’s okay.”
He wrapped his arms around my chest and pulled me closer. “More hugs for my little girl. Got it!” He said. I wonder if he noticed I wasn’t wearing a bra underneath that shirt.
When he let go he did not place his hand back on my knee, but on my upper leg. His thumb rested intimately on my thigh.
As the days passed through autumn and into winter, he kept word and hugged and kissed me more every day. Once, he even smacked my bottom as I passed him on the way to the kitchen, warning me to do my chores, as the dishes were piling up.
When I sat on his lap, his touch inched ever closer, until his warm hand covered the soft skin of my inner thigh and his thumb brushed the edge of my panties.
His other arm he wrapped around me, lower when I was wearing a bra but no t-shirt; but when my bare breasts were hidden behind a bulky shirt, he got high enough so that I could feel his arm brush up against them.
Feeling bolder than usual one night, I took his hand and placed it on the mound above my pussy. Just the fabric of my panties separating us.
“Why don’t you place it there?” I asked him.
He pulled his hand back in surprise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He said.
I blushed, he must’ve thought I was upset for how close he had placed his hand. “It’s okay.” I said. “It was a suggestion.”
He did not place his hand back on my leg. “That’s a bit too intimate, don’t you think?”
“What makes this…” I took his hand and placed it back on my crotch. “more intimate than this?” I placed his hand on my knee, where it had started weeks ago.
“That part of your body is just more intimate.” He protested.
“I’ve seen pictures were you were holding me as a babe and you carried me with your hand there.” I replied. “When did it become too intimate? It hasn’t changed much, except for some hair.”
I placed his hand back on my mound.
“When you touch me there, Im not aroused or excited. I feel loved and protected.” I explained.
He did not remove his hand again, but let it rest where I put it. I don’t know if he believed my lies, for I was certainly aroused to feel his hand between my legs and his fingers on my lips.
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I so enjoy how you write and slowly build the scene. Well done.
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