Jewel Breckenridge
Daddy_s little girls

CHAPTER ONE

She was, after all, only a child.

As she walked down the arrow-straight road from the school bus towards home, her head barely cleared the taller hedges and her blonde hair tossed at her shoulders, one of which was slightly raised from the effort of carrying her schoolbooks. She had a light, inoffensive manner of staring through every gate and through every window which looked inviting as she stepped along. The quickness of her glance seemed right for her pert walk, her smallish, lean frame, her age – but this quick gaze was dictated also by the quickness of her mind and temperament.

Thirteen-year-old Ellen Johnston was precocious, an inventive young genius, a little dynamo. Her long blonde hair twirled as she spun her head for a quick look at anything interesting – but what interested her most in this old, familiar Cape Cod neighborhood was not the respectably stuffy people or the fifty thousand dollar houses so much as the newness of her own experience. Ellen was fast becoming a woman, and she was very much aware of the fact, and aware too of the subtle changes that were going on inside her slowly maturing body. When asked her age, she said she was "going on fourteen", and it was true. Ellen would be fourteen in only eight more months.

Not too far behind Ellen, Roger Johnston swung his big Rolls Royce around the corner by the school bus stop. The car was a rich lustrous black, only a few months old, but already covered with dust. Inside a crisp unseen voice droned out the day's predictable news of scattered wars and disasters which Roger gave only half an ear to. The interior of the car reeked of new leather, although it had already acquired an unkempt look from a back seat covered with papers, a kleenex box broken and spewing its contents over the rear shelf, and sand, dried mud, and a forgotten soft drink bottle on the floor.

Roger valued the quality and prestige of an auto only when he bought it, seldom giving it a thought thereafter, since to him a Rolls, no matter how new, was nothing new. It was checked only when his garage phoned him to remind him to bring it in. As forgetful and distracted as he was these days, he should have had both a chauffeur and a mechanic – and before long, he probably would.

While he was so preoccupied by his troubles to give only half an ear to the news, and not to notice at all the early degeneration of his car, his eye spotted rapidly the beautiful young blonde girl on the road ahead of him. She had on a very short skirt which bounced along with her walk, revealing every few steps the beginning of the curved, full rise of her smoothly rounded buttocks clad in what seemed to be pink bikini panties. He looked more closely at the spot where the short skirt sometimes bounced up as he guided the car along behind her absent-mindedly by instinct. Yes, they were pink, this little blonde bombshell had on pink lace bikini panties! He could even see the tight, firm cheeks of her almost naked buttocks rise and fall beneath the skimpy pink cloth, jiggling saucily and invitingly, until he got too close and could no longer get the right angle. If only he could slow down without being obvious! Now he raised his eyes to the narrow girlish waist and the delicate curve of her back rising to slender sloping shoulders under a faded, clinging sweatshirt.

Johnston came up directly beside the girl and saw now that the jutting breasts beneath that sweatshirt were bouncing provocatively together with her walk but not as much as he had expected. They seemed taut, firm and youthfully full. Yes, but not as much as the tightly revealing clothes, the full hips and buttocks, the long inviting bare legs, and the long swirling blonde hair would suggest. The girl must be very young and, as a matter of fact, those must be school books under her arm. But damn was she appealing! Her stiffened nipples thrust enticingly far out against the worn material of her clinging sweatshirt. Jesus! That he could see! If only he could slow down, or if only he were on foot and could follow her; but no, now he was fully past and he raised his eyes directly to her face and found himself looking squarely at… could it be…? His own daughter.

His own daughter! Holy Jesus Christ! And he had been looking her up and down like some cheap whore! Fortunately she had not noticed him, looking instead into the yards of the houses she was passing, and he shifted his gaze and continued driving, badly shaken emotionally. This girl whom he had examined as best he could from ankle to breast, on whom he had allowed his frustrated, sex-starved desires to speculate wantonly – this girl was his daughter Ellen, his own child. Christ almighty! But she had not seen him and he continued driving. Perhaps he should stop – or should have stopped, to give her a ride the rest of the way home; but now, thank God, it was too late.

Roger Johnston guided the dusty Rolls Royce down the long straight road and into an opening in the hedges which led to his garage. There he parked the car, gathered up some of the papers from the back seat, knocking others onto the floor, and rushed into the house with them. The house was cool, quiet, and deserted, and he was glad for that since his present guilt demanded peace and solitude. He called out his wife's name perfunctorily, but he knew she would be out on one errand or other. There was no answer.

He went up the winding staircase and directly entered his study where, tired, without giving a thought to changing his clothes, his hands trembling as they clutched the papers, he sat down at his desk. Peace was what he needed, and he would just sit now and think the whole matter through. He laid the papers down and began to sort through them, spreading them out before him. Oh yes, there was the property transfer for the new fish catcheries, and the rough draft of the prospectus for the Hyannis Hotel which he had to look over – these things were fairly reassuring.

Yet he could not concentrate and his mind drifted until he opened the cabinet at his side and poured a Scotch, downed it, and poured another. This should have calmed him, but instead it merely removed the last inhibitions in his mind standing between him and direct contemplation of his young daughter Ellen's lust-inciting body. His thoughts returned to the road and the full profile of her full firm breasts, the swell of her rounded young buttocks rising and falling invitingly beneath the pink bikini panties as she walked, the gentle untouched virginal look of her curvaceous body together with her light skin, her bare arms and legs, her long blonde hair… He polished off a third – and then a fourth – Scotch, and then the world began to soften around him.

Roger suddenly leaped up, raced out of his study and ran shakily, all the way down the stairs to the basement. There he found a large nail and hammer and carried them back up to the study, where he stood heart thudding, hands trembling, facing the wall separating his study from Ellen's bedroom. Despite the influence of the alcohol, which had now turned him into a different person, his mind still hesitated. Yet his hands did not; he held the nail at eye level and pounded through the wall. He removed it, blew out the plaster and wood, and yes, there was a direct view into his daughter's bedroom. And she would not see the hole since her walls were finished in a rough knotty pine.

He returned to his desk and pretended to look at the hotel prospectus, but he knew he was pretending, really waiting to peek through the hole.

There was a noise downstairs.

As Ellen entered, she too thought the house was empty. Looking through the pile of mail and finding none for her, she dropped her books on a chair and began slowly climbing the circular staircase. Like her father, the young teenager had put in a long day and was tired. She entered her bedroom next to her father's study, closed the door, sighed, and immediately started to undress.

Roger stood with his eye pressed hungrily to the hole he'd just drilled as his curvaceous teenage daughter pulled her sweatshirt quickly up over her head, unzipped and dropped the short skirt, and turned unknowingly to face him as she removed her brassiere. Her full, uplifted breasts swayed lushly into naked freedom right before his eyes. Against the milk-white skin of the proud young breasts her small erect nipples stood out as inviting pink buds, as cherries only waiting for someone to pick. Roger's eyes scarcely had accommodated themselves to his daughter's quivering white breasts when she slowly peeled down the sheer pink panties and tossed them onto the floor, revealing a tiny blonde triangle of sparsely curling pubic hair, at the bottom of which he could see the start of the gentle fleshy folds of her pussy. This was his daughter – God almighty! What a body! What a tantalizing and unbelievable body! Young and virginal, but physically a full woman, perfect in her lush nakedness.

Ellen was not posing, did not suspect that she was observed, and as soon as the pink lace panties dropped to the floor she bent immediately to pick them up, turning her back to the wall, the round trembling cheeks of her buttocks spreading enticingly as she stooped, revealing the other end of her thin pink vaginal slit through the curly blonde pubic hair from the rear, and farther up the shadowy cleavage between the upturned half-moons of her buttocks, Roger stared heatedly at the tiny secretive ring of her anus.

She sprang back to her feet and moved around the room putting her clothes away. Her ripely jiggling young breasts popped in and out of view as she walked about the room, and her firm but fluid buttocks rose and fell, rose and fell, as they had on the street except now it was so much more lust-inciting to see them naked. Roger was sure she was unconscious of his gaze, yet even so she seemed to like being naked, or at least not to consider it unusual as she put her clothes away, straightened up the cosmetics on her dresser, moved to a window to glance through a crack in the drapes out at the sky and the ocean.

All the while Roger kept his eyes glued to his daughter's body. And what a body! He had never suspected it was this good – before today he'd never given it a thought. Occasionally the alcohol he'd drunk dimmed his focus, but generally his view of his young daughter's curvaceous body was extremely clear, as the large straining bulge in Roger's pants obscenely announced. He looked at the tender, still unwrinkled body as it nakedly circled the room, still tanned from last summer except for the two narrow strips of white from where the skimpy bikini bathing suit had been. He watched the round, pliable cheeks of her smooth young buttocks knead against each other, swaying side-to-side at the bottom as well as up and down while she walked; he drank in the upturned spheres of her ripely budding breasts set close together with the taut pink nipples rising into tantalizing little buds; he studied voraciously the lips of her virginal cunt which undulated beneath the sparse blonde triangle as she walked.

With Roger's eye at the nail hole so full it was popping from his head, Ellen suddenly pulled a pair of white nylon panties from the closet and tugged them on, for a moment giving an unwittingly good view of her entire young pussy. Then she took a sheer white brassiere, worked the soft flesh of her breasts into the lacy cups, and forced the back shut. As she topped this off with a short, loose-fitting house dress, her smooth cream-white body already began to fade into Roger's memory.

But what did not fade in Roger's mind was the guilt.

He returned to his desk and passed what he had done over and over in his mind, unable to think of any excuse or justification for his behavior. She was, after all, his daughter! His own daughter, only a child! Yet that body…

One excuse in time did occur to him and now sat almost empty at his side – his ender of troubles these last weeks – the bottle of Scotch.

Roger heard Ellen close the door to her bedroom just as he was fighting an impulse to check the hole again to see if she was still fully dressed. Roger groaned, and forcibly steadying his hands, poured himself another large, stiff drink, downing it with a shudder.