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She heard her dad rummage around the kitchen, cutlery clanked together, and the microwave hummed for a minute or so before he collapsed onto the couch with the bowl of leftover lasagne steaming in his hands. Like muscle memory, he quickly switched on the TV and started wolfing down the food like a starving man. Only after demolishing half the bowl of pasta, barely paying attention to the random game show playing softly in the background did he turn to his daughter and notice the look on her face.

“Can you really blame me?” Daddy asked with a chuckle, squeezing her in his arms and kissing her cheek. “Although to be perfectly fair, there was actually a bit more to it, before the event itself. I'd come across some of the internet porn she'd been reading, when I had to use her computer. Bestiality, daddy-daughter incest, and rape fantasy, mostly. I tried not to think too much of it, just normal teenage curiosity, or so I'd mostly convinced myself. But when I accidentally walked in on her and Bruce, and saw she'd chosen to make at least some of those fantasies a reality... well, I just couldn't resist! I just had to try her out for myself, after they were done!”

One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.