Daughter's lewdness

The house was brightly lit and quiet, save for the sounds of him opening and closing the door and taking off his shoes. Several dishes were laid out on the table; looking at the glistening braised pork ribs and snow-white lotus root slices, he was actually quite hungry. Even if he wasn't hungry, he had to eat. His daughter had a rule for him: no matter how late he came home, he had to eat something, or she would cry in front of him. And she really would cry.
His daughter was a great cook; even though the food was cold, it was still delicious. But eating alone wasn't pleasant. The last time he ate with his daughter seemed to be two weeks ago, and seeing her radiant smile, he could easily eat several bowls of rice. Today, he hadn't eaten much, but he had drunk half a bottle of wine—again, his daughter's rule: a maximum of half a bottle at a time.
He went into the bedroom, changed into his pajamas, and feeling completely relaxed, lay down on the bed. It felt so comfortable; he didn't want to shower, he just wanted to sleep. He thought this way, but still obediently got up. He didn't want to see his daughter with wide eyes and puffed-out cheeks when he met her the next morning, saying, "Dad, why didn't you take a shower last night?"
His daughter's bedroom door was closed. He hesitated for a moment, then opened it. It smelled wonderful. The light was on, illuminating everything. His daughter was asleep in bed, her phone and several comic books beside her.
Again, she'd probably fallen asleep while playing on her phone or reading comics. It was strange; he never saw her study very hard, yet her grades were always among the top in her grade. He tidied up the comics, picked up his phone, and casually pressed the home button. A message appeared on the screen: "Let's go out and play tomorrow." He casually put the phone back on the comics. He guessed it was from one of her classmates. Tomorrow was the weekend, and she was in her second year of high school; going out wouldn't hurt. By her third year, she wouldn't have time to go out.
His daughter lay peacefully on the bed, her long, glossy black hair scattered across the pillow, a slight blush on her beautiful face, her pouting pink lips moving as if she were eating. This was his proud daughter, who brought him delicious meals when he returned home in the evenings, crisp shirts when he left in the mornings, and always a seat in the front row at parent-teacher conferences. She was his guardian angel, who had saved him in his darkest times, encouraged him in his most difficult times, and warmed him in his loneliest moments. Seeing her smile, no difficulty could defeat him.
The blanket had been kicked to the floor, revealing her long, white legs and pink pajamas. The pajamas had lace detailing at the chest, just covering her nipples, so his daughter never wore a bra after bathing. Now, the girl's breasts stood high, the lace trim drooping in opposite directions, revealing her nipples, which looked especially pink against the backdrop of the pajamas.
The child… Zhang Qian instinctively reached to put the lace back in place, accidentally touching the tender nipple. Though the touch was fleeting, he could still feel its elasticity. Zhang Qian paused, walked to the foot of the bed, picked up the blanket from the floor, and gently covered his daughter.
His daughter was growing up, looking more and more like the woman he loved madly, who tormented him to the point of death. He hated her; he had imagined countless ways to take revenge, yet countless times in his midnight dreams, he was entwined with that woman in passionate embrace. He loved her.
His daughter kicked her foot, the blanket billowed slightly before falling back down, the scent of flowers wafting towards him. She kicked her foot again, one leg extending from under the blanket—pearl-like toes, elegant arch, rounded ankle, straight calf, slightly protruding knee, slender thigh—creating a beautiful picture. The blanket was finally kicked off the bed again, and the daughter's entire body was once again exposed to her father. The nightgown, already short, was now pulled up to her waist, revealing the girl's most private area.
It was a pair of white panties with a cute strawberry pattern. The panties were small, tightly hugging the girl's immature buttocks. Where her legs crossed, her body stretched them into a beautiful curve, with a small indentation and a small shadow at the very top of the curve—perhaps a strawberry pattern. Above the panties, two fine, dark hairs playfully peeked out, lying prominently against the girl's fair skin.
The panties tightly covered the daughter's most private area, blocking any malicious gazes, but the father had touched that place before, inch by inch, touching that mysterious garden, experiencing that intoxicating sensation.
His daughter's immature yet alluring body was laid bare before him, and his breathing quickened; he felt a little hot. He threw the blanket over his daughter, strode out of the room, closed the door, and leaned against it, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.
After a long pause, Zhang Qian entered the bathroom. On the sink sat two cups with cute little bears on them, one containing a red toothbrush and the other a blue one—this was also his daughter's rule.
His daughter's rules—the house was filled with them: from not being allowed to bring other women home, to the color of the toothbrushes, even the number of hours of exercise per week. Others were devoted to their wives, but he was devoted to his daughter.
What angered Zhang Qian was that he obeyed all of his daughter's rules, while she could disregard his. For example, he asked her to throw all her clothes into the laundry basket after showering, but she never did.
This time was no different. Standing in the bathroom, looking at the clothes his daughter had scattered here and there, Zhang Qian couldn't help but sigh. His daughter was very clean; she showered every day, regardless of the weather. It seemed she had showered very late; the bathroom floor was still damp, and the air still held the same scent as before.
A trickle of water dripped from the bathroom ceiling, enveloping him like a spring drizzle, slowly cooling his burning heart. He grabbed the hanging bra; it was a very simple style, very pure, but the natural silk material would protect the girl's delicate skin to the greatest extent. He placed it in the laundry basket. Then he picked up the small pair of panties, blue and white striped, also made of natural silk, which would not cause the girl any harm. Just as he was about to put them in the laundry basket, he suddenly felt a little dampness on his hand. He looked at it as if by some strange impulse; there were a few yellow stains and a glistening wet spot. He rubbed it between his fingers; it was slippery, not water, not ordinary water. The fragrance of flowers mixed with a slight pungent smell slowly wafted out, spreading throughout the bathroom, surrounding the father who owned the panties, triggering those strongly forgotten memories in him.
In the darkness, her smooth, firm body pressed against his chest, her immature breasts against his arm, her other hand kneading the other breast, the nipple rubbing against his palm. His hand left the ravaged breast, stroking the girl's smooth back, moving downwards, gently pulling aside her panties, landing on her pert buttocks, caressing them for a while, before finally settling on her swollen, full vulva, touching the silky hair and the slippery wetness.
"Daddy, I love you,"
the daughter cried, leaping onto him, hugging him tightly, her pink lips pressing against his, her small, darting tongue darting haphazardly across his lips.
The daughter lay naked on his bed, pressing his shirt from the previous day against her face, her other hand incessantly caressing her breasts and clitoris, her movements growing increasingly frantic.
"Daddy!"
With a high-pitched cry, her back arched into a crescent moon, a few glistening drops of fluid spurting out.
These scenes flashed before his eyes, and he felt as if he were possessed, completely frozen, his blood rushing, his body heating up again, even the cold water couldn't cool him. His arm slowly bent, his underwear slowly approaching his nose, his mouth, the scent of flowers slowly wafting in, every muscle in his arm cracking, bones creaking, was it stopping him or helping him?
His chest burned, his penis hard and painful, about to explode, about to die, about to go to hell. His arm suddenly straightened, tightly wrapping the underwear around his about-to-explode penis, the feeling of natural silk, the feeling of skin against skin. His hand moved quickly, the silky sensation moving from front to back, then from back to front, he closed his eyes, his wife's captivating face reappearing in his mind. His body temperature rose higher and higher, the pleasure intensified, his wife's soft moans echoed in his mind, no, that wasn't his wife, it was his daughter.
The climax had arrived; the vas deferens throbbed powerfully, and white semen gushed forth repeatedly, spraying onto his daughter's pure blue and white striped panties, mingling with the slippery liquid.
The ejaculation stopped, and Zhang Qian collapsed from the intense pleasure, looking at the semen-soaked panties in his hand. He threw them to the ground as if electrocuted, like discarding a bomb about to explode, or a hissing venomous snake.
Water continued to fall from above; tears that hadn't flowed even during the agony of those years now streamed down his face, mingling with the water on his daughter's pure blue and white panties, soaked in her father's semen, forming a seamless, indistinguishable mass.
[The End]

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