Xavier
After Her Bath, Hazel teeters out of the bathroom to get dressed, flushed and dizzy as if she’s drunk on pleasure, while I drain the tub and gather up her discarded clothes on the floor. I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror and drag my hands through my hair. I’m rock fucking hard and I have no idea what to do with myself. I can’t keep jerking off in the bathroom…can I? How long can this go on for?
When I step out of the bathroom into the bedroom, I’m in for a shock. Hazel is in front of the full-length mirror, admiring herself in a sheer babydoll slip.
It’s Melanie’s bridal lingerie.
She must have found it in my drawer. I keep it stashed away there with the panties I took away from Hazel-strange and emotionally-loaded mementos of my wife; of her daughter. Melanie only wore this particular item once, on our wedding night, but it evokes powerful memories for me. The incredibly loving, intense sex we had that night. The awe and wonder I felt at knowing that this woman was my wife. I felt unreasonably lucky and blessed.
Now, looking at her daughter wearing the same thing, a dark heat swells in me.
Her toned legs are impossibly long under the hem of the nightgown, which just barely skirts the bottom of her ass. A hint of frill peeks out beneath from the matching set of panties, tantalizing and innocent all at once. The white fabric billows around her mid-section, tucking together under the swell of her breasts, where a large pink ribbon sits right between the two mounds. More frilled fabric, just like the panties, modestly covers her breasts, the whole thing suspended from two straps over her shoulders.
She looks like a stripper, and a bride, and an innocent little angel all rolled into one, and hormones surge through my blood at the sight of her. Something ravenous and fierce inside of me is fighting to be unleashed. A wild yearning, a dangerous thing. Pornographic images flicker rapidly through my mind, almost subliminal, and impossible to catch and stop. Hazel thrown back on my bed, hair splayed, the billowing white fabric of the nightie flung up over her tits; moving the frilly panties to the side with a rough finger; the small, pink, soft centre of her cunt inside. Hazel underneath me in this lingerie like her mother once was years ago.
My cock twitches in my pants and my face feels hot. I take a steadying breath as she turns and beams at me.
“Do you like it?” she asks, playful and coquettish.
“Yes.” I just hope that the pounding of my heart and lungs in my ribcage isn’t showing through my button-down. I take a seat at the edge of the bed. From the lower angle, I can see the slightest bit more of the frilly panties beneath, and just the idea of them is making my balls ache.
“Come sit on my lap,” I say, husky and low, and surprising even myself. I didn’t mean to say that. It’s like the wild thing within is so close to being free that he’s speaking through me now, controlling me. But I want-no, I need her close. I need to feel her against me and wrap my arms around her in some twisted conflation of protection and desire.
She’s mine. My little girl.
She sashays towards me with a small smile playing on her lips and I’m struck by her likeness to Melanie. The sexy confidence as she shows herself off to me, the flash of seductive knowing in her eyes. It’s as if, for the first time, I’m truly seeing how Hazel is Melanie’s daughter, after all.
They’re so different, Hazel lighthearted, sincere and well-meaning, while Melanie is manipulative and self-interested. There’s that light in Hazel’s eyes that never was in Mel’s. But now, like this, wearing the lingerie her mother wore on our wedding night, and looking at me as if she has knowledge beyond her years, the similarity to my wife is unmistakable and uncanny. Maybe that’s what confuses me. Maybe that’s why I keep having these dirty thoughts.
She turns and sits on my lap and we both look in the mirror to see each other. The heat of her body against mine is making me ache, but I don’t shift or try to hide my erection.
“You look so sexy,” I rasp, lifting a hand to one thigh, and softly running it over the smooth skin, letting my thumb trail over the silky flesh.
She squirms deliberately against me and smiles shyly in the reflection in the mirror.
It’s the shyness that gets me. The fluctuation between an uncanny imitation of my wife, and then a sweet, innocent girl. It’s kryptonite for me, and I lift a hand to her other thigh, holding both legs against me as I grind my cock against her frill-covered ass.
“You see what you do to me?” I lift my hand to her hair and gather a thick rope of it in my fist. “Hazel,” I growl. “I can’t believe what a beautiful girl you’ve grown up to be. So beautiful and so sexy.”
She catches my eye in the mirror and gives me a devilish smile. “More beautiful than Mom?”
My heart squeezes and skips a beat. With a observational detachment I notice a fleeting sense of shame, as if she’s discovered some secret.
“Yes,” I whisper, nuzzling her neck. “More beautiful than Mom. My sweet, sexy little girl.”