Daisy's Disgrace

Tom was home late, but that was okay with him. TGIF, baby.

As he pulled into the garage, he was annoyed to see his wife's BMW absent from her stall. With a curse, Tom remembered belatedly that she had left for a business trip to Boston late that morning. She wouldn't be back until Monday evening, which meant that once again, he would have to come up with meals for himself and his daughter Daisy. It also meant no poker night this Saturday with the guys.

Fucking hell.

He wondered briefly where his daughter was. It was already 7:00 and her car wasn't in the driveway. Neither were there any lights on in the house that Tom could see, as he made his way to the kitchen door, briefcase in hand. She was probably at cheerleading practice, or her after-school yoga class, or even fucking the neighbor boy, for all Tom knew. Not that she was a particularly precocious girl, that he had noticed, but teens were growing up faster and faster these days, and he certainly wouldn't put it past her.

For the moment, all he really cared about was cracking a beer, taking a long, hot shower, and catching the second half of the Brewers game. It was still early enough in the season for Tom to feel optimistic about their chances of a post-season. Beer and baseball--what more could a guy want?

Tossing his briefcase onto a chair by the door, he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom. He passed his son Kurt's bedroom on his left, mostly empty now that Kurt had gone off to college. His daughter Daisy's room was on the right, across from the bathroom. Glancing at the door, embellished with sickening quantities of pink and purple, Tom frowned. It was unlike his daughter to leave her door open. In fact, he wasn't sure he had ever seen it unlocked since she had turned 16. But now it stood open a crack.

He tried the doorknob. Sure enough, it was locked, as though she had meant to close it behind her. His wife usually drove their daughter to school, but in a rush to make her flight that morning, she would have told Daisy to drive herself. Perhaps their daughter had been in such a hurry to get to school on time that she hadn't checked to make sure her door was properly closed behind her.

Tom's curiosity was piqued, and besides, his hand was already on the knob. He peeked in.

At 7:00, the room was ablaze with the red and orange light of the setting sun streaming in through two large windows. Damn near everything in the room was pink and purple. Here and there she had hung posters on the wall, but Tom was so naive to the pop culture scene that he neither knew nor cared who they featured.

He was more concerned with the condition of her room. Her mother was adament that Daisy kept her bed made and her floor picked up, but she had clearly been slacking off on the whole parenting thing lately. The room was littered with books and magazines and arts and craft paraphenilia. Her bed was an untidy heap of blankets and pillows, strewn with a number of toiletries and beauty products one might expect an 18-year-old girl to have. Tom wandered over to her bed, glancing idly at a bottle of perfume, a hairbrush, a February edition of Teen magazine.

Then something else caught his eye.

Reaching down, he slid the magazine over a few inches. And at that moment, Tom thought he might have an actual heart attack and drop dead right there on his daughter's bedroom floor.

But he didn't. Instead, his heart pounding, he picked up the magazine that lay under the copy of Teen and stared at it. The model on the cover wasn't the typical burgeoning teen actress or sexed-up supermodel featured in Daisy's other magazines. This woman was an actual porn star. In fact, but for a few bright yellow clip-art sunbursts covering strategic parts of her well-endowed body, she was virtually naked.

Tom hadn't looked at porn in a while. His cock twitched in his trousers. Before he knew what he was doing, he had flipped the magazine open and found himself looking at the same woman, in the same position, but without the clip-art.

She was unbelievable. Long blond hair was pulled into messy pigtails and spilled down over her shoulders. Her makeup was done in soft pinks, shimmering eyeshadow and lipgloss the color of bubblegum. She held pom-poms, thrust out to either side, but seemed to have lost the matching cheerleading outfit. Her large, well-augmented breasts sat high on her chest. Nipples the same color of her full lips thrust out at the camera. They were full and stiff, the sort of nipples that made Tom salivate. Around her neck hung a whistle on a long string. It had somehow become caught on one of those stiff nipples so that one string hung from the large nub while the other was lost deep in her cleavage. The whistle dangled carelessly just above her perfect navel, pierced with a baby pink stone.

She was balancing atop two bar stools, her legs spread in an outrageously sexy version of the splits. And there, hanging between her thighs, was the sexiest pussy Tom had ever laid eyes on.

Her lips were long and fleshy, and looked like they might wrap around his cock the way her mouth would. He was imagining thrusting up into her taut opening while she balanced like that, his access completely unencumbered, when he heard a noise behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, startled, his heart in his mouth.

His daughter Daisy stood there, eyes wide and mouth open, gaping at him. For a moment, Tom was so startled by this beautiful 18-year-old woman in front of him, that he completely forgot about the porn star he was fucking in his daydream, as well as any excuse he might have had for why had entered his daughter's room in the first place. All he could do was stare.

His daughter was short, but very slight, slim from her narrow throat down through her flat belly to her tiny thighs. She stood with them slightly parted, hips cocked to one side. It was a rather precocious pose, but Daisy seemed unaware of it; possibly it was a natural mannerism she had assumed, a sexy pose practiced in front of Victoria's Secret dressing room mirrors so many times she did it now without thinking about it. Or perhaps it was the stance of a dancer or a gymnast which, he supposed, she was. He wondered suddenly why he had never gone to any of her performances.

His eye slipped unwittingly from the curve of her hip down to the gap between her thighs. What ought to have been a perfect V was impeded by a rather significant bulge in the crotch of the tiny booty shorts she wore. Tom swallowed hard. Those shorts were too tight, too short, and they rode up too high, tucking themselves into folds and creases he had no business knowing about.

He jerked his head up, forcing his eyes to meet hers. This was a difficult task, not only because he wanted to continue to examine the protrusion between his daughter's thighs, but because on his way up to her face, his vision was forced to travel, albeit very quickly, up her bare belly and over her chest.

Anger replaced his inital embarrassment and shame, and he turned to fully face her.

"Daisy!" he barked. "What in God's name are you wearing?"

Surprised by his anger, she looked down at herself, then back up at him. Her brows knitted just a little--she seemed confused. "What, Dad? It's just my cheerleading outfit."

"I've never seen you wear that outfit at home," he said sternly, taking a step towards her. "Those shorts are definitely not part of the school dress code. They look like underwear to me. Don't you think that's a little inappropriate?"

Daisy had caught him in her room, and had clearly been nervous about it. That he was concerned with such a silly little thing as her attire made her seemed relieved--relieved enough to be annoyed. She rolled her green eyes. "Well, the shorts are mine, but this is the top they make us wear. It's not my fault it's suck-tight."

Tom let his eyes drop down to her chest, staring openly this time. He was aware that Daisy's school had a very strict no-cleavage policy, so he was not surprised to see her chest fully-covered--but only by the grace of God. Even just one quick look at the stretched, contorted fabric told him the seams were likely about to burst. When--and where--had she gotten breasts like that? Her mother had never been so blessed, not even in her most nubile days. Besides, he had seen his daughter almost every day for the last 18 years, and he could never remember her being so well-endowed. "It seems to me that it is your fault. If you didn't pad your bra two extra cup sizes, it wouldn't be nearly so tight."

Daisy frowned. "I don't wear a padded bra, Dad. You know how Mom hates those things--she'd never buy one for me. If she even just found one in my room, she'd flip."

He knew. His wife hated anything that enhanced a woman's beauty. She was as natural as they came--if only she were a natural beauty, he thought. But his daughter wasn't fooling him.

"Do you seriously think your old man would believe that you're wearing a regular bra?"

Daisy looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as though appealing to heaven for patience, then took a deep breath. "No, Dad, I don't expect you to believe that. I'm...I'm not..."

"Speak up, girl!"

She looked down at his feet. "I'm not wearing a bra. Like, at all."

Tom swallowed hard once more. He knew now that he had seen them, as his eyes first traveled up her curves--those two faint shadows that delineated the stiff protrusions in the fabric of her top. He imagined even now that he could see two circles of darker skin showing through the pale pink cotton, though perhaps that was only wishful thinking. Whatever the case, Tom knew that if he could see her nipples, she wasn't wearing a padded bra. And if she wasn't wearing a padded bra...

"I don't believe you for a second," he said briskly. "Take your bra off right now and show me."

Daisy opened her mouth to protest, those full lips curving downward. He cut her off before she could speak.

"You can do it without taking your shirt off. I've seen you do it before. Take it off, right this minute, before I get really angry."

Daisy's eyes widened even further. Her delicate hands flew to her belly as though she had just remembered it was bare, then slid slowly, protectively up the smooth flesh to the hem of her top, tight around her narrow ribcage. There they paused. "Dad, I promise you, I'm not wearing a bra. I can't take it off if I'm not wearing one."

Tom glared at her. "I have had about enough of this, girl. If you're not wearing a bra, prove it." He took another angry step towards her. In truth, his heart was racing, but he couldn't show her any weakness.

Daisy was unable to meet his eyes. She looked hopelessly at his chest, then down at her own. Her fingers slipped underneath the taut hem. She took a deep breath.

He watched the pale pink fabric slide up, riding up over two round masses of naked flesh. They bulged out beneath the hem as she pulled it up. Daisy stopped just as the bottoms of her aereolas peeked out. Not looking at him, she said, "Okay? Are you satisfied now?"

Hardly. "All the way off. You could easily be pulling up your bra along with the shirt," he said, even though he knew she wasn't.

Her left nipple popped out first, then her right, freed of the confining fabric. They were as stiff as he had suspected, and rather thick, though her aereolas were quite small. They were a deep pink, like the color of her lips, the tips a shade darker. Her breasts bobbed a little as they spilled free, but once coming to a rest, they thrust out and slightly up, perky as one might expect an 18-year-old's would be.

The sheer size of them, however, was not at all what one would expect.

They were enormous. Full and heavy, they should have sagged to her perfect navel. They did not. They seemed to bulge upward, rounded beyond belief, but somehow still with a natural shape. They were so large that they rested together without a gap between them, creating their own cleavage. On his daughter's tiny frame, they looked obscene. She looked obscene, in fact, holding her shirt up to her collarbone with her tits exposed, like a slut featured in a Girls Gone Wild film, waiting for his approval. The only thing missing was the drunken, slutty grin.

At last she prodded him, impatiently, "Are you happy yet? Can I put my shirt back on?"

"I told you to take it off," Tom growled. "Who paid for those, Daisy?"

She paused a moment, frowning, and said, "What?" Then the shirt was up and over her head, and her long blond hair was spilling out and over her bare shoulders. Several loose ringlets tumbled over them, coming to rest on either side of her bulging tits, framing them in spun gold. She was nervous, breathing rapidly, causing her breasts to jiggle--just a little.

"Your fake tits," he said crassly. "No 18-year-old girl your size has breasts like that."

Daisy made as if to cover them with the pink top, still in her hand. He took two quick steps towards her and grabbed the shirt from her, tossing it on the bed behind him. He glared down at her, at this tiny sex goddess he had made with his wife more than eighteen years ago, standing there in tiny lace booty shorts and nothing else. He had to fight the urge to take her nipples in his mouth, one after the other, and suck on them until she screamed.

She couldn't look at him. "They're not fake, Dad. Jesus."

He wanted to grab them. He wanted to squeeze those tits, fake or not, to knead them and maul them until his daughter moaned.

"I find that extremely hard to believe," he said, circling her slowly, his eyes never leaving her body. "They're, what, double Ds?"

She shook her head. "They were last year. I don't know what they are now."

"What do you mean, you don't know? Don't you buy bras?"

She shook her head. "I don't wear them anymore. The only ones that fit me are, like, these huge harnesses. I'm too embarrassed to buy them."

He scoffed. "And you like showing off your big titties to every boy in school, evidently. Who bought them for you? Your last boyfriend?" Lucky bastard.

"Dad!" Daisy was shouting, finally angry. "They're not fake!"

"I don't bel--"

"If you don't believe me, then feel them!" She turned towards him and thrust back her shoulders brazenly, pushing her breasts out even further, until those succulent nipples actually grazed the front of his suit coat. When he didn't immediately begin to paw her outthrust jugs, she continued, "Fake breasts feel different than real ones. You'll be able to tell." As if he needed the lesson.

"Daisy, I'm your father," he said, quite earnestly. "I'm concerned about the possibility of your having augmented breasts, but I certainly can't touch you."

She crossed her arms under her bosom, pushing them up even further. She looked almost fierce. "You're accusing me of having fake breasts. You're probably going to tell Mom, and then I'll be in real trouble. I'd rather you find out that I'm telling the truth than humiliate me in front of her." She stared at him, unwavering. "Just do it."

He sighed. Trying to look the picture of reticence, he put one hand on her bare shoulder. Her skin was warm, the muscles underneath lean and well-toned. It was the first time he had touched his daughter, apart from the occasional hug, in years. "Just remember," he said, softly now, "that you asked me to do this."

His hand slid down her chest to the rounded curve of her breast, and he grabbed her. She gasped softly, but Tom was committed now. One hand was not enough--he needed two. Beneath his touch, her skin was soft and warm. The flesh was firm, but not too firm. It yielded under his caress. There was no scar, although that could mean a good surgeon. After several moments of fondling produced no hint of protest, he began to knead her breast more roughly. Daisy winced, but kept her full lips pressed firmly together, saying nothing. When he plucked at the nipple, she inhaled sharply, a hiss, and looked away.

Perhaps to test her, he continued to tug at the nub. Pulling it outward away from her breast, he stretched the flesh into a large cone, with her nipple at its peak. At the same time, he tried to wrap his other hand around the cone of tortured flesh. Tom had large hands, but it was nowhere near large enough to encompass the girth of this massive jug, even manipulated in this way. At last he pinched the nipple hard and pulled until it slipped through his fingers. She yelped, and made as if to cover her reddening breast. He caught her hand and held it away while he grabbed the other tit with his left hand, filling it with more of her young flesh. He bounced them experimentally in his palm, first the left, then the aching right. They were heavy, supple, full.

And from what he could tell, they were natural.

Abruptly he released her. Her hands flew to her breasts to cover them, until he said, "I can't tell properly. Bend over, let me see the way they hang."

As embarrassed as she was, he could tell Daisy was also eager to take away the stigma of having fake breasts. They both knew how her mother would react if she thought her daughter had augmented them. Daisy would be disinherited and kicked out of the house, straightaway--after her mother had taken her to the doctor to have them removed, of course. And so his daughter, huffing indignantly, bent forward at the waist, her hands resting on her thighs to support herself. Her tits hung down between her forearms, but not in the pendulous way one would expect from large breasts. These retained their rounded shape, bulging out lewdly from between her toned, slim arms.

Tom stood back to admire them for a bit, then stepped closer and began to stroke them. He thought he could never have enough of touching them. He squeezed the left breast a little, working the flesh down towards her fat, stiff nipples as if he were milking a cow. He plucked at her nipple again, once, twice, thrice, gripped it between thumb and forefinger and shook the hanging teat. Daisy groaned.

"Be quiet," he said sternly. He released her and stepped back, studying her whole body now--bare to the waist, clad only in those tiny shorts.

On impulse he walked behind her. The delicate lace of her shorts looked as if they were molded to her. He could see the outline of her lips thrusting out from between her thighs, beneath the curves of her round little ass. He could see no panty lines. "Do you not wear underwear, either?" he demanded gruffly.

She looked over her shoulder at him, an innocent blond goddess in a come-fuck-me pose. "Dad--"

Surprising even himself, he cut her off with a sharp, swift swat across her exposed backside, where her tanned cheeks peeked out from beneath the hem of her shorts. "Answer your father!"

She colored and cringed away from him. "I do usually wear underwear."

"Just not now."

A pause. "No. Not now."

Tom paused. Now what?

"I thought you were too old for a spanking, but I must have been wrong. Pull your shorts down."

Daisy looked alarmed. "Dad, I told you I'm not wearing underwear."

"That's why I'm punishing you," he growled. "Maybe this will teach you to wear underwear to school! Did your mother and I raise a complete slut? Pull your fucking shorts down."

He never swore around her, let alone at her. Her face reddened as if he had slapped her. She reached back, tucking her thumbs under the hem of those tiny shorts. She pulled them down reluctantly, slowly, just as he would have liked. Her ass was tanned a light golden brown with only the barest suggestion of a tan line running down the length of the crevice between those two globes. For a moment, looking at her ass, he was reminded of a peach. Then the real peach popped out of her shorts, jiggling merrily between her thighs.

From what he could see, she appeared to be shaved completely bare and smooth. Her fat, round peach of a pussy was split right down the middle, a shocking amount of wrinkled flesh protruding from between her swollen outer lips. Evidently Daisy wasn't one of those girls who had to spread herself open to reveal her pink--hers thrust out in thick folds the color of her nipples. The gusset of her shorts had molded them into a round bowl of flesh, but he knew he could make those lips stretch and hang down if he tried. She would fill his mouth, he knew, a mouth that was literally watering. She reminded him instantly of the porn star he had looked at just moments before, only Daisy's pussy was even bigger, and looked juicier.