And that was the olfactory siren song I followed as I entered the kitchen, my vision narrowed like a laser beam on the steaming pot of coffee that sat on the kitchen table. She’d already prepared my cup for me, bless her, and as I began to pour the elixir into my cup, she happily chirped, “Good morning, Dad!”
As the brown liquid poured from the pot and into my cup, I glanced up at her- and almost dropped the pot, stopping myself at the last second as hot coffee sloshed past the cup’s lip and onto my hand. I both felt and didn’t feel the sensation of burning as my eyes widened in awe at what I saw.
Amity was dressed in an apron.
And that was it.
Her back was to me, giving me a perfect view of that behind I’d fantasized about for months, and she was busy stacking dishes in the sink. As her arms moved from side to side, I could catch glimpses of the outer edges of her large breasts as they too swayed with her movements. “Amity!” I choked out as I made a conscious effort to place the coffee pot back in its cradle and pulled my overheated hand protectively to my mouth. “What the hell are you wearing?”
Amity feigned confusion. “Hm? What?” She stopped stacking the dishes and turned to face me. “Oh, this? It was Mom’s, but I didn’t want to get myself wet.”
Through the muffle caused by my hand as I tried to nurse it with my mouth, I replied, “I’m not talking about what you have on. I’m talking about what you DON’T have on!”
Amity played it like a pro. “Dad, I’m not going to run the risk of getting hot grease and water all over my naked skin if I can help it. Pain isn’t my thing.” Glancing behind herself, she grabbed a wash towel and tossed it to me. “Speaking of which, are you okay?”
I glanced at my injured hand and shook it gamely. It hurt still, but the burning sensation was going away quickly. I hadn’t burned myself with the hot coffee too badly, just enough to wake myself up, really. “I’ll be fine. But you still haven’t answered my question, young lady.”
Amity blinked at me. “Yes, I did, Dad. You asked me what I was wearing. It’s Mom’s old apron. Are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t hit your head, too, or something, did you?”
“My head’s fine!” I barked, not sure WHY I was losing my temper all of the sudden. It was so totally out of character for me. I think I might have raised my voice to my daughter maybe ten times in all her years, and maybe half of that in frustration, never anger. I closed my eyes in an effort to calm my nerves, only to find the image of my near-naked daughter seared into my retinas, a vision that was quickly being sullied by my imagination. With alarm, I opened my eyes back up. “It’s… fine. I’m just… WHY are you wearing JUST the apron and not your normal clothes under it?”
“Oh, that’s simple,” she said with a wave of her hand and turned back to doing the dishes, once again showing me her perfect ass. In that early morning light I could see just a hint of her young pussy lips and I could swear that there was a slight sheen as the sunlight glinted off it. Was she wet? I wondered. “I want you to know what I look like naked and start fantasizing about having sex with me. I thought we settled this yesterday?”
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