And that seemed to shut her up. For about five seconds. “…you still lust after me?”
“I never stopped, Amity,” I answered honestly, “There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t look at you and thank God for placing such a beautiful woman in my life.”
“I…” she began and then clapped her mouth shut and simply stared at me searchingly for a few seconds. Finally, she said, “Thank you.” She planted a chaste kiss on my forehead and went on her way.
I didn’t think twice about it.
She most certainly did.
I think I’ve made it clear that Amity is very, very smart. And when it came to seducing me, she applied her intelligence like a surgeon. After that day, I began to notice, more and more, that she wasn’t wearing panties. She stopped wearing pants and shorts altogether and wore only skirts, usually short ones. She never missed an opportunity to bend down to pick something up or look under a piece of furniture for something. And every time, I was treated to a perfect and clear view of her backside. But here’s the thing: she made a show of it without actually making a show of it. If she caught me staring, she’d just give me an admonishing look or say something like, “Stop staring, Dad. That’s not polite.”
And then I began to notice that she had stopped wearing bras, too. My glimpses of her ass and pussy naturally got my libido back into high gear and, of course, I started taking a more careful look at her entire body. It wasn’t long before I realized that her breasts, which looked so large on her short body, swayed more freely and her tiny nipples were more prominent under her shirts. Along with the skirts, she took to wearing white button-down Oxfords. In due course, her normal attire was that of a Catholic schoolgirl, despite the fact that she was no longer doing home-schooling and never left our property. I don’t know if she was aware of it, but that look was an extreme turn-on for me, something that haunted my dreams and fantasies for decades. Mother was aware of that fetish, but I highly doubt that she’d shared THAT kind of detail with our daughter before she passed away. Nevertheless, Amity was getting my attention like never before and, for once, I wasn’t objecting at all. Hell, I looked forward to it.
Her wardrobe seemed to evolve over the following weeks, slowly and imperceptibly, until she’d reached the pinnacle. A delivery box arrived and, when we opened it, we found a new pair of shoes inside. They were white high-heeled numbers, with a single strap that could hold the shoe in place on the foot and that screamed for attention. When Amity saw them, she squealed happily. “Oh, goody! They’re here!”
I glanced at her in confusion. “Since when are you into shoes?”
Amity played it cool. “I dunno. I just… am. Now.” She reached into the box and pulled them out. Without waiting, she sat down at the kitchen table and put them on. Of course, when she lifted her knee so that she could set her naked foot on her other knee, I got a clear line-of-sight look at her nude pussy. I tried not to stare and instead watched what she was doing. I noticed that her socks had a little bit of fringe on them as she slipped on the shoes one at a time. With the shoes on, the sexy factor was upped several notches. She admired them for a moment and then looked up at me, her hands on her knee caps and the front of her little pleated skirt flipped so that it showed even more of the pussy I wasn’t supposed to be staring at. “What do you think, Dad? You like them?”
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