Lottie's Late Night - Sex Stories

Lottie's Late Night

I lay in bed at night after a hot, soothing bubble bath. So comfy. So cozy. And just a little aroused. It was nothing more than the normal teenage sexiness that makes a girl's blood run hot. At the age of seventeen, I was at least a little horny all the time. In the stillness and silence of the night, and the comfort of my bed, I was forced to acknowledge my sensual mood and focus on the low, constant thrum I felt down in my white cotton undies.

As I tried to sleep, the feeling inside me swelled, becoming impossible to ignore. I fed my little flame, my mind drifting to cute boys and flirtation, to hot celebrities and their dance moves, to sexy men and their dominant personalities. Sleepiness faded as my sexual appetite reared and I softly ground my hips against the pillow between my legs. Mental images grew more lewd and I imagined decadent, forbidden situations with older men. "Ah, mm," I murmured in the quiet dark, humping my pillow slowly and steadily, desire gaining momentum inside.

And then a thought rushed to the surface of my mind. A most lewd one. A most forbidden one. An image of my daddy's face and the feel of his strong hands roaming over my body, touching me in places he never had before, in places I secretly and shamefully wished he would. I tried to push the wicked thoughts back into the dark corners of my mind but failed. In a few short minutes of fantasizing and working up a sexual appetite, I started to believe I could get what I wanted. That I didn't ...

... have to hump my pillow or touch myself tonight. That Daddy would step over that boundary line and put his hands where they didn't belong.

"Okay, Lottie," I sighed as I rose out of bed, pausing momentarily to stare at myself in the dark mirror. I was only wearing my white panties and a soft white cami top, my nipples appearing through the thin cotton. I decided not to don my robe for my occasional cuddle with Daddy.Let's see if he puts his hand on my butt when I'm only wearing panties, I thought cheekily. "This is so bad," I whispered to myself before nervously opening my bedroom door and walking through the threshold. As I padded silently down the hallway, keenly aware of the cool air on my skin and the energy stirring below my belly button, I repeatedly told myself I could turn back at any moment.

I didn't turn back but walked into the living room where my father was sitting on the couch in a pair of boxer shorts and a wife beater. He was a big man, handsome as hell, and hairy in all the right places. "Hey, Daddy," I said drowsily, standing where the light from the TV illuminated my body, one hand holding the other behind my back. My heart lurched as he looked up at me. I was nervous to know he was seeing what I'd just seen in the mirror: his teenaged daughter in a little top, one spaghetti strap hanging off the shoulder, nipples making their little impressions in the tight, forgiving fabric, the puff and crease of her sex outlined in small, white panties.

"What's ...