[NSFW] Daughter Diamond


                                            >"Daddy, please!"

                                            >This girl is going to be the end of you.

                                            >"All the other girls wear panties like these."

                                            >The underwear your daughter holds out—at least you think that’s what it is although it might just be a bit of leftover ribbon—consists of nothing but a thin, neon pink waistband with a second string connected to it.

                                            >There’s a small triangle at the front intersection with the words 'Little Devil' printed in curvy black letters.

                                            >A pair of feisty horns adorns the slogan, as does a demon tail with a heart-shaped tip.

                                            "I don’t know."

                                            >"Pleeaase? Mom said it’s okay!"

                                            >You can’t help but chuckle.

                                            "No, she didn’t."

                                            >It’s bad enough that you had to take Diamond shopping today, and that you spent the last two hours being lectured about the hot new trends coming up in skirts and tops while carrying half a dozen shopping bags.

                                            >Now you’ll have to rule on skimpy underwear?

                                            >You knew something was up when the girl wanted to make a side trip to the lingerie department but you were hoping it would just be about a lacey bra or negligee her mother had refused to buy her.

                                            >Not… this.

                                            "How does this even..." you take the panties that may just be a fancy new type of dental floss and stretch them out between your thumbs a few times. "Does this go…"

                                            >You let your words hang in the air, mustering your daughter.

                                            >"Kinda," she mumbles, suspiciously interested in the carpet pattern. "I’ve tried one on at Silver’s the other day and it feels really–"

                                            >She snaps back to your face.

                                            >"I’ll show you!"


                                            "Wait, Diamond!"

                                            >Before you can protest, your daughter has already stolen the underwear back and races towards the changing booths.

                                            "Diamond!" you hiss sharply, the clatter of the booth’s curtain being drawn shut the only reply you’re getting.

                                            >Hastily looking around, you manage to follow without breaking into sprint.

                                            >That’s right.

                                            >Curt and measured angry-dad steps.

                                            >Don’t draw attention.

                                            "This isn’t really…" you whisper to your daughter through the curtain, counting your lucky stars that the shop isn’t too crowded. "Do you get what I’m saying?"

                                            >"I’ll just be a sec, Daddy. Then you can take a look and you’ll totally understand how Mom’s too strict with me again."

                                            "I thought you said Mom agreed to this?"

                                            >There’s a few seconds of silence before you make out a quiet expletive.

                                            >Your girl sticks her head through the curtains, a plastic smile on her lips and enough heat in her cheeks to melt glass.

                                            "Sooo?"

                                            >"Please, Dad! You know how she is! She’s all 'you’re too young' and 'you’ll get it when you’re older' and stuff."

                                            "Well, you ARE too young."

                                            >Diamond puffs out her cheeks before pulling her head back in.

                                            >A few more moments of rustling later she throws open the curtain like a magician strutting onto the stage.

                                            >The trick she performs is looking smug despite wearing less than five total square inches of fabric.

                                            >The trick you perform is remaining conscious.

                                            >"'Too young' my behind!" your daughter boasts, hands on her hips.

                                            >Another look over your shoulder reveals the coast is still clear, although you may have seen the attendant lady give you a side glace before going back to sorting something or other that you can only assume would make some lucky fella exceptionally happy under the right circumstances.

                                            >Not you though.

                                            >You’re one wardrobe malfunction away from dying.

                                            >From the waist down, your daughter is wearing nothing but the scanty panties you held earlier.

                                            >As you saw before—in your mind’s eye, on a totally faceless, imaginary model that was not at all related to you—the little bit of fabric isn’t really hiding much in the front.

                                            "Jesus!"

                                            >"Right?! You totally get it, don’t you?"

                                            >As if to emphasize her point, Diamond pulls on the tiny waistband and lets it snap back against her skin.


                                            "No."

                                            >"What?"

                                            "No."

                                            >"What do you mean, 'no?'"

                                            "You can’t get it."

                                            >"What!? Come on!"

                                            >Your daughter turns around to show you the back part.

                                            >"Look!"

                                            >Which doesn’t exist.

                                            >If you ever wanted to know what your daughter’s butt looked like in stripper underwear—which you positively did not—this lazy, Saturday-morning shopping tour gave you the answer.

                                            >It doesn’t help that her cheeks are framed quite nicely by the pink thong.

                                            >It also doesn’t help that they look pretty soft and a little bit like your wife’s.

                                            >You wouldn’t mind HER throwing on something like this every once in a while if she’d let you fu–

                                            >"Pretty cute, huh?"

                                            "I…"

                                            >You only barely manage to find your voice.

                                            "…yeah."

                                            >"I KNEW it!" Diamond yells into the store, and she jumps up into your arms before your brain has time to follow.

                                            >You catch her, and it’s only natural for your hands to grab her butt while she wraps her legs around you.

                                            >"Thanks, Daddy! You’re the best," she purrs into your neck, hugging tightly.

                                            >It takes a few, painfully slow seconds to regain control over your muscles again.

                                            >"You’ll get them for me, right?" your daughter doesn’t seem like she’s letting go anytime soon.

                                            >Also, your hands didn’t just squeeze her butt cheeks.

                                            >No, Sir.

                                            >If they did, it would just have just been for a really, really tiny bit, just really quickly testing the give of Diamond’s soft ass.

                                            >And she definitely wouldn’t have squeezed her legs around your midsection in response, stifling the cute moan escaping her with your shoulder.


                                            >You are Diamond Tiara, and you spent the last half hour strutting in front of your mirror wearing nothing but a shirt and the new G-string your dad bought you.

                                            >No matter how much you turn, you have yet to find a bad angle.

                                            >Your butt stands out nicely, highlighted by the lines of pink digging ever so slightly into your flesh.

                                            >At the front, the little bit of cloth just protects your modestly but not much else.

                                            >The cheeky writing on it makes you imagine just how fun it were to use for some mischief.

                                            >Big, bulky men fall to their knees in your mind’s eye, begging for a chance to touch you.

                                            >Too bad you’re not outgoing like Silver is when it comes to stuff like that.

                                            >Too bad you have no one around to tease like that.

                                            >Well, maybe you do.


                                            >You still can’t believe you managed to convince your dad today, a fact that—you’re pretty sure—came in no small part from you catching him off guard by giving him a good view.

                                            >And letting him cop a feel.

                                            >Of the underwear of course!

                                            >Yeah.

                                            >You had him feel the fabric to check the... the quality and stuff.

                                            >That’s what he felt.

                                            >Not your ass.

                                            >And definitely not your legs clamping around his waist.

                                            >A flushed girl is staring back at you from the mirror, her hands between her squirming thighs.

                                            >Like the panties hugging her crotch themselves she looks high-class, slightly naughty, and just a little bit wet.

                                            >You need a glass of water.


                                            "Dad?"

                                            >Your father’s head is sticking out over the backrest of the living-room sofa.

                                            "What are you doing up?"

                                            >"Hey, Sweetie," he turns, giving you a smile that freezes up ever so slightly.

                                            >Guess you shoulda worn pajama bottoms after all.

                                            >Then again... maybe not.

                                            >You’re still dressed in his brazen little gift and offering him another chance to have a look is a nice way of saying thanks, you feel.

                                            >You were raised with manners after all.

                                            >The fact that your dad turns around again to consider his drink instead of you will not get in the way of your gratitude.

                                            "So? Why are you out here?" you slink over, "Can’t sleep?"

                                            >"Well, you see..." he scratches his head, chuckling.

                                            "Did Mom make you sleep on the couch again?"

                                            >"Kinda."

                                            >Clambering over the backrest, you drop down next to him, letting your butt pomf into the leather upholstery.

                                            >And immediately jump up again with a small yelp on account of how cold it is on your naked skin.

                                            >Your dad laughs into his drink—quietly but mean—while you rub your backside.

                                            "It’s because of me, isn’t it?"

                                            >"Of course not, Diamond! We were just having a little..."

                                            >He’s struggling to find the word.

                                            "...fight?" you offer. "About buying your daughter sexy underwear she’s too young for?"

                                            >"You said all the girls were wearing them."

                                            "They do! Well, you know… I dunno... some of them do."

                                            >Your dad sighs, making something in your chest tighten up.


                                            "I’m sorry."

                                            >"It’s alright, Pumpkin," he smiles knowingly. "Your old man wasn’t born yesterday."

                                            "I noticed. You’re not exactly getting younger."

                                            >"Hey!"

                                            >The opening of him trying to give you a playful shove is all you need.

                                            >Sidestepping his hand like a boxer dodging a jab, you pull out his arm and quickly climb into his lap.

                                            >Your butt drops into his crotch and you have the arm pulled around you again before he can protest.

                                            >Much better.

                                            >Might as well sit somewhere warm.

                                            >Ever quick-witted, your dad gives your midsection a playful squeeze, eliciting an embarrassing squeak followed by a burp you almost manage to bite down.

                                            >If the warmth in your face wasn’t enough of a tell, the rough chuckle in your ears leaves no question as to who won this particular bout.

                                            >Still, while your father enjoys a practiced victory sip you savior the much more subtle triumph of snuggling into your new seat.

                                            >The sweatpants against your naked ass offer an... interesting sensation.

                                            >For a while you just stay like that, staring into the dark living room, the only sound coming from the occasional gulp of pricey rum your dad allows himself.

                                            "Can I have some?"

                                            >"Nope."

                                            >Worth a shot.


                                            "Would you have gotten me the thong if I’d been honest?"

                                            >Your fingers trace the arm hugging around your belly.

                                            >Your dad doesn’t have the biggest muscles but he’s still strong enough to lift you up if he feels like it.

                                            >Or you do.

                                            >Which you positively do not, most of the time.

                                            "I didn’t think you’d get in trouble."

                                            >"Its fine, Diamond! I can’t say I didn’t see it coming."

                                            >A large hand pats your head.

                                            "So why did you buy it?"

                                            >"Well… you kind of caught me off guard putting it on."

                                            >Your father is quiet for a moment.

                                            >"Well played," he adds dryly.

                                            >You can’t help but smile, squirming a little deeper into his lap and again enjoying the soft fabric of his pants rubbing against your skin.


                                            >Still, you do feel guilty, what with Dad taking the sole blame for your little stunt.

                                            >You wonder if you can make it up to him somehow.

                                            "Should I talk to Mom?"

                                            >"It’s alright. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. She’s not really mad, you see. She’ just… she’s just caught off guard as well. It’s not easy watching your little girl grow up."

                                            "Yeah, well, get with the times, Mom!" you pout. "I’m not a little girl anymore!"

                                            >"I think we got that. Let’s just skip the flashy displays next time, huh? I would have probably said 'yes' anyway."

                                            >That makes you crane your neck to look at your dad from below.

                                            "You would’ve?"

                                            >"Well, you know I don’t know much about these things, Diamond. About bold underwear and stuff like that. But you’re old enough to make informed decisions."

                                            >He brushes a bit of hair over your ear.

                                            >"You do know why Mom doesn’t like you wearing those types of clothes, right?"

                                            >You drop your head again before nodding, mumbling into your shirt.

                                            "Because of... sex and stuff."

                                            >"And I agree with her, for the record. There’ll be plenty of time for these things later on."

                                            "So then why?"

                                            >"Because I trust you. And your mom does, too. Because you can’t learn what’s good and bad for you without toeing the line here and there. That’s worth risking the occasional misstep or two."

                                            >You’re glad it’s so dark in here, blushing like the little girl you so desperately want to convince your folks you’re not.

                                            >You really are lucky to have them.

                                            >Someone will always be there to catch you.

                                            >A warm, fuzzy feeling is spreading out from your stomach.

                                            >"Just don’t overdo it, okay? Remember what you learned in health class."

                                            "Jeez, Daaad!" you whine. "Way to read the frigging mood!"

                                            >Luckily, you’ve perfected the art of hiding embarrassment behind indignation.


                                            >You decide to act before that fluttery feeling can travel even further than it’s doing.

                                            >Letting your fingers creep towards your dad’s glass, you put up your best façade of cutesy innocence.

                                            "So... what I’m hearing is that being bad is fine on occasion."

                                            >You smile up at him.

                                            "Right?"

                                            >"Don’t push your luck."

                                            "Aww, c’mon," you whisper. "It could be our little secret."

                                            >Your father remains stoic but also doesn’t pull his arm away.

                                            >Victory, in the form of a glass filled with dark, spicy liquid, is yours for the taking.

                                            >Another well-placed whimper and he hands it over.

                                            >"Don’t"—he stresses the word—"tell Mom about this one."

                                            "I love you, Daddy."


                                            >You settle for a reserved victory face.

                                            >Nothing too smug.

                                            >Wouldn’t want to overplay your hand.

                                            >It is ruined by the taste of the alcohol hitting your tongue.

                                            >You soldier on, though, draining the glass with a single wet gulp and forcing the liquid that may very well be gasoline down your gullet.

                                            >"Now you know what to say when you’re offered liquor at a party."

                                            "Uh-huh," you pant, trying to get rid of the sensation by sticking out your tongue.

                                            >You suffer in silence for a few burning seconds before daring to breathe again.


                                            "Yuck."

                                            >"It’s an acquired taste."

                                            "I can imagine..."

                                            >Still, this isn’t so bad after all.

                                            >The fire is being replaced by a gentle warmth lingering in your belly after a minute.

                                            >Your face is glowing.

                                            >Actually kinda nice.

                                            >"Least you could do is refill your old man’s glass, right?"

                                            "Sure, Daddy."

                                            >You didn’t notice before but the fancy bottle sitting on the coffee table is half empty.

                                            >Dad must’ve been drinking for a while.

                                            >Your body is moving without you telling it to.

                                            >You don’t know why.

                                            >You just know you’re making sure to bend over and stick your butt out towards the couch—towards your dad—taking your sweet time pouring.

                                            >The sexy thong is on full, merciless, digging-into-your-ass-crack display.

                                            >"Jesus," comes the breathy reply. "That thing really is something else, huh?"

                                            >You reach behind and hook a finger under the elastic, pulling it just a bit further up your butt like you were fixing a minor wardrobe issue.

                                            >A sharp breath from the couch tells you the gesture hit the mark.


                                            >Setting the glass back down, you turn around, holding up your shirt so it doesn’t cover up your waist.

                                            >"I’m sorry, Diamond. I don’t know what–"

                                            >You silence your father by pulling the small triangle at the front to the side, flashing your pussy.

                                            >Before he can stammer out the words, you sit back down on his lap, shoving your face into his.

                                            >Your brain short-circuits somewhere between the alcohol clouding your thoughts and the pair of lips touching your own.

                                            >The parts of your mind still functioning keep telling you it’s fine.

                                            >It’s just a kiss.

                                            >No tongue at all.

                                            >Maybe a little tongue.

                                            >Okay, there is some sloppy kissing going on, but it’s still okay.

                                            >Just some quality father-daughter bonding.

                                            >Something is happening under your crotch and you readjust to get a better angle.

                                            >"Diamond–"

                                            "It’s alright," you cut him off again, surprised at how throaty your voice sounds, "I want this. No lies this time. Just... toeing the line."


                                            >Your dad tries to hide it but his eyes sparkle with lust.

                                            >You know him too well not to notice.

                                            >You saw it before—bubbling up for just a split second—back when you surprised him in the department store.

                                            >Silver keeps telling you you’re bad at reading people but right now you’re staring at an open book.

                                            >You can tell he’s holding back, impatiently waiting for you to make a move.

                                            >He reciprocates your advances but dares not to rush ahead.

                                            >The man who’s the dictionary description of graceful restraint on a usual day, whose hands are now firmly on your hips without traveling another inch, is itching for your go-ahead.

                                            >But he won’t take it.

                                            >You have to give it.

                                            >He doesn’t even allow himself as much as a grunt of pleasure as you gyrate on the bulge fighting to shred his sweatpants.

                                            >You’re in total control.

                                            >The feeling almost makes you ruin your new panties then and there.


                                            "Touch me more."

                                            >He obliges.

                                            >Two large hands grab a hold of your ass, kneading your flesh.

                                            "Shiiiit..."

                                            >You barely stop yourself from moaning.

                                            >It’s a losing battle but you don’t want to give up your advantage this easily.

                                            >A shiver runs down your spine as he brushes over your crotch from behind, and it’s traveling through your legs and all the way into your curling toes.

                                            "Ffuck!"

                                            >"You okay?" his voice is quiet and rough.

                                            >You can only nod, hugging his neck and letting your head rest on his shoulder.

                                            >Your new favorite G-string is ripped from your waist, the pricey garment not even surviving its first test drive.

                                            >You’d be mad if you weren’t preoccupied with cumming.

                                            >Just as a pair of large fingers trace your twitching slit, something moves in the dark on the far side of the room.

                                            >The door to the hallway reveals a drowsy woman rubbing her eye.

                                            >"Diamond? What are you doing up so late, sweety?"

                                            "Mom!?"