Driving lesson

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Driving lesson

BARRY LAKER rolled his eyes when his daughter strolled into the kitchen.

“Tash,” Barry said, exasperated.

The girl looked at him, fists on her hips and her head tilted to one side. “What?” Natasha replied, knowing full well what her father was about to say. She knew he was about to make a comment about the brevity of the hemline on her skirt and would also probably have something to say about the clingy little top she had on.

“Those shoes,” Barry said, nodding towards the strappy silver heels. “You can’t drive in those shoes, babe.”

Natasha blinked, thrown by her father’s unexpected angle of attack.

But only for a moment, the response she had prepared would serve just as well for the shoes as any other objection about her clothing choices. “But what if we stop for Starbucks or something, Dad? I can’t wear flats with these clothes.”

“Natasha,” Barry said, shaking his head as he looked at his daughter, “you’re going to have to change. I can’t take you out in the car if you wear those shoes. You can’t drive in them. Those heels, Tash…”

Natasha heard her father sigh as his head went slowly from side-to-side. Then she saw him cross his arms.

“Okay, Dad,” Natasha said, quickly compromising before her father could think to tell her the whole ensemble was inappropriate. “How about I change to some flat shoes but take the heels along with me? Just in case we do stop.”

And before Barry could reply, before he could object to all the exposed skin his daughter’s short pleated kilt and bootlace-strap top displayed, Natasha twirled, the hem of the kilt rising as she moved.

Natasha strutted out of the kitchen into the hall, heading for her bedroom to change her shoes.

“Jesus, Tash,” her father gulped as the girl’s derriere swung out of sight. “Put some bloody clothes on, girl,” he mumbled to himself, shocked at seeing the definite undercurve of his daughter’s buttocks when the kilt’s hem had swirled during her turn.


NATASHA SMIRKED to herself as she eased the car down the long driveway. She had gotten away with it, her father hadn’t made any comment on how short the kilt was, and nor had he protested about her going braless beneath the flimsy cotton top. She risked a glance at him sitting next to her and saw him staring through the windscreen, eyes on the gateposts ahead.

“Careful, Tash,” Barry said, urging caution on his daughter. “Watch the gates.”

Natasha’s eyes rolled as she replied with, “Yes, Daddy, I can see the gates. I’m okay. I’ve had enough lessons. I can drive.”

Barry’s head moved. He turned to regard the blonde girl behind the wheel and said, “Sorry, Tash. I know you can drive. I’m a nervous passenger, that’s all. It isn’t you.”

Natasha nodded, concentrating as she braked her car, her brand new car, a sporty Audi TT that was a birthday present from her parents. She grimaced and replied with, “It’s just the driving test I’m having problems with,” and then, while waiting for a lumbering furniture van to pass by, before she turned onto the main road, Natasha smiled at her father and added, “Thanks for taking me out for some practice, Dad. I appreciate it.”

Barry glanced at his daughter and threw her a lop-sided grin. “Anything for you, darling,” he said.

The grin and the way he called her darling sent a ripple of arousal through Natasha. She squirmed and repeated the sentence in her head, heard the way her father pronounced it, his voice all gravelly like a dangerous gangster: Anything for you, darlin’.

Natasha gulped and gripped the wheel, wriggling her backside against the car seat in an attempt to scratch the sudden itch between her legs. She threw another glance at her father and willed the hem of the kilt to ride higher. Natasha could feel her nipples tightening and wondered if her dad would notice the twin points pressing against her skimpy top.

Squirming again, her pussy oiling with desire, a pulse between her legs working up a gear, Natasha turned the TT into the road, her stomach flipping with a tickle of excitement and anxiety when she thought about what she had planned to do.

Barry Laker sat next to his daughter completely oblivious to the reasons why Natasha wore such a short skirt and diaphanous top, and the girl herself was really only vaguely aware of what she was doing – which was using her body as bait.

Natasha wanted her own father to look at her as a woman. She had seen him looking at her once, noticed an expression on his face, a hungry almost feral set to his mouth and eyes that had woken something dark and elemental inside her. Natasha’s daddy complex had only recently shifted to a new and very arousing level; she had always been her father’s princess, but just after her eighteenth birthday she had seen her father looking at her in a way that altered her perception in a heartbeat. It had been a single moment, an eye-blink, but when Natasha had caught her father’s look some primal urge uncurled, a shadowy b**st that sniffed the air, lured by the scent of the taboo.

It had occurred during a holiday, when Natasha had been wearing a bikini, moving around the edge of the pool with the intention of cooling off with a swim. She had turned and caught her father watching her as he lay on a sun-lounger, his expression affecting her immediately.

In the moments following the epiphany, in the aftermath, even as she kept walking with the weight of her father’s eyes on her body, Natasha knew he was seeing her as a woman, his appraisal that of a man appreciating bare skin and breasts and buttocks. Natasha had experienced a sudden and very startling surge of emotion, a cocktail of excitement and sexual arousal at the realisation of just how much power her body wielded over men. Lust had exploded inside the young woman, a sensation so intense, a desperate yearning that tugged at Natasha on a visceral level that caused her to forego a dip in the pool and sent her to her bedroom where she masturbated in a hot and very intense frenzy, her own father the male fantasy figure in her head.

That was all it had taken, that look, a few seconds in their lives that would be the catalyst to all that followed.


BARRY LAKER sat in the passenger seat and stared fixedly ahead. He was trying to keep his eyes off his daughter, averting his gaze from the tops of her thighs and, more disturbingly, the bulge of her pussy inside pristine white underwear.

“Where are you going, Tash?” Barry asked. He looked out of the side window as the scenery changed from the town’s sprawl to the fields of Cambridgeshire. “Your driving test is around town, there’s no need to come out here. You don’t need to practice driving on the open road.”

“But it’s a gorgeous day, Dad,” Natasha replied. “Besides,” she added, “I packed a little picnic for us. I thought we could park somewhere quiet and peaceful and have a little bite of lunch.”

Barry sensed rather that saw his daughter’s face turn to him. He was still looking out of the window avoiding looking at her youthful but very womanly güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri thighs.

“Is that all right, Dad?” added Natasha.

With no reasonable argument against the idea Barry nodded and gave a half shrug. A halt might be a good idea, he reasoned. It would save him the embarrassment of having to mention how high Natasha’s kilt had ridden, would spare them both some discomfort and awkwardness. If they stopped and left the car it would probably save Natasha the utter mortification of having her own father telling her that her knickers were on show.

“Do you have anywhere in mind?” Barry asked, turning to regard his daughter’s profile for the first time in minutes.

The girl’s head bobbed up and down, ponytail flicking. “Oh yes, Dad,” Natasha replied, making her father blink when he heard the odd, husky timbre in her tone. “Next to a river,” the girl added. “Nice and quiet, Daddy.”

Barry swallowed heavily when his daughter used that appellation. There was something about her use of Daddy that troubled him, caused a ripple of inappropriate sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“Sounds good,” Barry croaked. “How far?”

“Not very at all,” Natasha replied. “In fact, we’re here.” The girl’s blonde ponytail flicked again as she nodded towards the road ahead. “Just up past those trees.”

Natasha turned right, directing the car through a gap in the hedgerow that Barry had never noticed before. He was familiar with the road, having used it in the past when the traffic on the A1 artery promised to be choc-a-block, using the back roads as a diversion from the chaos of the main trunk route when reports on the radio warned him in time. Barry had passed the spot dozens of times before, but had simply failed to register the opening.

It was a short drive along a decent road, no problem for the low-slung Audi, and Natasha pulled up at the edge of the tarmac, parking the car at the apex of a lollipop turning circle.

The couple sat in silence for a long moment after Natasha switched off the ignition, with Barry still avoiding looking at his daughter’s legs.

“Come on then,” the girl said, flinging open the door on her side. “Let’s go, Dad.”

Barry watched Natasha fling one leg out of the car, gulping as the kilt rode even higher, his glance coinciding with the girl’s thighs parting, the movement forcing the skirt to bunch up almost around Natasha’s hips.

“Oops,” Natasha said after clambering out of her seat. “Did I give you a flash, Daddy?”

Barry remained silent, stuck for a response while he sucked in a deep breath through his nose. He paused and blew out his cheeks, the previous inhalation leaving on a long sigh.

Natasha flipped the driver’s seat forward and leaned back in to grab a plastic carrier bag and her silver shoes from the tiny back seat. Then, after pulling the keys from the ignition and closing the door, she quickly changed her footwear.

Natasha led and Barry followed, the young woman going along a narrow path while Barry wondered why she insisted on wearing those shoes out in the countryside.

“You keep the key in your pocket, Dad,” Natasha said, back-handing her father the fob and silver key. “I haven’t got any pockets,” she added with a giggle before walking a few yards further along the path.

Barry pocketed the key and couldn’t help watching his daughter’s behind as the kilt twitched, the hem flicking as she moved.

A few moments later, when the pair reached a small enclosed area next to the river, Natasha stopped.

“Isn’t this perfect, Dad?” breathed Natasha. She turned to face her father, her expression intent. “Isn’t it just a lovely spot? It’s so quiet and secluded. Nobody can see us from the road.”

When his daughter sighed, Barry felt another tug of that indefinable emotion. He had a sense there was something on his daughter’s mind, and he was both puzzled and strangely effected by her mention of how secluded they were. Natasha’s words about the place not being overlooked troubled him, but there was also an element to the way she spoke, a husky drawl, a whisky-voiced edge that caused a tingle in a place that had no business being stimulated by his own daughter.

With no mind for the fact it was grass beneath her, Natasha squatted and then sat, the action causing, again, the kilt to ride high on her thighs.

“Come on, Daddy,” Natasha said, patting the grass next to her as she smirked up at her father. “Sit down.”

And, as he had done during the drive out of town, Barry tried to keep his eyes away from his daughter’s plump pudenda as she sat there apparently unaware that her father could see all of her between her thighs.


THE GIRL’S libido snarled as she deliberately flaunted her pussy at her father. She saw his restlessness and knew he could see right up her skirt, knowing that by her positioning and the spread of her thighs, her dad couldn’t fail to see. Natasha was opposite her father, with her shoes on the ground, knees bent and her thighs loose as she leaned back and rested on straight arms locked at the elbow.

“Are you all right, Dad?” Natasha asked, flicking her head so her ponytail danced. She reached up with one hand to sweep a stray hair from her face, the silver bangle on her wrist tinkling, silver rings decorating her fingers.

“Babe,” Barry began, his throat swelling with dark longing he fought to supress. “I … uh … I wish you wouldn’t sit like that. I … you…” Barry coughed, a hand at his mouth, heat flaring in his face.

“It’s this kilt,” Natasha replied, making absolutely no move to recover her modesty. “I can’t help it, Daddy.” The girl blinked at her father, eyebrows arching. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? You’re my father, after all. Seeing my knickers doesn’t bother you, does it?”

Air hissed in through Barry’s nostrils again. He shook his head. “No,” he lied, shrugging.

“That’s good,” said Natasha, smiling and nodding, feigning nonchalance as she opened the carrier bag and pulled out a foil packet. “Sandwich, Dad?”

Grateful for the distraction, a chance to put his eyes elsewhere, Barry unwrapped the packet and took out a triangular sandwich of cheese and ham and tomato. He handed the bundle back to his daughter who immediately placed it down and scrambled to her feet.

“Got to pee,” Natasha giggled.

She walked away from her father and squatted behind a convenient bush as Barry sat there, his face burning with embarrassment at the whole situation, his daughter’s water spattering onto the earth.

Then he heard her shuffling about and then saw her head and shoulders reappear.

“That’s better,” breathed Natasha as she approached.

And then, when his daughter sat down as before, legs wide, Barry felt a sudden slap of shock, a near physical blow that had his eyes bulging and his cock thickening, an abrupt swelling all urgent and hard in his jeans.

“Natasha,” mumbled Barry, his voice thick and treacly. “Where’s your underwear?”


BARRY’S DAUGHTER regarded him for a few seconds, several beats that would resonate tipobet between father and daughter for ever.

“Here, Daddy,” the girl replied, her expression feline. “I used them to wipe myself. I can’t put them back on – they’re soaked.”

It was a moment of huge risk for Natasha, the reckless act coming on a whim. Her heart hammered inside the rack of her ribs, and her chest suddenly too small to contain the wildly beating organ as the heady excitement overtook her common sense. She felt sick and anxious, her stomach churning while, simultaneously, her clitoris throbbed and her nipples tingled with arousal.

And then, with the merest twitch of her legs, with the slightest of movement of her thighs, Natasha offered herself to her own father. “Isn’t it a pretty pussy, Daddy?” she asked, the tremor in her limbs and the anxious croak in her voice an invitation for her father to come to her. Natasha glanced down, chin on chest, and then, as Barry sucked in a deep gasp of shock, Natasha splayed her labia with the tips of her fingers, parting the folds of her sex to reveal the core glistening with desire. “Would you like to kiss my pussy, Daddy?” the girl mumbled. “Please…”


That moment stretched for Barry. His world slewed, spinning around him as his brain struggled to comprehend the conflicted image of Natasha, his daughter, performing an act of such shocking obscenity in front of him.

His mind boggled. None of it made sense. Natasha could not be doing it. It was an impossibility, his daughter simply couldn’t be sitting a couple of feet away flaunting herself in the way his eyes insisted she was.

Barry jolted as though taser tines had pierced his skin, the charge zapping his senses, the shock causing an internal spasm in his chest.

A tsunami wave of heat then pulsed outwards in a great ripple of disbelief as he sat on the grass gawping at his daughter, his eyes bulging like boiled eggs while his jaw hung slack.

Natasha watched her father’s struggle, and panic spiked beneath her breastbone. She hadn’t intended to offer herself so candidly, the idea only coming to her as she peed behind the bush. The thought had stormed in on such a giddy rush of arousal, the very notion of flaunting her bare pussy to her dad was just so hot that Natasha had acted without really thinking through to the consequences. Seducing her father had, up to that moment, been mostly wild fantasy, an amorphous concept three-quarters dream and one quarter design.

Even during the drive out to the secluded spot Natasha had still doubted she would actually have the nerve to make any real attempt, she was just pushing to see how far she dared to go, testing her father and gauging his response. Flashing her underwear had been something she had planned to do, and she’d had an excuse ready. It was a very inappropriate thing to do to be sure, and the reason she gave her dad had been flimsy at best, but it was nothing she couldn’t pull back from. However, showing her father her knickers had originally been the absolute limit of how far Natasha had intended to go, and her plan had been that if he gave any encouragement she would play it by ear, but she’d gone way over the top and gone beyond the point of no return.

“Daddy, please…” Natasha mumbled as, in her mind, she saw it all unravelling.

Myriad thoughts jumbled in her head as scenarios played out in one sudden flash of deep foreboding. The girl saw her future, her relationship with her father tainted in the vilest way. Natasha imagined his disgust with her, could see the look in his eyes during future Christmases, birthdays and other family gatherings. Natasha saw them playing a role, pretending to be normal while that dark, disgusting moment dangled between them like a hanged corpse, the corruption invisible to anyone else but plain as day to them both, the stench of it sickening them both.

As the fear bloomed inside Natasha, as the realisation of what she’d done hit her and she began to close her legs and her hand pulled away from her sodden vulva, Barry felt a sudden surge of overwhelming desire.

Natasha was so beautiful, sitting there with her lovely blonde hair and big blue eyes, her expression so vulnerable. He glanced down between her legs and saw the plump, succulent flesh and pouting labia. Barry swallowed heavily while his mind vaguely registered the geometric precision of the tiny triangle of pubic hair decorating the apex of his daughter’s cleft…

And then lust exploded inside him.


THE GIRL stared down along her body, her face loose with utter disbelief while her father’s fingers spread over the skin of her inner thighs. Instinctively she lifted her legs, limbs folding at the knees as she let her thighs fall open. She held her torso angled to the ground, back suspended while resting her weight on elbows and forearms, her hips and buttocks on the grass, her chin on her chest.

She heard her father mutter, “Beautiful … so beautiful,” and then felt the hot waft of breath across her pussy.

Natasha watched her father’s thumbs spread her labia; she saw him stare at the centre of her body and felt so vulnerable and exposed spread apart as she was. Then, after exhibiting a moment’s hesitation, as though part of him was struggling with the right and wrongs of the act he was about to perform, Natasha’s father uttered a low and dangerous growl.

Natasha mewled, her breath coming in gasps as, with her eyes widening, growing round and huge, she watched her own father’s tongue slip from between his lips.

“Oh God,” the girl panted. “Oh God, you’re going to lick me. Oh fuck … you’re my father…”

Natasha’s hips bucked and she gasped and her head lolled back, the blonde ponytail brushing the grass.

By then Barry Laker was sucking his daughter’s clitoris. He was mindless to the morality, careless to the future, his daughter was beautiful and young and vibrant and so incredibly hot that desire for her superseded any other emotion. He was so aroused by her that logical thought would only return when that white ball of flaming lust had burned itself out. Barry would only truly realise what he had done when the monster had gorged on i****t.


Natasha’s first climax hit her after her father had licked and slurped and sucked and fingered her for less than three minutes. The orgasm rushed through her, had her gasping and moaning while her thighs juddered and she buckled at the waist, squealing at her daddy to suck at her.

Then, while the aftershocks of that first delight she experienced on her father’s tongue flickered through her limbs, Natasha hauled Barry Laker up along her front, bringing his face close to hers as she leaned forward and mumbled, “Kiss me. Dad, please kiss me.”

The kiss thrilled Natasha. It was so intimate, kissing her own father, their tongues sliding and writhing, so much more exciting than even having him lick her pussy. To Natasha, kissing that way expressed love, proper romantic love, and having her father’s tongue in her mouth, tasting perabet her own sex on him sent an arterial burst of love and yearning through the girl.

“Dad,” gasped Natasha when she broke away. “Are we going to fuck?” She gulped and stared into her father’s intense gaze as he gaped back at her. “Are we, Daddy?” she whined, hips jerking. “Are we going to fuck?”

Barry pulled back, kneeling upright. “Tash?” he mumbled, blinking. “Natasha?” Barry’s head shook from side-to-side. “Oh my God,” he gasped, his eyes going to his daughter’s vulva. “What am I doing?”

“Please,” the girl breathed. She was on one side, body slightly twisted as she rested on a hip and an elbow, her father between her spread legs. Natasha yanked up the hem of her skimpy top and revealed the taut, round mounds of her little breasts. Then she sat up and hauled the garment over her head. “Please, Dad,” she hissed. “Don’t stop now. I’m so fucking horny…”

“Baby,” Barry Laker muttered. “Shit, Tash, you’re my daughter. Don’t say that.” He grabbed Natasha’s discarded top. “Put that back on,” he said, eyes widening as the realisation of what he’d done hit him. “For God’s sake, Natasha,” spat Barry, “cover yourself up!”

But his daughter refused to comply. She shook her head, refusing to obey, defying her father with narrowed eyes, her hand going between her legs as she reclined once more.

“I want you to do it to me, Dad,” Natasha moaned, fingers spitting her labia. “I want to feel you inside me, Daddy. I’m so ready for you. My pussy is so wet and hot. It itches, Daddy. I want you to do it to me. Love me. Love your daughter.”

It was Natasha’s use of the L-word that sent her father over the edge. Desire for her overwhelmed him again, and the loose finger hold of morality slipped from the ledge, sending Barry Laker into the abyss.


THEY WERE at the car, both of them reckless with the intensity of their mutual yearning, their actions beyond normal control.

Barry was naked from the waist down. He had stripped out of his shoes and socks and jeans before his daughter had moved to him, kneeling in the grass, bare-breasted and smirking as she’d reached for his erection.

“I’m going to suck your cock,” the girl had murmured, and that lewd statement coming from those lips had made Barry groan.

“Shit, Natasha,” the man had muttered. “This is so wrong.” Then he gasped when those lips had closed over the dome of his cock-head. Barry hissed and stared at the sight of his beautiful daughter’s lips pursed around a part of her father’s body she should never have even seen let alone touched or tasted. “Oh no,” he had mumbled, shocked at the sin yet utterly powerless to resist.

The girl had gommed Barry’s cock, a shocking sight as jealousy flared and he wondered with whom she’d done it before. Barry looked down at his daughter, saw her fist cranking at him while her quick tongue flashed wet and pink over his rigid flesh.

“You gonna fuck me, Daddy?” she’d smirked, her expression a mix of feral hunger and precocious intent.

“You shouldn’t say that to me, Tash,” Barry had muttered, still trying to resist despite knowing it was about to happen.

Natasha had risen to her feet and run from him, unpinning the kilt as she went, the feminine shape of her bringing Barry to his feet.

She reached the car as Barry followed the loveliness of his daughter’s nudity.

Then, wearing just her shoes, Natasha had turned and lifted one leg, a knee going up onto the bonnet of the Audi. She had d****d herself along the front of the car and looked back over her shoulder, a hand going back to part her buttocks while she used the other hand against the angled stanchion between the windscreen and front door as a support.

Barry had seen the cerise wink of his daughter’s pussy, and the taut, athletic body presented to him. He moved to her, cranking his dick as he went, getting close to Natasha, the twin globes of her buttocks tight and symmetrical, the thigh of the leg supporting her weight taut.

“You’re perfect, baby,” Barry breathed as he aimed the cock-head at his daughter’s opening. “So bloody lovely.”

“I’m yours,” the girl grunted when her father’s penis penetrated her. “This can’t ever be undone, Dad. We’re doing it. We’re fucking.”


THEIR FIRST time was a very fast, very intense burst of frantic activity. The slow loving would come later, when Barry and Natasha took every opportunity to make love in the days and weeks and years to come. But that first time, that insane coupling where they could have been discovered at any moment, they were mad for one another.

Natasha gasped and grunted and grappled with the slippery metal of the unyielding surface of the car’s bodywork while her father fucked into her. She shocked Barry with the words she used, exhorting her father to acts of depravity on a potty-mouthed torrent of gutter language.

Barry held on for as long as he could, the need to let go growing ever more imperative.

Even if the girl hadn’t been his daughter, her body alone would have sent Barry wild with lust. Natasha was so firm, so slender, with even her back a cause for arousal, the curve and sweep as her torso tapered slightly into that narrow waist, her hips and then the round buttocks made him gulp with disbelief that he was actually fucking into such a lovely young woman.

The surge began when Barry leaned in and cupped the spongy softness of one breast, Natasha’s low groan that he maul her tits reminding Barry that she was his kin.

He gasped and grunted and muttered he was about to explode. “Shit, Natasha,” Barry hissed, teeth clenched as he held the girl’s waist. “I’m going to…”

Then, head lolling, Barry snorted, a great sob bursting out of him a moment later when he tensed and thrust deep.

“Natasha!” Barry cried, the thought coming at him like an express train in the moment before his orgasm burst and ejaculate flooded his daughter. “Is it safe to do it? I’m coming, baby, is…” Barry gulped and moaned, eyes rolling. “…Is it safe to come inside you?”

And then it didn’t matter, the risk and the future consequences evaporated as everything was sucked in to Barry’s core. All the considerations and concerns condensed and then squirted out of the man as he held on to his daughter’s body and pumped semen into her.

Knowing her father was coming tipped Natasha over the edge as well, and the girl grunted and moaned and urged her father to fill her with his love.

It went on for half a minute and more, with Natasha’s climax holding Barry inside her writhing body well after his purging had subsided. The young woman mumbled and sobbed and babbled on about love and how good it felt to have her father’s cock inside her body.

“Natasha,” Barry gulped when he slid from his daughter’s molten embrace, a dollop of semen plopping out of the girl, a heavy blob of jizm that glistened on the gravel close to Natasha’s silver shoe. “I’m sorry, baby, I came in you…”

The girl turned with a smile of pure delight on her face, her expression loving.

“Oh, Daddy,” she breathed, pressing her firm body against her father’s chest. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry. I’m okay.” Then she kissed him, a slow lingering expression of love for her father. “I want you to do it to me again. That stuff inside me, Dad … I love it.”




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