Spying On My Naked Teen Daughter

“Where have you been?” Kate asked me.
She then rolled over in our bed, looking right at me and scaring me half to death in the process.
Jesus, Kate sometimes had such an uncanny timing, it was surreal. Paired now with the way her eyes were gleaming in the dim moonlight, it could make one wonder if the supernatural truly existed or not. Luckily, I had it on good authority that my wife was just a flawed human woman.
“I was thirsty,” I lied and made my way to her. “I went to grab a glass of cold orange juice.”
“I see.”
My mouth was completely dry and my heart rate was through the roof. I needed to lay down and touch something solid. I needed to let it anchor me, because I was turning paranoid; I could swear there was something more, something dark and knowing in Kate’s eyes.
For a moment, I wondered if she actually knew, if she had caught onto what I had been doing, but bidding her time, waiting for the perfect moment to act out her revenge. I wondered what she would do to me. I wondered if she would do it out of jealousy over Missy or hatred for me.
Or maybe both?
Yeah, probably both.
But I had nothing to fear.
There was no way that my wife knew anything, I told myself for the millionth time. I had been beyond careful. It was probably the fact that I just wasn’t cut out for this double life I was living now and it was eating away at me, subconsciously.
“Back now, though!” I faked a cheer I hadn’t felt in years, not around Kate, at least, and smoothed the blanket over my body.
She made a face at me, then looked away and let her head drop back down onto the pillow, covering it with dark, tangled curls of hair, before fully turning her back to me.
It took all of my willpower not to exhale in relief.
The hell was she doing up anyway? She was usually passed out, drunk as a skunk, at this hour. I subtly sniffed her side of the bed. It reeked of the usual cheap wine that she would down by the bottle every night, so she had been drinking her usual amount for dinner too.
Yes, this was just a coincidence. A very unsettling one, but it was just that. There was nothing more to it.
I made myself more comfortable and turned over in bed, so we’d be back-to-back. I could never stand her sleeping with her back to me, not when we used to love to cuddle in bed and fall asleep dreaming of each other.
“You’ve been gone a good while,” she added, accusingly, before stretching and yawning like a house cat. “Did you have to pick the oranges and squeeze them, too?”
I swallowed a mean retort. I wasn’t going to give into another of her bad moods. It was late at night and Missy had already gone to bed. She didn’t need to fall asleep to the soundtrack of her parents arguing over nothing again. I loved my daughter too much to cause her any more inconveniences.
But dear God, how I wanted to say something.
How I wanted to grab her shoulders and physically shake some sense into Kate.
It was difficult not to resent my wife and let her have a piece of my mind.
Despite always reminding myself to be understanding and to abide by our wedding vows, Kate, well, she hadn’t really been my wife, or present in our married life, in years. The pills and the wine and her recently discovered penchant for melodramatic bullshit meant that my wife’s entire world revolved around herself and herself only.
Kate had lost the plot some time in the last seven years, somewhere between empty bottles and emptier promises that she was going to do better, and she wasn’t even aware of it. Or if she was, she wasn’t going to take responsability for any of her crap. She’d even stopped promising to get help. She was going to drink and slowly kill herself like that.
Between myself, my wife and our daughter, I was the only one still harboring hopes of Kate’s eventual recovery. As dim as that hope was, it still existed.
Missy, on the other hand, had begun to beg me to divorce her mom. Poor girl had had enough.
I knew that most men in my position would have ran outta this shitty situation first change they had. But I just couldn’t do it. Not yet. The vows, the love we had once shared, our family… what kind of man would I be if I didn’t try my utmost for their sake? Some things were hard, if not impossible, to replace. Kate had been the love of my life, once.
“I was in the mood for a few biscuits, and then I brushed my teeth,” I lied again.
Now she was someone I was habitually lying to, someone I hated coming home to, someone who made my life harder instead of better.
I felt her turn around, so I did too.
I gazed lovingly at Kate’s sour face and tried not to encourage anything.
“No more arguments, please,” I thought, “spare me one night, love, just one.”
My sweet wife had to still be trapped somewhere in there. She had to be. There had to be some love left.
I reached over to cup her cheek, but she slapped my hand away with a warning growl. It was as if my touch, my presence, disgusted her.
“Nate, don’t!”
Her rejection always hit me hard.
“Sorry, love. Go back to sleep now,” I said, and hurried to face my side of the prison cell our bedroom had become. I didn’t want her to see how much her attitude was hurting me, still.
I should’ve known better. The last time she had let me touch her had been two years ago, around my birthday, when she had been in a rare happy drunk state. She had given me a sloppy blowjob, without me having to ask for it, then had managed to stay awake while I rammed my dick into her pussy, filling her cunt with my thick cock meat and all the feelings I still had for her.
A man’s loyalty and love were hard to kill.
A woman’s… who could even say?
Because my Kate used to love me and used to demand I fucked her, hard and often, to physically show her how much I desired her, to claim and reclaim her. She had tattooed my name on her right thigh, between her legs, in a spot only I could see, and only when we made love.
She used to beg me for a taste of my cock, for fuck’s sake!
We used to test the limits of my endurance with non-stop weekend sex and then she’d ask me to use toys on her when I was too spent to finish her off myself. I had plunged all manner of things into her willing body and she had sworn she’d never favor any of them over my cock. To prove it, she’d often wake me up by licking my balls and teasing my shaft and of course things always escalated from there.
Our marriage had been a happy one, deliriously so. We had been the envy of all our friends and the ones they’d call the “Power Couple”, the ones destined for greatness, always together. Always so in love.
That was then.
Because now?
Now she didn’t love sex anymore, and that time, two years ago, I had to empty my balls to the sound of my wife’s unsexy snoring. She hadn’t cum, her pussy had felt wrong and foreign, like a shitty quality fleshlight, and her tits had sagged lifelessly to her sides, two deflated festival balloons.
They joy had been ripped from our marriage and our sex life had followed suite.
That bit of drunken sex had ended up making me feel worse than if I had taken her by force. There was no passion there, no love, no connection. She wasn’t into fucking anymore and I feared she wasn’t into me either.
And it had hurt, it had hurt a lot.
The wound that night had caused in my soul was never allowed to heal because in her usual unhappy drunk states, she liked to throw at me that I was only with her for sex. Sex that she’d been denying me for years, but were I to mention that, I would only end up fanning the flames of our arguments.
I had to admit that I have had, at times, entertained force-fucking her, but what good would that have done? My wife was gone, replaced by a depressed copy of her and this copy smelled of wine and misery and she couldn’t give two shits about anything other than her pain. Fucking her wouldn’t have brought her old self back and it wouldn’t have made me any happier or less lonely.
Was it any wonder then, that my eyes began to wander from my wife’s body?
That I began to look at hot women on the street, at work, while grocery shopping, even when I picked up our daughter from her college campus and drove her home, where she’d spend the weekends with us, two old loons who did nothing but argue?
I liked to fantasize about those unknown women, about a life with them. What if that blonde were my wife? Would she be a good, enthusiastic fuck? Would that thicc cashier let me fuck her big ass? Would that girl’s small mouth open wide enough for me to fuck it, to plunge my cock down her throat and let her spasming muscles milk me? Would she swallow my cum? Would she want to cuddle after?
Kate liked to call me a “depraved fucker” and all manner of other, more humiliating things. She liked to throw my physical needs in my face, to slap me with my hunger for touch, to make me feel like I shouldn’t want intimacy and embraces and God forbid, sex.
I was so desperate for some form of release, I had even paid for a few private webcam shows. Yes, I had become the type that paid for sex, but it was a clean, sure way of getting off without the troubles of meeting actual, real women. Because in the end, I wasn’t looking to cheat on Kate, I just had to take care of some basic male needs. Jerking off in a darkened bathroom, in the middle of the night, quietly, so my wife wouldn’t catch on, wasn’t doing it anymore.
Besides, it wasn’t cheating if I never touched another woman’s body, if I didn’t know her name or what her skin tasted like. A camgirl was hardly any different than a sex toy.
“You know what?” Kate asked, so obviously angling for a fight.
I groaned.
“Not tonight, love, please, not tonight.”
“I think you were in the guest bedroom, wanking off to porn. That’s what I think. Asshole, fucking obsessed asshole,” she spat venomously.
Where were all this rage and hatred coming from? So many years of her spewing vitriol and she never seemed to run out of nastiness.
“I wasn’t,” I mumbled.
That was the first true thing I’ve told her all night.
“Really?”
I felt the bed shift, quite violently, and Kate’s hand was suddenly grabbing my manhood through my sweat pants. It wasn’t a nice touch, she was squeezing me hard, almost painfully so, like she wanted to rip my cock off.
“Let me test that, then,” she added, and started palming me, teasing me, trying to give me an erection.
It was my turn to slap her hand away.
“The hell are you doing?” I turned around and looked into her cold eyes.
“I heard you.”
“You what?”
“I said I fucking heard you, you fucking vile horndog,” she spat.
Shit.
She had.
Realization descended upon my fevered brain like a cold blanket of snow.
She’d heard me, she’d truly heard me.
I wondered if she had left the bed and come looking for me too, or if she’d just contented herself with listening to me do all that.
I prayed for the latter.
“If you try anything, I will bite it off you, got it? I’m not your slut.”
She looked like a damn Medusa, with her curls going every which way about her head. And her eyes, her eyes were so full of cold fury. Like the mythical woman, Kate had managed to turn me into a stone statue. I was holding my breath, waiting for her to deliver the finishing blow, but she kept on and on about her precious cunt and new, better morals.
So if she was warning me to stay off her, to not attempt to fuck her, instead of throwing something else, far more damning at me, then she didn’t know.
She didn’t know.
I could breathe again.
Shit.
Shit, that was such a relief.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Jesus Christ, woman!”
“I warned you, maniac,” she growled and then paused. “You know what? Sleep on the floor tonight. I don’t need your porn-watching ass to jerk off to me while I sleep. Filthy worm of a cock needs to stay away from me.”
“Kate-”
I didn’t get to finish my sentence, because she was already on her ass, her skinny feet kicking at me. She was so pathetically weak. I could have forced her on her back and made her be quiet and let me sleep, because this kicking me out of bed thing did not need to become a new habit.
But honestly?
The hell with it all, I just didn’t want to be near her anymore.
Because it hadn’t been porn that I had emptied my balls watching and enjoying.
It had been Missy’s perfect young body, her soft curves, her smoothly shaved pussy.
“Fine, I’ll sleep on the couch, then, downstairs,” I bit back.
I grabbed my pillow and left Kate to her vitriol.
What had I been thinking, souring my good evening by returning to my bedroom and my wife? The only thing that endeavour had ended up doing for me was give me a helluva scare and another erection, that I now had to deal with.
God, I just couldn’t stop picturing it in my head, her innocent vulnerability as she lathered those twin breasts in soapy bubbles. She was just this tiny little slip of a teenage girl, barely legal, bent over in a shower cabin, running her dainty hands over her firm calves and creamy thighs, completely unaware that I was there, watching her, thinking of doing dirty things to her pure body.
Despite as often as it seemed to be happening lately, I never really meant to spy on my naked teen daughter.
But I had.
Have been, actually, for weeks, if not months.
I didn’t know what sort of cursed luck I kept having, because I’d stumble upon Missy in compromising situations at least once or twice a day, when she was visiting us.
And I knew that the proper thing a father should do in situations like those would be to turn away, but Missy… Jesus, Missy was such a beautiful girl. I couldn’t believe she was my daughter, she seemed so much better and sweeter and kinder and sexier than both me and her mom put together.
And I had to admit, at least to myself, that while I was Missy’s hero, as she liked to call me, I was still a man. I was a weak man, with a soft spot for beautiful women, in this case my own daughter. I was battling an addiction to her not unlike the one my wife had to her wine. But while I never sought out my vice, I still got drunk on the sight of her, when the opportunity presented itself.
And it had presented itself tonight again.
The sound of her soft, contented, humming had lured me to her bedroom. I had meant to ask what had made her so happy. I liked it when she shared her joys and college victories with me. Her happiness made my days, my entire life, worth living.
But as I followed her sweet, melodious voice around the small space, I found myself looking at her as she was taking a shower and I simply froze in place.
I’d seen her fully naked just once before, but this was something else. It was a different sort of nudity, a softer, more sensual one that the overtly sexual act I had first caught a glimpse of her womanly body in.
She had her back to the door and was gently scrubbing herself.
I watched as the sponge left fading pink marks on the expanse of white skin and I fought an impulse to capture her in my arms and make her let me kiss them away. Like for a scraped knee, daddy would kiss the sting away.
I was then mesmerized by her hand slowly running that blue square over her chest and round, bouncy, ass. Her cheeks were begging for a spanking. I wanted to punish her for being so beautiful and so out of reach.
And then my breath caught. I literally forgot how to inhale and exhale when she passed that sponge between her skinny girlish legs. It left a foamy spot in its wake, covering her puffy mound.
She then pressed the damned thing against her flesh and squeezed out the water. Some of it went down her legs in large rivulets. Some of it fell onto the tiled floor in droplets. All of it made me wonder if I could make my sweet girl squirt. If I could fuck her so hard and good, that her pussy exploded like a volcano.
She dipped her hands there once.
Twice.
Ten times.
My cock ached with need. Watching Missy like this was both a blessing and a curse. How could I have such perfection under my own roof and not be allowed to enjoy her? I wanted, I wanted, I so wanted for her to turn around and invite me into the shower stall with her and to let me to clean her body with my tongue. I’d have lapped at her tits and cunt all night long, until her knees buckled and she had to ride my shoulders, because I wasn’t done drinking her juices.
I was just thinking that she was so concerned with being clean down there, when it occured to me that the gesture was probably making her pussy feel good.
She passed it over her little slit over and over again, softly gasping. Her head was tilted back and then she turned around and I almost ran out of there. But her eyes were closed and she positioned herself so that the shower head rained fresh water over her breasts, making them seem like ripe fruit. Shiny, plump and juicy-looking, with their puckered pink nipples, I ached to bite into one. I even found myself jealous over that sponge. How silly was that?
I would have loved to stay until the end, but I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk her turning around and seeing me, seeing my erection, asking me about it.
So I had left her bathroom, but not before stealing one last glance at her.
Beautiful, young, perfect Missy.
My salvation and my damnation.
The one thing I wished I could have and enjoy, the way a man enjoyed a woman, and the one thing I would probably never have.
Because there was no way she felt the same about me.
God.
If only she did.

**

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