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Daddy started behaving inappropriately with me about a year after my Mother went away. Of course I knew what he was doing was wrong but who was I to stop him? After all, he was my father and I saw that my job was to look after him and to make him happy now that Mom had gone.
I was twenty years old and attending a nearby business college. I had not matured very well and was still very immature in the way I behaved, thought and dressed. Even at my age my Dad was very strict and controlled every facet of my life and I had few friends. I had to come straight home college and was rarely allowed out. My clothes were drab and very unfashionable and I was often jibed at college for wearing out of date clothing.
Of course I was still a virgin; that goes without saying!
I really wanted to leave home but with Dad drinking more heavily I was worried about him and he insisted that I remain at home to help look after him.
One Friday evening I came into the lounge from my bedroom and found that my Father was a little drunk and agitated.
“Come to my bedroom,” he said.
I did as I was told, and followed his to the bedroom that he used to share with Mom and found that he had laid out some of Mom’s clothes on the bed. I was very confused.
“Why have you laid out some of Mom’s old clothes?” I asked.
“You need to understand that with your Mother gone I need someone to do some special things that Mom used to do for me before she went away,” he said.
“I need you to take on some more responsibilities; to do some special things that you Mom did only for me. Do you understand?”
I didn’t; and I looked at Dad with confusion.
“It’s ok; don’t worry; I’ll show you, and I won’t hurt you. But these things I need you to do must remain private between us. They need to be our very special secret; something that remains very special; something that we share with no one else. Do you understand?” he said.
I was still very confused but he was my Father and I loved him. He was so lonely since Mom had gone and I would do anything to make him happy. The thought of having a special secret that only my Father and I shared was also very appealing.
“Ok Dad,” I whispered.
My father had me take a shower and after I towelled off he had me stand naked before him, slender and pale. I was very nervous about this but Dad had been insistent.
“I’m going to show you how to do things now that only mature women know about. You may find them a little a strange and difficult to learn at first. But with practice you will become good at them and it will please me immensely,” Dad said in soothing tone.
“Come and sit here in front of the dressing table and we will begin,” he said.
I sat at the dressing table and looked at myself in the mirror. My face was clean, my skin clear and youthful. My straight brunette hair, still slightly damp from my bath, framed my face and cascaded down to just above my shoulders.
“Just relax and watch what I do ok?” he said sternly.
I nodded my compliance and looked down at the top of the dressing-table. Mom’s cosmetics were arranged exactly as she had left them before she went away.
“I have read up on how to do this and I watched your Mother do it for all those years we were together, but I’m sure that in time you will be able to do this on your own; and do it a lot better than I will tonight,” Dad said.
I was still confused and bewildered; but again I nodded my compliance and sat still on the hard wooden chair in front of the makeup mirror.
My Father took up a damp sponge and opened a bottle of foundation and applied generous amounts of the makeup to my face and neck. I sat still and inhaled the scent of the makeup and watched my face gradually become a little darker as the makeup covered my skin and concealed some small blemishes.
Then he picked up a brush and applied a lighter coloured face powder and set the foundation. He then rouged my cheeks, accenting my high cheekbones. He fussed around my eyes applying liberal amounts of eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara and then finished with another light dusting of powder and applied two coats of plum-red lipstick to my lips.
Dad then took my hands and feet into his lap and one at a time painstakingly painted all of my fingernails and toenails with plum-red nailpolish that matched the lipstick I was wearing.
“Sit here and let the makeup set and nailpolish dry,” he said, “I’ll get us both a drink.”
He came back with a tumbler full of scotch for himself and an icy cold Coke for me. Father had been drinking a lot since Mom went away and he often smelt of scotch and cigarettes. He drank his scotch and I sipped at my Coke as the nailpolish dried; I was a little surprised when I saw the red lipstick stain I left on the neck of the bottle of Coke.
Next he brushed my hair, which I found it soothing after the ordeal of him putting on my makeup. But then he frizzed it and teased it out; styling it similar to how the girls at college wore their hair. When he finished he led me to the bed and had me sit.
“Your Mother’s dikmen escort clothes may be a little bit big for you; but they will do for now until we can buy some nice clothes in your size,” he said, looking at the clothes he had carefully laid out on the bed.
I was the same height as my Mother had been; but she had been curvy, whereas I was slim and gangly with hardly any breasts. My legs had taken on some shape when I entered adolescence and by buttocks had developed, but my body shape was still very gawky for a twenty-year-old.
“Now pay attention while I show you how to dress,” he said.
“I’ve watched your Mother do this many times and helped her sometimes too; but as this is your first time wearing fashionable clothes you will need to pay attention.”
I nodded my compliance. Although I couldn’t understand for the life of me why my Father wanted to dress me like may Mother, I loved him and would do anything he wanted if it made him happy.
I knew that he had been sad and lonely since Mom went away; and if doing this helped him get over his melancholy, it was a small price for me to pay.
Dad took a pair of glossy, sheer to the waist, taupe pantyhose and rolled them up my legs and stood me up and pulled them tight around my buttocks. The nylon felt soft and slippery on my legs, not unpleasant but strange.
I forced myself to smile and sat down tentatively on the bed. The smell and taste of the makeup and the feel of the sleek nylons on my legs were unfamiliar to me but I shrugged my shoulders and let my Father continue.
He handed me a pair of peach coloured, full cut, satin panties.
“Put these on,” he said; his voice had become dry and hoarse.
I slid into the panties, the silky satin of the panties created little electric shocks as they rubbed against the sheer nylons when I slid them up my legs. The feeling was not unpleasant but it was a little unnerving. The panties were so different than the cotton underpants that I had always worn.
“Ok this is going to a little difficult; but I think we can manage,” Dad said, holding up a matching peach coloured satin bra.
He clipped the side panels of the bra together and pulled the shoulder straps as tight as he could and got me to hold up my hands and pulled the bra over my head and down onto my chest. The straps held the cups at the right height on my chest but even with the side-panel clasps on the smallest setting the bra was too loose around my chest.
“Don’t worry; I expected this,” Daddy said and rummaged around in the dresser.
He found a safety pin and had me turn around and pulled the side panels tight and pinned the back fastener with the safety pin and smoothed the satin material into place. The bra was now a snug fit but the deflated cups looked pathetic on my skinny body because I had not developed the breasts to fill them!
My Father looked at the puzzled look on my face and his face broke into a smile.
“Don’t worry I’ve thought about this too!” he beamed.
He rummaged around in the dresser drawers again and produced a few pairs of pantyhose. He scrunched them into two balls and squeezed them into the cups of the bra.
“Perfect thirty-six C’s; just like your Mom’s!” he smiled, and went back to scribbling on the pad.
He reached down under the bed and pulled out a pair of Mom’s shoes. They were patent leather black high-heeled pumps with four inch heels. Mom only worn them on rare occasions when she and Dad were going out to somewhere special. I frowned as my Father lifted my foot and for the first time noticed the plum red nailpolish on my toenails gleaming through the gauzy nylon of my stockings.
My Father carefully slid my foot into one of my Mother’s high heels and amazingly it felt like a perfect fit! He had me slip on the other shoe and helped me to my feet. I tottered on the high heels and I had to hold onto Dad’s shoulders until I got my balance.
“Not bad!” he said, kneeling at my feet and poking at the soft leather of the pumps to see how they fit on my feet.
He sat me back down on the bed and went back to the dresser and rummaged around in Mom’s jewellery box and came back with a handful of glittering jewellery and arranged it on the bedspread.
He selected a simple gold ankle-chain and fastened it around my slim ankle. The gold twinkled in the light against the sheen of my nylons. Then he had me hold out my arm and he fastened two gold bracelets around my left wrist, and my Mother’s elegant gold watch on my right. He put two of her gold rings on my fingers and then he reached behind me and clipped a gold chain, from which hung a blood-red stone set in gold, around my neck.
My Father had refused to let me get my ears pierced, saying that it was radical and un-Christian. But I was a little surprised to find that my Mother had clip-on earrings when Dad clipped matching drop earrings to my ears; the blood-red stones bumped against my neck when I moved.
He came back to the bed holding an ornate purple glass bottle. I recognised it as my Mother’s favourite emek escort perfume that she only wore on special Occasions: ‘Poison’.
“Hmmm my favourite perfume,” Dad said and sprayed it liberally over my neck and chest and then he shocked me as he sprayed some on my thighs.
Dad looked at my shocked reaction and smiled.
“Your Mother used to spray some perfume there you know; when she dressed to go out to special places with me? You said that you would help and do the special things that Mom used to do for me for me, right?” he said a little petulantly.
I couldn’t refuse my Father; not when he looked so sad like that. I put on my best smile.
“Of course Dad,” I smiled at him, and my heart sang as he smiled back.
The smell of Mother’s perfume and the taste of her lipstick bought back memories of how she used to smell and taste when she kissed me goodnight before going out with Dad to somewhere special. But this was all before she went away, and I forced myself not to become sad at the memory. Dad saw my smile fade and he lifted me to my feet and grinned.
“Come on and let me have a good look at you; come and stand in front of the full length mirror,” he said excitedly, turning off the overhead lights so that the room was bathed only in subtle lamplight.
I held onto Father’s hand as I tottered on the unfamiliar high heels over to the mirror. I looked in the mirror and was amazed at what I saw! My Father was beaming but I was dumbfounded.
I had been transformed from a gangly, pale, immature twenty-something into a sexy nymph. The heavy makeup, lingerie, hairstyle and heels gave me the appearance of being a more mature women; sexy and attractive. Staring at my reflection I noticed how much I looked like my Mother; especially dressed like this.
My brunette hair, now teased out, framed my heavily made-up face. My lips were full and red, my fine cheekbones defined by rouge, my dark eyes enhanced by the black mascara and eyeliner and complemented by the pink and blue eyeshadow. My plum-red lips were pouty and sensual. My necklace and earrings glittered and drew my gaze down to my skinny chest sprouting a pair of false breasts encased in the peach satin bra.
Then my eyes strayed down my smooth slender body to my hips and to the the peach satin panties. My long coltish legs shimmered in the sheer hosiery, my well defined legs ending in the shiny, black leather, high-heeled pumps; the gold chain on my ankle glimmered in the delicate light.
I lifted my hands and put them on my hips; my plum-red fingernails, gold bracelets, red gemstones and rings glimmered in the subtle light.
My Father looked at me standing there staring at myself in the mirror and bent down and eased one of my feet forward and then slightly turned the other foot outwards. He lifted my chin and then stood back and looked me up and down.
“Magnificent!” he said, and reached for his scotch and took a long pull.
I looked at myself critically; I thought I looked like one of those heavily made-up fashion models that I had saw in magazines. But then, when I thought about it, I realised I probably looked more like the trollops that plastered the pages of my Father’s dirty magazines that he kept hidden away in the tool shed.
But there was no doubt about it; my resemblance to my Mother was uncanny.
Now I was really confused; for the first time in my life, I looked, felt, tasted and smelt like a grown up woman; a whore-like parody of my Mom. Although these were her clothes, she had never teased out her hair like this, or wore her makeup like this, or wore this much perfume, or wore this much jewellery. Mother was fine and elegant; not a slattern and never gaudy.
I looked at my Father questioningly and I saw the agony on his face when he saw a single, mascara-stained, tear run down my cheek. He put down his drink and led me back to the bed and sat down beside me.
“Ok; if you don’t want do this special thing for me that’s ok,” he sighed.
“You can get undressed and clean yourself up and we’ll never talk about this ever again; it never happened,” he whispered and I saw a tear streak down his cheek and then he put his head in his hands.
I turned around and threw my arms around my Daddy and hugged him close; he opened his arms and pulled me close, his head resting in the crook of my neck.
“I’ll do anything you want Dad,” I whispered.
HE stroked my hair and held me tight, the bristles on his cheek tickling my neck. Then he lifted his head and kissed me on the lips, he hadn’t done that for a long time, and then he smiled into my face and my heart soared.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too Daddy,” I replied.
When we both regained our composure he led me back and sat me in front of the makeup mirror and repaired my damaged makeup. This time the hard chair felt subtly different against my skin through the silky material of my panties and pantyhose. It felt nice; sort of comforting.
He led me back to the bed; I was getting slowly better at walking in the unfamiliar high eryaman escort heels, and had me stand at the base of the bed while he selected the last garments for me to wear.
I had trouble buttoning up the blue satin blouse that Dad had handed to me and he had to help. He held out a navy blue skirt and had me step into it; as he pulled the skirt up I received little stimulating shocks of pleasure as the satin lining slid up my nyloned legs.
I was the same height as my Mother so the hem sat perfectly, six inches above my knees. I looked down and was surprised to see a pair of sleek hosed legs showing from below the hem of the navy blue skirt, terminating at a pair of slim ankles and feet shod in black high heels.
Dad straightened my skirt and adjusted my blouse and then he led me back to the full-length mirror and I was amazed at the difference that the skirt and blouse had made to my appearance. I still looked like a slattern with my heavy makeup, hair and gaudy accessories; but the navy skirt and satin blouse preferred a veneer of sophistication. My Father spun me on my heels and I saw that the rear of my skirt had a kick pleat that showed about six inches of the back of my nyloned thighs.
He hugged me and kissed me on the lips again. This time the kiss went on a little longer and I was beginning to feel a little unsettled, but when he looked into my eyes and beamed, I melted in his arms and gave him a quick peck back and then stepped back a little.
“What are we going to do now?” I asked.
“Let’s just go and sit in the lounge with the TV turned down low and the lights off; just like I used to do with your Mother after you had gone to bed,” he smiled.
“Oh sure Dad,” I smiled back.
Now I realised what my Father wanted! He wanted me to dress up like Mother and sit and keep him company just like she used to before she went away. He was lonely and missed his wife! All he wanted from me was the companionship that he no longer had.
I loved my Father so much that this was the least I could do for him.
“Come on Dad; let’s go sit and watch some TV!” I giggled and led the way into the lounge, tottering on my high heels.
I sat on the lounge feeling quite strange in the unfamiliar clothing. The rustle of the satin and nylon and the smell and taste of the cosmetics and perfume was actually quiet pleasant. I was starting to understand why the girls my age liked to dress like this.
He turned out all of lights, pulled the drapes, checked the doors were locked and then he came sat down close beside me sipping at a fresh glass of scotch.
“Do you want anything?” he asked.
“No thanks; I’m fine just sitting here with you,” I smiled up at him.
Dad leaned down and kissed me again, a little longer this time which I again found a little unsettling, but I realised he was just showing his appreciation to me.
We sat like that in the dim glow of the TV for a long time, hey had put his arm around me and I rested my head on his shoulders. I had sometimes seen Mom and Dad sitting like this late at night. It was comforting for me to know that I was making my Father happy.
Every now and then Dad would kiss me on the lips and with his other hand he would stroke my thigh where my skirt had ridden up. I stiffened when he did this but he turned to look at me and smiled.
“It’s ok; your Mother liked me to do this to her; she found it comforting,” he whispered in the dark.
My Father’s explanation made sense in a weird way; and besides, he was my Father and he wouldn’t hurt me. He had promised me that.
I let him stroke my legs and kiss me every now and again until it was no longer a concern and concentrated on watching the TV until eventually I became sleepy.
Then he suddenly lifted himself up so that he was sitting upright on the lounge.
“You what your Mom really liked to do?” he asked.
I shook my head in response.
“When she was sleepy like you are now she liked to sit in my lap and I would cuddle her; she really liked that.”
I hadn’t sat in my Father’s lap for quiet some time; I though I was a too old to be doing that. But if it made Daddy happy; then why not I thought?
I struggled to my feet and Daddy helped me sit down in his lap, my high heels gently tapped against his shins as he adjusted me so that my buttocks nestled in his groin.
“But you won’t be able to see the TV,” I said.
“It’s ok; I can look around your shoulder if you lay back against me,” he answered and gently eased me back so that I was leaning with my back against his chest.
I wriggled my buttocks to get comfortable; the hushed rustle of the satin lining of my skirt rubbing against the material of my panties the only sound other than Daddy’s heavy breathing and dim hum of the TV.
Daddy’s breathing was getting louder and laboured and I wondered if I was squashing him.
“Its fine,” he said and nuzzled my neck and put his arms around me, cuddling me to him.
I settled down and got comfortable again in his lap, eventually becoming drowsy again as my Father nuzzled my neck and one of his hands returned to my thigh and stroked my nylon sheathed thigh. I made a feeble effort to remove his hand and pull the hem of my skirt down but I was quite content drifting off to sleep in the safety of my Daddy’s lap, held in his warm embrace.
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