Lockdown with Lila

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In the world outside, the COVID-19 virus raged. The death toll rose every day, and my fearful fellow citizens, heeding government authorities, took shelter in their homes with loved ones, hoping to ride out the pandemic safely.

I sat in my home office, bored. My daughter Lila and I had been cooped up in the house for over a month, and I’d long since grown restless. Lila had been in the middle of the second semester of her junior year of college when the virus struck, and the college sent her and all her classmates home. Now she took classes online. I guessed she was at her computer in her room on the other side of the house at that moment, watching one of her professors drone on about some subject or another.

It was early afternoon, and I wasn’t working. I was looking at porn on the Internet, on my computer. The masturbatory pleasures of Internet porn offered a brief respite from my constant boredom. But after two weeks I’d begun to tire of porn and masturbating. I wanted more. I wanted the company of a real woman.

I had been divorced for five years, and actively dating for four. But two months earlier Brenda, a lovely and lean flight attendant I’d met online, had broken up with me. The lockdown prevented me from meeting anyone new. I was horny and frustrated, and jerking off to pictures on my computer screen went only so far to alleviate my frustration.

The ring of the phone on my desk interrupted the tedium.

“Jerry Meers,” I said when I picked up the phone. I almost barked the introduction. I wondered if my social skills had grown rusty with my isolation.

“Jerry, it’s Todd.” Todd was a long-time client, owner and president of a company that manufactured window frames.

“Todd, it’s great to hear from you,” I said. “How are holding up in quarantine?”

“The family and I are fine,” he said. “But business isn’t so good. Nobody’s buying windows. No money coming in. I have to hold off on that consultation we talked about. Sorry about that.”

Darn. That’s what I’d feared. I was an independent business consultant, and the refrain from nearly all my clients, mostly small to medium-sized businesses, was the same: business was slow . . . so, they didn’t need my services. Not until things opened up and customers started calling again, anyway.

I told Todd I understood and then we exchanged comforting pleasantries about our families and their health. After I hung up, I sat in my chair for a minute, staring at the computer screen, bored of porn and discouraged about the state of my business.

I got up, at last, to give myself something else to do. The ergonomic chair on which I sat was wobbling strangely, and I figured I’d fix it to give my mind something constructive to dwell on. I walked to the garage.

The wrench I was looking for wasn’t on the work bench, where I thought I’d left it. That was odd. I was usually careful about where I left things. I walked back into the house, wondering if I’d used it for another project but forgotten about it.

Walking down the hallway, I heard a blast of music coming from behind the closed door of Lila’s bedroom. I wondered if she’d seen the wrench. I knocked on the door but there was no answer. I figured she couldn’t hear because of the music, so I opened the door and walked in.

Not three feet inside the room, I froze in place, my feet rooted to the ground. My mouth gaped open.

My daughter reclined on the floor, back to me, legs sprawled open, facing an open laptop computer. She was completely naked.

She held the wrench – the one I was looking for – by its head, in her hand. It moved up and down rapidly. The other end of the wrench, the smooth, shiny tip, encased in a red rubber grip, was buried inside her vagina.

I saw the thin lips of my daughter’s bare vulva cling to the rubber-encased shaft as it moved in and out of her.

The face of a young man filled most of the laptop screen. I could tell he and Lila were engaged in a Zoom conference. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I could see enough to see his eyes bug out and his hands wave. Obviously, he had seen me enter the room behind Lila, and he was trying to get her attention.

I didn’t move. I don’t know why. Lila moved first.

Getting the hint, finally, from the young man on the screen, she turned around and saw me.

“Dad!” she screamed. I don’t know which of us jumped more. Lila curled her body into a ball and enfolded herself in her arms. The wrench clattered to the floor.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“Sorry!” I said. “Sorry!” I couldn’t think of what to say at first. “I knocked but you didn’t answer.” My hands flew wildly around me, as though their frantic movement would explain my being in her room.

“Sorry,” I said again, and this time I backed out of the room. Without being fully conscious of doing it I took a last look at Lila, naked on the floor, before I turned and left, closing the door behind me.

I retreated to my office, closed the door, and paced the floor, back and bahis firmaları forth, forth and back.

The image of my daughter, naked and spread on the floor, burned in my mind. Try as I might, I couldn’t erase it. Guilt and shame coursed through me. I battered my confused brain with accusatory questions: Why did I enter Lila’s room without permission? Why didn’t I leave the room immediately? Why did I stare at her naked body? What was wrong with me?

I worried about Lila, too. Who was that young man? Why was she showing herself to him naked? Did she do that often?

I realized with dismay that there was a lot about my daughter that I hadn’t known.

I tried to distract myself with work projects and Internet surfing, but I didn’t succeed. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen – about what I wasn’t supposed to see.

After about two hours, I heard a soft knock on the office door.

“Come in,” I said, my voice shaky. I knew what was to come but I didn’t know if I was ready for it.

Lila entered. She wore tight-fitting baby blue gym shorts and a white t-shirt that showed off some of the taut skin of her belly. Under the circumstances, I wished she’d dressed more conservatively, but this was how Lila dressed most of the time, and I’d already noticed in the past week that as the weather had grown warmer her outfits had become skimpier.

“Hey, Dad,” she said.

“Hey,” I said back, gesturing to her to take a seat in a chair a few feet away from me. She sat and we both shifted in our seats for a few moments, not saying anything. Finally, I broke the silence.

“Listen, Lila, I’m very sorry about . . . that. I knocked and there was no answer and I figured you were just listening to loud music and -“

“It’s OK, Dad,” she said, interrupting. “I know it must have been a shock for you to see me . . . like that.”

She squirmed in her chair, and I noticed the points of her nipples pushing conspicuously against the thin fabric of her shirt. She wore no bra; that was obvious. Her unfettered breasts jiggled with every movement of her body. My discomfort, high already, flew off the charts.

“Lila, I don’t know what to say. I shouldn’t have been there. And I should have left right away. I shouldn’t have seen you that way.”

“It’s all right, Dad,” she said. “You did see me. There’s nothing we can do about that now. You got a good look at me, huh?” She said it with a wan smile.

“Yeah, I did,” I said, the words coming out with struggle. “I wish I hadn’t. I shouldn’t have been in your room and when I saw you like that I should have left right away.”

“I guess so,” she said, and she looked at me with a look I couldn’t read. “But you didn’t. You didn’t move right away.”

“I was just . . . shocked,” I said. “That’s all. Sorry.”

She looked at me, nodding, with that same unreadable look.

“Like I said,” Lila said, “It’s OK. You’re not mad at me, are you?” Her eyes were wide and glistening.

“No, of course I’m not mad,” I said. “But -“

“But what?”

“I’m concerned.”

“Why are you concerned?” she asked. She shifted in her chair again and her breasts swelled and swayed under the little t-shirt. Her back arched and the bottom edge of her shirt lifted, exposing more skin and showing her navel.

“Lila, who’s that guy?” I asked. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“I wouldn’t call him a boyfriend,” she said. “A guy I knew at school. We . . . dated a few times. Before, you know. The virus.”

“A guy you knew at school,” I repeated. “And you feel OK . . . showing yourself to him like that?”

She looked at me and said nothing right away. She held her eyes steadily on mine, but her body shifted in the chair and I noticed, again, the movement of her breasts under the shirt. I felt a twinge between my legs, under my pants, and guilt wracked my conscience, again.

“Are you trying to shame me, Dad?”

“No!” I said. “It’s not like that. I’m concerned about you. Do you know if you can trust him? What if . . . what if he made a copy of you . . . doing that . . . and showed it to others? To his friends?”

Lila said nothing to me in response right away. She looked away from me, eyes flittering from one part of the room to another but not resting on mine, not right away. At last, though, her eyes locked on mine, as though she’d made up her mind about something.

“Dad,” she said. “He did show them to his friends.”

A storm of fury rose inside me.

“That scumbag!” I said. “Lila, you have rights. You can -“

“No, Dad,” she said, raising a hand in front of my face. “He showed them because I told him it was OK. I wanted him to.”

I shook my head, confused.

“What?” I asked in a stammer. “What do you mean?”

“When I was . . . putting on the show for him, I was teasing him. About how much his friends would like to see me like this and if he liked it. And he asked if could show them. And I said ‘yes.'”

“Why . . . why would you say that?” To say I did not understand the kaçak iddaa words coming out of her mouth would be an understatement.

“Because I liked it,” she said, her voice growing firmer. “I like to show off. I’ve done the same thing other times. With other guys. And girls, even.”

The same thing? Other times? Guys and girls? My brain was on overload.

I tried to find the words to reply, but they escaped me. Lila stared at me, obviously wanting a reply. After a long delay, with me not saying anything, she finally did.

“What do you think about that, Dad?”

“Lila,” I said at last, “why are you telling me this?”

“Telling you what?” she replied. “The truth? I’m telling you because you’re my Dad. We’ve been marooned in this house for a month. I thought it would be nice to be honest with you. Sorry if it’s, like, hard to hear.”

“It’s not hard to hear,” I said quickly. “OK, maybe it is. It’s kind of hard to hear about you showing yourself . . . like that . . . to a lot of guys. I know how guys are. I was a guy once. Still am. I wouldn’t trust them. Don’t you worry -”

“What?” She interrupted me.

“About your reputation,” I said, uncomfortable talking about it and visualizing my daughter exposing herself. “They could take photos of you and share them with their friends. You don’t know where they’ll end up.”

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s true. I’ve thought about it. It’s a risk. But it’s a risk I decided I wanted to take. My boyfriend – his name is Sasha – had three roommates in an apartment. And he liked . . . showing me off. So, when I visited, I’d walk around the apartment, not wearing much – usually just a little crop top and panties. And I liked it. I’m sorry if this is a shock for you, but I did.”

My head spun with images of Lila cavorting through an apartment with four horny college boys, in just her underwear. The image was both disturbing and – I had to admit it – a little arousing. I tried to push the images down and out of my mind, but without success. I couldn’t find the words to respond to her.

“Are you ashamed of me?” she asked, breaking a long silence.

“No, no, sweetie. It’s not like that. You’re an adult. And I’m not a prude. But I’m your Dad. I’m concerned about you. I don’t want to see you hurt or taken advantage of.”

She smiled and stood up from her chair and crossed the distance between us, planting a quick, sweet kiss on my forehead. Then she returned to her chair.

“You’re a great Dad,” she said. “I guess that’s why I wanted to tell you. I feel like I can trust you. Like I’m safe with you.”

I returned a wan, awkward smile to her.

“Well, thanks. I’m glad you feel that way. You can always trust me.”

“So,” she said, “you don’t think less of me that I’m, kind of, an exhibitionist? That I like walking around with not a lot on – sometimes in front of people?”

“Lila, it’s not my decision to make. It’s yours, and – “

I stopped when she cocked her head and opened her eyes wide, like she was expecting a different answer.

“OK, OK,” I said. “It’s a little weird for me to adjust to. But no, I don’t think less of you. You’re an adult and if you like spending your time in panties or whatever that’s your choice.”

The words felt strange when they left my mouth. But Lila looked satisfied with my answer. A broad grin and flashing eyes lit up her face.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said.

She stood up and twirled and walked away. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight, but it sure looked like she deliberately swayed her pert little butt at me as she left the room.

Alone again, I stewed in my thoughts, still bored, still horny, and agitated with thoughts of my sweet daughter in various stages of undress.

Eventually, I got up from my chair, desperately needing something to do to take my mind off the events of day. I decided to clean the garage.

There wouldn’t be much to clean. I was one of those guys that kept a tidy, orderly garage. So, when I entered it from the laundry room, I noticed immediately that something was out of place: my wrench, rather than being in the wrench drawer where it belonged, lay in the middle of my work bench.

I picked it up, prepared to put it in the drawer.

But I stopped when I recalled that it was the wrench I had seen Lila inserting into her pussy. She had used my favorite wrench as a sex toy.

God help me, I held the end of the wrench up to my nose.

I inhaled. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed the scent of a woman’s pussy, but there was no mistaking it now. The faint and fading tangy scent of my daughter Lila wafted up from the rubber casing over the handle of the heavy tool. It tickled my nostrils and I closed my eyes and savored it.

I shook my head. What kind of father was I?

I pulled some cleaning wipes from a cabinet shelf and cleaned off the wrench. Then I put it away. For the next half hour, I puttered around the garage, reorganizing things to give myself something – anything – to take my mind off kaçak bahis my exhibitionist daughter.

* * * *

Days passed, and the quarantine continued. Lila and I remained locked down in the house. We settled into a steady, dull routine, trying to maintain our sanity while the world outside, broadcast to us through our TVs, computers, and smart phones, seemed to teeter on the brink of insanity and collapse.

For days, we said nothing about what I’d seen Lila do or about the conversation that followed. I worked, and Lila attended classes – both of us, remotely.

But that’s not to say nothing changed. It did. I became aware of Lila in a way I hadn’t before. She wasn’t just my daughter; she was a grown woman – and a very attractive grown woman. I grew antsy and agitated as the days and hours and minutes ticked past and the prospect of being with a live, breathing woman seemed like a mirage in the desert that never grew closer. The only woman around me was Lila. I couldn’t help but notice her.

It didn’t help, either, that after our conversation Lila’s standard of dress grew looser and skimpier. April turned to May, temperatures climbed, and Lila seemed to show more skin every day. In the morning I’d be making coffee and hear Lila’s soft bare-foot fall, and she’d turn the corner into the kitchen wearing short shorts and a cropped top. She seldom wore a bra. Later in the day she’d keep wearing the short shorts or switch into miniskirts, and perhaps replace the cropped tops with thread-bare tees or tank tops. I don’t think her legs were ever covered, and they were beautiful legs – long, shapely, lightly muscled from daily sessions of yoga and running. When she ran, she wore compression shorts that barely concealed her bottom and a tight sport bra that pushed her youthful breasts up and out. When finished with her run she’d come back to the house, a sheen of sweat over her barely covered body, and she’d linger close by me in the kitchen while slowly nursing a Gatorade.

And I could swear, although I couldn’t exactly put my finger on what made me think so, that she was showing off to me. There was something about the way she would stand in front of me in the kitchen, munching a muffin, with her hip thrown farther to one side than seemed necessary. Or the way she would push her chest out in a tight top, the little bumps of her tits under the top so conspicuously displayed. When she left the room, she’d linger in the doorway, back to me, in her short shorts – so short they exposed an expanse of firm skin on each ass cheek.

I didn’t want to look. I tried not to. But sometimes I couldn’t help myself.

One night before going to bed I watched a rerun of a favorite television show, spread out in a big comfortable leather chair. I thought Lila had gone to bed when I heard her rummaging through the kitchen. A minute later she skipped into the den, wearing nothing more than a t shirt. I tried to behave but my eyes couldn’t help but run up the length of her legs to where they disappeared under the hem of the shirt. It bounced as she walked, and I caught a brief flash of pink panty.

My cock twitched. My God. I didn’t want that to happen in front of her.

To make matters worse, Lila plopped down on my lap. Right on top of my cock.

“What are you watching?” she asked.

Was she grinding against me? I wasn’t sure but I hoped not. I wouldn’t be able to keep my cock from responding if she did.

“Looks boring,” she said. “Well, good night, Daddy.”

“Daddy?” I asked. “You haven’t called me ‘Daddy’ in a long time.”

“Dad. Daddy. Whatever.”

She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

Plump, ripe breasts mashed against my shoulder as her lips touched my face.

She bounced out of my lap and headed for the den door. My eyes followed her the whole way. Then she did something uncharacteristic for her, dropping the napkin she had been carrying. She bent over to retrieve it and her shirt rode up, revealing that she was wearing nothing but a thong, the pink stringy back of which cleaved her perfect, bare ass cheeks and concealed almost nothing underneath.

When she left the room at last, I groaned quietly.

Later, in my room, I pulled up a porn video on my laptop. I needed relief, but not to images of my daughter in my head. So, I opened a video featuring an adult actress closer to my age. I came just three minutes after it began.

It offered only temporary relief.

* * * *

The next day began the same as all the rest – a slow breakfast, cleaning up the kitchen and straightening up the house.

Lila complained that the blinds in her bedroom weren’t closing properly, so I spent half an hour diagnosing the problem and fixing it. I was handy with projects like that, and Lila showed her appreciation by giving me a sweet peck on the cheek when I finished.

The crop top and boy shorts she wore seemed briefer than ever. They molded perfectly to her body, leaving none of its curves to the imagination.

The doorbell rang. By the time I walked to the front door and opened it I noticed the delivery van already was leaving and a rectangular package sat on the doorstep at my feet.

I picked it up. I had no idea what it was.

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