No More Monkeys...

"No more monkeys bouncing on the bed." I growled from outside my daughter's almost fully shut bedroom door.

That line echoed back to her childhood, when Dulcie and her older sister Carolyn had shared the room. They would go up to bed, and more nights than not, my wife and I would hear them bouncing on their beds long after lights out. I would climb the stairs, and settle them down.

Caro, the more adventuresome of the two, soon learned to answer, "Ain't no monkeys bouncing on the bed," while Dulcie would just giggle. They would settle down though.

That had been years ago. Both my daughters were now grown -- Carolyn had left for college a week earlier, while Dulcie, barely eighteen, still was finishing high school. It was their first time apart -- they had even gone to the same summer camps, and Caro had taken up cheerleading the same season as Dulcie, so that they travelled to games, competitions and training together.

I had bought them a trampoline to support the cheerleading. They invited team mates over to practice routines and exercise. They nagged me to add a pool in our spacious back yard, but their mother had always vetoed the idea. Imagine my shock when, after their Mom was killed by a drunk driver during Dulcie's sophomore year, their reaction was joy at the prospect of finally getting their way. I held out to try teaching them a lesson, but could never resist their charms.

It was only after the pool was in use that I realized my wife's eagerness had allowed me to suppress feelings stirred by the workouts on the trampoline. With a pool, yard, and often house, filled with bikini clad cheer babes, without a horny mate who had loved to fuck at least daily, I found it hard to resist the allure of these half clothed young women. Most of Carolyn's classmates were over eighteen, so legal. They populated my frequent fantasies.

I perfected the art of standing just beside the second floor window overlooking the pool and trampoline. Out of sight from below, at least on casual glance, I could peer downwards. Just to make sure everybody was behaving, of course.

Little wonder that before long, I found myself muttering, "now there's a monkey that could bounce on my bed," as a firm young thonged bared ass wiggled past me towards my kitchen in search of more lemonade. Then one day, I thought that aloud and felt my wood harden as I walked onto the deck and saw a young woman bent over a lounge chair, her ass turned up towards my eyes, a candy striped triangle of cloth stretched across the rear, but caught tightly as it curved under her body, trapped in the folds of her labia. She was the only one poolside that afternoon, and I automatically started calculating whether I had time to finally enjoy a monkey bouncing on my bed, my feet leading me in her direction a couple of steps faster than my brain could keep up.

Suddenly, the girl stood and spun to face me.

"Hi Daddy," Carolyn bubbled, almost leaping forward to give me a hug, her long arms wrapping around behind my neck, squeezing my body fully against hers. The troll-like part of my brain still found time to register that her tits -- that's the word I thought of my own daughter -- 'tits'- were also barely contained by tiny striped triangles. In fact, about half the round mounds were exposed on four sides where the fabric strained against skin. Her nipples were hard little pebbles stretching the covering even further.

Hard pebbles which were drilling into my pecs before my brain caught up. My cock grew tumescent, straining at the swim shorts I always wore around the house during summer. Luckily, that day I wore a baggy pair - a choice which had become frequent that summer as I tried to hide the shameful automatic reaction to the display of nubile cheerleaders on hand.

My hands slid effortlessly down my daughter's tanned back, about to cup two perfect handfuls of ass, but just before that moment, which would have changed everything, my conscience kicked in, and stopped my palms at her waist.

"What's up buttercup?" I stammered, stepping back to create separation between our bodies.

Caro had just giggled in response, stood on her tiptoes, which had caused her nipples to gently brush my chest again, and then had kissed the tip of my nose before releasing me and spinning past. The touch of her naked hip against my shorts lingered long after it finished. I automatically turned to check out the bounce in her step as she headed into the house. Of course, that meant I was checking out her ass as well.

"Forbidden fruit," I reminded myself then, repeating the phrase about twenty times. Even though she was eighteen, she was my daughter. Fortunately, Carolyn stayed inside, and I dove into the pool to cool down my illicit excitement.

By the time I went back into the house, Carolyn was in the shower. I fought back unbidden images of how her tanned body might look as she slid a sudsy sponge along that skin, caressing her perfect orbs, lingering an extra second or two to tease her own nipples, maybe even humping the sponge. My evil cock rose to the occasion.

"I wonder how that sponge feels," I heard myself say as I leaned back on my bed, rubbing my bulge through my shorts, eyes half shut, staring at the ceiling.

"Silly, sponges have no feelings," I answered my own question, though in my imagination it was my giggly girl talking. "But your cock definitely has a mind of its own."

The water was still running, so I took the risk of unzipping my shorts and unleashing my monster. I told myself that I would relieve my hormones, but I would NOT think about my sexy daughter. Her hot friends, at least the ones already eighteen, were a different story. I focussed my brain on recalling pictures of them bouncing on the trampoline. Before long, I had sorted through various images to settle on Jeanie, a very thin cheerleader, with a bouncy blonde ponytail which flipped up in counterpoint with her improbably large boobs as she bounced.

"She could bounce on my bed anytime." I repeated as my fist pumped my meat, the slit in the tip beginning to gape open as if gasping for breath.

I was lost in visions of Jeanie, in a white tube top, doing splits in mid air, her chest thrusting forward as her fingers touched her toes, nipples readily visible through the sweat drenched top. Somewhere along the way, I fell back on my bed, cock poking straight up fisting it furiously like a kid who had just discovered masturbation, hoping to get off before his mother walked in. Or in my case, before Jeanie, or worse, one of my daughters, came past, heard my groans and came to investigate.

That tableau suddenly replaced thoughts of Jeanie on the trampoline. I imagined a soft voice as dainty gingers knocked gently on my door.

"Are you okay in there? It sounds like you're having a heart attack."

Too quiet to make out whether it was Jeanie, Caro, or even Dulcie. I paused, stopping my fantasy, shook my head. Dulcie was still underage then, so I insisted it couldn't be her. In doing so, of course, I was acknowledging that it could easily be my older daughter. Not that I stopped for much more introspection then. My meat was throbbing hot in my palm, wanting completion. Whoever said that a hard cock has no conscience must have been reading my mind that day.

I closed my eyes and imagined the door creaking open, as it would if I had not responded. Sounds like a heart attack are a serious matter -- the sort of thing a health obsessed teen aged girl would need to investigate. With my eyes shut, I still couldn't imagine who was there; the girlish gasp no clue as to her identity.

"Oh...my....gawd...sorrry...had no idea..." I heard the imaginary girl say.

My eyes snapped open just as my goo gushed out my slit, my hand continuing automatically to milk the full load free. A faint scent lingered in the air, like one of those floral mixed with baby powder scents all the cheerleaders seemed to favour.

"I was sure I closed that door," I said to myself as my manhood deflated, still nestled in my palm.

Had someone really been watching, or had it all been my imagination? If someone had spied upon me, was it Carolyn, or perhaps Jeanie or another of those eighteen year olds? I simply refused to consider that Dulcie would have watched me. She must have been far too innocent.

My cock was too messy to tuck back into my shorts, and I noticed only then that I had no tissues in the bedroom. The closest source was that bathroom across the hall. Holding my shorts together with my clean fingers, shielding myself with the spunky hand, I peered both ways in the hallway. The coast was clear, although I thought I heard swift dainty footfalls headed down the stairs.

The rest of that summer had sped past. I tried my hardest not to perv around Caro's friends, and to ignore Dulcie's jailbait contemporaries entirely. Both girls did well in school that next year, Carolyn's senior year. Their respective cheerleading squads won regional and state competitions, advancing to the Nationals. When calls came out for chaperones, I wisely declined, knowing that a wolf should not be left to guard the sheep.

I did my best to ignore the cheerleaders even as they bounced more regularly upon my trampoline in preparation for state finals. By the time nationals rolled around, it would be too cold for outdoor practice. The coach had already asked me about moving the trampoline inside a gym, but that space was not yet available. So I continued to struggle, wishing that those nymphs were bouncing on my bed, not in my back yard, but knowing that those thoughts were wrong.

Cool weather meant the girls began their workouts wearing sweats, but as they warmed up, they would discard layers to keep their body heat just right. There was nothing intentionally erotic about this behaviour, no stripper like drama as they shed a warm-up jacket, no posing as the zip up pants were flung aside, baring legs that were still tanned all the way up underneath the micro shorts they favoured beneath the pants. The perspiration by then would have soaked their T shirts, and their sports bras would become clearly visible.

Even cheerleaders, I noticed, had widely varying tits sizes -- not all of them were the big chested blonde exemplars of the ideal. The sports bras equalized this somewhat, mashing their mounds against their ribs. For the most well endowed girls though, this meant that the excess flesh was shoved sideways, creating odd side boob views of squished masses.

"Must be uncomfortable," I found myself saying as I peered out my window, my manhood twitching.

After that, I could just close my eyes, and imagine how the girls would look without those constricting garments, their nipples excitedly rubbing against the salt encrusted T shirts, poking through the almost transparent fabric...more than once I opened my eyes to realize that my hand was inside my sweat pants, and a gaggle of giggles had entered the house, some in search of refreshments safely staying downstairs, but there were always a few stragglers who would head upstairs to tinkle in the girls' en suite, or use their make up mirror.

Since my little interludes of self pleasure were not pre planned, my door was often open or ajar, and a simple wrong turn could have created an embarrassing moment. Although that possibility often found its way into my fantasies, I remained sane enough that I avoided the reality. As soon as I heard noises, I would drop my cock, straighten my clothes and busy myself with paperwork.

Jeanie was the exception when it came to work out clothes. She never overdressed. One day, she skipped into the kitchen from working out just as I was pouring my coffee. I asked her if she wasn't cold in her tiny stretchy bra like top and track shorts. She just grinned and said "If I'm working hard enough, I stay hot."

She seemed to put a little extra zest into that "hot", and bounced on her toes, ponytail waggling as she went for her turn on the trampoline. Perhaps I just imagined that her ass wiggled a bit extra too.

I bit my tongue and caught my rejoinder of "Oh, you are definitely hot enough," before the words were spoken.

My eyes though were locked onto her nipples, plainly visible through the top. They were small, pointy, with thick bumpy areolae raised out from the surrounding flesh. The puffiness might be because of the exercise, and my brain stem signalled my cock stem that this is how they would respond to a good tonguing, and that a few nibbles would make them stretch out even further from the tight young mounds, the tips stretching between my teeth.

"Well, I better get some water, then, that's why I came in," Jeanie said, giggling girlishly at the end, her eyes twinkling, lifting her body up on her toes as she spoke. This lifted her breast up towards my roving eyes, my hungry lips, and my thirsty tongue.

Did I just imagine that her eyes returned the examination, travelling down from my head to my toes, and then back up again to lingeringly gaze at my crotch? I knew that my manhood was inflamed, pressing out, straining against my pants. Not even her staring at me caused it to shrivel, as much as part of my brain willed it to. If anything, I think it got stiffer, proudly pressing forward responding to her challenge in kind.

"You do look like you need to cool off," I think I said then, though my recollection is fuzzy, what with the lack of blood flowing to my brain at that moment and all.

Jeanie giggled as she walked past, her hip casually brushing against mine. I was never sure whether or not we actually touched, or if there was just a current of air or spark of static electricity which sent the shiver up my spine. A spurt of precum spasmed out the tip of my cock, in spite of my meat being freshly beaten.

She knew instinctively that I was watching her, and the sway of her hips hinted that she was enjoying the moment. All the cheerleaders were targeted relentlessly by football players, and pretty much every straight guy they met. However, the girls on Caroline's squad were serious about Nationals, and spent all their free time practicing, or at competitions. None had serious boyfriends. Exercise could sublimate sexual energy only so far. At least, that was how I tried to convince myself that a hot young eighteen year old like Jeanie was ready for her older man experience.

Jeanie opened the freezer, and reached inside to withdraw a glass filled with ice cubes that she had apparently prepared earlier. I could not help but stare as she rubbed the glass across her forehead, rolled it along the side of her long elegant neck, so enchantingly displayed by her hair being pinned up, and then pressed it hard against the fabric of her top, pulling the glass down her chest, between her youthful breasts. She paused like that for a second; eyes closed, head tossed back exposing her neck even more and let out a long sigh, enjoying the coolness, the teasing, or both.

My eyes kept flipping from the line of her neck to her tits. I wanted to bite, but wouldn't have known where to begin. In that moment, I understood why vampire movies so appealed to teenage girls, choosing to believe that she was imagining me gnawing on her flesh. As those images danced in my brain, Jeanie finally lowered her glass full of ice to the exposed swath of her belly, and drew it from left to right across the washboard abs, her sweat flying across the kitchen as glass rubbed skin. This motion brought her chin back forward and down, so that if her eyes were open, she was looking at her toes, not at me. Her hunched shoulders forced her breasts together, crushing them between her well developed biceps.

"That's better," she finally said with a sigh, opening her eyes and standing tall.

In a single step, she crossed to the sink and filled the glass. Immediately, she tossed her head back and gulped the water. This displayed her neck to me again, as well as giving me a full side profile of her up thrust chest, her nipples straining against fabric with each beat of her heart.

Jeanie finished the water in a single continuous swallow. My fevered brain imagined that she could do the same with a load of my seed, though even as I thought that, some tiny rational corner of my brain insisted such an exquisite young woman would never deep throat my cock.

I came out of that dream back into the moment, and realized that Jeanie was smiling at me intensely. She was now facing me, and was bouncing lightly up onto her toes, her chest rising and falling with her movements.

"You know, we really appreciate your buying us that trampoline," she said as she reached over and put the glass on the counter, her right arm squishing her tits together as she moved.

My poor cock was aching. I could feel the teeth of the zipper as my meat forced its way through my underwear, urgently seeking solace.

"It was my pleasure," I croaked, my voice betraying my unease. What I said was true, of course -- watching the lasses bouncing had been nothing but fun for me - frustrating, but fun.

Jeanie flashed me another grin and, with a bounce in her step, headed back outside. This time, her hips swivelled past me without even a whisper of contact. Her eyes were focussed forward, towards the back yard. No doubt she was anxious to rejoin her girlfriends.

I don't think that I just imagined that her lips hovered near my ear just long enough for her to say, "I bet it's a lot of pleasure."

If I imagined the words, I must have also been just dreaming that her left hand had been trailing at her side, and lightly touched my hardness as, giggling, she ran out to resume her workout. By the time I turned, all I got was the treat of her tight ass twitching its way to join the gang. No last lingering look back, to see what effect she had on me. Surely, if this barely legal vixen had groped me, she would want the thrill of seeing my discomfort.

None of the cheerleaders showed any interest in me though, and why should they. I was just a sad lonely old man. A generous father, but nothing more. This thought finally encouraged my cock to deflate, so that I for once felt no urgency to go hide beside my window and masturbate, all the while wishing that I was spraying my seed all across the hair, faces and naked chests of a group of eighteen year old senior cheerleaders, all crouched on their haunches in a semicircle around me, worshipping my manliness.

Even that image did not revive my illicit passions that day. Once autumn came, the busy schedule of performances and competitions reduced the amount of time the girls spent in my yard. When Jeanie did show up, she wore a modest track suit -- not sloppy old sweats, so the curves of her body still teased me a bit, but nothing to suggest that our kitchen encounter was intended to take us anywhere. My memories did begin serving as fodder for my solo adventures, until I was no longer sure where real recollection met imagination.

Certainly the fantasy of Jeanie dropping to her knees, pulling out my meat and bathing it with her tongue, while the other girls were just yards away, was not real. She never swirled the tip around my mushroom shaped head as her tiny fingers encircled my throbbing shaft. She never flattened her tongue and ran it down the underside of my prick before lifting her body just enough to rub my slit along her erect pink nipples.

My winter passed quickly, the house quieter, which allowed me lots of time to lie on my bed and work my cock through similar fantasies, until great gobs of goo would pump out, coating my fist or flying onto my thigh. Eventually, Dulcie, always the more sensitive sister, noticed my distant attitude.

"Dad, you need to find a girlfriend" she said one day as I emerged from my room, thinking that the house was empty, ready to flush some tissue in the main bathroom. She had just bounced up the stairs, gym bag slung over one shoulder, cheeks still flushed from practice, every inch the innocent.