1. It Was an Accident, Honest!


    Date: 5/30/2015, Categories: Fantastic, Male / Females, Oral Sex, Romance, Written by women, Young, Author: geilkoekje11, Rating: 85.3, Source: sexstories.com

    for a little. I noticed that the structure was not the sturdiest, so I went to steady it, holding on to the right end. It swayed every time he bent to get a sip. The can was moving more toward the edge each time. I should have said something. Instead, I maneuvered so that when the inevitable happened, it happened all over me. Dad bent one last time to get a drink. If I had not noticed the precarious can, it could have cascaded on me anyway. But the opportunity provided possibilities; some of the scenarios gave rise to intimacies with dad. I did not have an exact plan of action; I just sort of acted instinctively. I admit, in the two weeks since I had seen dad on the bed, jerking off, I hadn't thought of any way to create a ruse to reenact his arousal, to allow his reaction to be resurrected if you will, to raise the rearing rod in my direction. You get the idea. I didn't know how to institute any situation that might let dad make a pass at me, or visa versa. I wanted it to include the chance that he could back down, if he didn't want to pursue it. But I thought that perhaps he would go for the goal of getting me in bed, if he knew I felt the same, had lust in my loins also. Then he decided to do the trim. Well, it looked like he was going to have the prospect of doing a different sort of trim, mine. I could have chosen to not ruin my sun-suit, but I put myself in harm's way. You might say I knew it was going to be a paint in the ass, literally. Because for my idea to work, ...
    I had to be covered, top to . . bottom, front to backside, in white Sherman-Williams' best. Dad straightened from the frosty glass, the whole thing wobbled and down the can came, conking me on the head. It didn't hurt, but the ivory latex went down all over my tits, and washed down the spine to my tush, like a skunk's stripe! My squeal of surprise was genuine, since I had not expected the liquid to be so cold. My father was off his perch in a flash with apologies and looking abashed at the disaster. I knew I had to disarm the guilt factor for him, so we could move on to the real agenda, which this stunt was designed to facilitate. I smiled at him through the dripping paint, looking like something out of a Max Sennett 1920s slapstick comedy, and said, holding my arms out palm up, "Miss Hap strikes again!" That did the trick, for then both of us burst into sidesplitting laughter. Now I had changed the mood from catastrophe to simple mess, from 'What have I done to my daughter?!' to 'Doesn't Happy look silly, but what a sport she is about it!!' "Come help me get cleaned up, pop." I suggested; more like instructed the flummoxed male before me. He followed me tamely into the garage. Just inside, I stripped the soaked and ruined sun-suit off. Leaving me in just scanties and a wet tee shirt. My hair was streaked, and both front cleavage and the flesh from shoulders on down to my behind were coated. I told dad to lay some newspapers down, from the door to the bathroom, so I wouldn't ...
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