Latest Forum Posts:


The Boss's Daughter - Pt. 3

Flirting and teasing leads to deeper emotions
~ Clint ~

I walk into the apartment, candy bag in hand, expecting to find Emily on the couch, but she's not there. She must be in the bathroom. I unpack the candy bag into the cupboard then move to the dining table to look at the open book laying there. Ah, geometry. I remember those days. I move to the living room, planning on watching TV until she's done in the bathroom, but then I hear music playing. I smile, recognizing the song.

I quietly walk into the hall, curious to hear if she's singing along with the music. The bathroom door is open; it's empty. My bedroom door is wide open and the music is coming from there. Normally I would be enraged that my personal space had been violated, but my curiosity is too strong for other emotions. I creep along the wall and take a quick peek into the room.

My heart stops and my cock jumps to full attention. I lean against the wall, processing what I have just seen. Emily is laying naked from the waist down on my bed. Her eyes squeezed shut, one hand fondling her breasts and the other caressing her sex. Now I'm the one that feels like the violator; walking in on her during her most private of times. But this is my house, that's my room, my bed. Obviously, she wasn't expecting company anytime soon. I smile a wicked smile knowing the fantasy of my masturbation session is now pleasuring herself on my property. Great form of payback.

I know I should leave; just quietly slip back out of the apartment, let her finish, and give her enough time to clean up before announcing my presence. But my cock won't let me get away that easy. I steal another look into the bedroom, my eyes darting up and down from between her legs then up to watch her face. Her eyes remained closed, her hand moving faster against herself. Without thinking I reach down and rub my palm over my engorged cock as I watch her fingers sliding in and out of her sweet little pussy.

I almost explode in my pants when she moans in pleasure and whispers 'I'm so close. Please, don't stop'. Her hips lift into the air continuously, fucking her fingers. Her back arches and she moans louder, 'Oooh, Clint' and then she's coming. I pull my head back out of view, not believing what I've just seen and heard. My cock is rock hard, straining against my clothes to be let out. I have a split seconds thought of running into the room and shoving my cock deep into her soaking pussy. My better sense guides me quickly back down the hall and I slip out of the apartment.

I lean against the wall as her moans and words echo over and over inside of my head. My erection throbs, clearly visible to anyone who happens by. I get into the elevator and ride it down to the floor of the indoor gym. A quick look tells me that it's empty. I exit the elevator, walk into the men's restroom, and close myself into a stall. I close my eyes, willing my erection to subside, trying to think of anything except Emily. After a few long minutes I've managed to bring my boy down to a semi-hard on. I send Emily a text then close my eyes again and take long, deep breaths.

Message from Clint:
Be home in 5

~ Emily ~

I'm still riding the last waves of pleasure when my music cuts off and my phone dings, indicating a have a new text. I pick it up from the nightstand and then jump out of Clint's bed when I read his message. Five minutes! Shit, shit, shit! I grab his briefs, which are slick with my come, and shove them back inside his hamper making sure they are covered by other clothes. The inside of my thighs are super wet but I have nothing to wipe off with, so I just grab my panties and shorts and tug them on. My heart is hammering a million miles a minute as I try my best to de-wrinkle the bed sheets and refold them on the bed like I found them.

With the bed made I spin in a slow circle, making sure everything is put back how I found it then I practically run out of Clint's room, switching off the light and closing the door as I go. I head straight for the bathroom, grabbing my shoes as I go, where I pull down my shorts and panties and use a wad of toilet paper to wipe myself. I flush the evidence down the toilet then stare at myself in the mirror. Just been fucked – well, just gotten off – is written all over my face. I brush my hair, reapply some makeup, and straighten my clothes. Much better. I check my phone; he should be here any second.

I sit at the kitchen table and pretend to be working on homework, but the numbers just swim in front of my eyes like some type of ancient symbols that I can't read. I feel nervous. I need something else to keep my hands busy so he won't see them shaking. I get up and make a glass of water. Then I go to the cupboard; a granola bar doesn't sound too bad right now. I open the cupboard and stare at the contents unable to process what I am seeing. Before, there was not a single unhealthy snack to be found, but now a whole shelf has been devoted to a barrage of different candies; m&ms, chocolate bars, gummy bears, skittles, lemon drops, lollipops, a box of gourmet chocolates.

I suddenly feel sick to my stomach as I realize Clint has already been here. Now I know what the sound was that I heard during my... um... exercise. Son of a... Did he see me?! Did he hear me?! I almost drop my glass of water and have to return to the table to sit down. I take several long gulps, my palms sweating, my heart racing – at least I'm getting good cardio today.

What do I say to him? How do I even begin to explain myself and my behavior to him? 'Sorry, I got horny and your bed was so inviting'. He was going to yell at me for sure, probably tell me to pack my shit and leave. I feel like crying, but that would just make things worse because then I wouldn't be able to stop. I'm such an idiot!

The sound of a key going into the apartment's lock knocks all thoughts out of my head. I sit frozen in my chair as the door knob turns slowly; extra slow. He must be making sure I'm decent now. Just fucking great. He steps cautiously into the apartment. I feel my face burn red under his gaze and I hold my breath, waiting for him to start yelling or something. Instead, he says 'hey', then closes the door and walks towards the hallway while he continues with, 'just going to clean up before starting dinner'. The sound of the bathroom door closing, followed by running water reaches my burning ears.

So he's just going to pretend it didn't happen? Interesting. Just sweep it all under the rug, forget what happened, carry on. Good. But suddenly I want him to talk to me about it. I want him to acknowledge what he had seen or heard. Did it turn him on at least a little? Is he going to burn the bed sheets and buy new ones? Maybe he will spank me... Mmm.

I want him to know that I know that he knows. This could be fun to watch him squirm. Obviously it makes him uncomfortable. Well, good! He should have told me he would be home sooner than planned and none of this would have happened. I don't know why I want to make him uncomfortable, maybe I just want him to admit he finds me attractive, maybe I want to tease him to know I can tease a grown man, maybe I'm just perverted and want to torture this beautiful man. For whatever reason, I tiptoe to the cupboard and grab one of the candies he had brought earlier. I return to the table and place it right above my book where it can be seen very clearly. I wait.

The bathroom door opens again. I start solving one of the math problems, my free hand resting on my temple, the weight of my head leaning on my hand as if I am in very deep thought. I hear him go into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. I wait for the smell of burning linens, but they never come. After just a few short minutes I hear him leave the bedroom.

I feel his presence, a physical weight, more than I see or hear him and I know he looking at me as he stands at the threshold of the kitchen.

“Have a good day?” he asks. A trace of humor in his voice.

Well Mr. Welder; two can play this game.

“Very exciting. You?” I keep my head down and keep working on my homework, struggling not to smile.

“Mm hmm. Quite unexpected, but very good.” He walks closer to the table.

His hand comes into view as he reaches down and picks up the box of lemon drops from the table. I hear him open the box, then the plastic bag within, and shake one out. He puts the box back on the table.

“Mmm. These are good. They taste wonderful.” He chews it loudly.

“I prefer to suck,” I say, and reach to get my own from the box.

“Whatever floats your boat.”

“Whatever tickles your pickle.”

I think he's going to say something else but after a minute he moves past the table and into the kitchen. I hear him moving around pots and pans, then the sound of the faucet as he gets the water ready for the spaghetti noodles.

“Need some help?” I ask without looking up.

“Nope, I can handle it,” he says, with slight emphasis on the word 'handle'.

His cell phone rings and he answers it while I finally get the chance to steal a look at him. He's changed into sexy blue jeans and a plain black shirt. His shoes are gone, only socks remaining. He turns and leans back against the counter as he pushes the cell to his ear. Our eyes meet. I blush and he smiles. I quickly look back down at my homework. I've made absolutely zero progress, so I close the book; I have all weekend to get it done anyway.

“Hey Jim... Every thing's going well... Yep... Doing her homework. Do you want to talk to her? OK.”

I stand up, thinking Clint is going to hand me his phone. Instead, he lowers it and puts it in his pocket. He gives me a sympathetic smile and a shrug of his shoulders. Go figure. My dad didn't give a damn about me as long as I wasn't making trouble or getting in the way of his plans. I sit back down in my chair and feel like crying. My hormones must be acting up; a tear leaks out of the corner of each eye and I wipe at them viciously before Clint can see. But now that they've started I can't seem to make them stop. So stupid. It's not even worth crying over. Still they come out silently and my nose starts to stuff up.

I shove my book into my backpack and hurry out of the kitchen before Clint sees me acting like a baby. But it's too late, he's noticed.

~ Clint ~

Dammit, Jim. Why do you have to be such an ass to your daughter. I have zero experience with kids and even less experience with kids needed consoling. Emily looks mortified that her dad's actions have affected her in such a way. She leaves the kitchen and I hear her lock herself in the bathroom. I turn off the stove. The spaghetti can wait a while. Life is definitely more interesting with a teenager in the house... a hormonal, sexually deprived teenage with daddy issues makes it all the more interesting.

When I saw her with the candy on the table I knew she had found out that I had been in the apartment earlier. I know she didn't see me watching her, but she's smart enough to know I figured out one way or another what she was up to. The back and forth verbal game we had going on excited me in new ways that I can't understand. Women have always thrown themselves at my feet, I know how to handle that; what to say, what not to say, when to advance, and when to back off. But I can't figure out Emily's angle. It's like she wants me to like her, but she doesn't. Like she wants to throw herself at me, but won't allow herself to go there.

I need to just back off completely. Stop the little games, stop the texts. I need to be the grown-up here; set rules, establish boundaries. I turn the stove back on. She will console herself, she's a smart girl. From now on I'm Mr. Welder, CFO, hard-ass, intimidator, closer; not this girl's role model, parent, friend or whatever she sees me as. After she calms down and after we eat dinner I will talk to her. I'll tell her my expectations of her behavior while she lives in my apartment.

I hear a loud sob from the bathroom. Dammit! I turn off the stove and head to the bathroom to console her. No physical contact! She's already fantasizing and dreaming of me; no need to add fuel to that fire. But I could... it would be so easy to bring her walls crashing down. So young, inexperienced, willing to please; she wouldn't know what hit her.

My hand is raised to knock on the bathroom door when I realize I don't know what to say. Telling her that her dad is an asshole is the only thing I can think of and I don't think that's really what she needs to hear right now.

All of my past relationships have been sexually based – have a bad day? Let's fuck until it's better. Stressed? Sex will cure that. I'm not the guy you run to when you need someone to talk to. I'm not the shoulder that you cry on. It's not that I'm cold-hearted, or lack the ability to feel empathy for others; I just have other shit to do. If you want to feel loved, get a dog. Need to talk, I'll give you the number to the city's finest shrink.

But there's something about Emily that makes me want to at least try. Maybe it's a parental instinct kicking in; protect the child, love the child and all that crap. I just don't like the fact that she's sitting here in my house, sad and alone, and I'm here able to fix some of it if I just try. I knock.

For a minute I don't think she is going to answer, but then I hear the door unlock and she opens it just a fraction of an inch. I wait a few seconds, then push it open. She's sitting on the lid of the toilet, dabbing at her eyes with Kleenex, head down, and avoiding eye contact with me. I struggle to find the words, any words, that will make her feel happy again.

“Are you OK?” No, she's not OK, dumb ass.

“Yeah,” she sniffles.

“Look. About your dad. He's just busy and...”

“Don't make up excuses for him. He's an asshole. It's OK.”

“Yeah, he is,” I laugh. “But he does care about you. He was frantic to find you a place to stay...”

“He was frantic because he didn't want to cancel his plans,” she says in anger.

This isn't going the way I had planned. The streaming tears seem to mock me on their path down her cheek. Laughing at me that I can woo any grown woman, win over the hardest of clients, but I can't get a teen to stop crying. I'm just not cut out for this kind of stuff. If only I could grab her, carry her to the bed, slowly strip her down, adore every inch of her body; then she would know she was cared for.

How do I tell her, how do I put into words, that the sight of her sad upsets me? How do I say to her that the knowledge that she's been emotionally hurt causes me pain? There's got to be a book about this crap; I'll have my secretary track one down for me on Monday.

Words failing me I rush forward, grab her hands and pull her to her feet. She makes a sound of surprise, but she gets her feet moving on her own and follows me as I lead her by the hand out of the bathroom. I have to fight the urge to take her into my bedroom. Instead, I drag her to the couch and push her down to sit. I have no idea what I'm doing. Yes I do; improvising.

She opens her mouth to say something, but I run the pad of my thumb over her lips, silencing her. Finally, she looks up at me; damn she's beautiful. Then I move away from the couch, she turns and follows me with her eyes. I look for something, anything, that will cause her to laugh. My eye locks on the fully stocked cupboard of junk food and inspiration strikes.

We sit side by side on the couch, watching I Love Lucy and stuffing our faces with chocolate. She's never actually watched any of the shows before and I could tell she was very doubtful that she would like them. Now, watching Lucy and Ethel fight to keep up with the conveyor belt delivering chocolate candies, she is laughing nonstop.

I watch her more than the TV. She has such a great smile and an even better laugh. Genuine beauty. I'm smiling too, but the cause of mine is her. I don't exactly know what's going on with me and I don't want to think about it right now; I just know that she makes me feel different somehow. I feel younger, more care free, more energized. Later, I'll sit down and find a rational explanation for all of this, but right now I just want to enjoy her happiness and prolong it as much as possible.

~ Emily ~

This man is perfect! Not only does he manage to stop my water works, but then he gets me to laugh. I was too emotional at first as we sat on the couch together to notice, but as I calm down I start to realize how close we are physically to one another. If only he would scoot over another couple of inches then our bodies would touch.

I feel him watching me, probably just gauging my reaction to the show, but it feels good knowing he's looking at me. Maybe I should get up and make the spaghetti as a show of gratitude for his attention; or give him a blow job. What says 'thank you' more; a blow job or straddling him and riding him? Hmm. I'd go with the blow job, at least I have a little experience in that department.

The show ends and he stands, heading into the kitchen, as the next episode starts up. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he starts cooking; so sexy. I want to go join him, walk up behind him and press myself against his back as he cooks, but my legs refuse to move. I grab my phone and see I've missed a call from Ashley and there's a new text from her.

Message from Ashley:
Can I come over? Need major help with this homework. Send me a pic of Clint!

She thinks I'm staying over at my aunt's house. I wonder how big of a heart attack I could give her if I told her where I really was right now. I glance over to the kitchen where the handsome chef is still busy cooking. Turning slightly sideways on the couch I snap a quick picture of him. The dim light of the living room makes my phone's camera light goes off. I lower my phone quickly just as Clint turns around. I smile and he returns it, then turns around again to face the stove. My heart is beating fast as I send a reply to Ashley.

Message from Emily:
I can't.
(pic attached)

Message from Ashley:
Cute … face please! Are you at his place?! I NEED your help. My parents said I'd be grounded forever unless I bring my math grade up to a B. PLEASE!

Ugh, why couldn't she just put her brains to better use and actually try to understand the material. Well, I guess I am partly to blame by letting her cheat off my homework all the time. You would think she would study before the tests though, instead of bombing every single one.

Message from Emily:
Let me see what our plans are. Let you know

It makes me feel happy thinking that Clint and I actually have something going on between us. Ashley doesn't know the truth, so what harm is there by living out the fantasy a little bit? Clint calls out that dinner is ready. I leave my phone on his coffee table and join him in the kitchen.

Dinner is amazing; not that the spaghetti is anything out of this world, its good, but just sitting at the table with Clint across from me is what makes it incredible. He's so adorable in the way he carefully takes each bite; careful not to drop a single drop of sauce, not to slurp, and not to get bread crumbs on himself. Me on the other hand, well my napkin gets plenty of action wiping away sauce from around my mouth. I try to be as tidy as he is, but I'm too hungry to care. He doesn't seem to mind though, he even smiles a couple of times when I slurp a particularly long noodle into my mouth.

After we eat he immediately starts to clean all the dishes, switching on his iPod and taking a minute to scroll through his play list and pick a song. 'More than words' by Extreme fills the apartment as I move to the sink and help him wash the plates clean. I've heard the song before, but now I actually pay attention to the words and the meaning of the song. I nearly drop a plate back into the soapy water when I hear the lyrics. He is standing next to me, waiting to dry the dishes and looks at me with that damned half-smile of his. Is he trying to tell me something?!

“Saying I love you
Is not the words I want to hear from you
It's not that I want you
Not to say, but if you only knew
How easy it would be to show me how you feel
More than words is all you have to do to make it real
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me
'Cause I'd already know”.

He starts singing the next set of lyrics along with the song and I feel my legs weaken; damn he can sing too! I glance at him and I'm immediately smiling like an idiot; a huge, ear to ear grin. I just can't help myself. I've picked up the plate again but he gently pulls it out of my hands, then before I know what's happening we are swaying to the music together. His hand holding one of mine, and his other hand placed very lightly against the small of my back. I don't know how to dance, but somehow I'm magically moving in sync with him. He continues to sing with the song, his voice filling my being, giving me chills and making my heart race.

“Now that I've tried to talk to you and make you understand
All you have to do is close your eyes
And just reach out your hands and touch me
Hold me close don't ever let me go
More than words is all I ever needed you to show
Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me
'Cause I'd already know”.

The song ends, being replaced by some loud rock song that completely kills whatever little bubble we had been caught inside. He releases me, looking a little unsteady himself. I take a deep, shuddering breath and watch him return his attention to the dirty dishes. What the hell just happened?!

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © ©2014 TxSwinger. This story may not be reproduced in any manner, without the express permission of the author. All such requests should be emailed to

To link to this sex story from your site - please use the following code:

<a href="">The Boss's Daughter - Pt. 3</a>

Comments (9)

Tell us why

Please tell us why you think this story should be removed.