Okay, so you can see him sniffing his daughter’s panties now. He is about to be hit with an overwhelming dose of her pussy pheromones and we’ll no...w observe the effect it has on him.Ah, here we go, he instinctively goes to check that they are her panties by looking up her skirt.So now he’s seen she isn’t wearing any panties and therefore can deduce that the panties he was sniffing do belong to her. This clearly excites him along with the view of his daughter’s cunt and getting to inhale her. She was about 5"7" blond, athletic body with big titties. She had short blond hair and a beautiful face. One problem: I couldn't get anywhere. She would kiss forever and I couldn't even get a feel. We wold go to the hot tub late at night. Sometimes other couples would disrobe, sometimes it would just be us and she would not reveal her gorgeous titties or tight ass. If we were alone I would take off my suit and she would take a good look but no touchy feely. She would even kiss me when I was. I should have felt relieved and confident and encouraged by that knowledge, but I wasn't. The fantasy that I'd kept buried for a year, or perhaps longer than that since I'd become aware of it, was spoiling it for us. I wanted more than a husband to love me, or I needed Kurt to express his love in some other way, in a way that seemed completely at odds with the very definition of love. It was a paradox and it was eating away at me inside."She called me," I said defensively. "I wasn't looking for. I have masturbated to my mother's icon, worshipped her with my body, offered sacrifices of cream - gallons, and used a forest worth of tissue in communion with the spirit of the "White Lady". From the living room wall, she who's scowl cannot mask her beautiful face and who's other attributes were never in dispute as to their appeal; she, my mother, is my object of devotion and love, my deviant desire.Despite the bare butt prominently in place in our 'palace', nudity is not usual in our home. It.