Dad Criticizes My Team

During the exchange Dad made a joking jab at my team, I shot him a dirty look. Moments later he reiterated it, it was stupid and so isn’t really worth the comment but I had to defend my team. I put my drink down and poked him in the side, hard.

“Ow,” He whinged, “Jesus Kimie that was hard.” Then he smiled, “But you can’t defend your team which is why you are resorting to ****.”

I poked him again, this time he was ready and grabbed my hand, so I quickly put my drink down and went to poke him with my other hand. Our playful struggle went on for a few moment before I spun around and jumped onto his lap poking him in the ribs.

Suddenly I stopped as I felt movement under me, and more then that the did not appear to be any fabric between the movement and my leg. “Dad?” I asked.

He took my moment’s hesitation and pinned both my arms behind my back, my zipper had worked down some in the struggle and a large amount of my tits were visible. He noticed and I felt more movement.

I was **** to say anything but thought I really needed to, “Dad, are you wearing any underwear?” I asked slowly.

His eyes suddenly went wide as he let go of my hands and moved me off of his lap. “I’m sorry Kimmie.” He apologised as he pushed me off of his lap. I quickly looked down to see that he was only wearing his robe and his semi hard cock was clearly visible.

“Why aren’t you wearing underwear?” I asked before quickly adding, “I mean I don’t mind but…” I left the thought hanging.

He blushed horribly before roughly pulling his robe about him, barely covering his erection, and reaching for his whiskey. “I thought I took some into the bathroom for my shower, but realised I hadn’t. And you were so comfortable last week that I just thought it didn’t matter, but I forgot I wasn’t wearing any.” He finished his whiskey, “I’m sorry Kimmie I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I smiled and shook my head, “Not upset Dad, just surprised. And you know what I am going to do now right?” I asked raising my eyebrow.

He grabbed the bottle and poured himself another while refilling my glass, “No, no more begging to get a look at my cock.” He said rather firmly.

“I wasn’t begging.” I said in mock indignation

“Oh Kimberly, you were all but on your knees,” he said and then realised the connotations, “You know what I mean.”

I laughed and put my hand on his thigh, “I was not begging and you haven’t seen me on my knees.” I said winking.

“You asked me repeatedly about if I was fully hard, if you could see it etc.” He took a sip of whiskey, “I would call that begging.”