Tessa's Toilet Troubles

I was sorry when my shower with Daddy ended, but my father drying me with a towel especially between my legs sent erotic tingles through my entire body. When Daddy held out my clean knickers for me to wear to bed tonight, I trembled as I put my dainty little bare feet into them and Daddy pulled them up, adjusting my panties around my vagina and bottom. Daddy then helped me put on my sleepshirt and brushed my hair for me. I wished Daddy was brushing the hair that grew on my female mound rather than the hair on my head, but having my hair brushed by Daddy was a turn on regardless.

I walked beside Daddy as he escorted me to the guest room. Daddy held back the bed covers and I slipped my bare feet under them, Daddy tucking me in then giving me a goodnight kiss on the cheek.

"Goodnight sweetie, sleep well," Daddy said as he stroked my hair. "It's been an - um - interesting day, hasn't it Princess?"

"It sure has Daddy," I agreed.

"Now hopefully your hands should be better tomorrow but if you need anything in the night, just come and see me and I'll help you."

"I will Daddy, thanks again for everything. Goodnight."

Daddy kissed me goodnight again, turned out the light and went to bed with Chad. After all the misadventures today I was tired and fell asleep pretty quickly, but while I slept soundly all night my dreams were full of erotic feelings. I didn't remember what I was dreaming about, but it sure made me horny as I woke up in the morning with a sticky fanny and subsequent damp panties.

My fanny was not the only part of my body where I had feeling, it was also back in my hands - well partially. I didn't trust myself to drive, and I would have to call in sick to work as there was no way I could use a computer all day, but I would be able to feed, dress, wash and toilet myself.

Daddy and Chad were already awake when I got out of bed, walking towards the toilet on my bare feet. I really needed to go for a poo.

"Oh, here's Little Miss Sleepyhead," gushed Chad.

"Morning Princess," said Daddy. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much better thanks Daddy," I said. "I haven't got full feeling back in my hands yet so can't drive or go to work, but soon I will be back to normal."

"The doctor did say it could take 24 hours," Daddy said.

I nodded. "Right. Sorry, but could you please excuse me? I really need to go to the toilet."

"It must be a relief that you can do that again on your own right Tessa?" said Daddy, looking relieved himself that he didn't need to take me to the toilet again.

"Totally," I agreed, as I hurried for the toilet as fast as my bare feet would carry me, closing and locking the door behind me.

It should have been a relief, being able to go to the toilet on my own and get toilet paper and wipe my bottom by myself. But as I lifted up my sleep shirt, pulled my white knickers down to my ankles and sat down barefoot on the toilet, first urinating then emptying my bowels, I kept having those weird fantasies that Daddy was in here helping me like yesterday. Every time I got toilet paper and used it to wipe the poo away from my bottom, I imagined that Daddy was doing it. When I finished, stood up and flushed the toilet, I imagined that Daddy was the one pulling up my knickers not me.

Spraying toilet freshener around to get rid of the smell of my feces, I went into the bathroom to wash my hands, getting more and more feeling back. With Daddy and Chad at work and me having rang in sick, I spent the day at Daddy's house at a loose end mainly watching TV, finally getting full feeling back in my fingers mid-afternoon.

And my fingers were quickly put to good use, going under my skirt, into my knickers and into my crotch, me vigorously finger fucking my fanny. I told myself that the reason I was masturbating was because my boyfriend was away for work, and I wouldn't see him again until tomorrow afternoon and I wanted sex.

But while I was a horny little young lady who was always up for a bit of sex with her partner, the mental images in my mind as I fingered my damp, musty little twat were memories of yesterday, Daddy helping me on the toilet, showering and getting dressed and undressed, but also him doing non erotic things like brushing my hair and feeding me. As I came, sticky pussy juice going everywhere and a distinct feminine smell in the room, I wondered if the allergic reaction to the Grevillea had sent me completely mad.

Things sort of went back to normal the next day, when Justin returned from Brisbane and I was back at work. I returned late in the day with Justin there and our housemates out, and quickly things were getting hot, the pair of us lying on our bed making out, knowing more sexy things were to come.

"So, no more Grevilleas for you then Tessa," said Justin, as he fondled my boobs through my work blouse, my toes clenching in my pantyhose at the touch of my boyfriend.

"No, that's for sure," I said.

"Just one thing I was curious about Tess," said Justin. "You said your hands were numb, so how did you um, ah, you know?"

I finished my "How did I wipe my bottom when I went to the toilet and had a poo?"

"Yeah," Justin laughed.

"With great difficulty," I said, not wanting to discuss the events that day. "But you know the good news? My hands are back to normal now."

I unzipped Justin's jeans, and freed my boyfriend's cock from his trousers, jerking him off and teasing his balls. Justin for his part slipped his hand into my pantyhose and the panties I was wearing, fumbling around in my knickers, fingering my fanny and my arsehole and teasing my pubes.

The sex soon progressed to oral, me on my knees sucking my boyfriend's dick, teasing his shaft and the head of his penis with my tongue. And of course, this soon led to proper sex. Justin was completely naked as he removed the last piece of clothing - my knickers - from my petite body.

I lay back on the bed and spread my legs wide, shamelessly showing off my snatch and making myself available to my boyfriend. Justin wasted no time, he quickly mounted me in the missionary position, pushing his big condom-covered cock up my twat, fucking me hard. We both fucked like a couple of rabbits that had been denied coitus for a year, before both of us reached orgasm at the same time.

My pussy juice soaked Justin's groin, and he ejaculated into the condom, the contraceptive preventing his semen from spraying up my birth canal and into my uterus, and possibly fertilizing one of my ova. I eagerly ripped my boyfriend's condom off, drinking the semen, then licked the residual cum from his penis.

A nice steamy shower after sex was something that Justin and I always enjoyed and today was no exception. However, as Justin washed the sticky juices from my pubes and my pussy, my mind's eye transported me back to Sunday night where my Daddy had to help me shower and had washed my pussy for me. And this turned me on more than my boyfriend's intimate touch to the private areas between my legs. What was wrong with me?

I asked myself this question many times over the next two weeks. Being a horny, over-sexed little bitch I thought that more intercourse was the answer to these dirty and disturbing Daddy fantasies I kept having. This kind of worked - the only thing better than sex with my boyfriend was more sex - and Justin of course was only too happy to get into my knickers and assist me with this. Yet much as I enjoyed Justin fucking me silly or eating out my pussy with his wonderful tongue - I even let him do some really kinky things that we only did rarely such as pulling my knickers down to my ankles and letting him sniff my feminine smells on the cotton, stick one of his fingers up my bum during sex and cover my tits in jam and lick it off - my father fantasies persisted.

When I went to the toilet, I fantasized that Daddy was the one lifting up my skirt and pulling my knickers down. When I got toilet paper and wiped my dirty bottom, I imagined Daddy was in the toilet with me, wiping my bum. My pussy tingled as I thought about how Daddy had washed, dried and powered my smelly little bottom that weekend, and wished it would happen again. When I had issues with wind when using the bathroom, I imagined as I massaged my tummy that Daddy was beside me massaging my abdomen, and holding my hand as I sat farting on the toilet.

Practically every time I changed my clothes or showered, I thought about how great it would be if my Daddy was there helping me do it. When I changed my knickers, I imagined Daddy pulling my dirty knickers down, then holding out clean panties for me to step into before pulling them up. Whenever I showered, I thought about how Daddy had washed my bare breasts, bare bottom and pussy in the shower.

Even non-personal things Daddy had done for me turned me on. Fantasies and memories of my father feeding me, helping me to blow my nose, taking off my shoes and socks and brushing my hair made my get my knickers wet too. Yet never once did I have any fantasies about performing actual sex acts with Daddy, for example me giving him manual relief or fellatio, or the two of us having sex. Those thoughts never turned me on at all, and of course Daddy would never do anything like that. One, he was gay, and two I was his daughter.

Memories of Daddy helping me with other toilet related problems in the past which didn't turn me on at the time now served to do just this. For example, when I was 18 and still in high school I spent the weekend at Daddy's place, but a problem with a burst water pipe in the next street caused the water to be shut down, and just when I needed to visit the toilet for a poop. It was Daddy to the rescue, getting me a bucket to use to do my poo-poos.

More recently, Daddy and I had been walking along the coast admiring the beauty of Port Phillip Bay when I got taken short with a bathroom emergency. Dashing into the ladies room, I found not a single piece of toilet paper in any of the six stalls, and had emerged saying, 'Daddy, there's no toilet paper.' Daddy had rescued me, running into the male toilets and getting me some long lengths of loo paper to use. Now this was turning me on? Weird.

Two weeks had now gone by since my encounter with the grevillea, and I got my period on the Monday, pretty much on schedule for my 28 day cycle. Now, I was having fantasies about my Daddy helping with me with my feminine hygiene requirements. Every time I inserted or removed my tampons in my imagination my fingers were my father's fingers making contact with my vagina. When I changed my pads, I imagined Daddy pulling down my knickers, taking the bloody, smelly used napkin off my panty saddle and pressing a new one into my knickers, adhering the pad and wings in place, then pulling up my knickers and adjusting the pad so it was comfortable between my legs.

I normally didn't feel sexy when it was my time of the month. This was pretty understandable, my PMS, bloating, nasty period cramps, heavy menstrual flow, my smelly fanny and the problems with my bowels - diarrhea and excessive flatulence - were hardly turn-ons. However, I was becoming so obsessed with my fantasies of my Daddy helping me with my period that before work on Tuesday I gave Justin a blow job to try and relieve myself of my pent up sexual frustration, probably not assisted by my hormonal fluctuations.

My period cramps got really bad during the Tuesday afternoon, and my boss let me go home early. I was really grateful, she knew I had girls' problems and was always very understanding with me and other girls in the office when we were menstruating and having issues with our periods.

At home, I took off my shoes and lay barefoot on the couch, a hot water bottle on my tummy this along with the painkillers I had taken hoping to ease my period cramps. In my knickers, I could feel my menses coming out of my vagina and into my sanitary napkin.

I had my lap-top with me, looking up psychology sites trying to psychoanalyze myself and work out why I was thinking this way about my father. My first theory was very Freudian, my father was gay and my parents had divorced when I was younger, which of course upset me. Now as an adult, perhaps my father helping me when I was in personal situations and either fully naked or partially dressed was part of a subconscious wish for my father to be straight again and back with my mother. I was an attractive and sexually desirable young woman; by Daddy seeing my breasts, bottom, pubic hair and vagina as well as my bras and my panties, maybe I was silently hoping Daddy would be aroused by my nudity and it would turn him straight. I doubted it, I was very accepting of Daddy being gay and loved his partner Chad, and the reason these events happened were purely by chance caused by my allergic reaction to a plant, not deliberate actions by me.

My next theory was more grounded. I was always a Daddy's girl. While Daddy would of course never admit it, I was his favorite over my younger brother. I had always adored my father, putting him up on a pedestal, and I was the apple of his eye, me growing up pampered and spoiled as a result. But while I was without doubt spoiled, I was never a spoiled brat, I never threw tantrums or was mean, and was more sweet-natured and would rather do somebody a good turn than a bad one. Had the close bond between Daddy and I turned into more sexual feelings on my part? It kind of made sense, but why now when I was a fully grown 27-year-old woman? And for fuck's sake, my father was gay.

Perhaps it was the damsel in distress thing that turned me on? When I first had the allergic reaction to the plant, Daddy had comforted me when I was crying and vomiting. Then Daddy had had to help me on the toilet, changing my clothes and with showering, maybe my initial embarrassment and discomfort at this had somehow turned into sexual feelings? Maybe being totally dependent on my Daddy that day had aroused something deep in my subconscious. It was possible, but there were flaws with this theory.

One thing was for sure, I couldn't lie here thinking about it all afternoon. In my rectum, I could feel my period-related diarrhea returning and my pad was feeling damp, clearly needing to be changed. I collected a new pad and made my way to the toilet.

Closing and locking the door, I lifted my skirt, pulled my knickers down to my ankles and sat down barefoot on the toilet, my panty pad looking like a crime scene, massive smelly blood stains all over the cover. I urinated, my yellow pee turning the color of tropical juice as it mixed with my menses in the bowl.

Wiping the piss and blood from my pussy, I farted loudly and my smelly diarrhea went everywhere in the toilet, me getting more toilet paper to wipe my bottom. The inside of the toilet bowl soon looked like something from a horror movie, as my super heavy menstrual flow poured out of my vagina, blood in abundance everywhere in the toilet with some larger clots and of course my shit and dirty toilet paper.

Despite my resolution not to have any weird Daddy fantasies, I couldn't help it and during the ten minutes I was sitting on the loo every time I wiped my bottom I imagined my Daddy was wiping me instead. And when I finished and flushed the toilet and then changed my pad, I imagined Daddy was doing it for me.

I placed my used napkin in a sanitary bag, washed my hands and placed the dirty and smelly pad in the outside bin. Returning inside, my new pad wasn't sitting quite straight in my crotch, so I reached under my skirt and adjusted my knickers so my feminine protection was comfortable between my legs.

Returning to the couch and putting the hot water bottle back on my tummy, I again pondered my weird fantasies and told myself to stop having them. It of course did not work, and I lay imagining every moment of my Daddy helping me use the toilet, shower and change my underwear. And my very fertile imagination dreamed of future scenarios where I was a helpless damsel in distress and my Daddy would have to be my hero and help me with personal and private things.

THE END - PLEASE RATE & COMMENT