Excerpt for The 40 Hour Nude Famine (A Series for Lovers of 18yo Daughters and Schoolgirls): Book 3 by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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The 40 Hour Nude Famine (a series for lovers of 18yo daughters and schoolgirls): Book 3

Copyright 2017 Lisa Smiles

All characters involved in sex, or who are witness to sex, are 18 or over at time of depiction

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As my daughter reaches for the clasp at the front of her bra I remember: Claire Duncan’s bra was like this. During the year we were together Claire progressed to using heavier pads and she grew into a C-cup from the A or B-cups that I first saw. She was eighteen but still filling out after what she told me had been a late start. I used to imagine I could sense hormones under her skin like electrons, activating hair cells in her groin for example, until by the age of nineteen when she moved interstate with her parents: by that stage the whole show was probably over. She had become the woman only her genes could foresee. That’s Molly as well. She is something in a state of becoming.

Lined up like this, beside other girls, I can see her as I can’t do at home. Emmy and the two Harriets could be passed off as women in their early twenties. If I didn’t know Olivia and Charlotte I would probably guess right that they were eighteen, give or take a few years, depending on how they were behaving. Our dear Molly though, will be a woman-child into her forties, like those models still being paid for coy poses two decades in to lifelong careers. Her mother and I have spoken of listing her with an agency, but unfortunately, we know she’s too stubborn.

“It’s nearly ten o’clock,” I remind her. “Let’s face the music, so we can get everyone naked for start time.”

As Molly’s breasts are revealed, an uncomfortable silence falls across the whole group.

Molly says, “They’re the smallest out of everyone’s, I know that.”

“Um, that’s not why we’ve gone quiet,” I tell her. I would refute her claim that they are the smallest as well. If they look that way it is only because they’re not hanging.

I can trust Emmy to help out with true words. “They’re not too small. They’re too pretty.”

Molly drops her chin to her chest to inspect while Olivia, the beautician’s daughter, takes an elastic that Molly has been twirling and uses it to tie back her hair.

“How are they pretty?” Molly asks.

“I think they are what a lot of men like,” Olivia tells her, though like most girls her look says she can’t figure out why.

Harriet with the big nose says, “Japanese guys would go crazy. She’s an anime doll.”

Harriet Hotlips informs us, “I’ve got a doll from when I was kid that looks exactly like her.”

I have to interrupt. “That’s enough girls. Remember Molly is new here and probably more than a little embarrassed to learn she has come to us from certain men’s wet dreams.”

Right now I’m getting one of those Daddy I hate you death stares from hell. What can I do though? The second I saw them I nearly came in my pants. They’re like moguls of snow when you first see them from the chairlift at dawn and have just the faintest staining of skin tone as peaks. I wish my eyes wouldn’t wander but her narrow waist is a magnet and below that her hip bones. She has the most pronounced tummy of any girl here but is the skinniest of all for her height. I may just be having a crisis.

I’ve got all of them naked. Not a stitch of clothes on them. Red headed Harriet’s tits are snow white but material, not half lodged in the dream world like Molly’s. Emmy could make fortunes as a pin-up girl, but I think we all knew that already. What I didn’t know is I would be having this reaction to Molly. Yes, I’ve been angling to get her in bed or the bath tub. When you lose your compunctions through sexual contact with daughter-one, of course you’re ready to try things with daughter-two, but you’re still seeing daughters as people to fuck because they are handy. Regina has been available to me and very obliging, but I haven’t been heartbroken by her decision to travel. I’m sitting at my desk at the front of the class, looking down the center aisle at a girl, my own daughter, who is doing to me exactly what Claire did when she too unfastened her bra for me two years ago.

Harriet with the red hair and a face like Picasso’s Girl Before a Mirror informs me, “Mr. Clark, it’s one minute to ten.”

“We can’t sign your papers if you’re not naked in time,” Emmy tells me.

Now is not a good time to have to undress. I’ve got miss tan lines Charlotte in the front row with her middle finger in her vagina. She’s not masturbating. I see girls doing this every year during the forty-hour nude famine. Without underpants on to remind them they forget they’re not home alone in their bedrooms and often put their fingers down there and then sniff them. It’s not necessarily any more sexual than when they suck their own hair, but sometimes just the end of a pony tail in a girl’s mouth is enough to me an erection while working. When they gouge themselves, especially if they’re in the front desk and I have such a clear view, it’s really too much.

Dragging myself back into the world I say, “Gee, thanks for reminding me girls.” I’m talking a lot so no one can tell me to stand up and undress the way they have been made to by me. I push my seat back from my desk, just enough to get to my shoes, but when it comes to taking my trousers off I turn my back to them.

“Oh no fair Mr. Clark!” Olivia protests.

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