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Then my eyes strayed down my smooth slender body to my hips and to the the peach satin panties. My long coltish legs shimmered in the sheer hosiery, my well defined legs ending in the shiny, black leather, high-heeled pumps; the gold chain on my ankle glimmered in the delicate light.

I lifted my hands and put them on my hips; my plum-red fingernails, gold bracelets, red gemstones and rings glimmered in the subtle light.

My Father looked at me standing there staring at myself in the mirror and bent down and eased one of my feet forward and then slightly turned the other foot outwards. He lifted my chin and then stood back and looked me up and down.

"Magnificent!" he said, and reached for his scotch and took a long pull.

I looked at myself critically; I thought I looked like one of those heavily made-up fashion models that I had saw in magazines. But then, when I thought about it, I realised I probably looked more like the trollops that plastered the pages of my Father's dirty magazines that he kept hidden away in the tool shed.

But there was no doubt about it; my resemblance to my Mother was uncanny.

Now I was really confused; for the first time in my life, I looked, felt, tasted and smelt like a grown up woman; a whore-like parody of my Mom. Although these were her clothes, she had never teased out her hair like this, or wore her makeup like this, or wore this much perfume, or wore this much jewellery. Mother was fine and elegant; not a slattern and never gaudy.

I looked at my Father questioningly and I saw the agony on his face when he saw a single, mascara-stained, tear run down my cheek. He put down his drink and led me back to the bed and sat down beside me.

"Ok; if you don't want do this special thing for me that's ok," he sighed.

"You can get undressed and clean yourself up and we'll never talk about this ever again; it never happened," he whispered and I saw a tear streak down his cheek and then he put his head in his hands.

I turned around and threw my arms around my Daddy and hugged him close; he opened his arms and pulled me close, his head resting in the crook of my neck.

"I'll do anything you want Dad," I whispered.

HE stroked my hair and held me tight, the bristles on his cheek tickling my neck. Then he lifted his head and kissed me on the lips, he hadn't done that for a long time, and then he smiled into my face and my heart soared.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too Daddy," I replied.

When we both regained our composure he led me back and sat me in front of the makeup mirror and repaired my damaged makeup. This time the hard chair felt subtly different against my skin through the silky material of my panties and pantyhose. It felt nice; sort of comforting.

He led me back to the bed; I was getting slowly better at walking in the unfamiliar high heels, and had me stand at the base of the bed while he selected the last garments for me to wear.

I had trouble buttoning up the blue satin blouse that Dad had handed to me and he had to help. He held out a navy blue skirt and had me step into it; as he pulled the skirt up I received little stimulating shocks of pleasure as the satin lining slid up my nyloned legs.

I was the same height as my Mother so the hem sat perfectly, six inches above my knees. I looked down and was surprised to see a pair of sleek hosed legs showing from below the hem of the navy blue skirt, terminating at a pair of slim ankles and feet shod in black high heels.

Dad straightened my skirt and adjusted my blouse and then he led me back to the full-length mirror and I was amazed at the difference that the skirt and blouse had made to my appearance. I still looked like a slattern with my heavy makeup, hair and gaudy accessories; but the navy skirt and satin blouse preferred a veneer of sophistication. My Father spun me on my heels and I saw that the rear of my skirt had a kick pleat that showed about six inches of the back of my nyloned thighs.

He hugged me and kissed me on the lips ag

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