Once Divorced from My Wife, My Stepdaughter Immediately Bared Her True Prim Bitch Virgin Nature with, "Dad and I Are Total Strangers Now, Right? - Chapter 18

After prepping, Reika and I subwayed to the museum. Exiting station, we walked hand-in-hand. Weekend crowds thick, as expected. Reika’s outfit—white-based, prim vibe—screamed father-daughter. Our affectionate clasp drew eyes to our hands.

“Reika, embarrassed?”

“Oh, dating Daddy makes me happy. Father-daughter hand-holding? Nothing shady.”

“True.”

Peel the layer, we’re ex-stepfather-daughter churning filthy lust, fucking anywhere—but passersby wouldn’t dream it. Entered massive department store, elevatored to museum floor. Exhibit decently popular; tickets in, thronged.

“Slow single-file front row, freer double back—which line?”

“Time plenty—front.”

We queued tail-end, viewing ink paintings hand-in-hand. Reika rented audio guide too, nodding to explanations. Dedicated. Me? Less invested—sensed vibes. Humorous, engaging though.

“This artist’s… Nagasawa…”

“Rosetsu, Daddy. Here already—don’t forget.”

Whisper-chided, I apologized.

“Sorry. Rosetsu… Fun pics.”

“Yeah. Love these doggies. You like, Daddy?”

“Yeah. Calming vibe.”

Thought museums old-folk central, but couples abound. Classy date spot. Hushed hall, rare coughs—well-mannered. Reika stayed chaste, absorbed in art.

“Ah… This. Smaller than imagined.”

Rooms toured, reached Reika’s target ink painting. Flyer-featured odd dog. Main: big cow; dog tiny.

“Waa… Cute…♡”

Not just Reika—mostly women echoed. Bizarre charm, sure, but hype? Men’s half faces mirrored sentiments.

“Ah, so cute. Wanna own such a pup.”

Reika beamed at painting. Adorable dog, I granted—no denial. Real one? Cursed vibes, pass. Viewed landscapes etc., hit exit.

“Hour-ish… Solid exhibit.”

“Yes, doggies plus gems.”

Reika paused museum shop: postcards, merch galore.

“Um… Daddy…”

“Go ahead—I’ll buy. Pick faves.”

Forgot her allowance deets—lousy ex-dad move. Permission granted, Reika joy-browsed.

“Daddy, these okay?”

Reika picked postcards, dog-magnet, strap.

“No catalog?”

“Guidebook? Quick dog views better—these fine.”

Checked out, left museum. Lunchtime hit; stomach growled timely.

“Restaurant floor up—eat, then next spot.”

Casual date flow assumed, but over half-private motsunabe lunch, Reika’s wild pitch soon had me head-in-hands.