Every other Saturday became our secret ritual. Mom would leave early for her weekly yoga class or run errands, and the moment the garage door closed I’d slip into their bedroom. Dad would already be hard under the sheet, waiting. I’d climb on top of him, straddle that thick seven-inch cock, and sink down slowly until I was completely filled. The first few times I still gasped at the stretch, but soon my body learned exactly how to take him. I’d ride him slow at first, grinding my clit against the base while he gripped my hips and watched my tits bounce. Then he’d flip me onto my back, push my knees up to my chest, and fuck me deep and steady until I came hard around him. He’d always pull out and finish on my stomach or tits so there was no risk, then wipe me clean with a towel and kiss my forehead like nothing had happened.
One Saturday in January the routine changed. Mom had left for a two-day spa weekend with her sister. The house was ours. That night after dinner Dad poured us both a glass of wine and sat me on the edge of the kitchen counter. He pulled my panties aside, licked me until my legs were shaking, then stood up and pushed inside me right there. The cold granite against my ass and the heat of his cock made me come almost immediately. He didn’t stop. He carried me to the living-room couch, bent me over the arm, and took me from behind while the football game played muted on the TV. When he finally came he stayed buried deep, pulsing inside me for the first time. We both froze. Then he whispered against my neck, “We’re crossing a line now.” I just pushed back against him and said, “I don’t care.”
After that night the rules disappeared. We fucked in the shower every morning. He woke me with his mouth between my legs. I woke him by sliding down under the covers and swallowing him until he flooded my throat. One afternoon he bent me over the washing machine while the spin cycle vibrated through both of us. Another time I rode him in the passenger seat of his truck in the empty church parking lot after dark, my dress hiked up, his hands under it, both of us trying not to make noise.
By the time Mom came home from the spa we had a system. He still slept in their bed, but every night after she was asleep I would text him from my room: “Ready.” Five minutes later he’d slip into my bed, pull my nightie up, and take me slow and quiet while I bit the pillow. Sometimes he stayed the whole night. I’d wake up with his arm around me and his soft cock resting against my ass, and for a few minutes I’d pretend this was normal, that this was just how fathers and daughters lived.
He never said he loved me the way a man loves a woman. He never promised anything. But the way he looked at me when he was buried inside me, the way his hands shook when he came, told me everything. And every time he whispered “Be careful what you wish for” against my skin, I answered the same way: by opening my legs wider and taking him deeper.
Mom never found out.
And I never stopped wanting more.
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