I woke up to the sound of my alarm and the familiar quiet of the house. Mom had been gone for three days now, off at her training, and the silence felt heavier without her voice filling the rooms. I stretched, already thinking about the list in my head—laundry, breakfast, getting my little brothers ready for school, then my own classes later.
I slipped out of bed and padded downstairs in my tank top and shorts. The boys were still asleep, so I started the coffee for Dad first. He liked it strong and black. While it brewed, I gathered the dirty clothes from the hamper in the hallway and carried them to the laundry room. The machine hummed to life as I measured detergent, then I moved to the kitchen to make eggs and toast.
By the time the boys stumbled down in their pajamas, everything was ready. I helped them with their cereal and reminded them to brush their teeth. They were loud and messy, but I liked keeping things running smooth. When Dad came down, already dressed for work, took breakfast. As he left, he paused in the doorway and looked at the table, the clean counters, the boys eating without fighting.
“You’re a good girl,” he said quietly. His voice was low, almost rough from not using it much. The words landed warm in my chest. He didn’t say things like that often, so when he did it meant something. I felt my face heat up a little as I smiled down at the pan I was scrubbing.
After they left, I cleaned up the kitchen, wiped the counters again, and started folding the laundry that had finished. Between loads I sat at the table with my laptop and worked through my assignments. I was already twenty and doing an online course so this arrangement worked well for me. Besides I enjoyed taking care of them. The house stayed quiet except for the washer and dryer. By afternoon the boys were back, and I helped them with homework at the kitchen table while I finished my own reading.
When Dad came home he didn’t say much, just nodded at the neat living room and the smell of dinner already cooking. But later, when the boys were in bed and I was folding the last load of towels, he stopped in the doorway again.
“You really are a good girl,” he said, softer this time. I looked up and met his eyes for a second. The quiet way he said it made my stomach tighten in a strange, fluttery way. I pressed the warm towel against my chest and nodded, not sure what to answer. He didn’t move, just watched me finish the last fold before turning away down the hall.
I stayed there a minute longer, the house dark and still around me, feeling the echo of those words settle somewhere low and warm inside me.
The days started blending together in this strange, charged way. Sometime Dad would hug me. My favorite was when he hugged from behind, coming up behind me while I was loading the dishwasher or folding towels, his arms would slide around my waist and pull me back against him. His chest felt solid and warm, and he’d hold on long, his breath brushing the side of my neck.
“You’re such a good girl,” he’d murmur against my hair, and to my shame those words would sink straight down between my legs. I’d freeze, gripping whatever I was holding, trying not to push back into him. The hug would stretch on until my pulse was hammering and I had to bite my lip to stay quiet.
When he kissed my cheek it wasn’t soft or quick anymore. He’d turn my face with one hand and press his mouth there, hard and lingering, like he was tasting me. The stubble on his jaw scraped my skin and left it tingling. I’d feel the heat rush to my face and lower, my thighs pressing together on their own. At the time, I thought it was innocent fatherly love but how wrong I was.
Mom called every evening on video. Dad would sit beside me on the couch, his thigh pressed against mine, while the boys crowded around the phone. Mom’s face filled the screen, smiling and tired from her training.
“How’s everything going?” she’d ask.
“Fine,” I’d answer, voice steady even though Dad’s hand rested on my knee under the table where she couldn’t see. His thumb traced slow circles that made it hard to focus on her words. I wondered if this is what all dad’s did.
After the call ended, the boys went to bed and the house got quiet again. Dad would find me in the laundry room or the kitchen, pull me into another long hug from behind, his palms flat against my stomach. I’d feel him breathing me in. So I started to feel the hard line of him pressing against my ass through our clothes. Neither of us said anything about it. I just stood there, heart racing, pretending I didn’t notice how wet I was getting or how much I wanted him to keep holding me like that.
The praise kept coming in that low, rough voice. “Good girl.” Every time he said it, my body reacted before my mind could stop it. I carried the secret around with me while I did homework, while I cooked, while I smiled at Mom on the screen. And every night I lay in bed replaying the feel of his arms, his mouth, his body against mine, wondering how much longer I could pretend I didn’t want more.
The first night it happened, it was after I put the boys to bed, Dad didn’t let me walk away. His hand closed around my wrist in the hallway and he pulled me toward my room instead of letting me head to the kitchen. The door clicked shut behind us. He backed me up until my legs hit the edge of the mattress, then his mouth came down on mine without warning.
It wasn’t the careful kisses from before. His lips crushed against mine, hard and hungry. His tongue pushed past my teeth and I tasted him, felt the scrape of his stubble. I made a small sound into his mouth and he answered with a low growl, one hand sliding up to grip the back of my neck while the other grabbed my hip and yanked me flush against him.
We went down together. My back hit the bed and his weight followed, pinning me. His knee shoved between my thighs and I opened for him without thinking. The kiss never broke. He kept devouring my mouth while his hand worked between us, yanking my shorts down my legs. I lifted my hips to help. My panties came off next, dragged down and tossed somewhere on the floor.
Dad’s fingers found my pussy immediately. Two thick fingers pushed inside me and I was already soaked, dripping around his knuckles. He pumped them deep, curling against that spot that made my back arch. I clawed at his shirt, trying to get it off. He broke the kiss long enough to rip it over his head, then his mouth was back on mine, tongue fucking my mouth while his fingers fucked my cunt.
I reached for his belt. My hands shook but I got it open, shoved his jeans and boxers down far enough to free his cock. It was thick and hot in my palm, already leaking at the tip. I stroked him once, twice, and he groaned into my mouth.
He pulled his fingers out of me and replaced them with his cock in one hard thrust. I cried out against his lips as he buried himself to the hilt. I knew I am supposed to find this disgusting or creepy but I liked the feel of his dick My pussy stretched around him, clenching tight. He didn’t give me time to adjust. He started fucking me immediately, hips snapping forward, driving his cock deep with every stroke.
The bed creaked under us. My legs wrapped around his waist and I held on while he pounded into me. Each thrust knocked the breath out of my lungs. His mouth stayed locked on mine, swallowing every moan and whimper. My nails raked down his back.
He fucked me harder, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of my soaked pussy filling the room. My clit rubbed against his pelvis with every thrust and the pressure built fast. I came with a muffled cry, my cunt pulsing around him, thighs shaking. He kept going, fucking me through it, chasing his own release.
When he came he buried himself deep and stayed there, cock throbbing as he pumped cum into me. I felt every pulse, felt it flood my pussy and leak out around his shaft. He stayed on top of me afterward, breathing hard against my neck, still buried inside me.
Neither of us spoke. We just lay there catching our breath, his cum slowly dripping out of me onto the sheets. The house stayed quiet around us. The boys slept down the hall. Mom was still away. And I had discovered something : I like being fucked by dad.
After that night, nothing went back to the way it was before. Every time the boys went to bed, Dad would find me. Sometimes in my room, sometimes bent over the kitchen counter after the dishes were done. He’d fuck me hard and fast, hand over my mouth to keep me quiet, then send me to bed with his cum leaking down my thighs. The video calls with Mom continued like nothing had changed.
I never told her the truth. I just smiled back and said everything was fine. I hated myself for wishing she never came back but these thoughts dissappeared everytime his cock was inside me. I began craving it more. And Dad never once dissaponted me. He would suck my pussy and fuck it so hard while saying how tight it was. He made me cum multiple times. I liked it. I handled my guilt by convincing myself that I was simply taking care of my dad.
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