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My father and I had always been close, but something shifted the summer I turned twenty-one. It started with the way his eyes lingered when I walked around in short shorts and thin tank tops. The way his voice dropped when he said my name. The way I started deliberately brushing against him in the kitchen, letting my breasts press against his arm longer than necessary.
We both knew.
Tonight my mother was working a double shift at the hospital. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the television in the living room. I had showered and come out wearing only one of his old button-down shirts. It barely covered the tops of my thighs. Nothing underneath.
He was sitting on the couch when I walked in. His eyes moved slowly down my body, lingering on my bare legs, then higher, to where the shirt gaped open between my breasts. I saw his throat work as he swallowed.
“You’re not wearing anything under that,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“No,” I answered, voice soft. I walked over and stood between his knees. “I didn’t want to.”
His hands came up slowly, resting on the backs of my thighs. Rough palms slid upward until they cupped my bare ass under the shirt. He squeezed, hard, and a low sound left his chest.
“You’ve been teasing me for weeks,” he muttered. “Walking around this house half-naked. Bending over in front of me. Sitting on my lap like you don’t know what it does to me.”
I reached down and rubbed my palm over the thick bulge in his jeans. He was already hard. Huge. My fingers traced the outline and I felt myself get wetter.
“I know exactly what it does to you,” I whispered. “I’ve been touching myself at night thinking about it. About you. About this.”
That broke whatever restraint he had left.
He yanked me down onto his lap so I was straddling him. The shirt rode up around my waist, leaving me completely exposed against the rough denim. His mouth crashed into mine—hungry, claiming, tongue pushing past my lips while both hands gripped my ass and pulled me tight against his cock. I moaned into the kiss and ground down against him, rubbing my wet cunt along the hard ridge.
He broke the kiss only long enough to yank the shirt open, buttons scattering. My breasts spilled free. He groaned and sucked one nipple into his mouth, hard, while his hand shoved between us and two thick fingers slid through my soaked folds.
“Fuck,” he growled against my breast. “Dripping. My little girl is soaking wet for her daddy.”
I whimpered as he pushed those fingers inside me. They stretched me, curled, rubbed that spot that made my thighs shake. I rode his hand shamelessly, hips rolling, chasing the friction.
“I need your cock,” I gasped. “Please, Daddy. I’ve been aching for it.”
He stood up with me still wrapped around him and carried me to his bedroom—the one he shared with my mother. The symbolism wasn’t lost on either of us. He dropped me onto the bed and stripped with rough, impatient movements. When his cock sprang free I stared.
It was thick, heavy, the head already shiny with precum. Longer than I expected. The kind of cock that would leave me sore in the best way.
I didn’t wait for permission. I slid off the bed, dropped to my knees, and took him into my mouth.
He cursed, one hand fisting in my hair. I stretched my lips wide around the thick head and sank down, taking as much as I could until he hit the back of my throat. I gagged, pulled back, then forced myself deeper. Spit ran down my chin as I started sucking him in earnest—wet, messy, eager. I stroked what I couldn’t fit with both hands and looked up at him while I worked.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, watching me. “Look at you. On your knees for your own father with a mouth full of cock. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? Wanted Daddy to use that pretty mouth.”
I moaned around him in answer and sucked harder. He let me worship him for a few minutes before he pulled me off with a wet pop and pushed me back onto the bed. He spread my legs wide, stared down at my glistening cunt, then sank into me in one long, continuous thrust.
The stretch punched the air from my lungs. I cried out as he bottomed out, hips flush against mine, cock buried deeper than anything I had ever taken. He held still for a second, letting me feel every thick inch, then started fucking me in deep, powerful strokes.
The bed creamed. My tits bounced. Every thrust forced wet, filthy sounds from my cunt. He hooked my knees over his elbows and folded me nearly in half so he could pound straight down into me. The angle made me see stars.
“This what you needed?” he growled, voice rough. “Daddy’s cock stretching this tight little hole? You’ve been walking around this house dripping for it.”
“Yes—fuck—yes, Daddy—”
He fucked me harder. I came suddenly, hard, my cunt clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses. He didn’t stop. He just kept railing me through it, chasing his own pleasure, using my body like it belonged to him.
When he pulled out I almost sobbed at the loss. He flipped me onto my stomach, yanked my hips up, and slammed back into me from behind. The new angle let him go even deeper. One hand fisted in my hair, the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise as he pounded me.
I pushed back to meet every thrust, greedy, desperate. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. I came again with my face pressed into the sheets, moaning his name—Daddy—over and over.
He lasted longer than I expected. When he finally got close he pulled out, flipped me onto my back again, and stroked his cock hard and fast over my stomach and tits.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered.
I did. He came with a deep groan, thick ropes of cum streaking across my tongue, my lips, my cheeks, and down onto my breasts. I kept my mouth open and let him watch me swallow what landed on my tongue, then licked my lips clean while looking up at him.
He stared down at me—his twenty-one-year-old daughter, legs still spread, cunt red and used and leaking, face and tits covered in his cum—and something dark and possessive settled in his expression.
He wiped a streak of cum from my cheek with his thumb and pushed it into my mouth. I sucked it clean.
“You’re not sleeping in your own bed tonight,” he said quietly. “You’re staying right here. And when I wake up hard in the middle of the night, you’re going to open these legs again and take it.”
I nodded, still panting, still twitching.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He climbed into bed beside me, pulled me against his chest, and slid two fingers back inside my sore, cum-smeared cunt just to feel me clench around them.
I fell asleep like that—full of his fingers, sticky with his cum, already aching for the next time he decided to take what was his.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was only the beginning.
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