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Win a lotto. Your mom hit a real jackpot with your dad — your friend told you with a dreamy sigh.
He is straight out of hottest titled porn. A chiseled jaw with stubble sprinkled grazes your skin akin to a fresh cut grass after every kiss. Especially vulnerable to the tickle that comes with it, a trilling giggle escapes whenever your skin presses against him in a quick, accidental kiss. It makes your pussy wet — a real deal. A real pussy eater jaw, would make you moan dad more! plenty.
A real man. As much as one can be, your personal guilty pleasure. A quixotic wet dream, haunts you whenever another dark blonde man, adorned by crow feet, ravages a new pussy on your screen. A girl with the most cake; you want it all. Long legged cuties spread their legs for every type of cock; imitating their smeared expression by spit and sperm, taking notes of arch and overexcited movements. And a skirt perfect enough to flash your heart-shaped butt. Learning from the best. You are going to be a much better lover than your mom is. Louder, prettier, with your cunt as expressive as your eyes are. Leon just doesn't know that yet.
Not only this, but other knowledge slips through his fingers like sand. A constant vague hunger, a food unrelated one — touch starved, your clit throbs whenever he is in your eyesight. The morning coffee caprice vanishes and the sausage grows chewy dry, keyed up on the chair.
You drag him into predicaments a father wouldn't find himself in, normally. A family dinner doesn't go without his fingers amidst your plush thighs, while your mom's mouth is chewing onto quick made dinner. That's a family dinner, not a fucking porn scenario. In his defense, he is a simple man, and you guided him there! A father is not supposed to have pictures of your perky tits on his phone either; happy Father's Day, dad! Oops! That was just a mistake, dad! — your excuse, a gift for Father's Day. He promised to delete them (he never did).
In his defense, a daughter is not supposed to blueball her own dad. Nor tossing around your lacy underwear your mom doesn't wear, Leon bought them all with you on his rare holiday, freshly soaked with your slick leaving a trail lasting whole day on his fingertips. Even non present, you haunt him in pictures hanging on the walls of the house. A hand on his thigh (too close to his dick) every family picture can't be without a touch.
What's his is yours.
And his shirts. They disappear with a suspicious frequency, the stereotypical jealous wife would have the most picturesque fantasy; a possible lover. A faceless woman, red wine coloured nails on the waifish fingers, loosely hung on his shoulder in a cocktail dress, ebony eyelashes that bat away any worry in a man's heart. Young and driven by caprice, soaking herself in the perfume before the rendezvous — a valid explanation for Leon to reek in cherry notes. Instead, a red squared bottle, on the sink of your bathroom, emanates that cloyingness, your pajama consists in his shirts — naturally doubts don't exist inside your mother's heart. Just affectionate. Daddy's girl. Through and through. To bone marrow.
Freud would have a field day with you. Penis envy is bullshit, the coke fried brain conjures nonsense treated as a fact if it is from a man. Your mother is envious of you, not vice versa. As a matter of fact, it is evident by her gaze hopping up and down across your figure, lips separate in a loud smack; you look like a whore, dress up nicely, don't bring shame to my name.
A Givenchy wouldn't look like a rug on you. Birkin wouldn't cheapen your outfit either. She doesn't deserve that. There will be no kids clinging to your hip — no fucking way, your dad doesn't need another baby while he has you. Envious of slipped youth by popping a baby, envious of your perky boobs that will never be tainted by pregnancy, and a pussy that would get him hooked worse than a heroin.
It is going to be. You will make it sure. Well, made it sure. An urgent notification from your mom popping on his screen is enough to urge him into bedroom, pretty obvious despite his following-lady-lead-is-not-my-style bullshit, ring coiled around his finger is the most normalcy he could ever get.
Instead, the sight in front of him jumped off a tacky fantasy. A garnish Hitchockian, cool platinum blonde femme fatale on the book cover one would find on the shelves of a lonely lady with blue eyeshadow and grey roots peeking out; you just lack a red satin robe. With a loose deep cut. And you are not blonde.
Nonplussed, forced to meet your eyes, being half of your mother, Leon clearly hasn't gone mad to confuse you with her. Yet at least. Like a pretty gift in his shirt, you are sitting on the same bed he conceived you. And Leon is too aware for his own good about the throbbing dick beneath his jeans.
"What are you doing here?" Leon asks, uncertain if he even wants to hear the answer.
"Waiting for you." The fabric slowly pulls up by your two fingers, legs spread in front of his glued eyes to your walking digits. A peek of your pussy, until it is on full display; slick drips across your lips. Jesus Christ, so alone, needy with throbbing clit waiting for your dad. Stop Leon, this is your daughter. Vulnerable, like a newborn puppy.
A hard swallow, tensed lips. "You need to dress up, before your mom comes here," Leon says, hand resting on doorknob this close to turn and leave the room. "I'll bring you clothes."
"No-no-nonono!" You trill. "Dad, please, stay! Please, please, please or I'll scream."
"Scream?" His hand drags across his face, in hope it would wipe the growing weariness. Your dad is not a stupid man, otherwise he'd be your birthday's gift soaked in formalin. Lost Cherry by Tom Ford.
"…You can't do this to me, and I can't do this to you, pumpkin," Leon says plaintively. To your mom too. But that fades as quick as the floor creaks before he stops himself from stepping closer. "And your mom can enter any time."
"I am not asking a lot."
"Missy, you are trying to bite more than you can chew."
A loud pop, like from a lollipop, falls from your heart-shaped lips. Not so different from your gaze (Leon swears to god your pupils form hearts) immersed by tracing his figure before lingering on his groin. It gave you answers to every existing question in your pretty little head.
The outline of his dick is embodied. Not hiding struggles against the fabric of his jeans, harder than he has ever been. As much as Viagra is a good AED for whiskey dick — a dry sex in the dark with your mom cancels its effect.
"I don't think mama would be happy about this though." Your head nods towards his hard dick. "Aaand, you can always lock the door," you add simply.
Innocently staring at him, this is a joke he swears to god. A terrible one. A good father would wash your mouth, maybe slap this nonsense out of you. Click! In the heaving silence to his sensitive ears it felt like a full blast; probably echoing across every angle of the house, just a second your mom's footsteps have to ring next. Instead there is nothing. The door is locked. Only a mellifluous giggle slips out of you, amused by your father's standing like a useless dildo.
"Can't believe I've been raising a whore of a daughter all this time." Lower lips juts out which gets kissed away as soon as it appears.
"I am not!"
"Then who? Your mother?" Leon asks. His hand settled amidst your plush thighs, fingers run across your pussy savoring clinging slick to his skin. Carefully, it dips inside your leaking warmth, forcing your eyelashes flutter at a thick digit slowly thrusting inside your squeezing walls.
His lips distract your body from hypothetical painful stretch around his digit. Exquisite. His kisses are always. With no space for you, peppering them all over your face, leaving a trail of sparkling marks. Suffocating, drunkens your senses. His stubble tickles you to sink deeper into the bed with a muffled creak. Sheets susurrate by your squirming as his lips shift to your neck, like there is an invisible candy necklace, lulling him to bite and soothe the mark with his tongue.
"How many boys got you like that?"
"Zero." And Leon leans back to look into your face better.
"A virgin?" At your age there are a minimum two kids clinging to stretched by another pregnancy hip. You have none, busy daydreaming about dad's cock. "Fuck, were you keeping yourself for your dad?" You nod.
A wave of guilt sobers him, a glimpse of conscience lingers in his stormy blues. It is supposed to be taken by a man, your heart would swell with love from one glance, a man that would love you with the same intensity. Something romantic, rose petals on the bed with guttering candles. Your needy whine crosses this out, narrowing to only one trivia; there is no man better than your dad.
A hard swallow. A kiss on your forehead (more for himself than for you). Another finger slips, you hiss softly at the burning stretch. "Oh, don't worry, alright? That's what I'm here for."
It doesn’t linger for too long, replaced by growing pleasure. It buds inside your cunt whenever his fingers curl to press onto your sweet-sweet spongy spot. Your first, your best man, the only one you want. His head rests on your knee, gaze directed in between your legs; your hole swallows his fingers with a loud squelch as you get wetter after every steady pump. Amusing. Ridiculously easy for him. Perhaps a grace, ignoring soaked hole, which belongs to his dear daughter. The first and only one child.
There aren't many moments in his life comparable to this velvety wetness squeezing his digits with so much need. A honeymoon flashes in his mind, that's a bad comparison — you couldn't take this from your mother. If his head is not failing him. Hit it too many times, job's downsides.
Pussy out of porn, he'd say. And he knows them very well, marriage dries a woman, but his balls are painfully full with nowhere to ease. Fleshlight could be a good choice, your fuddy-duddy daddy prefers old ways; easier to explain, easier to hide. An almost identical unnatural amount of slick gathers around his fingers — you just lack pornographic pretenses.
In the end you are asking for this with your whole body, wavering with your hips towards him as if hoping for more. Something thicker, bigger. Something real. A pop echoes by his withdrawn hand. Risking your mom's knock is undesirable and Leon is too hard right now to brush you away. Too late, he tugs onto his belt, your ears pick up a loud zip. Your head flicks up, like a curious cat with identically dilated pupils, trying to get a peek of his dick.
Flipping pages of the raunchy magazines hidden beneath your mattress, there were all kinds of dicks printed on; big ones, curved to the left ones, ones mushroom looking, ones you wouldn't find among various porn actors, sickeningly similar to your dear daddy, chosen subconsciously by your nefarious mind. Until today you would never know what his dick is like. Thick, unlike many porn dicks the size is not enormous, it was made just for you, not weathered by Viagra abuse or STD bouquet, but naturally hard, his head glistens with smeared precum. A glittery sparkle. Perfect lipgloss.
"It is rude to stare, baby." Almost flattering to your old man, this close to pull your face down onto sheets. Leon tugs your hips towards him, not letting your shame to mouth a quick 'sorry'.
Your legs hang onto his hips, skin-to-skin his dick slots between your folds, a little tease to what’s coming. With a glide up and down, his tip positions to your hole. Not falling into teasing for too long, slowly his dick sinks into you. A light whine slips as he pushes through, anxiously your head tosses to the side awaiting for worse to come.
"Look at me, or I'll stop," Leon says. Glossy eyes dart towards him. Tight, sickeningly tight. Virgin tight, the type of pussy a man dreams, driven to knees by raising every existing skirt in hope of it. "I know it hurts, baby, but you can do this for me, so fucking good —fuck." You flutter around him as his dick pushes further until he is buried fully. "You like your dad here, huh?"
You nod — a little bit redundant, he doesn't comment. Your pussy answers for you. His hips slots against yours, balls nestle flat against your butt. Your walls flutter tightly, gripping him as his dick slides out, slathered by your slick mixed with drops of blood. Fucking hot, his dick throbs before with undulate motion of his hips, with a full thrust he buries his dick until it kisses your cervix.
A light discomfort vanishes into at foreign fullness between your legs. That's new, doesn't feel like your fingers at all. Those were only two while his dick is three in girth? You'd say even four. Three and half — sounds about right. There was an expectation of excruciating pain to twist your body; perhaps you were born under a lucky star, it never comes. Well, you know this shit hurts as hell, feels like you are getting raped, your friend's words are meaningless now, and you were too naive to believe them. Frankly, what could you even know? Her cherry was popped long before you got to know her. It doesn't matter now, thoughts unrelated to your dad are kicked by his quickening pace.
If someone would have told him his dick would plow deep inside you on the same bed you, his first and only child, were conceived — a trigger would have been pulled. Your pampered existence is the sun for him to orbit, dick deep inside your pussy doesn't change that instead you centers him like he is your whole world. For both of you, it is an unchanging fact.
Not so far from the truth. Ecstasy takes shape in your dilated pupils, your lips struggle to keep your moans low as his dick plummets down into your hole. They bubble up like an itch you can't suppress in a series of breathy mewls.
Dad, dad, dad!
They repeat over and over whenever he grinds against your cervix, whenever he is making your eyes roll back and clamp your thighs taut around his hips.
"Can't be quiet, can you?" Leon grunts. You tried. Really. His hand comes to muffle your whines. "Hush now." A hard thrust into your suctioning hole, your hips buckle towards his. "You have to stay quiet, she might hear."
Your gushing slick around his thrusting dick washes away any lingering guilt attempting to sit on his chest like a cauchemar, a living nightmare caused by his mistake but soothed by your nails digging into his back. Still a sweet baby needs your dad not merely as a shield but as a man. It is everywhere, squelching and slapping echo in the room. His dick throbs as your unfocused gaze tries to stay on him longer than one second. A thrust and it gets kicked out, numbing your senses only.
The pleasure builds up in a crescendo as his dick keeps the steady rhythm by rutting inside your fluttering hole. Overwhelming, like nothing before; your fingers don't even stand next to the perfect arch pressing onto your insides. Every withdrawal of his hips leaves your body with a longing desire to feel full again. And vanishes as soon as his dick thrusts into you back in a loud slap of your connecting fleshes, driving you deeper into the mattress. Your squirm grows, trying to keep up with his pace by matching movement — a tsk tells you are not doing the best job. Doesn't stop Leon from praising how good you are, how good your pussy is to him and how much he needs to fill you. A reason for his dick pulses with every thrust, losing control as his balls tighten more and more. You can feel it by his rougher, selfish snaps overwhelming every inch of your body, driving your legs to tremble and eyelashes flatter rhythmically.
Too dumb on your dad's cock, orgasm hits you like an unexpected crushing wave, milking him as Leon tries his best to prolong for himself. He is a man, every man is simple. But spasming walls make it only harder for him, consuming every rational idea — his sperm is not supposed to be deep inside you, that's dangerous. That's not responsible (nor fucking his daughter, but alas!). A last deep thrust, his dick throbs inside you as he spills the load.
Fucked big this time. Leon fucked up huge this time; he can only hope he shoots blanks. His spent dick slips out of you. Leon leans back with a heavy breathing, thoughts narrowing to leaking sperm between your plush thighs. Even infertility is not one hundred percent of protection, those trashy reality shows, where everyone beats each other in real time, proved that point. Viscous as nectar, droplets roll across your curved skin before ending onto the sheet. Plan B exists, then this can be hidden in his memory. Nothing happened, right?
"Tell me you promise!" you say. "Dad!! For God's sake! Are you even listening to me?" Leon winces, his eyes darting to your face — so close now, too close for his comfort. "I'll tell everyone you raped me then!"
"What?!" Leon exclaims. He can't do this at his age, blood pressure will kill him."I didn't, what the fuck?"
"Then promise this is not last time."
Hesitantly, Leon nods. A lie, no fucking way, despite the oozing proof of his misdeed and a fresh memory of your pussy — Leon won't fall to the same mistake again. What happened remains only in these walls, once and never repeated.
He hopes so.
"I love you," you say, clinging to his side. His arm pulls you closer.
"Me too, I love you too."