I had just turned twenty-one when it finally happened. My dad had always been the strong, silent type—broad shoulders, rough hands from years of construction work, and that deep voice that made my stomach flip even when he was just asking if I wanted more coffee. We lived alone after mom left, and the house felt smaller every year, the air thicker with things we never said.
That night the power went out during a storm. We sat on the couch with a single candle, both of us in nothing but old T-shirts and boxers because the AC was dead. He kept glancing at my bare thighs. I kept shifting so the shirt rode higher.
“You’re not a kid anymore,” he said finally, voice low and gravelly.
“I haven’t been for a long time, Dad.”
He reached over and put his hand on my leg, thumb stroking the soft skin just above my knee. I didn’t pull away. Instead I spread my legs a little, letting him see I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. His breath hitched.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re soaked already.”
His fingers slid up and found my pussy, parting the wet lips and rubbing my clit in slow, firm circles. I moaned and grabbed his wrist, pushing his hand harder against me. He didn’t hesitate. Two thick fingers pushed inside me at once, stretching me while his thumb kept working my clit.
“Been thinking about this?” he asked, voice dirty and direct.
“Every night,” I admitted. “Wanted your cock since I was legal.”
He pulled his fingers out, sucked them clean, then stood and shoved his boxers down. His cock was thick, veined, already leaking at the tip. I dropped to my knees right there on the living-room floor and took him into my mouth, sucking hard, gagging when he hit the back of my throat. He grabbed my hair and fucked my face, groaning every time I swallowed around him.
“Get up,” he ordered after a minute. “Turn around.”
I bent over the arm of the couch, ass up, and he slammed into me in one rough thrust. The stretch burned so good I cried out. He didn’t give me time to adjust—he just started pounding, hips slapping against my ass, one hand gripping my shoulder and the other reaching under to pinch my clit.
“Take Daddy’s cock,” he growled. “That’s it, baby girl. So fucking tight.”
I came hard, pussy clenching around him, but he didn’t stop. He flipped me onto my back on the couch, hooked my legs over his shoulders, and drove in even deeper. Sweat dripped off his chest onto mine. He leaned down and sucked hard on my nipples while he fucked me, teeth scraping, tongue flicking.
“Want you to fill me up,” I begged. “Come inside your daughter.”
That pushed him over. He buried himself to the hilt and unloaded, hot pulses flooding me. When he pulled out, cum leaked down my thighs. He scooped some up with his fingers and fed it to me, watching my tongue lick his hand clean.
We didn’t stop there. He carried me to his bed, laid me out, and spent the rest of the night eating my pussy until I was shaking, then fucking me again—slow and deep, then fast and filthy—until both of us were sore and satisfied. By morning the power was back, but neither of us turned on the lights. We just stayed in the dark, his cock still inside me, whispering how we were never going back.
