I never planned on fucking my dad. It just happened one sticky summer night when Mom was out of town and the house felt too quiet. I was twenty-two, home from college, and he was fifty, still built like the construction worker he used to be. We were drinking on the back porch, beers turning warm in our hands, when he looked at me and said, “You’ve got your mother’s mouth, but your eyes are all mine.”
That was the spark. I laughed it off at first, but the way he stared made my pussy clench. Later, when I went inside to pee, I left the bathroom door cracked on purpose. He walked by, stopped, and pushed it open. “What the hell are you doing, girl?”
“Watching you watch me,” I said, pulling my shorts down slow so he could see my shaved cunt. He didn’t leave. He stepped in, locked the door, and grabbed my hips.
“Fuck, baby girl, this is wrong,” he growled, but his cock was already hard against my ass. I reached back and squeezed it through his jeans.
“Then stop,” I dared him. He didn’t. He spun me around, bent me over the sink, and yanked my shorts to my knees. His fingers went straight to my slit, two thick ones shoving inside without warning. I was soaked. He finger-fucked me hard, knuckles slapping my clit, while he whispered, “You’re tight like your mom used to be before she got boring.”
I came fast, legs shaking, juice running down his wrist. He pulled his fingers out, licked them, then freed his cock. It was thick, veined, bigger than any college boy I’d had. He rubbed the head up and down my wet folds, teasing my hole.
“Say it,” he ordered.
“Fuck me, Daddy.
Put that cock in your daughter’s cunt.”
He slammed in all the way on the first thrust. I gasped, gripping the sink while he pounded me, balls slapping my ass. The mirror showed everything: his face twisted in lust, my tits bouncing, his wedding ring flashing every time he grabbed my hips. He reached around and rubbed my clit in rough circles until I squirted on his shaft.
“Dirty little slut,” he grunted. “Taking Daddy’s dick like you were made for it.” He pulled out, spun me, and lifted me onto the counter. Legs spread wide, he drove back in, deeper this time. I wrapped my arms around his neck and bit his shoulder while he fucked me senseless.
We didn’t stop at one round. He carried me to the couch, laid me down, and ate my pussy like he was starving, tongue fucking my hole and sucking my clit until I came again. Then he flipped me onto all fours and took me from behind, one hand fisting my hair, the other slapping my ass red.
“Tell me whose cunt this is,” he demanded.
“Yours, Daddy. Only yours.”
He came deep inside me, hot ropes flooding my pussy, some leaking out around his shaft. We stayed locked together, breathing hard, his cum dripping onto the cushions.
After that night it became regular. Every time Mom left, we fucked like animals. Kitchen counter, shower, his bed, even the garage with the door half open. He taught me how he liked it: rough, verbal, no holding back. I learned to beg for his load, to swallow every drop when he used my mouth, to ride him reverse so he could watch my ass bounce on his cock.
One afternoon he bent me over the dining table right after lunch. “Spread those cheeks,” he said. I did, and he licked my asshole before sliding his cock into my pussy again. “Gonna fill both holes before your mom gets home.” He came in my cunt, then worked two fingers into my ass while I rubbed my clit, making me come so hard I nearly blacked out.
We never talked about stopping. It was too good, too filthy, too ours. The risk only made it hotter. Every time he called me his little girl while he was balls-deep, I clenched around him and begged for more. And he always gave it to me raw, deep, and exactly how I needed it.
