The American Dream. A house too big in a suburb too peaceful. It was what prompted my family to leave Seattle and resettle right outside Kuna, Idaho. Now we lived on a 9,000 sq ft property, a 2,500 sq ft house, two floors, 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms. And with my sister gone to college, the house now felt too big, too empty. “Maybe we’ll rent one bedroom out in the summer, or AirBnb or something” my dad said a couple times.
I was in my last year of high school, ready to walk out the door and never look back. Sarah had already made her way to Portland, eager to go back to the buzzing thrill of city life, and I was excited to join her. Or maybe go back home to Seattle even. Why not? I definitely had no plans to stick around, or even go to school in Boise. “How about Montana State?” my mom kept asking, “you’d be so close to home”, as I kept pretending I hadn’t heard a word. But I digress.
What I’m here to tell has very little to do with my future education, and everything to do with our home’s floor plan. Or at least with the extra degree of safety I thought the floor plan afforded me. My parents slept downstairs, where my dad’s office also was. Sarah and myself had our rooms upstairs. Mine was directly above dad’s office. So far, this had never proven an issue. So far. Until the other night.
I’ll be very honest. I was masturbating. It was dark. Silent. The window closed, the lights off. The cold air outside was powerless against the slow humming of the heater, pumping air just warm enough. Just warm enough that it would be no harm for me to take my clothes off, be under a light blanket, and let my fingers slide. One hand found its way to my nipples with ease, the other slid between my legs. They caressed in perfect unison, a song and dance lost to the ages. My nipples were hard, my pussy was wet.
I was usually quiet, not living alone and all. But that night I felt just a bit too bold. I moaned. Nothing crazy. Not anything you’d find on r/LoudGirls or anything! But I moaned. “mmm aah mm aaah mmm” my lips chanted, as my fingers slid deep inside of me, finding me ever so wet. It had been months since I’d been with a man, and a few weeks that I hadn’t had a chance to tend to my own pleasure. In my head, a story I had read the other day. My eyes closed. I was lost in the fantasy, the pleasure, the moans. The moans. I didn’t even really hear the door open. What prompted me to “wake up”, so to speak, was feeling the bed squeak, the weight of a person sitting down on it, next to me. I jumped, startled, opened my eyes. I could barely make out the shadow of a person. “What the fuck?”
“Sssh it’s alright”. It was my dad’s voice. He was sitting on the bed. While I was naked. A thin layer of fabric the only thing between him and my naked body. Could he notice my flushed cheeks? My heaving chest? My heart thumping? The undeniable scent of arousal in the room?
“What are you doing here?” I spoke, whispered even
“I heard a noise, I came to check on you” he said. “I wanted to make sure you were OK”
“Well, yeah, yeah, I am fine. I must have pulled a muscle. Stretched a bit, you know? It’s all good”
I lied. I am fairly sure anyone above the age of innocence could see through that specific lie. But maybe he was that naive. Maybe he would pretend to be. Right? What else was there to do? Did he really want me to acknowledge that I was fucking myself? And what then? What if I did? No, no, crazy talk. He’d say “alright” and walk away, maybe make sure to tell me to be quiet at night.
Except he didn’t do any of that. “Oh did you?” was his response. “That’s not what that sounded like.”
“And what did it sound like then?” I retorted, taken aback, puzzled, and, I’ll be honest, quite shocked. He had to at least smell the scent of my pleasure. He had to know, he had two kids for heaven’s sake! Why was he doing this?
“It sounded like you were fucking yourself silly” he said.
I was speechless. Yeah, it was true. But what kind of a conversation is that to have! He’s my father, after all. One doesn’t talk like that to their daughter. What good can it do? Yes, I was. But so what?
“Yes, I was. So what?”. That’s all I could muster to say. Maybe if I was honest, I’d get a lecture on respecting boundaries, not making people uncomfortable and all. It was a bit too much for a practical lesson, but, eh, I guess I hadn’t given my dad enough of a chance to dad in a while. Now was his time.
“It’s hot” he said. “It’s so damn hot. I thought I heard a noise. I knew exactly what it was. So I came upstairs, watched through the door for a bit, and when I knew for sure, I came and sat down. You looked beautiful and sounded so amazing” he said
As I sat there in disbelief, my mouth open, my eyes almost shooting out of their sockets, he continued
“I watched your hand rustling under the blanket. Your hips pounding, your chest heaving. Yes I know what you’re thinking. I agree. It is fucked up. I know it is. And yet I loved every minute of it.”
He had a way with words, the old creep. His description of my self-love mesmerizing, vivid, crude and yet erotic. In the dark, he had seen more than any guy who had fucked me in broad daylight. The woman he described was not a clumsy inexperienced 19 year old girl. He described a goddess of sexual release, one to whom scores of horny men offer worship and devotion in return for a fleeting moment of release. My body, a temple of pleasure. My heaving chest, an altar. My flushed cheeks, a fresco to sex. And my moist, wet pussy, its scent, its thick bush that he hadn’t even seen, the ultimate crypt of a medieval church. Oh what a way with his words my dad had. The woman he described, I would have fucked. Except that woman was me, and he was my father.
“I know it’s wrong, but I want you to continue” he finished
“But dad” was all I said, as his mouth reached my ear, and he gently whispered, his words soft, and yet commanding “I want you to continue”
How could I resist? I continued. I am ashamed of it, and I feel guilty. But I continued where I left off. I found myself still wet. I pushed two fingers inside my pussy. And I fucked myself. I took it slow. I let the blanket fall off. I let my tits out, for him to watch. My eyes met his. He was stroking his cock. I was masturbating for my dad, as he was masturbating for me.
He took his pants off. He showed me his cock. I spread my legs. Gave him a front row view of my wetness. He was hard. I was wet. The outcome? Inevitable.
It started with a hand reaching for my tit. “But dad”. He ignored it. He pinched my nipple. Rubbed it. And then did the same with the other boob. “But dad”.
He suckled on my tits. I moaned. He kissed my mouth. I moaned. He bit my neck. I shivered.
He was good. And he didn’t know to take no for an answer. Not that “no” was my answer. It was fiction. I had to say “but dad”, push back just that tiny amount. For decency’s sake. For my conscience. For future reference. But in reality, all I wanted was to push forward. I was vanquished. The taboo, the trauma, the therapy, it would all come another day. That night, I was ready to let my father fuck me.
And he did. I felt the tip of his cock push against my pussy. Slowly but surely make his way inside of me. I whispered that I was not on birth control. He nodded. I assumed he knew what to do. He’d just pull out.
He pushed deep inside of me. He pounded me. The bed creaked, squeaked. Would mom hear? He didn’t seem to care. And in that frenzy of lust, of forbidden pleasure, neither did I. All I cared about was the pleasure his cock gave me. He pounded. And pounded. I was so wet, so wet you could hear it a mile away. And I was moaning, relentlessly, with no shame, no restraint. It was a concert of wetness and moans. “Fuck me daddy” my only words.
I locked my legs around him, and I came. I felt my pussy twitch, I felt its walls tight, trying to milk cum out of him. I felt my back arch, my every muscle tense. I saw stars with my eyes closed. And I laid on the bed, spent, and yet eager, my father’s throbbing erection still inside of me.
He gave me a break, and then he kept going. He was still hard, I could use some more fucking.
Reddit, I won’t lie. I was not expecting what came next. He told me he was going to cum in me. He told me he never pulled out. “Not my thing, I just don’t” he said. I should have panicked, pushed him off, screamed. Instead, you guessed it, all I did was meagerly say “but dad” once more, before settling in the reality that my dad was going to breed me. It was a risky roll of the dice. I was young. Fertile. Heck, for all I knew, I was ovulating right then and there, maybe that’s why I was so horny. I told him. “But dad, I am ovulating”, I stated as if it was a fact.
It didn’t deter him. Not a bit. In fact, it made him pump harder, push deeper. “Good. I bet you’d be lovely pregnant. I would come in here and fuck you every night. Your hormones would be so wild. You’d be so fucking horny every night. And I would be too. So horny for you. Even more than I am now. All it would take, my cum to shoot inside of you and bam, just like that, you’d be pregnant. Our child”
That fantasy was all it took. For him. And for me. We came in unison. I didn’t even know I wanted to be pregnant. But my body sure did. For the mere thought of a baby in me, it made wonders. I saw more stars than I knew existed. I came hard. I squeezed him tight. And he too came. My dad, he came inside my fertile pussy. We laid next to each other, spent, empty, and satisfied. Not a single word for minutes.
“Goodnight” he told me, softly, as he walked out the room a while later. “Goodnight dad” I said, as if our roles had returned the usual, as if I hadn’t just had wild crazy unprotected sex with him. As if I wasn’t going to be the mother of his baby..
*I want to thank u/YouthfullyCultured for the inspiration for this story. One of her posts provided the seed, and then we chatted at great length about “what if” this would happen. Everything that is great about this story is thanks to her input. Everything that sucks about it, that’s my fault*
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ee6fls/m_f_inc_preg_but_dad