Alrighty, this one’s got incest (f/d), impregnation, a first time, reluctance, and some good ol’ size kink. I might write a second part for this, so potentially stay tuned?
Hope you enjoy!
— — — — —
I can’t wait to start college.
I mean, seriously: how long can one summer feel? Infinitely long, apparently.
Honestly, I think doing manual labor would be more fun than my current situation. Hell, I’d go paint some houses for free. Then I’d get to watch paint dry — a second activity that’s more fun than anything I’ve done recently!
See, I’m barely allowed out of the house. Each parent’s got their own shit going on, but apparently the one thing they agree on is keeping me under lock and key. One less potential problem or something, not that I’d ever been a troublemaker at all.
And it especially sucks because it’s this one. The summer before college! I’m cute enough, eighteen, and done with high school. Shouldn’t I be having at least some fun?
But the universe said no. No fun for you, Sally.
Just endless sudoku.
Gee, thanks, universe.
—
I know plenty of people with divorced parents. It’s, like, pretty common nowadays, but it seems like all those parents got divorced when their kids were young, so it was normal for all of the kids by the time they were teens.
None of them seemed any weirder than average, which I guess is good. The only time you got any real weirdness was around holidays. Those kids always had some strange shit going on then.
“Hey, want to come to my birthday party?”
“I already said yes.”
“No, that was the party my mom’s throwing. This is for my dad’s party.”
“Oh.”
That type of strange shit.
Sure, the young kids thing wasn’t always the case. But usually.
And then there were my folks: technically not divorced, but clearly heading there. After nineteen years together and eighteen years of raising a kid, they’d had enough.
They’re basically never talking, and mom’s already half moved out, and I’m here in the middle to mediate.
They had to only have one kid too, of course. It would’ve been nice if they had given me a pal here, but it was just me, my parents, and the shadow of something that once was.
Spooky.
—
Mom’s at the house, so dad’s gone. Sometimes I wonder if he has a secret second family out there or something. Where else could he be spending this much time?
Honestly, I wouldn’t even blame him. He’s always been a big family man. Just a lot of dad energy, you know? And we haven’t had a successful family dinner in months, so it’s not like he’s getting a whole lot of that around here.
I had been doing a little bit of aimless walking around the neighborhood, and I don’t think mom heard me return. She’s on the phone in the kitchen, which was a rarity.
(The closed-door calls in the master bedroom started at around the same time as the mail from divorce lawyers, and she still doesn’t think I know anything. She’s so funny.)
“The man is a fool,” mom says. Wait: this is something I want to hear.
I lean near the door to the kitchen, careful to not make a noise.
“You know I had been suspicious he was having an affair– Exactly! That’s what I’m saying: you must not be a very smart guy if you haven’t realized your so-called kid isn’t yours for this long– Well, he’ll be single and able to sleep with as many women as he wants soon.”
I take it back: I wish I hadn’t heard that.
—
She was talking about me, right? I’m the “so-called kid.” I mean, obviously.
She was talking about me, so that means my dad… isn’t my dad.
No way.
He’s got to be my dad. He– He just has to be. He’s always been my dad.
The idea that he’s not — that there were any affairs going on, period — is utterly insane.
Then the doubts start creeping in. Dad’s huge, a real big man. Tall, and pretty buff too. A big beard and a hairy chest that used to make all the other girls giggle nervously.
And I’m… not. I’m barely five feet tall, always on the edge of underweight. Which, of course, means no boy has ever given me a second glance: I’ve got zero tits and zero ass.
He’s got dark hair, almost black unless the lighting’s perfect. I’m a brunette too, but more caramel than dark chocolate.
I suppose we have some stuff in common: we have the same sense of humor, all the same mannerisms. But you can learn all that by being around someone enough, right?
So yeah, I clearly take after my mom. She’s tiny too, though she’s got at least some curves. She swears they came from pregnancy, and that’s a funny thought. Anyone as small as the two of us must look hilarious pregnant. Just totally disproportionate.
Hell, I had wished to be just a bit more like my dad many times before. What if that was because… I’m not like him at all?
I don’t know what I’m going to do.
—
The more I think about it, the more I realize: what a crappy thing to do to a man.
Shit, my mom conned him for eighteen years. Admittedly, she picked a hell of a guy, so points to her there. But damn.
I have to tell him, I think, and that’s going to blow. I hope he still wants to be my dad.
—
Mom and dad have clearly got this separating thing down pat, because mom leaves one morning and dad gets home only a few hours later. Do they, like, have a shared calendar somewhere?
I tell him at dinner that night. It’s even harder than I think it’s going to be. I stammer out that I didn’t mean to overhear this but did, and that she called him a fool, said I wasn’t really his.
And he just looks… sad.
He rubs a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry, Sally.”
“What?” Why is he apologizing to me?
“I’m sorry you have to be a part of this whole mess.”
“Da–” I stop, suddenly unsure if I can still call him that. Now that’s a bad thought. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry for you. This seems really bad.”
He sighs. “I’ll be honest, sweetie: your mom and I are already in the process of separating. I think we’ve already hurt each other as much as we can. This would’ve hurt in the past, but now…”
Maybe I’ve been a bit in denial about it all, because those words kind of hurt. My parents loved each other once.
“Are you– Are we–” I don’t really know what I’m trying to ask, but I need some form of reassurance, I think. I feel like I’ve lost my mom with this blindsiding news; I can’t lose my dad too.
“Oh, Sally,” he says, and I look up to see that he’s staring at me intently. “Of course. I’m your daddy, and that won’t change.”
I don’t reply, instead offering a small smile. Slowly, I nod. Good.
“Sally, I– I think we should keep this to ourselves,” he adds after a moment.
“Why?”
“It’ll just make everything harder. Let me handle this on my own, okay?”
I don’t like that at all. I’m angry. I want to be angry, preferably in my mom’s general direction. But he’s looking imploringly at me, and I trust him so much, so: “Fine.”
“Our secret?”
“Yes, daddy.”
He smiles at that. “Daddy, huh?”
I like calling him that. “…Is that okay? Me calling you daddy?”
“Of course. You just haven’t called me that in a while.”
I shrug one shoulder, but I can’t hide my own small smile. I’m so happy I have a man like him around. “Like you said… Even if we’re not related, you’re still my daddy.”
“And I always will be.”
—
It seems like he’s sticking around for a while. I’m not complaining: I don’t know if I can look my mom in the eyes right now.
I need clothes for college, so I tell him I’ll be out for the day. For once, I get no retort: no demand for check-ins, no questioning about who I’ll be with (no one, I swear, I promise, no boys, no one), nothing.
It’s uncomfortably freeing, but I’d much rather that than stifling. I feel like this is my chance to show I can really be trusted; I mean, come on, I’m an adult!
“I’ll be home around dinner time,” I offer. “I have to go to a bunch of stores.”
He nods. “Okay, sweetie.”
And then, after all that, the shopping trip ends up being a spectacular failure. It turns out the mall’s under construction, so most of the places I want to go to are closed for a while.
I consider my options. I could find some open stores, I guess? Make do? I spin around in place, and all I see is a Gap Kids.
Alright, never mind.
I could go elsewhere, I suppose. I’ve got a car, right? But my mind flashes back to my dad’s easy nod: we agreed I’d go to the mall. I don’t want to break that promise.
And hell, this town is boring anyway. It’s not like there are a ton of other options.
I sigh: clearly this isn’t meant to be, and that’s a bummer. Another crappy moment amongst the many I’m having this summer.
Whatever. I’ll just go home.
—
When I step through the front door, the first thing I hear is rustling. A grunt comes second.
Someone’s home?
Instead of being stealthy — peeking around the corner, maybe? — I walk straight through to the living room, and I see my dad on the couch, and he’s got his pants unzipped, and one hand is stroking his–
Oh.
Fuck.
I freeze. He’s clearly caught up in what he’s doing, because he thrusts into his palm a few more times before my presence registers.
He looks up and shouts: “Sally?!”
And, I mean, what do you say to that? It’s not like you can just drop in a casual “hey, daddy.”
Or, well, wait, he’s not, so… “Hey, not-daddy.”
Either way, can’t do that!
I’ve got other things on my mind anyway. One thing, really.
Daddy’s still freaking out on the couch. He’s pulled a blanket over himself, but it looks a little funny, because it’s tented up so tall in the middle. I think he’s still got one hand around his length under there, like his brain short-circuited so hard he forgot to actually stop jerking off.
“I thought you were going to be gone until dinner,” he says finally, a little out of breath.
“The mall’s under construction,” I offer.
“Oh.”
It’s a weird conversation to have while staring at your dad’s cock. Because, to be clear, that’s what I’m doing.
I’ve never actually seen one before, at least not in real life. But my inexperience doesn’t mean I’m dumb: I know that what I’m seeing isn’t normal.
I only got a glance at it, but that was enough. It looked like daddy’s hand could only cover about a third of its length, and daddy has big hands.
It was thick too, widest at the base but flaring out again at the tip, and it curved a bit upward, so that same flared tip was pointing toward his bellybutton. There were several visible veins, but one in particular that ran from base to tip is stuck in my mind.
And it was so pink. Bright and perfectly pink against the paleness of his thighs.
How could mom ever cheat on that cock?
Actually: how did mom ever fit that cock?
And why is my mouth watering?
A bolt of heat strikes my gut, and I unconsciously squeeze my legs together. It only makes my sudden aching worse.
“I need you to–” He takes a deep breath, uncomfortable. “Can you go to your room, sweetie?”
Oh, right. He’s got his pants pulled down under there, and even though he’s not my dad, he’s the man who raised me, and I just saw him jerking off.
I nod almost frantically, run away even faster. What the fuck was that?
—
I see no need to ever acknowledge it again. That’ll only be weird, and our family’s had enough weird lately.
So, of course, he brings it up at dinner.
“Sally, I– I need to apologize.” He’s not even looking at me when he says it.
Maybe I can keep this quick: I shake my head. “Daddy, it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. What I was doing– I should have never been doing that where you could see.”
“You thought I was out shopping. It’s really okay. It’s natural, right? We all do it.”
That makes him glance up at me. It’s that mix of annoyance and amusement that you can only get from a parent. You know, the “I don’t like what you said, but okay, it was a little funny” look. A classic.
“Fine. But it still wasn’t okay,” he says.
“I mean… You’re not my real dad,” I say with a shrug. Which is fair, right? If he’s some random guy, why does it matter if he’s hanging around with his cock out?
He keeps looking at me, but he stays silent. It’s like it’s finally sinking in, that I’m not his daughter.
Since we’re clearly not just going to forget this ever happened, the least I can do is make it a funny memory instead of a horrifying one. So I continue: “So if you ever want to do that again, I mean…”
Okay. Maybe that one was too far.
His eyes widen for a beat, and then he scowls.
I have no interest in getting chastised tonight, so I wave my hands in surrender. “Sorry,” I say quickly. “Sorry. Bad joke. Just trying to make the best of all this.”
Daddy rolls his eyes and sighs, and I consider that a win.
—
The thought sticks, though.
Are you surprised? The most exciting thing I’ve done so far this summer is get chased by a squirrel while out walking. And now I’m thinking about licking my way up that vein, sucking the tip of my daddy’s cock into his mouth, stroking him–
I mean, really: can you blame me?
I’ve been horny since the incident earlier. It felt wrong earlier to just walk right over to my room and start touching myself, but I can only hold off for so long. Now, with a few hours and our dinner conversation between, I don’t feel as bad.
It’s not my fault I saw a really nice cock. Doesn’t matter who it belongs to.
I slide one hand under the waistband of my pajamas. I’m wet already, which I expect.
I know exactly what I like, and I jump straight to it: I slowly push two fingers into myself, bending them just right. The angle of my hand means my palm is hitting my clit.
I gasp into my pillow, and then I pull my head back.
As I had told daddy earlier: it’s natural. Here’s my chance to walk the walk, show him that I’m fine with what I saw. Excited, even, by whatever’s shifting between us.
So next time I push my fingers deep, I let myself moan. Loudly.
I kick my blanket off of me too, and suddenly I can hear my wetness with each twist of my hand.
I hope daddy’s enjoying my little show, because I sure am. I’m close, even closer with each groan I allow myself, and then I’m cumming, shoving my fingers in deep and pushing my palm hard against my clit.
“Mm, fuck!” I cry. I chase the aftershocks until they hurt, and I wipe my hand on my pants.
I expect silence, but that’s not what I get. There’s rustling, just like earlier.
Could he be–
Then I hear a quiet “oh shit,” and I know.
Daddy’s jerking off again. Maybe — probably? — because of me. It’s almost enough to make me want to rub myself again, but then the sound of his stroking gets faster and more frenzied, and I know he’s cumming when I hear a low groan.
Finally: silence. Except in my mind, which is racing.
—
I wish I had seen it. Daddy cumming, that is.
I’ve seen enough to piece together the scene until then. The mere few strokes I saw gave me plenty to work with: he seemed to stroke down with his hand and thrust up with his hips in equal measure, as though he were fucking his palm.
So that’s what I picture him doing in bed. Fully naked this time, chest hair glistening, hips raising up and up and up as he works himself toward completion.
But my imagination always stops there. Does he cum all over his own stomach? That would be a mess, seed sticky in his chest hair.
Does his seed spurt high, or does it dribble and puddle and pool? I bet he makes a lot of it. Those balls looked pretty big too.
I take it back. I don’t just wish I had seen it. I wish I did it. Made him cum. There wouldn’t be any mess then, if I could help daddy and get him to squirt into my mouth or– Fuck. Into my pussy.
—
Apparently mom stops by the house while I’m on a walk one morning. She’s gone by the time I’m back, but I notice a few more things missing: some pictures from the walls, a random whisk, half the plates.
Sure, mom, just take whatever you need! It’s not like we’re still living here, or anything!
Dad looks tired, hunched over the kitchen table.
“Is everything alright?” I ask.
He shrugs, and then he seems to remember who he’s talking to. He nods and sits up straighter. I guess we’re still playing this fun game of pretend here, acting like everything’s just dandy.
I sit across from him. “Did you know mom was coming?”
“She texted me this morning.”
“Why’d you stay home, then?”
He rubs a hand through his beard.
“I know you’ve never liked conflict,” he says. I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, but he’s not wrong. “But you can’t always avoid tough things, sweetie. Your mom and I have to sort this out, and that means we sometimes have to see and talk to each other.”
Fair, I guess. I don’t really agree, but I’ve also never gotten divorced, so I’ll give him this one.
I have to ask: “Did you… talk about me?”
“I told you: we’re not going to do that.”
“How can you not? I wouldn’t be able to stay quiet about that if I were you!”
“It’s easier this way.”
I’m pissed now. I don’t even know who I’m pissed at. Probably both of them, for making me deal with this. I leave for college so soon: can’t I have one moment of peace?
“Easier for who? Mom? So fucking what?”
“Sally–”
“No! It’s bullshit! She strung you along for eighteen years!”
He sighs and looks down, and I’m worried that I pushed too far again. Maybe, I realize, he’s avoiding the topic because it’s just too painful.
“I loved your mom. So much. It was a new relationship, yes, but when she told me she was pregnant… I was so excited.”
All I say is a quiet “oh.”
“I had always wanted a family. And I had always liked– Uh. I liked your mom when she was pregnant.”
Something changes in his expression then: it’s no longer quite as sad, and his cheeks and ears flush a light pink. That’s interesting.
“You liked her pregnant?” I echo.
His blush deepens. Very, very interesting.
I don’t want daddy to be sad, now or ever. I’m surprised by how strongly I feel that. He’s supposed to protect me, but in this moment, I feel like it’s my duty to protect him.
I shouldn’t have brought this up, but this new direction gives me a chance to recover.
I smile a little, teasing. “I didn’t know that about you, daddy.”
That gets me a scowl, but it’s a harmless one. Success.
—
We watch a movie the next night, and I hear daddy swallow hard when one of the characters announces she’s pregnant.
Clearly he’s still thinking about our conversation too.
“What did mom look like when she was pregnant?” I find myself asking. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture.”
He chuckles at that. “Yeah, she didn’t want to keep any. Said she looked ridiculous.”
“Did she?”
“I didn’t think so.”
I look over at him, but he’s studiously watching the screen.
“Most women gain a lot of weight, right?” he continues eventually. “But your mom really didn’t. Only her belly got big. She always said she looked like she was about to topple right over.”
I giggle. “But you liked her belly?”
He inhales sharply but nods. “I did, yeah.”
And I could have left it at that. But that’s boring. You know me: I hate boring.
So: “I bet I’d look a lot like her if I got pregnant.”
Immediately, his gaze snap onto mine. I realize that his eyes — widened, currently — look just like mine: both are a muddy green that seems brown unless you’re looking closely. And I’m looking closely.
“I’m small too,” I explain, needlessly. “Even smaller, I think. I bet my tummy would look ridiculous too.”
I have no idea why, but my hand slides to my flat stomach, like I’m expecting to feel it swell beneath my touch. Daddy’s gaze follows it, hungry.
He shifts and spreads his legs a little, and my gaze drops too. My belly’s bulge might be imaginary, but the bulge in daddy’s pajama pants certainly is not.
“Daddy…” I whisper.
He shakes his head, so I try again: “Daddy, please.”
I slowly reach out my hand. He doesn’t stop me — and he could, he absolutely could: he could bat me away, or move, or yell, and he doesn’t — so I let my palm land right on his length.
“Sally, we can’t,” he groans.
“Why not?”
“Sally. You know why.”
I squeeze a little, and he slams his eyes shut.
“You’re not my real dad,” I say. I begin to rub him through his pajamas, and I’m aching at how thick he feels, how little of him I can grasp.
“So what’s wrong…” Stroke. “With me…” Stroke. “Helping you out? After all, it’s my fault you’re so hard. I’m the one who started talking about what I’d look like with a big, round belly.”
He moans, and the end trails off into a near-growl. There’s a long moment of silence, and then he moves.
He lifts his hips up and pushes his pajamas and boxers down in one motion, letting his length slap up against his shirt. His head tips back against the couch cushions, and his eyes stay closed, and I get the message: yes, but don’t expect me to watch.
That’s fine with me.
I was right: my hand barely fits around half of his girth. His cock is so soft yet so firm as I stroke it, and I’m surprised by the drip of wetness I feel when my thumb slides across the slit.
“Baby,” he groans.
“It’s okay, daddy.”
“Harder, baby.” Oh, alright: I guess he wasn’t trying to stop me.
I obey his command — I’ve always obeyed my daddy, always been such a rule follower — and grip him harder. I stroke faster, and he starts thrusting his hips up too just like I saw him doing the other day.
He’s fucking my hand. It’s not what I really want him to fuck, but you’ve got to start somewhere.
I’m fixated on him. It’s everything I imagined and more, with his chest heaving as he gasps between breaths, hips pushing upward to chase his release.
I have the best not-daddy in the world.
“I’m gonna–”
I act on instinct, lowering my head and taking just the tip of him into my mouth. Even that hurts my jaw a little, being open that wide.
My tongue against his slit is what pushes him over the edge. He pushes up into me, and several more inches of his cock slide into my mouth before I can jerk back. It’s too much already, and my eyes are watering, and then I feel him spurting, cum spilling from him faster than I can swallow it.
It drips down my jaw and I cough as I pull back, even though he’s still cumming. But it’s a trickle now, streaming down his length and onto my hand.
I’m sure I look like quite a mess, seed smeared across my face, eyes wet, panting.
I don’t know when he opened his eyes, but he’s staring at me in horror.
Uh… Was that not a good orgasm for him? It sure seemed like one.
“Sweetie, Sally, Sally, I–” he’s reaching toward me, pushing me back to where I was seated next to him. “I shouldn’t have– We can’t– Baby, I’m so sorry.”
I make a point to lick my hand before I speak, and I’m glad to see him shudder as I swallow more of his cum. “Why, daddy? That was a lot of fun.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Sally, we don’t– I don’t know why you’re saying that. I don’t know what’s happening. I know you’re mad at your mom, but you don’t need to do this.”
I mean, yeah, I’m mad at my mom, but does he really think I’m trying to get back at her by, uh, secretly jerking off her ex and never telling her? Seriously?
But as dumb as the thought is, daddy’s obviously worried about it. Worried about me, I guess, so I have to convince him otherwise.
“I’m not… That’s not what I’m doing!” I sound petulant even to my own ears, which is not what I’m going for, so I sigh and try again.
“I’m not trying to get back at mom. I promise. I love you, daddy. And now that I know you’re not my real daddy, well– I think I just love you in a different sort of way.”
He reaches out, wipes his thumb across my jaw. Cleaning up the remnants of his seed, I suppose. It’s a gentle gesture that makes me shiver.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive,” I say.
He pauses again, then: “You really liked that?”
I giggle: isn’t it obvious? “I liked it a lot.”
“I liked it too,” he says, and I’m proud of him for admitting it even if I already knew.
“Good, because your cum was yummy, and I’m going to want some more.”
He chuckles quietly and nods, disbelieving. “We’ll see.”
—
I find the scrapbook over the weekend.
I need to start packing, so I’m looking for an old duffel bag in the attic. I don’t come up here a lot — mostly because it’s all dusty and cobweb-y and smells a little gross — so I’m surprised to see so much of mom’s stuff still here.
I would have taken all that first, if I were her. You know, hang onto the memories before you carry out a stack of dinner plates? Different strokes, I guess.
I don’t dig or anything. I’m not, like, actively trying to pry. That would be weird. I just open the top box to see what stuff she’s left behind, is all.
There are two photo frames. One is our family — me, mom, dad, looking happy like I remember us all being, and it’s uncomfortable, so I set it back face down — and one is of mom and her parents.
Next to the photos is the scrapbook, and I’m drawn to it immediately.
See, I’ve never really felt like my mom and I got each other. Overhearing her on the phone obviously didn’t help matters. But, well, she’s my mom. And I know mothers and daughters are supposed to fight, but they’re also supposed to talk and hug after it all. Why couldn’t we?
I think the scrapbook will help me understand her, so I quietly slip it into the duffel bag and take it to my room.
—
I ignore it for a few days. It feels forbidden, that glance at my mom’s past.
Then curiosity wins out.
I really do look like her, I realize first, though there’s something different about her that I can’t put my finger on. We’re similar even down to the way we stand, arms always crossed, folding ourselves in a little bit. It’s a little eerie, like I’ve been photoshopped into these vintage photos or something.
The scrapbook seems to go through most of college, and I’m intrigued: she had me when she was 22. Maybe my dad is actually in here somewhere.
I flip the pages faster, making note of any men I see and the names and dates scribbled beneath them.
By the end, there are three of note.
Matt. Andrew. And daddy.
—
The scrapbook obviously doesn’t give me the answer.
What, did you think I was going to say there was a sonogram in there or some shit?
But that doesn’t stop me from coming up with a story of my own. I’m thinking about it constantly, refining it.
It’s even on my mind as I try to fall asleep each night. I imagine the whole thing, what she experienced with each of the men, until pressing my thighs together is useless and I have to slip my hand downward and rub myself until I cum.
—
According to the scrapbook, she knew Matt first.
He was a scrawny guy. Around average height, meaning he still towered over mom. They’re hugging or touching in a lot of pictures, so I decide they were dating.
In my mind, he was a pretty bad lay. He seems like he’d be a little awkward. Bony, too, probably, and that doesn’t seem like it would be a lot of fun.
I bet mom wanted to like him really bad, but she just couldn’t. Every time he’d kiss her, pull her into him hard enough that his intentions were clear, she’d find herself holding back a sigh.
He never did anything untoward, of course: she liked Matt as a person enough to want to keep trying. She wanted to make him feel good.
But each time he’d rush through things it a bit because he could never last, so mom would quickly have his cock sliding up between her thighs.
It wasn’t too small, I figure, because he was clearly in her life for a while, but it wasn’t big enough to stretch her at all. Again: it should have been the perfect fit, but something was just off.
He seems like the kind of guy who wanted to stare into her eyes as he thrust, grunting each time, until he’d sputter and stop and push as far into her as he could. They always used a condom.
I bet mom never came with Matt.
—
Andrew only appears a few times, I notice, and only after Matt’s gone.
I assume mom’s the one to end things with Matt. Sometimes you just know who’s the dumper and who’s the dumpee.
Andrew looks like a bit of an ass, always wearing this backwards baseball cap that didn’t really fit his head and made his curls stick out from the sides. I bet he thought he was really cool.
Andrew’s clear rebound material, which means he was a good fuck. And thank god, because mom definitely needed a good orgasm by this point.
She clearly hasn’t had one recently, as an aside. Huh, maybe that’s why she is the way she is.
Anyway, I think Andrew had a pretty nice cock. See, she kept him around. Not for long, but long enough: rebounds stay out of scrapbooks unless they’re good. That said, there’s a photo of my mom and Andrew at a beach, and I can’t spot much of a bulge under those trunks.
Ehh, that’s okay: he could be average — short, even — with the girth to make up for it.
I bet mom didn’t make him use a condom. She just dumped someone safe, after all. She’s a new woman. A cool one.
I bet he was rough. Matt was all missionary and loving stares, so Andrew would be the opposite.
He’d always want to her from behind, for sure. Mom would be on all fours, lip bit between her teeth in preparation for the pounding she was about to receive.
But Andrew’s not a bad guy here, so he surprised her: rather than his cock, mom first felt his mouth. He would hold her folds open with one hand as his tongue teased her clit again and again until she dropped her head onto the bed.
“Is that good?” he’d murmur against her, and she’d moan a quiet “mhmm, ‘m close.”
He’d double down, thrust his tongue up into her and use his thumb now to swipe across her clit until she was crying out, dripping onto his mouth and jaw.
Then he’d stuff his cock into her in one long stroke. Bit of an ass, remember.
She’d choke on her spit — Andrew was so much thicker than Matt — and never quite manage to fully manage to catch her breath, because he liked to thrust into her fast and hard. Fill her up, pull out so just the tip was in her, and shove his whole length in once again.
He didn’t ask before cumming in her. What sort of woman was unprotected? He just poked in deep and curled his toes as his climax overtook him.
Did mom even realize what was happening? I haven’t decided.
They did this for a month or two, it looks like, so who knows when his sperm took.
Oh, yeah. That’s what I think: Andrew’s my dad.
Honestly, I can’t give you much evidence. We don’t look a lot alike. But the timing works, and we don’t not look alike either, so… It’s my best guess.
I hope it was that very first time that she caught. That would be hot: bred when she least expected it. Body still used to Matt’s safety and boom, here’s a thick cock to spread you wide and put a baby in you.
Then he leaves, dumps her, whatever, before either of them even knew he had bred her good. Would he have stuck around if he did? I think so.
But Andrew and mom weren’t aware that her tummy was about to start growing, so it didn’t matter.
—
Finally, daddy.
I know the story: they were casually seeing each other, both really into the other but unwilling to voice that sort of interest first, when mom learned she was pregnant. They decided to commit, were really happy together, blah, blah. The version they always told me ends there, so I mentally add in the rest of it. The ugly parts.
And I know what daddy’s cock looks like. I’m obsessed with it. But I can’t imagine what it felt like for mom.
I bet she wasn’t even trying to find a guy. After an unsuccessful rebound, she was probably burnt out. Then she met daddy at a bar, or in class, or something. I had never asked.
Daddy looked good back then. He had a beard, but it was shorter. His hair was shorter too, and he obviously put a lot of effort into maintaining its neat coif.
I realize then what’s been bugging me: in all these college pictures, my mom has curly hair. Usually more wavy, sometimes outright curly, depending on how she styled it, but clearly not straight. That’s what seems different about her.
Did she start straightening it after college? I never knew.
I run my fingers through my own hair. It’s pin-straight, much more like daddy’s hair in the photos. That’s ironic.
Anyway, mom met dad, and I think all the hormones pumping through her made her extra horny. That’s probably it.
Before Matt, before Andrew, mom would have never jumped into bed with a guy that fast. She was better than that! But after? She figured she might as well: if daddy was just another guy that would be in her life temporarily, she might as well get a good fuck out of it.
And yeah, it would be good.
She would want to sit on his cock. She’d want to control it. Mom’s always been controlling.
I’m not even sure a condom would fit over his length; if they tried, it probably broke.
Either way, mom eventually managed to sink herself down, folds spread wide as he bottomed out in her pussy. She had never felt so full.
She would do the work, lifting up, slamming down, until she felt wet heat within her.
He wasn’t the first guy to squirt in mom’s pussy, but the sheer amount of cum was startling still.
Mom was so tiny, so even a small bulge was obvious on her frame. She would realize she was knocked up soon.
Given just how much cum I bet daddy was dumping into her on the regular, she might have genuinely believed that he’s the one who did it.
I don’t know when she found out the truth.
She told daddy she was pregnant, and the rest is history.
—
This is always when I get the most horny. I can think about Matt and Andrew and feel a little warm, sure. Especially when I think about Andrew’s cum flooding into my mom’s womb.
I can hold out, though, until I think about daddy.
He didn’t know he was fucking a woman carrying another man’s baby. Each time his hands caressed her curves, he thought he did that. His cock, his seed.
I always end up thinking about how much he squirted into my mouth. Fuck, daddy makes so much cum.
So that night, that’s about when I start to slide my hand down. I’m more wet than usual, and sensitive, too. I feel like this between periods sometimes, but I’m too lazy to think back and remember when the last one ended.
I whimper, high pitched and needy. Since that first night daddy and I masturbated in our rooms, I’ve never been quiet again.
I’m too wrapped up in the feeling of my fingers in my pussy to hear the footsteps, but I sure do hear the door. I stop, but I don’t move my hand.
Daddy’s standing there in just bulging pajama pants.
He takes me in, lets his gaze pan slowly from my face down where my thumb is still slowly circling my clit.
This is the first time since we started all this that he’s seeing my pussy. I wonder if he thinks it’s pretty.
“Come here, Sally,” he growls, but he comes to me. He grabs my ankles and tugs, pulls me so my ass is on the edge of the bed, and he yanks my pajama pants the rest of the way down and tosses them onto the floor.
Daddy kneels before me and spreads my legs, and he’s staring right at my folds now. I’m gripping my sheets with both hands, hard.
He’s gentle for about half a second: he nudges my folds open with his nose. Then he’s not. He immediately sucks hard on my clit, and my back arches as I push my hips up. He chuckles — the vibration feels wonderful against me — and grabs my hips with his hands, pushing them down.
“Daddy,” I whine.
“You’ve got to stay still, sweetie,” he replies, licking me softly after every other word. He looks up fully when he continues: “Be a good girl for me.”
I will, I will, I will.
He switches to holding me down with one arm pressed across my hips so that the other hand can reach down to my pussy. He slides into me with one finger, and it feels like almost three of my own. He pushes in another, and I gasp.
“Daddy wants to taste your cum, baby.”
Fuck, I can’t say no to that.
It doesn’t take many more thrusts of his fingers or swipes of his tongue for me to break. I feel myself flooding his lips, and he licks me through each pulse until I’m limp.
“Wow, daddy,” I manage.
He stands and wipes his mouth. He’s still rock hard. I start to sit and reach for it, and he shakes his head.
“Not tonight,” he says.
“Why not?”
“You should go to bed.”
“Your cock is so big right now. Doesn’t it hurt?” I really believe it has to hurt. He’s been so good to me, making sure I cum. I want to help him.
“It’s okay. I’ll handle it myself.” In any other situation, that would have been an extremely enjoyable image.
Now, though? It’s not enough.
“I want your cock, daddy. Please?”
He’s still here, so I know he’s tempted. I add, “It’ll feel really good, daddy. You know it will. Your big cock will fill me up. You made me feel so good, so I want you to feel good too.”
He closes his eyes and repeats his words: “Not tonight.”
I sigh and let my head drop back against the bed. I don’t want to stare at his cock unless I can have it.
He leaves without another word.
But Daddy said “not tonight.” That’s important. He didn’t say no.
—
I can always tell when daddy’s been drinking. It’s not that he’d ever come home actually drunk — he’s too good of a man for that — but he gets kind of loose, or something.
It’s like he usually puts a lot of effort into standing tall, looking stern but kind, and when even a little alcohol hits him, that goes away. His shoulders slump, and he honestly looks a lot older. Tired, too.
I don’t like seeing him like that at all.
Two nights later, he’s out late, so I have a suspicion that tonight is one of the nights I’ll see daddy all tipsy and sad. I decide to go to bed early and avoid the whole thing: I don’t know how to combine sad daddy with the new daddy I’ve gotten lately.
My shower handle is loose, and I really don’t want to deal with that right now either. Since nobody else is home, I figure I’ll take a quick shower in the master bathroom then be safely hidden by the time he’s back.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work.
The doorknob starts wiggling just as I’ve gotten out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. Daddy’s clearly confused as to why the door’s locked, and I hear him mumble a quiet “what the–”
“Daddy!” I basically squeak.
“Sally?”
I unlock the door and swing it open, forgetting for a moment that I’ve got only a small towel wrapped around me. I mean, it’s not like there’s much he hasn’t seen. His eyes widen a bit anyway; they’re a little glassy as he gives my body a long glance.
“Sorry,” I stammer. “My shower’s been acting weird. I thought I’d be done before you got home.”
“It’s fine, I…” He seems distracted, but he clearly isn’t that drunk, so I’m confused. “I just– I need to be alone in here.”
Weird way of saying he needs to pee, but obviously it’s fine. It’s his bathroom, after all.
Then my gaze drops for a split second, and oh. He doesn’t need to pee, probably couldn’t even manage to do so. Because his cock looks rock fucking hard in those pants, bulging so big that the zipper’s visible.
He needs to jerk off.
He takes a sharp breath, and I know he knows what I’m staring at.
“Sally–” His voice catches.
I’m staring at my daddy’s crotch. Not-daddy’s crotch. Whatever.
Once again, I’m happy — hell, let’s go with elated — that the man before me isn’t my real dad.
I take a step back, and I lift the bottom of the towel a bit as I do. Not enough to show anything, but enough to make the implication clear. Clearer than I’ve already made it, and I’ve made it pretty damn clear these past few days: I want his cock wherever he’s willing to put it.
I know it’ll be good. It has to be. First, it’s huge, and I’m tiny. It’ll stretch me to the brim; I’ve been shoving four fingers into myself lately to try to replicate what that burn is sure to feel like, but it’s never enough.
But even more importantly, I know what a caring man daddy is. I want him to be my first. I’ve felt so much of his love in my life, just not like this, and I need it.
I finally look back into his eyes. He seems torn. Guilty that he’s even considering this but also obviously horny as hell.
So, oh so quietly, I whisper: “I want to help you, daddy.”
He grunts like he’s been punched in the stomach. I decide that’s all I needed to hear: I’m diving in.
I turn and bend over the bathroom counter, resting one arm on the granite and letting my head drop into it. I tug up the towel with my other hand, for real this time, so he can see my whole, bare pussy, wet and waiting just for him.
I don’t hear him approach, but suddenly, I feel him. He rubs three fingers down my folds roughly, and I moan involuntarily. Then he pulls his hand away, and fabric rustles behind me.
The next thing I feel is the head of his cock, and I’m no longer blissfully eager.
Nope, I am suddenly very, very nervous. It feels gigantic against my tiny opening, a battering ram.
It won’t go in. He’s not going to fit. If I had been more like daddy — made of more of daddy — maybe I would’ve had a pussy big enough for him, but I don’t.
He pushes. Nothing. He pushes. It hurts a little, and then–
Oh.
I thought my fingers would be close to this feeling, but they weren’t close at all. This is different. This is a cock designed to split a pussy open all the way, and that’s exactly what it’s doing to my little hole.
“Daddy!” I squeal. “You’re too big!”
He stops to let me adjust, and I breath quickly through gritted teeth.
I’m not sure I want to know, but I have to ask: “How much do you have in me?”
“I’ve just got the head in, baby. It’ll get easier as you get used to it.”
Just the head? That’s impossible: it feels like I sat on a baseball bat. Then he pushes again and I realize he wasn’t lying. Several more inches slid into me, and I can feel every ridge on him scraping my walls.
“I don’t know, daddy. You’re really big.”
“Have you ever had sex before?” he asks.
“Nuh-uh,” I mumble, uselessly shaking my head no into the crook of my elbow.
His cock jerks a bit at that. “You should’ve told me.”
“Then you wouldn’t have put it in me.”
“Your first time shouldn’t be in a bathroom, baby.”
“Why not? I just want you. That’s what makes it special.”
At that, he pulls out nearly all the way and thrusts back, and a little more slides into me.
On his next push, I cum. I don’t even feel it building until I’m panting, and my pussy is throbbing around his cock.
“Fuck, Sally, baby, you’re so tight. You’re taking my cock so well.”
“Mhmm.” Hearing my daddy compliment me like that is nice; I push myself back into his cock a bit, wanting more of all of this.
“I’m going to put it all in you now, okay?”
I don’t have a chance to respond before he shoves hard and the breath is stolen from my lungs. He must be in my womb by now. There’s no way a body as tiny as mine has a pussy this long.
I reach one hand down to feel where my folds have widened so far to fit him in. It feels wonderful: I didn’t know I could open so wide, and the base of daddy’s cock is like a tree trunk.
“Wow,” I mumble.
I slide my hand upward toward my belly button, and… There. I can feel him in my stomach, and I gasp.
He rubs my ass gently as I get used to the size of him in me.
“You’re such a good girl, Sally.”
He thrusts shallowly, keeping me stuffed full, but his balls hit against my clit each time. It feels so nice. His balls are big like the rest of him, and I start thinking about how much seed must be in them right now.
I hear myself saying “I want your cum, daddy.” Honestly, the thought of him cumming anywhere but inside me never occurs to me.
He pushes into me a few more times and then does just as I asked. I had no idea what cum would feel like, but it’s hot. I can feel exactly where he’s spurting against the deepest part of me, right next to my cervix.
I’ve still got my hand on my belly, and I’m waiting, as if I’ll be able to feel myself expanding as he squirts again and again. Maybe it’s not as dumb of an idea as it seems: his cock is filling me so much that almost no cum can escape around him, so I must be getting fuller and fuller.
Finally, he slides out of me, and a stream of seed follows. I try to catch what I can with an open hand. After a few seconds, he reaches under my hand and lifts, pressing the puddle in my palm into my folds until I get the hint: I rub it around and up into me.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that. Don’t waste it. Shit, Sally, you’ve got such a pretty little pussy.”
“Not right now,” I giggle. “Now it’s all red and covered with your cum!”
“That makes it even prettier than usual.”
His hand joins mine, and we rub my clit together in silence.
Then, without another word, daddy walks away. A moment later, I hear the closet door open across the bedroom: he’s grabbing his pajamas. Whatever this was, it’s over.
I mindlessly circle my clit with one finger for a moment longer, shivering through the aftershocks. As I stand fully, more cum drips from me onto the bathroom floor. I walk down the hall to my room, and exhaustion overrules my racing thoughts: I fall asleep quickly.
—
He stays in his room until the entire next day. I almost think he’s gone at first, then I hear his footsteps.
Not gone, just avoiding me.
Why? What made this so different? Was fucking that much more special than sucking my clit?
Don’t get me wrong: I’m glad he fucked me. I’ve been waiting for that — wanting that — for a while. So I got over any weird feelings a while back. Didn’t daddy?
I bet he’s waiting for me to go to bed, and then he’s going to make a dash for some food. I can work with that: I brush my teeth — the water pipes are always really loud, so he’ll know — and shut my bedroom door.
But I’m not in my room. I’m sitting outside the master bedroom, waiting, and it doesn’t even take long: he opens the door within a few minutes.
“Shit, Sally!” he shouts. And then: “Shit. Sally.”
He’s going to lock himself back in there any second, so I’ve got to make this count.
I stand up, but daddy speaks before I can: “That can never happen again.”
Uh, no hello or anything? And wow, so glad I was consulted on this decision! What a dick — this time not literally.
“What, avoid me for a whole day? I agree, it won’t happen again,” I say. I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes.
He’s still holding the doorknob, and his grip tightens. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Sally, you’re barely eighteen.”
“I’m an adult. I know you don’t like that, and you’ve certainly never treated me like it, but I am.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing. This is wrong.”
He’s just full of fun accusations tonight, isn’t he? Why is he doing this to me? Just yesterday, he was helping me spread every last drop of his cum across my pussy, and now he won’t even look at me.
“What is that supposed to mean? Are you going to try to tell me you didn’t enjoy last night?” I ask.
“No, I’m not” he sighs, and I raise my eyebrows: unexpected. “No, I enjoyed last night very much. But I’m your daddy.”
I open my mouth to retort. He waves his hand as if to say ‘just hold on.’
“I might not be your real dad,” he says, as I had been about to. “But you told me yourself that you wanted me to still be your daddy. And that means we can’t be doing this.”
“Why not?” I really mean it: I want his support and protection, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want him in other ways too.
“Daddies don’t fuck their daughters, Sally.”
“I’m not a normal daughter. I’m not your daughter! We’ve already been doing this: you’ve been here for me like my daddy, but you’ve also been making me feel good in a way a daddy shouldn’t. That’s exactly what I want!”
“Do you really mean that?” he asks, voice low.
I just nod.
He’s gripping the knob hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.
“And you’ll tell me immediately if that changes?” he adds.
I nod again, but I know that won’t be happening anytime soon.
“You really like daddy’s cock, huh?”
Final nod.
He lets go of the doorknob, steps forward, and doesn’t waste a moment: the very first thing he does is slip his hand into my pants and spread me open.
“You really do,” he whispers. “You’re so wet, all for daddy.”
“Mhmm,” I mumble.
“Is this what you want? Do you want to cum right here with my fingers in you? Without even taking your clothes off?”
He rubs me once as he speaks, and it’s nearly enough to make me agree on the spot: yes, daddy, please make me cum.
I’m glad I wait.
“Or do you want daddy’s cock?” he offers next. “Is that why you’re out here? Was your little pussy feeling empty?”
“Yes, yes,” I gasp. “I want you to fill me up.”
His hand leaves my pants and grips my lower back instead, and I can feel his damp fingers where they rest under my shirt.
He doesn’t really pull; he just walks backward and I follow until we’re next to the master bed.
I used to sleep right in the middle — awkwardly between the pillows — when I had nightmares.
“Take your pajamas off,” he whispers, but the words echo in my head as if he yelled them.
My shirt goes first, and his hands reach for my almost-flat tits. He seems to like them anyway.
As soon as I’ve pulled down my pants, he’s pushing me back onto the bed. I scoot until my head is on a pillow, and he crawls to follow.
Softly, he kisses me. It’s the first time in my life I have kissed my daddy on the lips.
We kiss for a while, and his hands stroke my hips and thighs lightly, coaxing my legs apart but never touching me where I’m aching.
I’m the one to pull back: “come on, daddy.”
“Don’t be bossy, Sally,” he replies, but he listens to me.
He’s still fully dressed, and he doesn’t change that; he tugs his pants down just enough to free his length, leaving them to hang around his thighs.
The tip of him is pointed right at my pussy. I agree with daddy’s cock wholeheartedly.
“Are you ready, baby?” he asks.
“I think so.” My pussy is still aching a bit from the previous night, but I’m hopeful that it’ll be easier the second time.
Daddy pushes into me. It’s not easier. But it’s different, this angle, being below him.
I think he has more control, because he’s going slower, and that means I feel each bit of him enter me. Each centimeter deeper is another part of my pussy that burns with the stretch of his cock.
“Too big, too big,” I manage to squeak out.
He stops but doesn’t pull out. After a minute I’m wiggling under him.
“Are you ready for more?” he asks. So thoughtful.
I nod into his shoulder, and he pushes again. I rake my fingernails down his back — I’m sure I would’ve scratched him, had he not been wearing a shirt — and whimper.
But it’s getting easier. There’s no burn anymore, just the stretch.
So: “Stuff it all in, daddy,” I blurt. “Just do it.”
I cum the moment he bottoms out inside me. It’s like an explosion: nothing, and then everything, and my whole body tingles.
He’s filling me completely, and I wrap my legs around his hips and keep him deep as I throb around him.
“You’re doing so good,” he says when I’ve caught my breath. He’s been thrusting softly as I ride out my orgasm, but he’s pushing harder and harder now. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You look so pretty cumming on your daddy’s cock.”
I could probably do it again, I know. All I have to do is reach down and rub my clit a little. Or, better yet, have daddy do it for me. I’m satisfied, though; it’s his turn.
“Are you going to cum too?” I ask, almost pleading.
“I’m close. Are you sure you want it in you?”
I think it’s sweet that daddy asks. Vaguely, I know I should take the question seriously, but then he shoves into me again and I forget all about that.
I mean, he came in me last night, so one more load couldn’t hurt. And I really, really want to feel him cum in me, okay?
“Yes. Cum in me.”
I feel him stick his cock in all the way, and then I feel that same wet heat again. Our heads drop: mine back to the pillow, his onto my shoulder. His breath is hot against my chest, in time with the pulsing of his cock in my pussy.
It’s so warm. There’s so much.
He pulls out and lays next to me. Unlike last night, almost no seed follows his cock. He put it all so deep that it stays inside me.
I roll over to cuddle up to him, throwing one arm over his chest. He really wore me out.
“Thanks, daddy.”
“I really do love you, Sally. I want you to know that.”
“I love you too. Even if my pussy hurts a little now.”
He laughs, though I feel his breath on my hair more than I hear it. “Sorry, sweetie.”
“S’okay,” I mumble sleepily. “It’s not your fault your cock is so big. We’ll just keep practicing.”
“Alright. Goodnight.”
I’m asleep before I can reply.
—
I really like sitting on my daddy’s cock.
The first time I try it, it’s kind of a game. We’re watching a movie together, as we’ve done almost every week of my life.
The only noticeable difference this time is our clothing. We’ve always worn pajamas, sure, but usually those pajamas weren’t solely boxers for daddy or a mere t-shirt and panties for me.
Without saying a word, I reach one hand down to his crotch. I run my fingertips over his length as softly as I can, and I’m rewarded with a huff, but he doesn’t even seem to blink.
If that’s how he wants to do this, that’s fine.
My touch gets firmer and faster until I can hear him panting next to me. I still haven’t looked away from the TV at all, though I have absolutely no idea what’s happening in the movie.
I consider my options: slowly jerking daddy to an orgasm would be fun. I bet he’d try to stay quiet the whole time, so I’d get to break him. I know how I’d do it, too: I’d jerk him up and down, up and down until he was desperate, then I’d press my thumb right into his slit. Daddy likes that a lot.
Or I could give him a blowjob. That would break the game of pretend, though, since I’d have to look at daddy and his cock to suck him off. But his cum is so yummy. I’m really tempted.
The winner, obviously, is option C. And it’s easy, too, at least at first: I’m able to pull his length out of his boxers and shift my own panties aside in a fluid motion. Then it’s a matter of moving over and onto his lap, which I do before he even seems to realize what’s happening.
The easy part is over, but it was sure nice while it lasted.
Now I’ve got to fit him in me, and it’s as hard (ha!) as it always is. Thankfully, my daddy’s a helpful man: he grasps my hips with both hands.
The combination of me bearing down and his assistance works, and I feel myself splitting open.
“Daddy, daddy, daddy–” I’m whispering it like a chant. My eyes slam shut until I remember: no, we’re pretending. We’re watching a movie.
Finally I’m fully spread, and it’s nice like this, because the very base of him spreads my folds even further than normal. It’s like I’m getting every millimeter of cock possible.
We fuck silently: I grind back and forth until I’m falling back onto him with a whimper. But I still don’t look away from the TV, and daddy doesn’t either.
He pushes up as much as he can, but there’s basically nothing to push. It’s all stuffed in me.
“Baby, daddy’s gonna cum.”
Those are the first words we’ve said to each other to acknowledge our mating.
“Make sure it all goes in me so the couch doesn’t get messy.”
He listens, because he’s such a kind guy.
—
So yeah, I really like movie nights.
I mean, I always have. That’s the funny thing about fucking the daddy-who’s-not-really-my-daddy. I get to take all these things I remember, all these things I’ve always loved about him, and make them even more special.
—
One night, I cum after daddy pinches my nipple.
Like, that’s it. He doesn’t even have his cock out of his pants, and I’m sitting there moaning and writhing.
My breasts aren’t usually that sensitive.
“Oh, shit, daddy,” I finally manage. “I think you should play with my titties more often.”
He looks a little awestruck staring at them. “Baby, I think they might finally be growing.”
I look down at my breasts. My nipples do look bigger, and they certainly look puffier. Daddy’s been rubbing them for a while, so I don’t think much of it. But I do hope he’s right.
—
I guess sitting on your ass all summer has consequences: I start gaining weight.
I have to buy new jeans twice in a month, and I’m annoyed: that was supposed to be my spending money for when I start college in a few weeks! How am I supposed to afford those ridiculous college textbooks if all of my money is going to pants that will actually button?
—
Okay, let’s pause: I’m sure you know what’s going on by now.
Yeah, yeah, I’m pregnant. Knocked up. Bred. Whatever you want to call it, that’s me.
Who knows when it happened. Daddy and I were fucking way too frequently for to ever even guess.
Was it one of those movie nights? Did I sit for just a bit too long with his cock in me, plugging all that cum inside my pussy? That could’ve done it: all I needed was for one sperm to wiggle its way up, and daddy sure dumped about a million times more in me than that.
Maybe it was when I was making dinner one night. I tried my hardest to be a good daughter, so I liked to help with the cooking. Occasionally, I’d still be finishing up when daddy got home from work, so he’d lift up my dress or tug down my pants and stuff that big thing into me while I stirred. Then I’d get to eat dinner with all his cum dripping out of me.
Or maybe it was one of those times I sucked him off. Sperm going into your tummy makes a baby, right?
Just kidding. I swear I know how babies are made. Even though it must seem like I don’t right now.
—
So yeah, you may have guessed on your own, but I find out from daddy.
It’s a little funny: he pokes his whole cock up into me, put his hands on my hips, and stops short.
Apparently he used to be able to fit his hands almost all the way around me, which he loved. It always reminded him of how tiny I am. But now, his hands don’t cover as much. My belly is a whole lot bigger than it used to be.
“Sally?”
I’m enjoying my newfound fullness, so my “mhmm?” is as much moan as reply.
“Baby, when was your last period?”
That brings me back to earth: I realize I’m not sure. I was never entirely regular — the doctor said it was because of how small I am — but I always had periods eventually. Except recently, which means–
Oh.
The first thing I feel is silly. I’m a grown woman, albeit barely. How did I miss this?
Then I’m freaked.
“I… I don’t know,” I admit.
His hands seem to squeeze my hips a bit.
“Sally, could you be…” He trails off, but I recognize what’s going on, and I know what he’s asking.
One of us has to say it, so I do: “Daddy, I think I might be pregnant.”
This makes him do two things in unison.
One: drop his head against the back of my shoulder and mutter a quiet, broken, “oh, fuck.”
Two: pound his whole cock into me. And I mean it: I don’t think daddy’s ever thrusted into my pussy quite that hard before.
At his realization a minute ago, he had pulled out as much as he could — so that nearly just the tip of him was holding me open — but now he it all shoves back in, and he cums.
His body is otherwise motionless, but there’s no way I could miss the way his cock feels like it’s getting even wider in me, the way it pulses, the heat of his seed splashing into me.
Mixed messages for sure, but I’m caught up in my own thoughts.
Those thoughts I’m having are taking a turn: my shock fades quickly. It’s like surprise was the reaction I had to have in the rush of the moment. It was the inevitable moment of recognition and fear that my belly is bulging because of a baby.
But as I sit with that knowledge, I’m not upset about it.
“Sally, honey,” he says. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry.”
It appears, however, that daddy is upset. “What?”
“I didn’t mean to do this, Sally. Daddy’s so sorry. Daddy should have never fucked you.”
Which would be a lot easier to take in if, you know, his cock weren’t still throbbing inside me.
“It’s okay,” I say.
“It’s not okay. Do you know what this means?”
“It means you’ll have a baby, daddy. A real one.”
“Sweetie, but you–”
“I want to give you a baby.” It’s not a thought I’ve had before, but it’s absolutely true now. “We all thought I was the baby that mom gave you, but I’m not. And you’re such a good daddy. You should have a baby of your own.”
I feel the breath of his sigh from where his head is still resting on me.
“Are you sure?” he finally asks.
“I’m sure. I love you, daddy. Of course I want to have your baby.”
His hands slide; they’re less on my hips now, and more on my belly.
“You’re going to get so fucking big.” It’s so quiet that I’m not sure he meant to say it out loud.
—
All of this started because he got hard when I asked him about mom being pregnant, so I already knew my daddy liked big bellies.
Knowing and experiencing are different, though.
After we confirm my pregnancy at the doctor, it’s like he can’t keep his hands off of me. He’s always rubbing my belly, and I’m not complaining.
Oh, and I get my wish, and my tits grow. Life lesson for you: add a few qualifiers to your wishes, otherwise you might end up knocked up or something.
I’m admiring them in the mirror when daddy walks in and smiles.
“I knew you’d fill out someday,” he teases.
“All it took was some of your cum.”
That makes daddy sputter into a cough. Reminding him that he was the one to make my tummy grow always does, so I keep going: “Don’t look at me like that, daddy. I’m not the one who was dumping gallons of cum straight into my womb every week.”
He walks forward and cups my stomach with both hands, touch gentle despite the hungry look in his eyes.
“You shouldn’t tease me, sweetie,” he warns.
But I’m in a good mood: excited to have curves, even more excited that they’re because of the baby I’m growing.
“Or what?” I reply. “You’ll make me pregnant? Oh wait, you did that already.”
His hands move up to my tits, and his touch definitely isn’t gentle anymore. I groan.
“Or I’ll wait until you’ve given birth, and I’ll stick my cock right in you again and make another baby. Maybe twins next, just to see how huge your tummy gets then.”
All this talk — not to mention the way he’s massaging my breasts — has got me soaking wet.
“If you’re going to do that, we better practice, daddy.”
—
From the front, I’m still short, and I’m still skinny. Same old Sally.
Well, if you look closely, my hips are a little wider. They probably barely count as the hips of a real woman, but they’re going to serve their purpose soon anyway: they’re widening so I can squeeze this baby out of me.
Let’s just say I look different from the side.
How can I best describe it? Picture a ballerina, then imagine her sticking a beach ball under her leotard, and you’re pretty close.
I feel gigantic already, but it seems like I’m getting bigger every day.
Maternity clothes look stupid on me, because they assume you grow other places too. You know, gain some padding in the arms, thighs. But for me, it’s just my belly. Like mother, like daughter.
It’s like a beacon: hey, world! I made a baby with my not-daddy!
—
Mom’s never been observant, so I’m not surprised that an oversized hoodie is enough to hide my swelling.
We exchange hellos, and I avoid her hug. Given that I haven’t seen her in a while — since she finally finished packing up one day and left — I think I have a pretty solid excuse.
Like, things would be awkward even if I hadn’t been fucking her ex. But I am also doing that, so…
Anyway.
I’m just here to grab a few books I need for a class I’m taking.
(Yeah, class. This didn’t stop me going to college. I switched to online classes, and I’m no longer living in the dorms, but I’m going. If I’m going to give daddy the family he deserves, I plan on pulling my weight.)
So it’s all good. It’s all fine.
Then I find an old high school jacket, and it’s like I’m back there. It feels so long ago, that life. Childhood. Happy parents, together. The me who wore this jacket would have fainted at the thought of slurping on her daddy’s cock.
I’m in the garage where my boxes are, and the door is closed, so I decide to try it on just for memory’s sake. See if it’ll fit now — I doubt it will. So I pull off my hoodie.
And yeah, duh, I should have seen it coming: that’s when mom walks in to check on me.
She screams and screams and screams. She runs toward me, hands outstretched like she’s going to yank my belly away.
There are probably words involved in all this, but I’m too busy pulling back on my hoodie and pretending like I don’t know what she’s talking about to process them.
It’s not my best work, mostly because I’m huge and round and so obviously, thoroughly impregnated. But what else was I going to do? Tell the truth?
—
She calls daddy, who pretends to be shocked.
“Pregnant?” he says. “Sally?”
He’s a better liar than I am.
“Yes, Sally,” mom says, terse. Correctly blaming him, but for all the wrong reasons.
I don’t hear his reply, but mom makes a few disappointed noises before she speaks again.
“You know what? We’re going to have a family dinner to discuss this.”
The jacket’s ugly anyway. I don’t know why I even wanted to try it on, and now look where I am.
—
“I don’t want to go to dinner.” I’m whining like a petulant child, and I know it. It probably won’t work, but it’s worth a try.
“You think I do?” Daddy laughs, but it’s humorless.
“Then let’s not go! We don’t have to!”
“Sally, sweetie…” He sighs, and I know I’ve lost. “She’s your mom. She’s worried about you. I would be too, if–”
“If what?”
“If I were her.”
“That’s not what you were going to say, daddy.” If I have to go to this horrible dinner, I’m going to have my fun beforehand.
I cross my arms; it’s kind of hard to do that now, because my arms have to go above my tummy. That does mean they push my titties up really nicely, and I see daddy stare.
I continue: “You were going to say ‘if it weren’t my baby,’ weren’t you?”
He sighs again, but there’s less heart this time. It’s a giving in kind of sigh. “I was not going to say that.”
“I think you were,” I say. “Come on, admit it. Look at me: my tummy’s huge, and it’s all your fault. If it weren’t your baby, you’d be worried about your girl, right? But you’re not, because you’re secretly happy you got to be the one to pump me full of cum.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he gives me a look — that mix of guilt and want that I haven’t seen since the first night he fucked me — and his hand reaches down to palm at the front of his pants where a bulge is starting to grow.
Ha. I was right.
—
He tells me we have to go to the dinner. It’s the right thing to do.
Which… Fine, whatever. I guess we’re suddenly concerned about the “right thing” now. Funny how that happens after he makes my belly swell.
But because my not-daddy’s so nice, he agrees to fuck me before we go.
There are only a few positions that are comfortable for me now. This time, I get onto my knees and elbows on the couch, and he pushes into me from behind.
“Daddy,” I whimper. “Harder, daddy.”
“I’m trying. You’re just so tight, sweetie.”
“Then having your big cock in me is good practice. I’m going to have to stretch a lot for the baby.” My words are interspersed with gasps.
He’s got his hands on my ass cheeks, spreading them. It eases the burn of his girth a little. His balls slap loudly against me with each shove, and that’s the only sound in the room for a while.
Then: “Baby, I’m close,” he gasps.
“Fill me up, daddy. I want your cum dripping out of me as we talk to mom.”
At that, he explodes in me.
—
This dinner is awkward as hell.
I haven’t been in a room with both of them at once since, well, before all of this. And every time I had before, it was as a girl with her parents. As a family.
Now, I’m here at this table with the mother who betrayed me, and the man who had quite thoroughly impregnated me. It’s a bit of a different vibe.
Mom manages to wait until after appetizers to bring it up, which is impressive.
“Well, I just hope you knew what you were doing,” she blurts.
I look up: is she talking to me? She could honestly be talking to either of us, and there’s something a little funny about that.
She doesn’t elaborate, so I ask: “what?”
“If you’re going to get yourself knocked up, I hope you at least know who the father is, for one.”
I’m sure I’m making some stupid shocked face, but come on. She has no reason to think I’ve been sleeping around! I was never even cool enough to get asked to a dance in high school, but my mom seems to think I’ve suddenly become a whore.
Takes one to know one, I suppose.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember that daddy and I decided never to tell my mom we knew about the paternity thing. Unfortunately, the front of my mind has different ideas.
“What, unlike you?”
I see daddy cringe beside me, and I feel a little guilty. Too late: I guess we’re having this conversation. Whoops.
My mom, to her credit, looks adequately appalled. But… in a confused way, which is a little weird.
“And what do you mean by that?” she says, as though the accusation is a terrible one. She’s a good liar, I’ll give her that. Probably how she got daddy for so many years.
“Please, mom,” I say. I tell her I heard her on the phone that day: I know daddy’s not my father. “But you picked a great guy to con, so he’s stuck by me.”
She doesn’t need to know what kind of sticking he’s been doing lately, but I know very well. My hand absentmindedly goes to cradle my belly.
It’s getting so big, and I’m so thankful. Daddy thought he had a child, but he didn’t; now I get to repay my daddy for all the love he gave me growing up by giving him an actual kid of his own.
The silence drags on, and I shift slightly in my seat. I feel a little bit of daddy’s seed drip out of me, and it’s a little discomfiting, given the moment we’re having.
“Honey, I–” Mom shakes her head. “I was talking to Shannon, my cousin. She’s getting a divorce too: she and her husband have both been cheating on each other for years, and her husband recently found out that the kids aren’t his.”
My eyes widen. I remember Shannon, and her kids.
Mom continues: “Look, what Shannon did isn’t right, but I was trying to support her. Sally, sweetie, I promise…”
She looks at me, and then at daddy. Daddy’s looking at me too, intently, and I can feel his gaze burning into me.
I don’t look at either of them. Instead, I look at the table as the realization of what she’s saying sinks over me.
I know what this means. I don’t need my mom to voice it. About nineteen years ago, my daddy stuck his cock up in a woman and made me. And a few months ago, because we both thought we weren’t related at all, he stuck that very same cock up the pussy he helped make and knocked me up too.
Because the universe is having such a fun time with me lately, my mom says it anyway, of course. “We may be separating too, but I never cheated on your father and I never would. I’m positive of it, Sally: that man next to you is your dad.”
I can’t take this. I stand up, and I take two calm steps before basically sprinting away.
—
The first time I can remember my daddy saying he was proud of me was when I jumped into the deep end of the pool for the first time.
The most recent time was last week when his cock bottomed out inside of my pussy.
“Good girl,” he had said. “You’re so good at this. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, daddy,” I had replied.
Daddy.
I stand outside mom’s apartment building, staring into the street.
I still don’t know when I got pregnant, but I do know that I had so many opportunities to stop before it got this far. But I didn’t, and daddy didn’t, and now my tummy’s too big for all of my pants.
Because of my daddy. My actual daddy. My father.
Shit. I never thought I’d be carrying my dad’s baby, that’s for sure.
—
Eventually, daddy follows me out.
“Sweetie–”
He trails off, and that’s fair. There are a lot of things he could say.
“I talked to your mom” is the one he goes with first. Mediocre choice because yeah, I assumed they weren’t just sitting there in silence.
“I told her you had a condom accident with a boy from your grade that you had been secretly seeing for a while,” he continues. He rubs a hand across his eyes. “And I convinced her that you’re upset about, uh– Accusing her of adultery. Unfairly.”
That’s one way of putting it.
Then his hand jolts out, like it’s not really under his control, and lands on my tummy.
“That’s our baby,” I hear myself murmur.
“You’re my baby,” he says.
“I guess so.”
“And you’re okay with that? With this?”
“What am I supposed to do about it now?”
“Sally–” There’s a resigned tone, and I shrug guiltily.
So I’m joking. Sue me. I’m the one who has to give birth soon, and given how big of a guy my dad is, I’m sure the baby’s not going to go easy on my pussy.
“I’m okay with it,” I say, serious this time. “Even when we didn’t think you were my real daddy, I always thought you raised me so well. I’ve loved you my whole life, but it’s just a different kind of love now.”
Maybe getting bred by your father figure is the bigger deal. Once you pass that hurdle, it doesn’t really matter if he’s your real dad or not.
If I’m being totally honest, I’m a little excited. I feel connected to my mom in a way I never have before: she and I were knocked up by the same man. Our bodies both swelled for him, because of him.
I had spent so much time mourning my parents’ separation, fretting over what broken pieces of a family I’d be expected to bear. But now I have a new legacy: I am to carry my father’s children in my womb, as my mom had done for me.
I look at daddy finally, and his eyes are damp. I rub the top of my belly near his hand and smile: we did this, daddy.
—
My parents split everything pretty equally, so they finalize their divorce quickly.
Dad comes back from the courthouse after one of the meetings and steps behind me. He’s not fully hard, but I can feel his length against my back already. His hands hold my stomach, which is as huge as it’s going to get. I hope.
“Your mom said she tried to call you. She left a voicemail,” he says.
“Oh, thanks.”
I’ve actually been talking to mom a decent amount recently. Crazy, right?
We’re still not friends, but we’re trying a little bit. It’s hard, though, when you can’t tell your mom your biggest secret. But I’m due soon, and I’m sort of super excited for her to meet my baby.
“I think she’s really trying, Sally.”
He lifts my dress, and he inhales sharply as he discovers that I’m not wearing any panties. I hear and feel him tug down his zipper as I reach for my phone.
Being gigantic hasn’t slowed me down at all: I’m still fucking daddy daily, and I plan on continuing after the baby comes. He owes me those twins, after all.
Daddy presses his cock up as I start to play the voicemail, and I shift to spread my legs open further so he can fit inside me.
“I just wanted to say I love you, darling. I hope we get to speak again soon,” mom’s voice says. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…”
He thrusts hard, and I gasp, the end rising into a moan.
“You’re the best of both of us, and that’s my favorite thing about you. My sweet Sally, I mean it: I absolutely love how much of your dad is in you.”
I burst out laughing. Little does she know.