She’s out right now, having a wonderful time I’m sure. My 18-year-old daughter Meagan.
We live together, just the two of us. Her mother and I got divorced two years ago because she wanted to ‘find’ herself. Last I heard she found herself in the bedroom of her yoga-instructor and they’d moved to somewhere in Asia. Probably something to do with Buddhism in some way. Funny thing is, I never really cared, and neither did Meagan. I’d stopped loving my wife some time before that. She’d cheated on me before, and although her mouth told me she’d been really sorry, her eyes had always told me different. It was almost like she had expected that just saying sorry would have been enough because aside from that there was virtually no change in her attitude.
Meagan didn’t care about her leaving that much either. My ex — Jill — had always been picking on her, always criticizing. Nothing she did was good enough for her mother. When she was younger she’d been hurt by it; later she just allowed it to go in one ear and out the other, often making her mother even angrier. I could tell that when she got the news that her mother had packed her bags there was no emotion or sadness in her. It was like hearing what we were going to be having for supper that day.
Meagan and I had always been a different story. She was daddy’s little girl. I love her to death and while there were moment I had to be tough on her, it was always truly justified and those moments were few and far between. I always wanted her to have the best and happiest possible youth she could have. Maybe that’s why, aside from the cheating, I ended up no longer caring about my wife. Because she was fucking with my dream of raising our child to be happy and have a lot of lust for life.
My daughter and I have been happy ever since my ex-wife closed the door behind her. We’d gotten even closer, in fact, because there was no longer any spoil sport in the room. We’d hang out together, go to the movies, go out for diner, etcetera. We were father and daughter and we were buddies as well. I could tell she loved me as much as I loved her.
But somewhere along the way, another element entered into the realm of my feelings for her. I guess the slightest bit of it came into my mind when she was about sixteen, shortly before her mother had left. It was subtle back then, but also insidious. It would be about noticing just how good she looked in bath wear if we were on the beach. She had filled out to be a woman at that age; and when I say ‘filled out’ I mean filled out. She was bigger than her mother in that department. And she wasn’t embarrassed to show it either. It was to the point where another father might have gotten somewhat upset at how she presented herself, or at least worried. But me, I don’t know if it was pride, my insistence that she do whatever would make her feel happy and comfortable with herself, or… something else that had creeped in. A sort of forbidden exhibitionistic kind of lust. A kind of ‘look at what I created, boys. Isn’t it enough to get you hard?’
I didn’t actually think that way; as I said it was subtle and insidious. In my subconscious. I’d usually think ‘what the heck was that’ only afterward and quickly dismissed it. But it came back every time since then, and it became more obvious and more frequent. It’s a haze to me exactly at what point I finally told myself what the nature of these thoughts were and if I had felt any guilt about it at all. I don’t recall ever feeling any guilt about them.
Anyway, over two years later and I have fully embraced that I not only love my daughter more than life itself, I also lust for her. But don’t think this is one of those stories where I tell you: “and then she realized I was hard for her, she seduced me and we fucked and lived happily ever after.” Like I said, I love her and wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.
But nothing stopped me from having increasingly sordid fantasies about her. Some of them in which I forgot my role as her father.
Take right now, for instance. Meagan is out right now, with her friends. Both male and female. And I just can’t help getting these thoughts to enter my brain. I know she has feelings for one of the boys. I know because she told me. We’re that close. She even told me she hoped she would be getting closer to him tonight. Without her knowing about it, I hoped it too, but in another way altogether.
I know a father is never supposed to think like this. I know a father is supposed to be worried about what might be going on right now. About if any boy is taking advantage of his little girl. So why is that exactly the thing I’m fantasizing about?
Make no mistake, I’m not fantasizing about any boy being rough with her or raping her, but unlike a regular father I’m fantasizing a boy is making moves on her, for the specific purpose of getting laid in the worst way…and she’d be giving it to him, in the worst way.
As I sit here, writing my thoughts down, my cock struggling to break out of my pants, my fantasies seem to clash with my sensibilities. If I’d find out a boy really did get in her pants, maybe I would be upset like any other father could, and maybe should be. Yet, simultaneously, I’m fantasizing that it *is* happening, right now.
I’m thinking…about my precious daughter…sucking a boy. I’m thinking about that face I’ve seen every day since the day she was born, working back and forth, up and down, on some young man’s throbbing prick. In my mind I hear an obscene audio mix of male grunts, female groans and heavy slurps. My girl’s lips wrapped tightly around his fat, turgid pole and swiftly sliding up and down along the length of it, leaving white foaming rings of warm spit. Thick strands of drool oozing down from it and from her chin. I’m thinking about her gorgeous blue eyes, alternately looking up at him and rolling up into the back of her head. I’m thinking about her long, blonde hair whipping around from the speedy bobbing motions of her head. I’m thinking about her small nostrils flaring, breathing in air and the scents of saliva and male musk. I’m thinking about the boy’s heavy balls slapping against my little girl’s chin, and about his ass cheeks clenching and unclenching. At some point he’d even be outright fucking her face. My Meagan may be wrapping her hands — her fingers – around his taut buttocks, even delve in between them. Is she nasty like that? I’m fantasizing she is, with me raising her to be open and explorative. To seek what it is that makes her happy.
Why is a father fantasizing about some strange boy doing these things to his darling daughter, with it turning him on instead of infuriating him? Is it pride? Is it a combination of lust and just hoping whatever she wants to do, happening to her? There is no jealousy in my lust for her. My fantasy dictates that I wish it was happening, and that I was THERE, to watch it happening with my own eyes. In reality I don’t know if I’d by flying at the boy’s throat and snapping his neck, but I must say I doubt it, unless he’d be forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
Oh fuck… These thoughts…
Her lying on the ground… her hot, 18-year-old gorgeous figure. Her legs spread and knees pulled up. I’ve never seen her pussy, at least not since when she was a little girl. In my mind it’s shaven bald, a long red slit shimmering from copious juices; tiny pink asshole winking from between her soft ass cheeks. The boy is naked and moving himself between her legs. Her arms are wrapping around his shoulders. Their mouths mash together in a wild, passionate French kiss. One of his hands is on one of her tits, squeezing it and tugging at the turgid pink nipple. The other hand seems to be positioning the head of his shaft and I see his ass surge forward. He’s entering himself roughly into my precious girl. She gasps and groans in heat. His cock is sinking into her 18-year-old cunt down to the balls. I can see it. My vision is roaming and now it is positioned between their legs where I see inches of his rock hard, throbbing cock appearing and disappearing from, and into, Meagan’s sodden clutching groove. I see both of their assholes, tightening and loosening rhythmically along with the tightening of the rest of their muscles. Pussy juices collecting around her pucker. Her legs are wrapped around him and her bare heels are digging into his ass flesh. As the boy fucks my Meagan her toes are curling. Her hands grab his ass to pull him into her. His motions turn into slams. The boy is slamming my precious daughter now. Sounds of bare flesh clashing. His balls slapping into her ass cleft. They don’t hold back on their grunts and whines. I hear her voice, never before during sex and passion, but now I hear it and it makes me love her even more, like an aspect of my own flesh and blood I’d never known. Did I hear an “Oh Daddy”?
Is she really doing these things right now? Is she chatting, laughing, eating, dancing; or is she fucking? I’m her father but I wish I knew, not because I’m worried but because I really like the idea of her getting ploughed right now, as I sit here thinking about it. About her beautiful tits jiggling as her steaming cunt is split open by a boy’s invading manhood. I feel a tinge of guilt, not because I’m thinking about these things in and by themselves, but because I realize that I probably should be getting hot steaming mad at just the thought of some punk being inside my daughter, and yet it is what I’m fantasizing is happening. I love her so much and I don’t hold back showing her I do; am I a horrible father hoping that she is getting pounded, or that she is sucking some guy off, or that she…
Holy fucking shit…
She’s on her hands and knees, my beautiful, darling Meagan. Her tits hanging down beneath her frame. She’s looking over her shoulder, back at the boy she likes. She’s smiling. Reaching back, she puts a hand on each cheeks and spreads her butt open wide. The crack of her ass widens and her anus stretches. Her beautiful pink, wrinkled anus. God, how I wish right now that it could be my face in there, to take in her essence. I want to know everything about her, and yes, that includes that special fragrance between her ass cheeks. Part of me want to run to the clothes hamper right now, where I’m sure I could indulge in my cravings, but my fatherhood is holding me back. I’m not allowed to do that. To invade her privacy and rummage through her belongings unless she’s allowed me to. It would be so easy for me to know what she smells like, but my respect for her forbids me.
Funny how I respect her while still thinking about her the way I am.
So I make do with just thinking about my girl spreading her ass wide, to be invaded in her holiest of holes by some boy she likes. In my head, my girl is a girl who gives up all to someone she likes. My thoughts flash forward to the point where his purple helmet pushes itself past her tight ring until it pops in and remains there, Meagan’s rim clenching tightly behind it, adjusting itself to the invasive girth. She grunts, her voice making an obscene sound even I as her father have never heard. The boy works his way in further after he’d gotten the go ahead from my daughter. Inch after inch disappears between my girl’s quivering globes. She keeps them spread, her fingers digging into her ass flesh tightly, leaving printmarks. Drops of love juice cling from the top of her slit. It hurts a bit now, but she wants it and she’ll love it in about a minute. She’s used to it; she’s been playing with her ass ever since she started masturbating.
Well…that’s what my dirty mind says, anyway.
That my beautiful, beloved daughter likes playing with her ass as she plays with the rest of her.
Balls deep. Balls deep the boy is inside her rear. All 8 inches of fat cock are crammed into my daughter’s rectum. Into her asshole.
I see, in my mind, Meagan whipping her hair over to the other side of her head before looking back over her shoulder, a passion-filled look in her eyes, her upper teeth bared in lust and slight discomfort.
“Do it,” I hear in the voice I’ve known for so long now, but with an element in it that I’ve never heard. “In and out. Fuck it. Fuck my ass. Fuck it hard. I need it. Please…”
I grab my cock and will myself to think about baseball for just a few seconds. I was going to blow hands free.
When I return to my fantasy, I hear the slaps of flesh against flesh, I see the movements and the pounding and the rippling and I even smell the sex. The boy is hammering my girl from behind like a dog. Her knees are wide on the ground; I’d never even thought about where the hell they are. The scenery was vague in my mind; it could have been anywhere. Right now, for some reason, I’m thinking a grass field in a park in the middle of the night, out in the open. For some reason I’m seeing their other friends close by, doing their own dirty love making. But I zero in on my daughter again, getting pounded from behind. “Oh God… Oh God…” I hear her whine as her frame is battered forward with each thrust and is accompanied by loud sounds of flesh. Her tits pendulously swinging back and forth. Her face up and contorted from pleasure. One of the boy’s hands is on the small of her back, the other is holding one ass cheek to the side as he bores himself into her tight rectal ring. My view switches and I see between their legs. I see how her asshole is gobbling his prick up to the balls time and again. Sometimes his length would vacate my daughter’s premises and her hole would remain yawning wide open, a red cavern of freshly fucked butthole, before being packed with prick again. Her cunt is leaking like a faucet, drop after drop of her juice splattering down into the grass, grass that some couple may be lying in the following night.
The boy grabs my daughter by the sides of her head, pulling her up and back so both of them are on their knees. The angle of the cock in her asshole makes her cry out. Their bodies tight against each other he continues riding her, riding himself up against her rear. She turns her head as he gropes her tits; tongues are flashing out and wrestling and as they French, panting, he empties his balls, grunting into her mouth, releasing all of his spunk to the last drop up the canal behind her sphincter. His riding motions are short and furious now as ropes of cum are surging through his cock to paint the inner walls of my daughter’s ass.
It had been an hour since the thoughts left my head. The thought of the boy cumming up my darling daughter’s ass had made me cum in my hand; I had started working my cock somewhere during that thought without even really thinking about it.
Despite being deflated, I didn’t stop thinking about what Meagan could be doing, although my love for her had again gained the upper hand over my lust. Whatever she was doing, as long as she liked doing it, I would like her doing it.
I was watching some sitcom on television. I was tired but didn’t want to go to bed until she’d come home. She did shortly after that. It was obvious she’d been having a great time. She was beaming. My heart surged with love again; seeing her happy had that effect on me.
If she had some naughty fun, she didn’t tell me about it. I’m not sure if she would if she had. I hope she would, but maybe it was just that bit too much information to share to her taste. She did tell me about the more mundane things that happened and I still loved hearing about it, because she loved telling me about it. But I just couldn’t help myself.
I couldn’t help myself that, even though she looked and moved completely ordinarily, I thought she might be trying her best to hide the fact that she was sore. That she was walking normally because she had to try, when in reality she was desperately trying to hold a boy’s spunk up her backside for later. Even as she sat next to me on the couch, she’d be doing her best to keep her treat hidden.
When she had enthusiastically shared all the information she’d wanted to share, she told me she was tired, that she was going to bed, that she loved me, kissed me briefly on the lips (which was a normal occurrence between us; no incestuous overtones in that act) and told me goodnight.
I was smiling to myself as I heard her go up the stairs and into her bedroom. I was happy she had a good time, and I kept indulging myself thinking about the imaginary load she carried and was going to have fun with without my knowledge.
How can a father love his daughter so deeply, and still have such obscene fantasies about her?
As I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom I passed the door to my daughter’s bedroom. Purely out of fatherly instincts, I softly opened the door to see if she was alright. I knew she must have been sleeping because I could see under her door that the lights were out. And besides, it was after three in the morning.
The moonlight was beaming through her window, straight onto her bed. She was indeed sleeping. She’d kicked the blanket almost off the bed. My greatest challenge was lying there.
She was wearing a white bra and a pair of panties; transparent ones! Why they were, I didn’t contemplate. Were they transparent to begin with, or because they were wet? My mind was too sleepy to care. All I know as I looked at her was that I could see my darling daughter’s beautiful pussy through the transparent front panel of her panties. A tiny stripe of pubes above her slit. Her labia were petal-like and hanging to the side. It was fleshier than it was in my fantasies. My cock felt like it was made of steel as I looked at the forbidden treasure between her slightly spread legs.
The urge was so great. The urge to move closer, to inspect and maybe even to inhale.
Never before had I wanted to put my hands on her so much and to show her that I love her in more ways than one. Me and my fantasies…
Sure, it’s easy to think that I could move over to her and touch her, smell her, put my mouth on her privates through her panties; that she’d wake up, see me, smile at me, tell me she loves me and urge me to continue so we’d embark on a beautiful, loving, incestuous relationship and live happily ever after.
But this is reality. The reality is, I could touch her, she could wake up, shriek in horror, fight me off and god knows what else. Call the cops, or just tell me to get my filthy rapist ass out of her room so she could pack her bags, storm out of the house crying and never see me again.
I knew I wouldn’t get closer to her, that I wouldn’t touch her. I even knew I’d probably never open the door like this again simply because I knew she probably wouldn’t like me to see her like this.
However much I lust for her, nothing comes close to how much I love her. Whatever makes her happy. I’d die for her. I’d kill myself if I hurt her and alienated her by indulging in that part of me that she doesn’t know about.
I closed the door and went about my business.
If anything at all, beyond even the deep love I have for my daughter as a father, would happen between her and myself, it would all be because of her initiative, because she would let me know she wants it.
I’ll wait for the day that she will show me, or tell me, that she wants to be loved by me in that way as well.
Even if that day never comes.