Skip to content Ten years ago, my wife died in a car accident. I remember the drive to our daughter’s elementary school, my hands shaking on the steering wheel. When I arrived, her ponytail bounced as she ran to me, her smile fading when she saw my face.
“Daddy, what’s wrong? Where’s Mommy?”
Her blue eyes, so much like her mother’s, looked up at me. I knelt down, took her small hands in mine, and somehow found the words. Her little body collapsed against my chest, wracked with sobs that broke something inside me I knew would never fully heal.
“I’ve got you, sweetie,” I whispered into her hair. “Daddy’s always going to be here.”
The first year was the hardest. We built a new normal together, movie nights with popcorn fights, me learning to French braid her hair through YouTube tutorials, and bedtime stories that sometimes ended with both of us crying when a character reminded us of Sarah, my wife and her mom. I became both mother and father, and Emily became my entire world.
As she grew, our bond only strengthened. I taught her to ride a bike, helped with science projects, and eventually, how to drive, gripping the passenger door handle while she giggled at my nervous instructions. Even as a teenager, when most girls her age were pulling away from their parents, she remained my little girl, still calling me “Daddy” without a hint of embarrassment, even around her friends.
Then, seemingly overnight, Emily turned eighteen, and suddenly I was living with a woman instead of my little girl. The change wasn’t just in numbers, her body had blossomed in ways I tried desperately not to notice. Her face had lost its childish roundness, replaced with delicate cheekbones. Her figure had developed curves that her clothes, increasingly, did little to hide.
I first noticed it one morning when she came down for breakfast in pajama shorts that barely covered the curves of her bottom. My eyes lingered a fraction too long before I forced them away, a hot flush of shame washing over me. It was normal to notice, I told myself. I was still a man. What wasn’t normal was the tightening in my jeans, the first involuntary arousal I’d felt in years.
After that, I couldn’t stop noticing. Emily had taken to wearing outfits around the house that made me feel a sudden heatwave, low-cut tank tops that revealed the swell of her B-cup breasts, shorts that hugged the curve of her ass in ways that made my hands itch to touch her.
“Is my outfit okay?” she asked one Saturday morning, twirling in a sundress so short it barely reached mid-thigh, the thin material clinging to her developing body.
“Maybe a bit short for the mall, sweetie,” I said as I hid behind my newspaper.
She pouted but changed, and I let go of a temporary sigh of relief.
The incident that broke me happened three weeks ago. Emily was reaching for something on a high shelf, stretching up on her toes. Her short skirt rode up, revealing the edge of her pink Hello Kitty panties and the smooth skin of her upper thighs. For a split second, I imagined stepping behind her, gripping her hips, pulling her back against me where I was already hardening. The fantasy was so vivid, so wrong, that I practically ran from the room, locking myself in the bathroom until I could breathe normally again.
The answer came yesterday, when Emily borrowed my laptop for a school assignment. She’d returned it with a smile and a kiss on my cheek that left a damp patch of her skin behind. Later, checking my browser history out of habit, still the protective father, I noticed she’d accessed her cloud storage. A folder was still open, and curiosity got the better of me.
I clicked through to her digital book collection, expecting to find school texts or young adult novels. Instead, my screen filled with covers that made my eyes wide. Dark romance books with titles that made my heart race, “Stepdad’s Forbidden Touch,” “Daddy’s Naughty Secret,” “His Virgin Daughter.”
The covers all featured variations of the same theme: older, attractive men with young blonde women who looked disturbingly similar to Emily. My finger hovered over one, and before I could stop myself, I opened it.
I should have closed it immediately. I should have respected her privacy and forgotten what I saw. Instead, I found myself scrolling to a random page, my eyes catching on explicit paragraphs.
“‘You’re so wet for me, baby girl,’ Daddy whispered, his fingers exploring her virgin pussy for the first time. ‘I shouldn’t want this, but I can’t stop myself anymore.’”
My cock hardened as I read more. “She moaned as he thrust inside her, stretching her tight walls. ‘Daddy, it hurts so good,’ she said, her back arching as she took him deeper.”
I shut the laptop. In my mind, it wasn’t some fictional character but Emily’s pink lips parted in pleasure, her bright blue eyes looking up at me in worship as she called me “Daddy” while I thrust into her.
I went to her room, telling myself I needed to find out if she had physical copies of these books, to confirm this wasn’t just some digital curiosity. The rational part of me knew this was an excuse, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Her room smelled like her, vanilla and sweet, and under her bed, I found them: a stack of paperbacks with creased spines and dog-eared pages. I pulled one out, flipped to a marked section, and read about a father figure fingering his stepdaughter until she came.
My hand unconsciously moved to my crotch, adjusting the uncomfortable hardness there. I replaced the books exactly as I’d found them and fled the room, disgusted with myself. But that night, lying in bed, all I could think about was Emily, her smile, her laugh, her breasts visible in that low-cut top she wore last week and the intimate way she still said “Daddy” when she wanted something.
And God help me, I wanted to hear her say it in a completely different context.
*****
The next morning, Emily had just come downstairs wearing a mini skirt that stopped high enough on her thighs to reveal country miles of flesh. Her top was no better, fitted tightly enough that I could see the outline of her nipples pressing against the thin material.
“Morning, Daddy,” she said cheerfully, crossing the kitchen with a bounce in her step that made her breasts jiggle slightly.
Before I could retreat behind the kitchen counter, she wrapped her arms around me in a hug that pressed her soft body against mine. I felt her breasts against my chest and the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric separating us.
“Morning, sweetie,” I said, awkwardly patting her back while trying to angle my hips away from her. My mind raced with forbidden thoughts, flipping that tiny skirt up, seeing if the books I’d found had made her wet, if she thought of me when she read them.
Emily pulled away but stayed close, her bright blue eyes looking up at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. She took the seat across from me at the breakfast table, crossing her legs in a way that made her skirt ride up even further.
I forced my eyes to stay on my cup of tea, on my phone, anywhere but on her thighs.
“Daddy, can we talk?” she asked, her voice suddenly serious. “I’m eighteen now, and there’s something I’ve been thinking about.”
Putting my phone aside, I looked up, meeting her gaze, trying to ignore the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Of course, what is it?”
Emily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking down at her hands. “There’s this guy in my English Lit class who keeps asking me out. He’s really persistent.”
“Oh? What’s he like?”
“He’s okay, I guess. Everyone thinks he’s cute.” She shrugged, her lips turning down slightly. “But I don’t like him at all. He’s kind of … full of himself.”
“Well, sweetheart, you’re at that age when guys are going to notice you,” I said, trying to sound like a normal father. “It’s perfectly natural. Just be honest with him, tell him you’re not interested, but do it respectfully.”
Emily nodded, playing with the edge of her skirt. “I will.” She paused, then looked up at me through her lashes. “Daddy … who was your first? You know … your first time?”
“My first?”
“Yeah, was it Mom?”
“No, actually.” I cleared my throat. “I was a bit older than most guys. I was focused on establishing my career first. She was a sweet girl I met at work, Linda.”
“I can see that about you,” Emily said, her eyes never leaving mine. She took a deep breath. “Daddy, I don’t want to be a virgin anymore. Most of my friends have had sex already, and they keep telling me how good it feels.”
“Emily, that’s—”
“The guys at school are jerks,” she continued, cutting me off. “They just want to use girls and brag to their friends. I don’t want my first time to be like that.” She reached across the table, her fingers brushing mine. “What if … we did it? Just once, no one would know.”
She was brave. I’d never imagined she’d say something like that, but she wasn’t my baby girl any longer, but a full-grown woman. Her words were straight out of the fantasies I’d been having, the ones I’d been hating myself for.
“Emily, that’s not appropriate,” I said, pulling my hand away from hers. “I’m your father.”
But internally, my thoughts betrayed me.
She pouted, her full bottom lip jutting out in a way that made my cock twitch traitorously. “I understand,” she said finally, her voice vulnerable and somewhat sad. “It was just a thought.”
She stood up, her skirt shifting as she moved, and walked away with her shoulders slumped.
*****
Later that afternoon, as I passed by her bedroom, I heard her crying, and it broke my heart. After raising her alone for ten years, I knew every variation of Emily’s cries, and this one was pure heartbreak.
I knocked. “Emily? Can I come in?”
The crying paused. “Yeah.”
I opened the door to find her curled on her bed, knees drawn up to her chest. She’d been lying on her side, and when she sat up to look at me, her mini skirt had hiked up, revealing pink panties. I forced my eyes to her face, to the tears streaming down her cheeks. I sat down on the edge of her bed, keeping a safe distance. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”
Fresh tears spilled over. “You think I’m disgusting, don’t you? For what I said this morning.”
“No, no,” I said quickly, moving closer to put an arm around her shoulders. “I could never think that about you.”
She leaned into me, her warmth against my side too comforting to resist.
“I know about the books you’re reading, sweetie,” I said, knowing I had to start somewhere.
Emily stiffened, then buried her face against my shoulder. “You do?”
“When you borrowed my computer, I saw them,” I said. “But those are just fantasies, Emily. They’re not real.”
She pulled back enough to look up at me, her eyes shimmering with tears. “It’s not just the books,” she whispered. “I’ve always loved you more than a daughter should, since I was sixteen, maybe before. I watch you when you don’t notice. The way you move, how strong your hands are.”
This was crossing every line, but I couldn’t make myself pull away.
“I want my first time to be with someone who cares about me, who’ll be gentle,” she said. “Someone like you. Please don’t hate me for saying it.”
A fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. I reached up, brushing them away with my thumb.
“I could never hate you, Emily,” I said. “And God help me, I’ve been having thoughts I shouldn’t. When I see you in these outfits, when you call me Daddy in that sweet voice of yours.”
Hope bloomed on her face, so beautiful it hurt. “Really?”
I nodded, knowing I was crossing a point of no return. “Yeah.”
“So … why can’t we … you know … no one has to find out. It can be our loving secret.”
I mulled it over longer than I should have. I didn’t want to break her heart. I didn’t want to see her cry either. “Okay, Emily. If this is what you really want … but we take it slow. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her smile through her tears was like sunshine breaking through clouds. She threw her arms around my neck, pressing her body against mine in a way that was decidedly not daughterly.
“Thank you,” she whispered against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
When she pulled back, her face was inches from mine. I hesitated only a moment before leaning in, pressing my lips to hers. Her lips were as soft as I’d imagined, slightly salty from tears. She responded immediately, kissing me back with her hot breath and tongue.
The kiss deepened naturally, my hand moving to cup her cheek as our tongues met. She moaned, “Daddy,” against my mouth, and any remaining restraint I had evaporated. I pulled her onto my lap, feeling her warmth through the thin skirt, her thighs straddling mine.
She ground against me instinctively, gasping at the hardness she found there. “You want me too,” she said, sounding relieved.
“More than I should,” I admitted, running my hands up her sides. “Are you sure about this, Emily?”
She nodded, eyes wide and trusting. “I’m sure.”
I reached for the hem of her top, slowly pulling it upward. She raised her arms to help me, and then her upper body was bare before me. Her breasts looked so much like her mother’s, small, perky B-cups with pink, thick nipples.
“You look so much like your mother,” I whispered, cupping one breast gently. She shivered, arching into my touch.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yes … you know I loved your mom.” I kissed her again as my fingers explored, learning what made her gasp and what made her press against me more urgently.
Next came her skirt, sliding down her legs to reveal her pink Hello Kitty panties, already visibly damp in the center. The sight of her, nearly naked, aroused by me, was almost too much.
She reached down, her hand brushing against the bulge in my jeans. “You’re so hard for me,” she said with wonder.
“Only for you, baby girl,” I responded, the endearment falling naturally from my lips.
I laid her back on the bed, kissing down her neck, her collarbone and taking a nipple into my mouth as she gasped and writhed beneath me. My hand traveled down her stomach, slipping beneath her panties to find her wet and horny.
“Daddy,” she whimpered as my fingers explored her virgin pussy.
“You’re so wet, baby girl,” I murmured against her breast, sliding one finger gently inside her. She was incredibly tight, her body gripping me. “Does that feel good?”
“Yes,” she said, hips rising to meet my hand. “But I want your penis.”
I slowly tugged her panties down, revealing her pussy inch by inch. She was perfectly bald, smooth and flawless. Her outer lips were pressed tight together, forming a delicate, straight landing strip of soft pink skin that ran down the center. The inner folds were completely hidden inside, with just the small, glistening entrance peeking out at the very bottom, a thin trail of sweet honey already starting to trickle free.
“Do you like my kitty?”
“It looks beautiful,” I said. I shed my clothes till I was naked and had freed my cock. Her eyes roamed over my chest and then she smiled at my erection, which poked against her wet pussy. She looked up at me with such trust that it nearly broke me.
“It might hurt at first,” I told her, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance.
“I know,” she said, reaching up to touch my chest. “I want it to be you.”
I slipped the head inside and entered her slowly, feeling her tight walls stretching to accommodate me. Her face showed a mixture of discomfort and love. I paused when I met resistance, then pushed through with a gentle thrust. Even if she was tight, it wasn’t difficult to slide inside since she was so wet. I popped her cherry, breaking through the hymen. She winced, tears springing to her eyes, but when I started to pull back, she wrapped her legs around me.
“Oh, it feels really nice,” she said.
“I’m glad,” I said. I moved slowly at first, letting her adjust, watching her discomfort fade into pleasure. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper as her nails dug into my back. I watched how my cock disappeared inside her again and again. Her pussy gripped me so tight, I saw her pink flesh hold onto my shaft when I pulled out, only to disappear back inside her.
“Daddy, deeper,” she moaned, and I fulfilled my daughter’s wish, thrusting more firmly, watching her small breasts bounce with each slap.
It was getting hotter. She threw her head back in pleasure as I kept having my way with my daughter. Her pussy felt so much better than her mother’s, more youthful and smoother, just the perfect amount of wetness and snugness. I slid my arms under hers and lay on top of her while my hips did all the work. It was more intimate as I felt her warm breath on my neck, and she felt mine on hers. Between each moan, I heard her say, “Daddy.” in that sweet voice I loved so much, and I told her back as I started moaning too, “My baby girl.”
She held onto me for dear life, perhaps afraid I’d vanish, but I didn’t. I thrust into her harder and harder, feeling her pussy grip me even tighter, and her breath becoming warmer and deeper. “Daddy, you’re making me come!” she said in a breathy voice. And I felt it on the next thrust, how she squirmed and trembled beneath me, and how her pussy fluttered around my shaft. Then I felt the gush of her juices, lubricating her virgin hole even further as I drove into her again and again till I finally came raw inside my daughter with a grunt. I filled her completely, our bodies joined as intimately as possible as we rode out our pleasure together.
“You came,” she said, catching her breath. “I feel your cum.”
I kissed her cheek and pulled back. Her neck and face were flushed pink, and we looked each other in the eye; we both smiled. “I felt your orgasm too.”
“It felt like an explosion,” she said with a giggle.
“That’s what a climax feels like,” I said. I pulled out my cock, dragging rivulets of semen with me.
Afterward, I gathered her in my arms, her head resting on my chest, my lips pressing against her forehead. She looked up at me with a contentment I hadn’t seen since before her mother died.
“I’m happy you’re smiling again,” I whispered, stroking her hair.
She snuggled closer, her naked body warm against mine. “Can we do this more, Daddy?” she asked softly, fingers tracing patterns on my chest.
I knew there was no going back now, and strangely, I felt more peace than guilt. “Yes, baby girl. We can.”
The end.
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