It wasn’t easy raising a daughter on your own. A couple of years ago, my wife Jolie had passed away, leaving me alone with Sofia, my daughter. It wasn’t until last year, right around her eighteenth birthday, that the universe decided to get creative and gift my daughter with a rack so outrageous it made finding a blouse that fit damn near impossible.
I first noticed it when she came home from college one day in the winter, arms stacked with flour and baking supplies, her T-shirt stretched so tight across her chest I could almost read the logo through the fabric. Not that I was ogling my daughter, but if you lived in this house, you noticed. She’d always been petite and curvy with natural chestnut hair and porcelain skin, but this was different. She moved with her shoulders hunched, constantly tugging at the hem of her shirts, trying to hide what gravity and genetics had engineered for maximum attention. It made my chest hurt, seeing her so self-conscious.
I asked if she needed new clothes; she rolled her eyes and disappeared into her room.
But one morning in May, after I came back from my run, I found her sitting at the kitchen table in her sleep shorts and a borrowed flannel, sipping tea like it was a weapon against the world. She stared at her phone. When I set my mug next to her elbow, she didn’t look up.
“Everything okay, honey?” I asked.
She heaved a sigh so big it sounded like she was trying to push her soul out through her nose. “Can I ask you a weird favor?”
“Hit me.”
“I, uh, I need a ride to the city tomorrow, to the big mall. The one with the, um, fancy stores.” She squirmed in her seat, arms reflexively crossing her chest. Even with the extra layer, there was no hiding how much she’d grown since last semester.
“Whatever you need,” I said, maybe too quickly. “Shopping for something special?”
She shook her head and traced the rim of her cup. “It’s for bras,” she mumbled, cheeks going pink. “I tried online and nothing fits. Everything’s too small or digs in, and the return policy is awful. Sorry, this is so embarrassing, I just…”
I set my hand over hers gently. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing weird about that. We’ll make a day of it. You want to hit that bakery after?”
Her face lit up for half a second before she got serious again. “Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” Her eyes lingered on my hand. “Seriously, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t getting… out of control.”
I squeezed her hand. “We’ll fix it.”
She spent the rest of the day in her room, texting and giggling with someone. I did what any good parent would do: researched bra shops, read up on sizing and even practiced pronouncing balconette. I watched a YouTube video of a nervous dad doing a bra run for his daughter and decided I would not, under any circumstances, be that guy.
*****
The next morning, we drove in silence, Sofia dressed in her least-conspicuous hoodie and jeans, earbuds in, humming along to a playlist. Every so often she’d lean her head against the window, lost in thought. I found myself wanting to tell her all the things I wished Jolie was here to say: that she was beautiful and brave, and that her worth was bigger than any cup size. But all I managed was, “You know I’m proud of you, right?”
She smiled, small and lopsided. “I know. I just wish people would look at my face instead of…” she gestured at her chest, then snorted. “Never mind. TMI.”
“I get it,” I said, and meant it.
The mall was packed, even on a Tuesday. We cut through the food court and found the lingerie store hidden between a smoothie place and some trendy shoe store. Sofia stopped outside the glass doors, bracing herself.
“Ready?” I asked.
She grinned, sheepish. “Let’s do it before I chicken out.”
The saleslady, an older woman, greeted us. “Looking for anything special?”
Sofia blushed, hugging her backpack. “I just need a fitting. I don’t really know my size anymore.”
“Of course,” the lady said, eyeing Sofia’s figure. “Right this way, hon.”
Sofia looked at me, panicked. “You can wait out here, Dad.”
I nodded and plopped into the awkward velvet chair outside the dressing rooms. Once, I heard Sofia laugh, bright and unguarded. It made me smile.
She came out a little later, face flushed, arms full of tissue-wrapped bags. “We’re done,” she said, almost triumphant. “Do we have time for the bakery?”
“Always,” I said. I paid for the bras, and she gave me a peck on the cheek, leaving a damp patch of her lips behind.
We walked back through the mall, Sofia’s bags swinging at her side. She seemed lighter and more at ease. She slipped her arm through mine as we exited the store. I tried to ignore the warmth blooming in my chest at the simple, old habit. We headed to the bakery, and I got her her favorite cupcakes. We ate and talked about various topics, and I could clearly tell she was a lot happier now.
After the cupcakes, we headed home. In the car, halfway there, she glanced at me sideways. “Thanks again. You didn’t have to, you know. Most dads would have made up an excuse or sent me with a friend.”
I kept my eyes on the road. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything, Sofia.”
She leaned over and, for the briefest second, hugged me across the center console, her soft chest pressing into my shoulder. I felt her warmth seep into me, and it was the best warmth I’d felt in a while. When she let go, she giggled. “Best dad ever,” she said.
I patted her thigh. “Best daughter in the world.”
*****
That night, after Sofia had changed into her pajamas and retreated to the living room, I found her curled on the couch under a quilt, watching some home renovation show. She saw me and patted the cushion beside her.
“You want to hang out?” she said, voice hopeful.
“Sure. Is this the one where they tear out the moldy basement?” I asked, flopping next to her.
She snorted. “They’re all the one with the moldy basement.” She tucked her knees under her chin, the quilt slipping down to her waist.
I sat, watching the TV but not really absorbing anything. Sofia fidgeted, twisting a lock of hair around her finger and then looked at me with wide, serious eyes.
“Can I ask you something kind of serious?” she said.
“Of course.”
She inhaled. “Would you be upset if I looked into getting… like, surgery? To make them smaller?”
It took a moment for her words to register. “You mean a reduction?”
She nodded, eyes glued to the blanket.
I took her hand. “Why would I be upset? If it’s what you want, I’ll support you.”
She chewed her lip, thinking. “I just feel like… I don’t know. Everyone says I should be proud, but I just feel weird, like my body isn’t even mine anymore. I mean, look at this—” She gestured to her chest, which even swaddled in layers, was impossible to ignore. “Do you think they’re… weird? Be honest.”
I searched for the right words, then remembered something Jolie had said once, years ago, about loving every part of yourself, especially the parts you wished you could change.
“I think you’re perfect,” I said quietly. “You’re beautiful, Sofia, just like your mom was.”
She blinked, surprised, then gave me a tiny smile. “You really think so?”
I nodded.
She went quiet, staring at the TV. She finally exhaled. “You say that, but you haven’t even really seen them. I mean, since I… grew.”
I tried to deflect with a joke. “Well, you know, I try to respect your privacy.”
She rolled her eyes, but didn’t laugh. “I’m serious, Dad. I think you should see, just to make sure there’s nothing, like, wrong with them. You’re the only person I trust.”
“I don’t know if that’s really—”
“Please?”
“Alright, sweetie, if you truly want to.”
She drew herself up on the couch. Slowly, she pulled her baggy T-shirt up and over her head, letting it fall behind the cushion. Her arms crossed her chest, hiding herself for a heartbeat, then she took a breath and dropped them.
I’m not proud of the way my brain short-circuited. But I’d have to be dead not to notice: Sofia’s breasts were enormous, way beyond anything I’d ever seen outside of bad movies or late-night cable. They were high, impossibly round, the skin so pale it almost glowed, each crowned with a big, soft-pink areola and a pert, candy-pink nipple that stood up. They were beautiful, in a way that felt at once otherworldly and completely, devastatingly real.
She watched my reaction with an unreadable expression, cheeks flushed and chin tucked.
I found my voice. “You’re… wow. They’re gorgeous, Sofia. I mean, you.”
“You don’t think they’re gross?”
“Not even a little. They’re amazing, really.”
She looked down at herself, then up at me. “Can I… can you touch them? Just to make sure there aren’t any, like, lumps or anything?”
I hesitated, every parental instinct warring with something darker. But she looked at me with such naked trust, I couldn’t say no. “Of course,” I said.
She scooted closer, holding her breath. I lifted my hand and cupped her left breast as gently as I could. It was shockingly heavy, warm and soft as memory foam, the skin silk-smooth under my palm. The nipple twitched as I touched it, the areola puckering into gooseflesh. I rolled my thumb lightly over the surface, feeling for anything out of the ordinary and tried not to think about how wrong this was and how good it felt. She was beautiful, so fair and so innocent.
Tucking her chestnut hair behind her ear, Sofia shivered. “That tickles,” she whispered.
I kept my hand steady, working in slow, careful circles. “Nothing unusual. You’re healthy as can be.”
She watched me the whole time, her eyes dark and shining. Then, without warning, she scooted forward and pressed her chest into my hand, trapping it between us. The soft weight of her breast molded to my fingers. She bit her lower lip, nervous and excited.
“You can touch the other one too,” she said.
I did, moving both hands to her chest, cupping her breasts and marveling at the size, the warmth and the way her nipples hardened even more under my touch. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, breathing hard.
Then, suddenly, her hand fell to my lap, brushing across my rock-hard bulge. I jerked away, startled. But she just looked down and laughed, a bright, mischievous sound.
“Are you … um. Is that because of me?” she asked, glancing at my lap, where my jeans were definitely not hiding anything.
I felt my face go red. “Sorry, it’s just…”
“I don’t mind,” she said, eyes locked on mine. She was shaking, but not from fear. She looked proud.
“Sofia, we can’t—”
She cut me off. “I want to, just once. I just want to know what it’s like to suck another man. I don’t want you to go to bed like that.”
My brain screamed no, but my body ached for her. “We shouldn’t,” I said, even as my hands stayed on her breasts, kneading them gently.
She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I trust you, Daddy. Please?”
It was the Daddy that broke me. I nodded, helpless. “Alright, fine.”
She dropped to her knees in front of me, hair spilling over her shoulders, and tugged at the waistband of my jeans. My heart hammered in my chest, every sense wide awake. She got them undone and freed me, eyes going huge when my cock sprang out, rock-hard and leaking. She wrapped her hand around it, marveling at the weight and heat.
“You’re really erect,” she said with a giggle.
“Because of you, sweetheart.”
She stroked me slowly, her thumb swirling over the head, watching as the tip gleamed with pre-cum. Then she leaned forward and, with a deep breath, wrapped her lips around me. Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue working circles around the tip as she bobbed her head.
She bobbed slowly at first, lips stretched tight around the thick head, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside, swirling tentatively like she was figuring it out in real time. She was inexperienced, sucking eagerly but clumsily, teeth grazing lightly now and then, making me hiss through my teeth. She pulled off with a wet pop, gasping for air, a string of spit connecting her lower lip to the tip.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, cheeks flaming. “It’s… bigger than I thought.”
“You’re doing good,” I said, voice rough. “Just go slow.”
She nodded, determined, and took me back in. This time she went deeper, lips stretching wider, the corners of her mouth pulling taut as she forced more in. Her natural triple-D breasts swayed heavily with each bob of her head, nipples brushing my thighs, soft and warm against my skin. The weight of them dragged across me every time she leaned forward, the friction maddening. She tried to take more, gagging softly when the head bumped her throat, but she didn’t pull off. Instead she held there, eyes watering, throat working around me until she had to come up for air.
She stroked me with both hands while she caught her breath, spit slicking her palms, making obscene wet sounds. Her tits bounced with the motion, full and round, the pale skin flushed pink from effort and arousal. “They keep getting in the way,” she said with a giggle, pushing them together with her upper arms to keep them from swinging too much.
I groaned, hips twitching. “They’re perfect. Keep going.”
She dove back in. Her lips stretched obscenely around my girth, sliding down until her nose brushed my pubes. She gagged again but pushed through, humming around me, the vibration shooting straight to my balls. Her tongue worked the underside, spit dripping down my shaft and onto her chin, some landing on her bouncing breasts.
I tangled my fingers in her chestnut hair, guiding her gently. “Fuck, Sofia… just like that.”
“Do you like that, Daddy?” she whispered, eyes sparkling.
“God, yes,” I groaned.
She sped up, head bobbing faster, sloppy and eager. Her tits slapped against my thighs with every downstroke, nipples dragging across my skin. The sight of her pretty face stuffed full, cheeks hollowed, spit shining on her chin and dripping onto her heaving breasts was too much.
“I’m gonna come so hard.”
She didn’t pull off. Instead she sucked harder, tongue pressing flat and hands pumping the base. Her eyes flicked up to mine, wide and pleading, begging for it.
I lost it. My cock swelled, pulsed hard, and I came with a guttural groan. Thick, heavy spurts shot across her tongue, filling her mouth. She moaned in surprise as she swallowed greedily, but there was too much. Cum leaked from the corners of her lips, dripping down her chin onto her tits. I kept coming, wave after wave, hips jerking as she milked me dry with her mouth and hands.
When the pulses finally stopped, she pulled off slowly, lips swollen and shiny, a thick strand of cum and spit connecting her mouth to the head. She giggled, bright and delighted, as more cum dribbled down her chin and onto her breasts.
“Jesus,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s… a lot. I didn’t expect so much.” She laughed again, eyes sparkling.
I sat in stunned silence, my world turned upside down as my cock deflated and flopped on my thigh. She climbed up next to me, snuggling under my arm, and laid her head on my shoulder.
“You’re an amazing daughter,” I told her, looking her in the eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with your breasts … or BJ for that matter.”
She giggled. “Thank you, that means the world to me.”
My head buzzed with guilt and confusion, but beneath it all, a single, awful truth: I wanted her. I wanted more.
She must have read my thoughts, because she looked up at me and whispered, “I hope there’ll be a next time.”
She kissed my cheek again and padded off to her room, leaving me alone on the couch with the sweet, unbearable taste of my forbidden daughter.
The end.
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