The bacon sizzled and spat in the pan. It was Friday. Ella’s favorite. A full English breakfast.
It had been eight years since her mother left. Just me and my eighteen-year-old girl.
She shuffled into the kitchen, still in her nightie. The thin, silky fabric was short. It dipped low in the front, showing the soft curve of her breasts.
I tried not to look. But my eyes drifted. The outline of her nipple was clear against the silk. It was hard from the morning chill.
A hot shame washed over me. I felt a stiffening in my pants. No. I can’t. Stop it.
“Morning, Dad,” she mumbled. Her voice was rough with sleep.
She rubbed her eyes and walked past me to the fridge. The nightie clung to the shape of her body, to the small of her back and the curve of her hips.
I snapped my head back to the bacon. My neck felt hot.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” I said. I hoped my voice sounded normal. “Eggs are almost ready. You excited for pottery class?”
She poured a glass of milk. “Yeah, I guess. Sarah’s going too.” She smiled a soft, sleepy smile. “This smells amazing. You spoil me.”
For a second, she looked just like her mother. A familiar ache hit my chest.
“Just keeping my girl fed,” I said.
I put a plate in front of her. She sat down. The short nightie rode up her smooth thigh. I looked away fast.
I cleared my throat and focused on my own food. The silence was heavy.
“Dad?” she said, taking a bite of toast. She looked at me. Then her eyes drifted down. They paused. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“You… erm…” She seemed to search for the right word. “You seem a bit… distracted this morning.”
I forced a smile. My face was on fire. “Just thinking about work, pumpkin. Nothing important. Eat up.”
She nodded slowly. She took another bite. But her eyes stayed on me for a moment, thoughtful and a little unsure.
She was all grown up. And I felt completely lost.
“Oh I am off clubbing tonight with the girls, so I might be back late.” She said as she started to eat.
I shifted in my seat, adjusting my shirt to hide the growing discomfort in my pants. The bacon grease popped in the pan again, snapping me back to reality.
“Clubbing, huh?” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Which girls?”
She shrugged, licking toast crumbs off her fingers. “Sarah, Tasha, maybe Jen.”
I nodded. My fingers drummed the table. “Just… be safe. Text me if you need a ride.”
Ella rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft. “Dad, I’ll be fine. Promise.”
The air between us felt thick. She took another bite, then hesitated. “You okay? You’ve been weird all morning.”
My grip tightened around my fork I accidentally looked at her chest again, shit she saw this time. She just laughed.
Her laugh wasn’t cruel or sharp. It was a light, airy sound that filled the kitchen, chasing away the tension I’d created. “Relax, Dad. It’s just a nightie. You’re turning bright red.”
I looked down at my plate, the heat in my face undeniable. I was an idiot. A clumsy, shameful idiot.
She took a sip of milk, leaving a faint white mustache on her lip. “I know it’s a bit short. It’s just so comfortable for sleeping. I didn’t think.”
“No, no,” I stammered, finally finding my voice. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry, Ella. I just…” I trailed off, the words sticking in my throat.
She studied me for a moment, her head tilted. The confusion was gone, replaced by a gentle understanding. “It’s weird, huh? Me being all grown up.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Yeah, pumpkin. It’s weird.”
She reached across the table and patted my hand. Her touch was warm and familiar, a touch that had never changed from when she was a little girl scraping her knee. “Well, don’t freak out. I’m still just me. I also know you haven’t you know with a woman since mum. I do know guys have certain needs, I am not stupid.”
The clock ticked by as I poured another shot of whisky into my glass. The night wore on, and I grew more desperate with each passing minute, my mind consumed by thoughts of Ella’s tantalizing body. My eyes drifted to the phone, willing it to ring with news of her arrival. But the silence was deafening.
By 2 a.m., my resolve crumbled. I couldn’t wait any longer. I stumbled into the living room, the room spinning as I collapsed onto the couch. The beer and whisky swam in my gut, but my erection remained rigid, throbbing with need.
I grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV, scanning the channels until I found a porn site. The women on screen were nothing like my Ella, but their bodies sparked a fire in my loins. I let out a low groan as I began to stroke myself, the familiar rhythm both calming and torturous.
Lost in the haze of booze and lust, I didn’t hear the front door open. But suddenly, Ella was there, standing in the dimly lit room, her mini skirt riding high on her thighs. Her crop top clung to her breasts, the fabric strained across her nipples.
My cock twitched, and I nearly choked on my own saliva. ” Fuck… Ella,” I managed to rasp, trying to sit up straighter.
She stumbled forward, her eyes glazed and unfocused. “Daaaad,” she slurred, giggling. “What are you doing?”
Before I could respond, she flopped down beside me, her bare leg brushing against mine. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through my body, and my hand found its way to her thigh, squeezing the soft flesh.
“Hey, Dad,” she breathed, her voice low and husky. “You wanna play?”
I swallowed hard, my mind reeling. “Play? What do you mean, baby?”
Ella reached over and wrapped her hand around my cock, giving it a firm squeeze. “We can play with this, don’t you think?” she purred, her fingers trailing up and down my shaft.
I groaned, my head falling back against the couch. “Ella, you don’t know what you’re doing,” I warned, even as my hips bucked into her touch.
She ignored my protest, her hand moving faster, pumping my cock with a skill that belied her inebriated state. I could feel the heat building in my loins, my balls drawing up tight.
“Shhhh, Dad,” Ella whispered, leaning in close. She took the head of my cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip.
I gasped, my fingers tangling in her hair as I held her in place. She sucked me deeper, her mouth warm and wet, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. She started to deepthroat my cock I found the urge to hold back.
Not sure why I said what I said next, but I did, “Fuck it feels so good… ahh fuck. I haven’t had pussy in years.”
Ella pulled back. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with a hunger that took my breath away.
“Mom left a long time ago,” she said, her voice muffled by the hand she placed over her mouth. “But I’m here now, Dad. And I want to take care of you. You… can have my pussy.”
With those words, she straddled my hips, positioning my still-hard cock at her entrance. I watched, transfixed, as she pulled her skirt up and moved her panties to the side, revealing her slick, inviting pussy.
“Honey, we can’t do this you are my…” I was cut off by her sliding down on my dick. Fully seated with my old cock up her cunt, her ass resting on my old man balls.
“To late dad,” she held on to my shoulders and moved up and down. “Ahhh fuck, your cock feels good. Ahh yes, ahhh dad.”
Her words, thick with drink and raw desire, punched the air out of my lungs. The world narrowed to the sudden, overwhelming sensation of her body, hot and tight around me. I felt the slick, yielding dampness of her as she began to move, a slow, deliberate grind that made my vision swim. Her ass settled on my balls, a soft, heavy weight that grounded the impossible reality of the moment.
“Ahhh, Dad,” she moaned again, throwing her head back, her club-worn hair sweeping against the back of the couch. Her eyes, half-closed, were dark and unfocused, but the hunger in them was unmistakable. She pushed down, then up, her hips rolling in a rhythm that was both clumsy and devastatingly effective. Each movement sent a jolt through my entire being.
My hands, which had been frozen on the couch beside me, instinctively shot up. They landed on her bare waist, gripping the warm, smooth skin. I felt the tremble in her as she rode me, a shiver that mirrored the one spreading through my own body. The reality of it, the sheer audacity, was suffocating. But beneath the panic, a primal thrumming had taken hold, obliterating thought.
“Ella,” I gasped, my voice a strangled whisper. It was less a protest and more a plea, a word ripped from a place of utter disbelief. But she didn’t seem to hear me. Or perhaps she chose not to. She was lost in her own hazy world, driven by instincts she barely understood.
She leaned forward, her face flushed, her breath warm on my neck. I could smell the cheap perfume she’d doused herself in, mixed with the faint tang of alcohol and something else entirely new – a raw, musky scent that was uniquely hers, now amplified by exertion. The tips of her breasts, still prominent beneath the stretched fabric of her crop top, brushed against my chest with each thrust. My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic drum announcing my surrender.
“Faster, Dad,” she whispered, her voice rough with a pleasure that was terrifyingly real. Her hands, still clutching my shoulders, squeezed tight, her nails digging in just a little. She started to increase her pace, her movements becoming less of a grind and more of a vigorous bounce. My old man balls slapped against her backside with a wet ‘thwack’ that echoed in the quiet living room.
I couldn’t stop myself. My hips began to rise to meet her, a natural, undeniable response to the intense friction. I was a puppet on strings, pulled by a force far stronger than any moral compass. Shame warred with an overwhelming, almost painful pleasure. It had been so long. Too long. And here, now, in the most forbidden way imaginable, came this release.
My fingers tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, pressing her down harder onto my throbbing cock. She let out a small cry, a soft, breathless sound that was like music and a curse all at once. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting mine for a fleeting second. There was still a haze there, a drunken vulnerability, but underneath it, a spark of something else – a defiant, almost knowing intensity. Or maybe I was just projecting.
“You like that, Dad?” she breathed, her voice a purr. The question was laced with an innocence that made my stomach churn, yet her actions were anything but. She moved with a surprising grace, a fluidity born from youth and instinct, straddling me perfectly. Each thrust drove me deeper into her, feeling the wet heat envelop me completely.
The springs of the old couch creaked beneath us, a rhythmic complaint that punctuated her gasps and my own ragged breaths. I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead, trickling down my temples. My mind was a whirlwind of alarm bells and primal urges, a deafening cacophony that left me unable to think, only feel.
Her head dipped, her lips brushing against my ear. “You wanted it, didn’t you? I saw you looking.” Her words were slurred but clear, like a knife twisting in an open wound. The memory of her innocent question earlier, her observation about me being “distracted,” slammed back into me. She hadn’t just seen my erection; she’d known, somehow, what was stirring inside me.
A wave of self-loathing washed over me, but it was quickly drowned out by the rising tide of physical sensation. She was riding me harder now, her body arching and flexing, a beautiful, devastating engine of pleasure. My hands slid from her waist to her hips, cupping the soft, firm flesh, guiding her movements, urging her on even as the last shred of my conscience screamed.
“Ella… sweetheart…” I managed to choke out, the words barely audible over the pounding in my ears and the escalating tempo of her movements. But what was I trying to say? Stop? Or just her name, a desperate anchor in a sea of taboo?
She didn’t stop. Instead, she leaned back, her hands finding my chest, pushing her upper body away just enough so she could watch us. My eyes, wide and horrified, met hers. Her pupils were dilated, her lips slightly parted, a faint sheen of sweat on her upper lip. She was a vision of wanton youth, and I, her father, was captive beneath her.
“Look, Dad,” she whispered, her voice husky, almost a growl. “Look what you did to me.” She pointed a shaky finger down between our bodies, where my thick shaft was buried deep inside her. The contrast of her pale skin against the dark hair, the glistening wetness around our point of connection, was an image that branded itself onto my mind.
I couldn’t look away. I was mesmerized, horrified, and undeniably, inexorably aroused. The sight of us, intertwined in such a way, was sickening and intoxicating all at once. Her hips began to rock again, slower this time, a deeper, more profound grind. She began to chant, a soft, broken sound. “Daddy… ahh… Daddy…”
Each thrust felt like it was tearing me apart and putting me back together. The years of loneliness, the pent-up frustration, the quiet desperation that had settled in my bones after her mother left – it all seemed to be released in this one terrible, glorious moment. My cock pulsed inside her, growing even harder, pressing against the deepest parts of her.
Her small hands moved from my chest, tracing the outline of my collarbone, then ghosting over my neck until her fingers tangled in my hair. She pulled my head towards her, her lips finding mine. The kiss was wet, sloppy, tasting of wine and desperation. It was a child’s kiss, innocent and exploratory, warped into something utterly perverse. I tasted her, and a fresh wave of shame hit me, but I kissed her back, my control shattered.
My hands slid further down her body, over the curve of her ass, pulling her even tighter against me. I felt the heat, the slickness, the pure, unadulterated sensation of her wrapped around me. My body was screaming, on the precipice of shattering. I could feel the tension building, coiling like a snake in my stomach, creeping up my spine.
She whimpered into the kiss, a soft, pleading sound. “I’m going to… I’m going to… ahh, Dad!” Her body tensed, her muscles locking around me. I felt a series of intense contractions, a powerful clenching that milked every last drop of pleasure from me. She threw her head back again, a guttural moan escaping her lips, her body trembling violently atop mine.
And then, with a growl ripped from the very core of my being, I followed her. The release was explosive, a searing wave that consumed me entirely, washing away all thought, all guilt, all the years of forced celibacy in one cataclysmic burst. I emptied myself deep inside her, groaning her name, my fingers digging into her hips, holding her impossibly close as the tremors wracked my body.
We collapsed together, panting, sweating, intertwined on the worn couch. My head lolled to the side, my eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by our laboured breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. What had I done? What had we done? The question hung heavy in the air, a monstrous truth that now lay between us, forever altered. My cock, still buried inside her, slowly began to soften, leaving behind an uncomfortable emptiness, a deep, unsettling ache that had nothing to do with physical pleasure and everything to do with the irreparable chasm we had just crossed.