The Night I Stopped Looking at My Father Like a Daughter
The summer I turned nineteen, my mother left us. There was no argument, no slamming doors, no tears over breakfast. One morning she was simply gone: she had run off with a man we barely knew, to start another life in Italy, far from the house she had shared with us throughout my childhood.
My father loved her too much to recover. He spent the following months in a kind of silent mourning, not looking for anyone, not even wanting to hear another woman’s name. I watched him sit every night in the same armchair, his gaze lost on some point in the ceiling, and I understood that he was still waiting for her even though she was never coming back.
What neither of us had foreseen was the problem I represented. Over that year I grew up, left behind the last traces of girlhood, and month by month my face became my mother’s. The same mouth, the same cheekbones, the same smile. Every time my father looked at me, he did not see only me: he saw her.
***
The first time something changed between us was by accident. My father had gone out with an old friend and came back after midnight, unsteady on his feet and smelling of whiskey. I took him to his room holding him by the arm, took off his shoes and shirt, and helped him lie down in the bed that still smelled of my mother’s perfume.
When I bent over him to fix his pillow, his hands groped for me in the dim light. He wasn’t reaching for me, of course. In his drunken haze he murmured her name and stroked one of my breasts with a tenderness that was not meant for his daughter. I froze, not daring to breathe, feeling the heat of his fingers press the flesh through the thin fabric, searching for my nipple, pinching it clumsily until it stood hard against the cotton. I felt my panties go wet all at once, a hot trickle staining my crotch, and I had to squeeze my thighs together not to moan. A moment later he fell asleep with his hand still resting on my chest, and I left the room with my heart pounding against my ribs and my cunt soaked, throbbing between my legs.
The next morning he remembered nothing. He served me coffee like any other day, asked if I had slept well, and I answered yes while part of me wondered why I couldn’t forget the touch of those hands, and why that night, in my bed, I had masturbated three times in a row, shoving my fingers deep inside myself and biting the pillow so I wouldn’t scream “Daddy.”
***
From then on I started noticing things. The way his eyes settled on me when he thought I couldn’t see him, and how they jerked away as soon as I turned around, as if I had caught him doing something forbidden. Rather than making me uncomfortable, that look fed me. It meant I mattered to him, that I existed for him beyond the memory of my mother.
Would I ever find a man who wanted me the way he had wanted her?
And then something happened that scared me because of how natural it felt: I became jealous. Jealous of my own mother, who had left without deserving it and who still occupied all of his heart. Every time he mentioned her in that broken voice, I hated her a little more, and I silently promised myself I would be able to erase her. I would erase her with my cunt, with my mouth, with my tits. I would give him what she had never known how to give him.
***
One afternoon I found him sitting in the living room armchair, reading. Without thinking too much about it, I sat in his lap like I used to when I was little. But I was no longer a child, and he noticed before I did. I felt his cock harden against my ass, fast, unstoppable, a dick growing by the second beneath the fabric until it drove itself between my butt cheeks like a hot bar of iron. I barely rocked my hips, pretending to get comfortable, and felt the bulge settle into the crack of my ass, pressing into me, searching for me through my clothes.
I leaned my head back, cheeks burning, and looked him in the eyes. A low moan slipped out of me, almost a sigh, and that sound snapped him back to reality. His hands shoved me away roughly. He stood up, crossed the room without saying a word, and locked himself in his bedroom. I heard the click of the lock and knew I had frightened him. A while later, pressed against the door, I heard the unmistakable sound: heavy breathing, a hand going up and down his cock, a muffled groan that sounded dangerously like my name. I put my fingers in my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh from sheer triumph.
If I wanted to get to him, I would have to be more patient. More subtle.
***
I changed tactics. I started leaving little signs, absent-minded, innocent at first glance. I would forget a used thong on the edge of the sink, always with the crotch still wet from my arousal, so it would smell like me. Sometimes I left the bathroom door half open just as I came out of the shower, and I lingered drying myself in front of the mirror, my legs barely apart, offering him a clear view of my trimmed pubic hair and the swollen lips of my pussy, pretending not to hear his footsteps in the hallway.
When the door opened, instead of covering myself and turning my back in embarrassment, I would slowly turn toward him, letting him see everything I had to offer: my tits standing up with my nipples hard and pink pointing straight at his face, my flat stomach, the slit of my sex still shining from the water. It lasted only a second, just long enough for the image to burn itself into him before he would mutter an apology and retreat, his hands in front of his pants to hide the erection.
I don’t know how much time passed before I noticed my efforts were paying off. The next time I “forgot” a thong, I memorized the exact spot where I had left it. When I came back hours later, it wasn’t there. I found it moved, in another corner, and felt a stab of victory. He had touched it, had held it in his hands. I looked at it up close and saw the fresh stain, whitish and sticky, drying on the lace of the crotch. He had come all over my panties. The mere thought of him bringing it up to his face to breathe in my scent while he jerked off thinking about his daughter made me shiver from head to toe. I shoved the thong into my mouth right there, licked the still-warm semen stain, and slid two fingers between my legs until I came, braced against the edge of the sink.
***
From there I took every chance I had to touch him. I came back from the gym in tight leggings and a Lycra top that showed off my body, my skin still warm from the effort, and greeted him by throwing my arms around his neck. I pressed my tits against his chest just enough for him to feel the firmness of my breasts, the hardness of my nipples through the thin fabric, and rubbed my crotch against his groin in a deliberately casual brush. Each hug lasted a second longer than the last, and each time I pulled away with my cunt wetter inside my leggings.
At first my father remained rigid, uncomfortable, like a man trying not to slip at the edge of an abyss. But his resistance wore down week by week. There came a point when he seemed to wait for my greeting, and his hands, instead of letting go, squeezed me against him with a force that gave him away. They clung to the small of my back, slid down millimeter by millimeter to the start of my ass, and one afternoon I felt, very clearly, his cock hardening against my belly while he murmured in my ear that I looked beautiful.
I started wearing miniskirts at home. We spent more and more afternoons together, sitting in the living room watching whatever was on television, talking about nothing. And nothing was easier than settling into the couch and letting the skirt ride up, slowly, until it revealed the line of my panties and, often, the dark patch of moisture growing in my crotch. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and knew, from the tension in his jaw and the bulge visible in his pants, that he liked what he saw. Sometimes he would absentmindedly touch me over the fabric while talking, just a circular brush over my clit, and I loved watching his voice break halfway through a sentence.
***
And then my twentieth birthday arrived.
—What are we doing tonight? —he asked me in the morning.
—Going out to dinner and having a drink somewhere —I told him—. It’s my birthday, I decide.
That night, while I was getting ready, he knocked on my bedroom door to ask if I was done. For a second I thought about opening it just as I was, wearing only the white lace lingerie and garter belt. But it still wasn’t time. I couldn’t put him in front of the image of his half-naked daughter and expect him not to run again.
—Almost —I answered, sticking my head out.
I finished getting dressed in a short, fitted skirt over the lingerie, and a white blouse so thin it let the lace underneath and the dark shadow of my nipples show through. When I stepped out into the hallway, I heard him clear his throat. Was he as nervous as I was?
—My daughter has grown into a beautiful woman —he said, and his voice trembled slightly on the last word. His eyes dropped straight to my tits and lingered there without any attempt to hide it.
***
We had dinner at a quiet restaurant and then went to a bar where people were dancing. I dragged him onto the dance floor almost by force. He resisted, said he was too old for that sort of thing, but in the end he gave in. It was my birthday, after all.
I regretted having the skirt so tight; otherwise I could have trapped one of his thighs between mine and rubbed my cunt against it to the rhythm of the music until I came and soaked his pants. Desire was running down my legs, literally, and I could see it reflected without shame on my father’s face. I pressed my back against him and twisted my ass against his fly, feeling his cock rise within seconds, hard, long, outlined beneath the fabric.
I leaned toward his ear and whispered:
—Daddy, I can feel how hard your cock is against my ass. It’s wonderful. I’m soaked, you know? It’s running down between my thighs.
He shoved me away. He turned without looking at me and went back to the bar.
—Don’t do that again —he said quietly, almost pleading—. Behave.
Half an hour later we were driving home in silence.
***
In the foyer, his gaze fell again on my crotch just as mine found the obvious bulge in his pants. Neither of us looked away this time.
—Good night, Daddy —I murmured.
I stepped close and hugged him, sliding his right thigh between mine. I don’t know who made the first move. Suddenly our mouths found each other, open, clumsy with pent-up desire. I let my tongue into his mouth and drank in his hot, broken breath while our bodies rubbed against one another in the dim hallway. My cunt pressed against his thigh and I started riding him through the fabric, rubbing my clit up and down over the seam of his pants, soaking them with my juices until the stain became visible at a glance. His cock throbbed hard against my hip and I brought a hand down to squeeze it over his pants, feeling its size, feeling it twitch with every rub.
I pulled away and stepped back, panting. A wet stain was spreading across the fabric of his pants. I had pushed him to the limit. And even so I knew, looking him in the eyes, that it still wasn’t time. He wasn’t ready for the final step, and I didn’t want to ruin it by rushing.
I had waited so long. I could wait a little longer. My father wasn’t going to slip away from me now.
I watched him go into his room, leaving the door open. I left mine the same way. Barely two minutes later I heard his ragged breathing, the unmistakable sound of a hand going up and down over a wet cock, the sticky sloshing of a man pleasuring himself on the other side of the hallway. Then I stripped and threw myself onto the bed with my legs wide open toward the door. I sucked two fingers and buried them deep in my cunt, never stopping my moans, not keeping quiet, letting every “Daddy” come out loud so he would hear. With my other hand I pinched my nipples and stretched them, imagining it was his mouth. When I heard him moan faster, I sped up too, until we both came almost at the same time, each in our own bed, separated by a few meters of hallway. I felt the orgasm burst between my legs in hot waves, and I stayed there a while stroking myself, soaked, listening to his breathing settle on the other side. I fell asleep almost at once, more satisfied than I had ever been, with two fingers still inside me.
***
The next morning we met over breakfast and neither of us said a word. We looked at each other over our cups, and in that silence there was more than in any conversation.
In the afternoon I put on a tiny thong and a T-shirt with nothing underneath. My father looked at me speechless, his eyes roaming over me as if they wanted to devour me, lingering on my outlined nipples and the tiny strip of fabric that barely covered my pussy. It’s hard to explain how much I enjoyed exposing myself to that look, shamelessly, knowing exactly the effect I was having. The awareness of being his daughter lit something hot and dark inside me, a shiver that ran straight down between my legs and soaked my thong.
He sat in a chair in the dining room and, for the first time, it was he who gave the order.
—Come here. Sit on your daddy’s lap.
My heart skipped. For the first time he was taking the initiative, for the first time he was asking me for something. I straddled him and started rubbing my cunt against his thigh, slowly, looking him in the eyes. The thong fabric slipped between the lips of my sex and he could feel, through his pants, just how wet I was. I left a dark circle on his pants that grew with every push of my hips.
—Your little girl is very bad, Daddy —I moaned—. I can’t help being this hot all the time. My cunt leaks just from seeing you.
—No —he confirmed, voice rough, grabbing my ass with both hands, squeezing it, guiding me against his leg—. You can’t help it. —And after a pause he added—: Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Would you let your daddy lick you there?
—Daddy can do whatever he wants to me —I answered.
***
He took my hand and led me to his room, to the bed he had shared with my mother. He stood in front of me, and his cock was already fully erect, straining the fabric, outlining its full length beneath his pants. Seeing him like that, so close, after so many months of waiting, took my breath away. All I had to do was reach out.
—I want to feel you everywhere —I whispered.
He stripped completely and his cock sprang free, thick, the tip red and glossy with precum, trembling against his belly. It was bigger than I had imagined in all those nights. I knelt on the floor before he could stop me and took it in both hands, feeling the weight and heat of the hard flesh throbbing against my palms. I brought it to my mouth and licked the tip slowly, tasting the salty drip, drawing the first deep groan from him. Then I wrapped my lips around it and went down, taking him all the way to the back of my throat until I choked a little, and came back up sucking hard, leaving strings of saliva hanging from the head.
—Daughter... daughter, my God —he panted, his fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just a little—. What a sweet mouth you’ve got, you suck it so well.
I sucked him for a long while, eagerly, slobbering all over him, running my tongue over his frenulum, taking him in all the way until my throat opened around the tip. I licked his balls too, one by one, sucking them into my mouth while my hand ran up and down his cock slick with saliva. He was trembling all over, and I knew that if I kept going he would come in my mouth. Not yet. I wanted him inside me.
He sat on the edge of the bed. I took off my clothes just as quickly, leaving only my stockings and garter belt on, and made him lie down on his back. Before climbing on top, I bent over his face. He understood without words: he grabbed my hips and pulled me up until I was riding his mouth. His tongue slipped all the way between the lips of my cunt and started licking, long and slow, from bottom to top, stopping at my clit to suck it between his lips. I grabbed the headboard and rode his face shamelessly, rocking my hips against his mouth, grinding my soaking cunt against his nose, his beard, his chin. Sobs escaped me that I didn’t even recognize.
—Daddy, like that, eat me, don’t stop, don’t stop —I moaned, tightening my thighs around his head.
He slid two fingers inside me while he kept sucking my clit, and that tore the first orgasm of the afternoon out of me. I convulsed over him, soaking his face, and he kept licking every drop that fell from me, swallowing it.
I came down slowly, still trembling, and slid down his body until I was sitting on his stomach. I trapped his cock, hard as a rock, from behind and guided it between my shaking legs.
The tip brushed my swollen clit and stopped right at the entrance, exactly where I needed him. I rubbed him there for a while, up and down, soaking him with my fluids, torturing both of us. I felt my whole body begging for more, for the hunger of a deep penetration. I lowered myself slowly and took him all the way, centimeter by centimeter, feeling him open me from the inside, filling me to the core, until he disappeared completely inside me and my ass touched his thighs. We both moaned at once.
—You’re so tight, daughter, so tight —he growled, eyes closed and hands digging into my hips.
I was in control. I rode him up and down, rolled my hips, twisted over him, setting a rhythm that grew more demanding by the second. I felt his cock carve a path inside me, driving deep into a spot that made me see stars, while my body rocked, supported only by his strong hands clamped to my waist. His fingers sought the curve of my ass and stayed there, pressing, claiming every inch of me. He opened my tits with his mouth, sucked one nipple then the other, bit them lightly, and I screamed with every bite.
—Fuck me, Daddy, fuck me hard —I begged him—. Break me. I’m yours, do whatever you want with me.
He turned me over in one violent motion and I ended up face down, my cheek pressed into the pillow that had belonged to my mother. He spread my legs with his knee, grabbed my hips and shoved into me from behind in one stroke, all the way in. He started fucking me hard, pulling almost all the way out and burying himself again with a wet sound that filled the room, slapping my ass with every thrust. I bit down on the pillow and moaned like a madwoman, arched, offering him my ass high so he could hit deeper.
—Am I good enough for you, Daddy? —I panted into the fabric—. Do you fuck your daughter better than you fucked Mom?
—Better, much better, you little cunt —he growled, and shoved a finger slick with saliva into my ass, drawing a howl of pure pleasure from me.
He rode me from behind for minutes that felt eternal, grabbing my hair, yanking my head back, whispering filthy things in my ear. He made me come a second time by pinching my clit with his fingers while he drove into me to the hilt. I felt my pussy clench around his cock in long spasms, sucking him inward.
I heard it in his voice before I felt it. He was right at the edge, about to finish inside me.
—Daddy... Daddy... inside, cum inside, fill me —I screamed, unable to hold it back.
He felt my cunt squeezing him and couldn’t hold out any longer. He gave me three final, brutal thrusts, and I felt him empty himself inside me, hot shot after hot shot hitting deep inside, filling my belly with semen. An electric current ran from the nape of my neck to my heels. In the middle of the orgasm I realized that I was finally a whole woman. I was finally his, and the certainty that I always would be dragged me into a third spasm even more violent than the first two. I felt his load trickling inside me, slipping down my thighs when he finally pulled out, and I collapsed face down on the bed, trembling, my ass raised and his cum dripping from my open cunt.
He dropped beside me, out of breath, and pulled me against his chest.
—My dear daddy, how I wanted you —I murmured against his chest, my hand still resting on his wet, sticky cock—. Now I’m yours.
I was not the only one crying tears of overflowing happiness. His eyes, wide and wet, were shining too.
—My daughter —he stammered over and over, stroking my hair—. I love you. I know it’s forbidden. And I love you anyway.