Total pages in book: 8
Estimated words: 6777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 34(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 23(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 6777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 34(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 23(@300wpm)
“You’ve been a bad girl, thinking about this, haven’t you? Fantasizing about your father taking you like this?”
I moaned, biting my lip, wanting to lie. But in the end, I told him the truth. “Yes.” I writhed under his touch, the storm outside mirroring the one building within me.
He grunted as if satisfied, maybe even proud, that he’d pulled the truth from me. Daddy released my wrists and spun me and kicked my legs wide apart, exposing my cunt to the cool barn air.
“Mmm, look at this perfect ass and tight little twat. Bet you’re gonna squeeze Daddy’s cock once I’m wedged inside, aren’t you, sweet girl?”
I heard the metallic zip of his jeans behind me. My breath caught when he grabbed a length of baling twine from a nearby hook and used it on me. The coarse fiber rubbed against my skin as he looped it around my wrists behind my back.
“Trust me?” he asked, his voice low and commanding, gauging my reaction.
“Always, Daddy.” The restraint heightened every sensation, making me feel vulnerable yet utterly safe in his dominance. Bound and bent over, I was at his mercy, the position exposing me completely.
His hands gripped my hips with bruising force, and when I felt his cockhead poised at my pussy hole, I braced, held my breath, and thanked whoever listened that this was finally happening.
Daddy entered me in one powerful thrust, filling me to the hilt so I cried out and rose on my toes, causing him to push in another impossible inch. The stretch was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and a hint of pain that made me cry out again.
“Jesus Christ. So tight and wet. I’ve been dreaming about this cunt for the last year. I’ve been jerking off to the images and fantasy of fucking my daughter’s pussy, being a damn degenerate for wanting what was so wrong.”
His filthy words had me nearly coming right there, squeezing his cock until he grunted and started moving in and out.
The storm raged on, thunder clapping as if applauding that a daughter and father were fucking each other like sick fucks.
Daddy pounded into me with a relentless rhythm, each stroke deep and claiming. His hand reached around to rub my clit in tight circles, syncing with his thrusts, pushing me toward the edge.
“You’re mine now, Polly,” he grunted, his breath ragged. “No one else’s. Do you fucking understand what that means?”
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know how to. His declaration, combined with the forbidden dynamic of our relationship, sent me spiraling. The orgasm crashed over me like a bolt of lightning, my body shuddering, my pussy walls clenching around him.
Daddy followed moments later, pulling out to spill hotly on my back and ass. I looked over my shoulder to see hot jets of white cum splatter on my skin. He gave several guttural moans that echoed in the barn. But he wasn’t done.
His fingers scooped up his jizz, spreading it over my skin in slow, deliberate circles, marking me further. He smeared me with his seed, painting me, before shoving the digits back into my pussy and finger-fucking me for several long seconds.
“Look at you, covered in me,” he murmured, his voice thick with possession.
I shivered as he pulled his cum and pussy-juice fingers out of my cunt and brought them to my lips. I parted them obediently, tasting the salty and musky essence, the act deepening our kink, binding us in shared taboo.
We collapsed together onto the hay, breathing hard, the rain now a steady lullaby. He untied me gently, his fingers tracing my arm until goosebumps formed on my skin. He pulled me into his arms, and I closed my eyes. God, this felt so good.
“This changes everything,” he whispered, his voice softening as he kissed my forehead.
I knew it did, but in that post-storm haze, wrapped in his warmth, I didn’t care about the consequences.
3
Weeks blurred into a haze of stolen moments and secret glances that kept the fire between us burning bright.
By day, we maintained the facade of father and daughter for the sake of the farmhands and any nosy neighbors who might drop by. I’d help Daddy with the milking at dawn, the cows vocal in greeting as steam rose from their breath in the cool morning air.
Our conversations were carefully neutral. But the undercurrent was always there—a knowing smile, a subtle brush of his hand against my lower back as he passed me a bucket.
At night, however, the old farmhouse transformed into our private sanctuary, with its creaking floors and shadowed corners witnessing our growing addiction.
The taboo thrill never diminished. If anything, it intensified, spurring us to explore kinkier depths and pushing boundaries in the safety of our isolation.
One particularly sweltering night, sleep eluded me, the summer heat pressing down like a blanket, making the sheets cling to my damp skin. I was alone in bed, so I slipped downstairs in nothing but Daddy’s oversized t-shirt.