Dominic

I had meant to save her, to protect her, to heal her.

I wasn’t doing anything wrong.

This was what she had wanted.

What she needed.

She had asked me to.

No, begged me to.

I tried every excuse in my head, testing it for efficiency. In all of them, I sounded like every other immoral fucker out there.

I couldn’t utter aloud either of them, especially since the girl’s mother was now staring me down, demanding an explanation. Demanding I released Sarai’s naked body and demanding that I got away from her.

To say that I was helping Sarai overcome her sexual traumas would have been insane. Not because the poor girl hadn’t truthfully asked me to fuck her and by that, to help her deal with what Santos had done to her, but because I had agreed, knowing what a bunch of bullshit that was.

She clearly had feelings for me, the first man to ever fuck her. I had made her pussy feel good, but it was more than that. I had also taken something from her that had been incredibly intimate and personal when I had been inside her, physically. She had naturally grown attached to me in an equally inappropriate way as my lust for her.

She was innocent in her feelings.

Her desires, even.

What young woman wouldn’t seek more physical acts of love from the man she had let have her virgin body? She had wanted her deflowering to mean more than just a good fuck and she probably wouldn’t have taken it too well if I threw her away after I’d had my fill of her.

But therein lied the problem.

I had been fucking my daughter for weeks and all I wanted to do, still, was to fuck her some more.

I loved my wife. I would always be there for Cynthia, but I couldn’t get over the fact that she had sold her body to so many men. She had let them do things to her, to her body, to her spirit. Her cunt had a price now, low enough for anyone to afford, it turned out.

And she hadn’t stopped whoring herself out, either, despite me paying for therapy. She was trapped in her own sexual hell, seeking to get back to something that felt normal, or an approximation of that.

Bottom line, though, Cynthia wasn’t mine anymore and she could barely get me hard enough to fuck her mouth, much less get things to how they used to be between us.

We had both been silently aware of that, we just hadn’t brought it out in the open for our daughter’s sake.

Whereas Sarai?

I liked how I’d been her first. It did things to me to know that her pussy had been mine and only mine, that I had been the one to teach her how to suck cock, that her ass was going to sheathe my cock too, probably as a birthday present to myself.

I adored how obedient she was. She never argued with me and never refused my cock. She did every perversion I asked of her, no pouting, no comments, nothing but faith and trust in me and my so-called help.

But Cynthia wasn’t Sarai and I couldn’t tell her that I’d been balls deep in our daughter out of fatherly love. I mean, I could have, but she would have seen right through that.

My right hand was still wrapped around Sarai’s throat and I could feel her pulse quickening. She was going to have another panic attack.

“Suck my cock clean,” I whispered in her ear.

“Yes, daddy.”

I pet her hair as she gently licked my softening dick. She was soon breathing evenly and her movements were becoming precise. Good. She always calmed down when given a task to perform, especially if it involved worshiping my cock. She really did have a thing for it. I had thought she was just trying to stroke my ego, but no, she was genuine in her enthusiasm to kneel before me and service me whenever I felt like it. Sarai’s entire demeanor was a power trip no man could resist. She lived to please. How could I let another have that?

Cynthia gasped, overcome with outrage.

Oh, right, she was still there.

“You can stay, or you can leave,” I heard myself coldly saying. “My arrangement with Sarai will not end.”

“I am calling the police,” she threatened, her voice shaking.

I watched her rummage through her purse for the phone I bought her. Everything she had on her, in her, the clothes and the food, all had been paid for with money I stole from Santos the day I took Sarai back from him.

I smirked.

“And then Santos is going to find out where we are. He’ll take her again. Is that what you want?”

She threw her phone against the wall and let herself fall to the floor.

“I want you to stop this disgusting thing you’re doing to her! This isn’t right, for God’s sake, she’s just a girl. You’re no better than Santos. All you men, you’re beasts!”

I placed a hand on Sarai’s head, just in case she wanted to obey her mother, but it seemed like she wasn’t even listening to us. She was all there, in her own world, where nothing but her daddy existed.

In the back of my mind, where the pleasure I was getting from my daughter licking my cock didn’t run the place, this whole situation was ringing alarm bells.

I knew, intellectually, that what I was doing, that what we were doing, should have been freaking me out too, not just my wife.

I knew it, and yet, I could not find it within myself to stop.

At some point in this whole thing it had occurred to me that I needed to take some kind of inventory, that if I didn’t get some kind of handle on it, everything was going to fly off of any handle I could possibly get on it.

Because this was, like Cynthia had said, not that much different than Santos abusing Sarai.

Even if this was consensual.

I shouldn’t have been capable of this, I had tried so hard to not be capable of this, and this was the girl I would have done anything for, given anything for, for whom I would have laid down and died and then proceeded to walk across Hell and back for any reason she would have cared to give me.

This was the girl whose mere existence changed everything, who’d made me a father, a good man, a better husband.

This was the girl the loss of whom, when for a little while I had thought I had lost her forever, that she was gone forever, forced to live as a sex slave some place far from my arms, had made me into something that wasn’t a person, but a moving hole in space.

Getting her back had changed everything all over again.

When something like that happened, people generally did the thing where they swore they would never let the other one go, they would never see them hurt, where if someone even threatened to harm them it was insta-death, like in the movies.

I had lost someone most important to me and I had gotten a glimpse of what an entire stretch of existence was going to be like without Sarai, and my daughter became more precious to me than my own life, than anyone else’s life. I had killed for her. I would kill again, too.

So there it was.

I shouldn’t have done it to begin with. That was bad enough. What was worse, unspeakably worse, was that I liked it.

Liked it so much.

No idea where it had come from.

After years of soothing her hurts, the scrapped knees and bruised elbows, suddenly it had been total second nature to pull her hair and fuck her virgin cunt so hard I knew I was hurting her, and not care at all.

“You could leave,” I told Cynthia, “Or you can stay. I am not going to throw you onto the streets.”

“How can I live with myself if I let this continue?”

“Because,” I took in a deep breath, “she’s going to need someone to help her when the baby comes.”

I wasn’t an idiot.

I had cummed in her bare pussy so much, Sarai had to already be pregnant. I was going to get her to a hospital in Canada, to confirm it. I was also going to get her an eye-surgery and fix everything wrong in her life.

Except maybe for one thing.

Because I was not, not ever, going to stop fucking her.

She was mine and would always be mine and out there, in another country, where we’d have new IDs and Santos couldn’t reach us, we could be husband and wife, not father and daughter, and no one would be any wiser to our sins.

And I supposed that it didn’t really matter how we had gotten here, in the end.

All that mattered was that we were both here, we were together, we had almost made it to the border alive, and for all the pain and heartache in our lives up until now, it should not matter where we were getting our happiness from as long as we were getting it with each other.

I looked at Cynthia, who was still on the floor, processing things. What was done, was done. She didn’t have anywhere else to go and she loved Sarai probably even more than I did. Coupled with the guilt I instilled in her for letting her pimp touch Sarai, I knew that my wife would never do anything that could even remotely hurt her daughter now. She’d done enough of that, after all. Now it was time to repent and do better, even if that meant letting me have my cake and eat it too.

“Daddy?”

“You’ve done well.”

I looked at her, beaming after having received my praise.

I ran my fingers up and down her neck, her shoulder, over the dip of her waist and the slight swell of her hip, so creamy and perfect.

So flawless.

So fuckable.

All mine.

I looked at the bruises already forming here and there and it was enough for me to get lost in some weird space between “I was so fucked up” and “this was fucking perfect”.

Sarai, my daughter, my trusting girl, who for whatever reasons she wanted me to love her like a woman, was kneeling before me, in our bed, trying to earn my heart too.

I was only too happy to give it to her because I would give her anything.

She deserved everything.

“You’re my good girl, Sarai. Everything’s going to be alright, daddy’s here.”

“I love you, daddy.”

THE END

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Thank you for reading my story.

Time is precious and I appreciate you spending it on my little spicy hobby. 

If you liked this tale of daddy daughter taboo love, I'd love to hear about it. I'd also love to hear what other types of incest stories, or kinks, you'd like to read from me: mother-son, daddy-daughter, siblings, anything and everything goes.