by Francis Ashe
Bred By My Daddy (Taboo impregnation sex)
By Francis Ashe
Copyright 2012
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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***
“You look just like your mother.”
That right there is something I have gotten used to hearing. I mean, it is true after all, and my mom is seriously hot anyway, so I don’t mind. But like I said, I get it all the time. What I never expected was that those six words would come out of my step-daddy Peter’s lips right before he fucked me and filled me up with that creamy, hot load of his. I also never thought that right now, eight months into carrying my daddy’s baby that he would still be in my bed almost every night. Poor guy just can’t keep his hands off of me.
I’ve never had a man make me feel like Peter does, but I’m getting a little ahead of myself. It’s just that when he runs those fingers over my big, baby-filled belly, looks into my eyes and slips his cock inside me he takes me away to some other place. Some place that I never knew existed.
This might sound very strange for me to say, but I love my step daddy more than anything else in the world. Before I get into all that, let me take you back in time. Back to the first time, actually, that I ever felt a cock inside me which also happens to be when my step daddy gave me this baby boy. I think when you know the whole story everything will start to make a lot more sense.
***
My real dad left when I was very young. My mom says I was eight sometimes, other times she says seven, but either way, I don’t remember him much. For a few years it was she and I in the house. She was a good mom, but she had her hands full. She worked a lot, never had much time at home, and so I grew up in my own little world. I read a lot, even wrote a bit. One day, she met Peter, and the whole world turned upside down.
My mom’s a nurse, and Peter at the time was a drug company salesman, so they’d seen each other a thousand times before either of them made a move. On my twelfth birthday, on little Liz Branly’s birthday, they got married. I wanted that, by the way. Mom asked what I wanted for my birthday and I told her I wanted her to marry Peter. They both thought that was tremendously sweet, and had been planning a wedding anyway, so it just worked out perfectly.
It was a good way to be brought up. Mom kept working, Peter took over most of the “dad” type things – taking me to practices, going swimming in the summers – and I loved him. I think I didn’t fall in love with him for quite a few years, but I definitely had feelings for him that I couldn’t explain to anyone, especially my mom. He’s a burly guy, kind of a barrel chest with big arms, dark blue eyes and a sweet face that could make the world’s most terrified-of-everything cat feel safe. And that’s just what he did for me. Peter, my daddy, gave me all the safety and security that I’d always wanted.
We grew apart a little as I got older, but nothing out of the ordinary. He was still always around, and he was still the one I went to when some jack-ass boyfriend cheated on me, or dumped me for a bigger-breasted girl or whatever. He’d hug me, tell me I was beautiful and give me a little pep talk. He’s that kind of person – the sort that can always make you feel better, even on the worst days of your life.
Looking back, he was probably terribly lonely. My mom worked all the time, sometimes taking double and triple shifts at the hospital, even though she didn’t really need the money. They both did pretty well, but my mom got away from everything by going to work. In a strange way, that’s how she relaxed – by working. She was increasingly absent from my life and from Peter’s, so even though we weren’t as close as we were when I was smaller, we still held on to one another for company if nothing else.
The other thing I realize when I look back on those days is that I teased him horribly. Even though I went to college late, I grew early. I had full, beautiful tits by the time I was sixteen, and by seventeen, my face had matured. At eighteen I discovered how magically I controlled boys when I wore tight, ass-hugging jeans and thin cotton t-shirts that were too small. Peter was no different. I could tell he wanted me, or at least wanted someone, every time I’d swish around the house in a towel that was rolled up just so that the cleft of my tight little pussy almost showed. I tied them around me like that on purpose, of course, and made sure my tits were pushed up under the towel, almost spilling out. He never did anything but look me in the eyes though.
His chronically absent wife wasn’t giving him what he needed. What he wanted from her. Twenty-three years older than me, she didn’t look it at all. She’s fit, elegant and sexy, but she just wasn’t ever around. It isn’t like they never had sex, not even close. But, he wanted her every time he saw her. His eyes trailed down her body, his cock perked up in his pants when she walked past. I made a point to check his crotch when I’d go past on my trampy missions to arouse him, but Peter never reacted much. At least while I was looking, anyway.
My little game went on for years. The poor guy had no way out. My mom got a promotion in the hospital to some sort of administrative position early last year, and so she was forever going on these long business trips for weeks, sometimes months on end. At that point, I was getting ready to leave for college, and taunting Peter had become almost a strip-tease exhibition.
I heard him sometimes in the bathroom or in his room late at night tugging on that dick of his, sometimes saying my mom’s name, and sometimes calling out “Liz” instead. I couldn’t believe it the first time I stumbled across him, but I understood. I was a little over twenty at that time, and one of the horniest girls you’ve ever known. Problem is though, I was so shy and so lacking in self-confidence that I’d never let a boy give me a good hard fucking. I’d done oral a few times, and one guy had gone down on me badly twice, stuck a finger or two in me and fumbled around a little, but nothing serious. I wanted it so, so bad, but I just could never go that one last step. I guess part of it is that of the boys I brought home or met out somewhere, none of them ever stacked up to my daddy, Peter.
I’d listen to him in the bathroom. Close my eyes. Imagine what his cock looked like, what he looked like without any clothes on, and what having him split my pussy open would feel like. If I really concentrated, I heard his hand moving up and down his dick – that smooth rubbing sound. When he came, he always sucked air in through his teeth in a hiss. Then he’d grunt and sigh. I liked to pretend that while I was out in the hall with my fingers buried in my soaking wet, aching-for-him slit, that he imagined me underneath him, my legs pushed back so my knees were near my head, and he was so deep inside me that his balls slapped against my asshole every time he pumped.
When I listened to him grunt out those orgasms and sigh, I grinded the palm of my hand hard on my clit, made myself cum just when he did. I’d drive my fingers deep and try to envision him spurting inside me, his jizz dripping down the walls of my cunt and out on to the sheets.
Sometimes he went for a second round immediately after the first. When he did that, I’d keep going too. My thoughts made it so that he used his own cum to lube me up again and fuck me so hard, and so fast that when he grinded into me again, his balls sticky and hot from a mix of his cum and my pussy juice, he wouldn’t be able to take it for more than a second before he had to flip me over and take me from behind so he could get as deep as
possible and fill me up with another gush.
By then we were done, my pussy would usually be so sore, and feel so rung out and good that I’d just go to bed. Lie there, pretending that I was in Peter’s arms, covered in sweat, my hole red, tired and sated. I’d dream about the mess I wanted him to make between my legs. The bite marks I wanted on my nipples and how I wanted him to suck my lips in his mouth, stick a finger inside me and watch my face when I lost control. Every now and then, I’d lie back on my bed and listen to him stroke himself off and slip a couple of fingers in my asshole, because I wanted him there too.
I knew I could never have him though. Until right before I left for college, the only orgasms I had ever had – the only real ones – were from the private time Peter and I spent with him imagining fucking me and me hiding in the hall outside, grinding out climax after climax thinking about exactly the same thing.
But, it was just a fantasy. It could never happen.
That’s what I told myself. Over and over. Just a fantasy. I’d never have Peter.
One day, it happened. I learned in the space of a few moments that everything I’d dreamed about him, all my fantasies and imagined encounters – all of it paled in comparison to actually being fucked by my daddy.
***
School started at the end of August, so I was packing my books and things like that for the big move. My mom was, of course, gone. Peter was helping me get my stuff together, but he wasn’t happy. Not in the “jealous parent being overprotective” way, but more out of fear that once I was gone, he would be completely alone for months at a time. He wanted me to go. Talked me into it, actually, when I started to get scared and worry that I was making a mistake.
“Liz,” he said, “you’re a grown woman. A beautiful, smart, wonderful grown woman and I can’t keep you from the world. You have to get out there, gotta find your way.”
“I know daddy,” I replied, “I’m going to miss you though.”
He smiled. “I’ll miss you too little girl, I’ll miss you too. But you have to get out there, find some boy that deserves you. You look just like your mother. Smart just like her. I want you to be happy and so even though it hurts to see you go, it has to happen.”
I think he got a little bit misty-eyed, but I can’t be sure. I hugged him. Tight.
His cock was hard. I felt warmth coming from his body, radiating out of his dick and down the cleft between my legs. The yoga pants I had on, skin-tight spandex numbers, didn’t hide very much of me, or keep me from feeling him through the fabric.
I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck and, unable to help myself, spread my knees just a little bit, letting his shaft slip between my lips. I decided that I couldn’t go without knowing if he really wanted me. If he didn’t react, or tried to stop me, I wasn’t going to push. All he did though was hold me close and move his hips in the smallest motions imaginable. Probably not enough to even see, but oh my God did I feel that rock-solid cock of his sliding against my pussy, grinding on me like I spent so much time doing with my palm.
I felt like I was going to burst after probably ten seconds of this. His little shoves, that red-hot cock prodding me down there where few had gone and none had entered. I think I took him by surprise just a little bit, because as soon as I started to grind on him a little harder, he seemed to freeze up, almost like he didn’t know what to do. That didn’t last very long.
Just when I thought he was having second thoughts, Peter put his arms around my lower back and pulled me harder against his body. Even though I’d never seen the guy naked before, I knew he was fit, but being up on him like that, I realized just how rock-solid he was. Those big, bulging arms of his fit around me just right – I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but after so many years of wishing and fantasizing about this exact thing, well, I think I started to melt a little bit.
“If this isn’t what you want,” he said to me in a hushed, whispered voice, “then just say so. But I’ve been thinking about this for a couple of years now. I feel terrible about it, but there’s nothing I can do. Your mother’s just not here, ever, and you look and act so much like her. Is that okay? Is this okay with you?”
His candor confused me. I mean, I’m the one that made all the moves, right? All he did was jerk off thinking about me every so often. Right? How could he feel guilty?
I put my hand to the side of his face, and reassured him by sucking his bottom lip between mine. I gave him a little nibble, felt the ridges and texture of his lips with my tongue and even flicked it between them for a taste of his mouth. My daddy let out a low, satisfied sounding groan and tangled his hand in my hair, clutching me close.
When our tongues danced back and forth – first in his mouth, then in mine – everything seemed right. Like this is how it was supposed to be, if that makes any sense. Daddy’s hand left my hair and traced a light line down the middle of my back, stopping tentatively before my waistline. He slipped his hand under the back of my shirt and rested it on the part of my back just before my ass. I felt him draw tickling little circles on my skin. I craned my neck again and pried my tongue back between his lips, running it along his bottom teeth, tasting his breath.
Suddenly, a switch seemed to flick in his brain.
“I... I’ve wanted you for years,” he said in an urgent whisper, “but I felt terrible. It ate at me, but I wouldn’t give in. Felt like some kind of pervert. But it’s you, too? You feel the same way?”
Something flashed in those dark eyes of his and before I could answer, he kissed me hard again and lifted me off the ground, one thigh in each of his hands. My legs wrapped around his waist, Peter carried me to the couch across the room. He sat me gently down and as soon as I was out of his arms, he jerked my hips forward so that my slit pressed against his cock, and slid his hands up my back under my shirt.
“Your skin, it’s just so soft. I’ve always thought your back was beautiful, but feeling it... just, you’re just incredible, Liz.”
I can see why my mom fell for this guy, I thought, drawing a quick breath as my daddy’s cock grinded my clit. The layers of clothes between us almost weren’t there. It felt like I was actually riding him, sliding bareback against his thick, hard dick. I knew I couldn’t wait very long. I just had to have him. The hands underneath my shirt, warming the skin on my back and gently kneading the muscles, sent little chills up and down my spine and when he grabbed the back of my hair and gave me an experimental tug, I groaned a low, sex-charged sound. No one had ever done that before. For the first time that day, but nowhere near the last, I was glad my daddy was the first.
I pushed my hips up against him, vaguely aware that pussy juice was starting to slick me up, to get me ready for my daddy’s dick. I used him like a vibrator; I turned my hips in quick circles and then straight up and down. Each time his cock went to the stop of my slit, a pulse shook the muscles in my abdomen, tingles from my clit shot out over my belly.
“Please daddy, please fuck me, I can’t take it anymore!” I cried out, surprising myself. I mean, it was true, but I never thought I’d actually say something like that.
“Not yet, I want to make you want this cock so bad it hurts. You’re gonna get it though, don’t worry.”
With that, he reached down and popped the button of his jeans. His cock was straining so hard against the zipper that his pants unzipped on their own, until a wonderfully smooth, dick sprang out and pointed directly at me.
I reached down and stroked him, gingerly at first, with just my fingertips. Against the wetness of my crotch, which he could now feel, this thing felt like magic. I wrapped both hands around his shaft and gave him a tug that made him groan a little. I kept jerking him with one hand while I explored every inch that I could with the other. The rigid shaft, the rim around his head, the line running up it, the round tip, and then I found his favorite place – the little line underneath his glans.
“Please, yes baby, right there,” he sighed as I squeezed him harder near his balls and rotated m
y thumb slowly on that tiny place. I pressed his tool to the bare skin on my belly when he pushed my shirt up, and imagined it was inside me. As I pumped him and massaged him, I raised up my hips so I could feel his balls rest on me. That heavy heat, lying right on my asshole, made me – somehow – want him even more than I did already.
I was so whipped up by now that I had completely forgotten something rather important. I had never been fucked before. I knew, pretty much, that it was supposed to hurt and if you fucked a high school boy it was bad sex. Past those two points, I was pretty much a clean slate. I wasn’t worried about it not feeling good, because, well, I was grinding my daddy’s cock head against my cuntbutton and it felt so good I was already about to cum. The pain though, was different. I had used a dildo before, a pretty big one, as well as a few different vibrators, but nothing as big as Peter’s cock. Nowhere near.
Those thoughts quickly faded away as soon as Peter lifted my shirt off above my head.
“That’s not much of a bra,” he remarked, looking at my breasts which were barely held in place by black-and-purple polka dot cups. He reached around with one hand, undid my hook and slid the other hand down my belly, pressing his cock against my clit. When he made those little strokes that had me so close to cumming already, I noticed that the skin on my nipples had puckered.
“Oh my God,” he said, “they’re perfect. Just like the rest of you. You’re perfect, Liz.”
I just blushed. Blushed. I had the guy’s cock jammed between my pussy lips and was topless, but a little compliment made me blush.
He leaned in close, traced a circle around my nipple with the tip of his tongue and then sucked my achingly sensitive peak into his mouth. Sucks and tongue trails matched the speed of the increasingly hard pumps he was making with his cock. I was so sopping wet he could have just thrown off my pants, draped me over the armrest of the couch and drove that cock straight in, but he was intent on making me wait.
