I never thought I’d be in this position at 22. One minute, I was living my best life, going out with friends, working my first job after college, and the next… well, everything changed.
It was a regular Tuesday. I remember because I had just gotten home from work and was thinking about what to make for dinner when my phone rang. It was the hospital. Dad had been in an accident.
I rushed there as fast as I could, my heart pounding the whole way. When I arrived, a doctor with kind eyes but a severe face told me what happened. Dad had fallen off a ladder while painting the house. He had broken his back and hit his head pretty badly.
“He’s stable now,” the doctor said, “but he’s going to need a lot of care when he comes home.”
I nodded, not understanding what that meant. I was just glad he was alive.
The next few weeks were a blur of hospital visits, talks with doctors, and trying to figure out what to do. Mom had passed away a few years ago, so it was just me and Dad. I knew I had to step up, but I had no idea how to be a caregiver.
The day we brought Dad home was when it really hit me. He was in a wheelchair, looking small and tired. Our house, which had always felt cosy, now seemed full of obstacles.
“You okay, kiddo?” Dad asked as we struggled to get the wheelchair through the front door.
I forced a smile. “Yeah, Dad. We’ve got this.”
But I didn’t feel like we had it at all.
The first few months were the hardest. I had to help Dad get dressed, go to the bathroom, and eat. It was awkward and embarrassing for both of us.
“I’m sorry you have to do this, Kirsty,” Dad said one morning as I helped him into his shirt.
“Don’t be silly,” I said, sounding cheerful. “That’s what family’s for, right?”
But inside, I was freaking out. I had no idea what I was doing. I was scared I’d hurt him or do something wrong. And I missed my old life. My friends were out having fun, and here I was, struggling to figure out how to give my dad a sponge bath.
But it had to be done because I loved him more than anything. Every day was a new challenge, each chipping away at my old self. The carefree girl who laughed easily and worried little was now someone else who worried constantly and rarely found time to laugh.
It was a chilly Friday evening, the kind where the cold seeps into your bones and makes you crave a warm drink. I was sitting by Dad’s bedside, watching his chest rise and fall as he slept. The rhythmic sound of his breathing was almost hypnotic, a small comfort in our stormy sea.
As I sat there, the silence of the house felt deafening. I could hear the tick-tock of the old clock in the hallway, a sound that used to blend into the background but now seemed to mark the passing of time like a relentless reminder. Each tick felt like a tiny tap on my shoulder, whispering, “This is your life now.”
I remember the first time I tried to cook a proper meal after Dad came home. I wanted to make something special, something that would make him smile. Spaghetti Bolognese—it had always been his favourite. I could almost hear his chuckle and see the twinkle in his eye as he enjoyed the first bite. But the reality wasn’t so kind. The sauce burned, the pasta was overcooked, and he could barely manage a polite smile when I brought the plate to him.
“It’s perfect, Kirsty,” he said softly, his eyes betraying his words. “Thank you.”
And I knew he was lying. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that I was lying too—pretending everything was fine when it was anything but. Every night, after Dad had fallen asleep, I’d lie in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. I’d think about the life I used to have, the dreams I’d put on hold, and the immense weight of responsibility pressing down on me.
One night, I broke down. The tears came hard and fast, and I couldn’t stop them. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of my own making. I sobbed quietly into my pillow, not wanting to wake Dad. But even in the quiet of the night, I felt like the whole world could hear my despair.
The following day, getting him out of bed and taking him to the bathroom to wash him was a struggle. I got out of bed and quickly showered myself before I dealt with my dad. I soaped up my boobs and body, feeling the warmth of the water cascade down my skin, a brief moment of respite before the challenges of the day began. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy as I washed myself, knowing that Dad wouldn’t have the same luxury for a long time.
After I got out and dried off, I wore shorts and a low-cut tank top without a bra. I made my way to get my dad up and into the bathroom.
As I undressed and struggled to get him into the bath, the frustration welled inside me. Every muscle in my body screamed with fatigue, and my mind was a whirlwind of guilt and resentment. I knew he could see it, too. The shame in his eyes mirrored my feelings, which only worsened it.
“Kiddo, you don’t have to do this alone,” Dad said, his voice shaky but firm. “We can get help.”
I shook my head, determined to prove I could handle it. “It’s fine, Dad. We’re fine.”
He looked sad, “This is embarrassing. It would be best if you didn’t have to do this; you’re my daughter. I am a sad, pathetic 60-year-old man.”
A tear rolled down my eyes, “I have to, Dad. I can’t leave you to suffer alone. You’re my dad, and I love you. We’ll get through this together.”
As I washed his back and front, I tried to focus on the task, but my mind drifted to happier times. I thought about our family holidays, Dad’s laughter echoing through the house, and how he always knew how to improve everything. It felt like a lifetime ago.
I knew I had to wash his intimate area, which I wasn’t looking forward to, but I had no choice; I took a deep breath.
My hands trembled as I reached for the washcloth. This was a new level of intimacy that neither of us had ever anticipated. I tried to keep my voice steady, “Alright, Dad, we’re almost done.”
He didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly, his eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling. I could feel the embarrassment radiating off him, breaking my heart. I tried to be as gentle as possible, my movements slow and careful. The silence between us was thick, but there was an unspoken understanding, a silent agreement that this was necessary, no matter how uncomfortable.
“You ok, Dad I… I am sorry I have to wash there.” The words stumbled out of my mouth, awkward and heavy. I looked away, giving him what little privacy I could muster in this impossible situation.
He breathed deeply, his voice barely a whisper, “It’s okay, Kirsty. It feels weird, but I know you’re just trying to help.”
I continued to wash him down below, trying to be as quick and gentle as possible. The task felt monumental, like crossing an unseen boundary that neither of us had ever imagined we would have to traverse. The awkwardness was palpable, a heavy presence in the air that neither of us could ignore.
His eyes were closed, and his chest was rising; I held his shaft while I washed his balls. I tried to ignore he was getting hard in my hand.
My heart ached with every gentle stroke. I tried to push aside the discomfort and remind myself that this was my dad, the man who had held me when I cried, who had taught me how to ride a bike, and who had always been there for me. But it was hard to ignore the fact that I was washing his genitals—something I never imagined I would have to do.
“You okay, Dad? When was the last time you, erm… had, uh, well, you know… relieved yourself?” I blurted out, instantly regretting my choice of words. It was a personal and intimate question I never thought I’d have to ask my father, but I needed to know. Would he ever be able to regain some semblance of independence? Would we ever be able to return to our old lives?
Dad opened his eyes and looked at me, a sad smile on his lips. “It’s been a while, kiddo. The doctor said it might be difficult for me to, you know, perform those activities again.”
I continued to lean over the bath and wash him and now his shaft, “I am sorry, Dad, it has to be done.” His eyes were looking down at my tank top.
I felt embarrassed, not knowing what to say, “no wonder you are getting stiff down there, Dad, with you staring,” I chuckled.
“So sorry, Kirsty love,” he looked embarrassed.
“It’s fine, Dad. Listen, you need some privacy so you can deal with this. I’ll step out for a bit,” I say, as he cuts me off.
“I… I can’t, Kirsty. I wish I could, but I don’t have the strength to finish the job myself. I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
My heart felt heavy, and I could feel a lump forming in my throat. I didn’t know what to say or do. I felt like I was caught between being a daughter and a caregiver, a role I never imagined I would have to play for my father.
“It’s okay, Dad. I understand. This is weird. Do you want me to do it for you? I can’t believe I just said that. But there’s no turning back now. I take a deep breath, trying to suppress the surge of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. I look at my dad, his eyes filled with vulnerability and shame, and my heart breaks a little more.
“I… I don’t know, Kirsty,” he stammers, looking away. “It’s just… I never thought I’d be in this position, you know? And to ask you to… I’m sorry. It’s too much.”
I understand his hesitation, but I can also see the desperation in his eyes. I know that he needs me, that I am all he has. So, I take a deep breath and push past the discomfort.
“Dad, it’s okay,” I say, sounding as reassuring as possible. I’m here for you, no matter what. We’re in this together. Now relax, if it helps. Look down at my top if it helps.”
I couldn’t believe what I had just said; I put a bobble in my hair and leaned forward to grip his stiff shaft.
I started to stroke him gently; the weight of what I was doing settled heavily on my chest. But I pushed on, doing what needed to be done for my father. As I stroked him, I watched as the tension in his face melted away, replaced by relief and gratitude. I didn’t look at his face, just where our bodies connected, where I was providing comfort in the most basic and essential way.
My hand glided up and down his veiny rock hard wrinkled penis. He was breathing heavily, “Uh, Kirsty, um.”
On the one hand, I was relieved—it was one less thing to worry about, one less challenge in our long list of hurdles. But on the other hand, it felt wrong—this was my father, not some random hookup.
“I am trying to cum but can’t, I am so sorry, Kirsty. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m just so weak and helpless right now.”
I could hear the frustration and embarrassment in his voice, and it only made me feel worse. I didn’t know what to do or say. I just kept stroking him gently, trying to bring him some small measure of relief.
“Just relax. I have had plenty of boyfriends, so I know what I am doing ok,” I murmured, hoping to lighten the mood, even if just a little. But my attempts fell flat, and I could sense his embarrassment growing with each passing second. I wished I could take it back, erase the past few minutes and pretend they never happened.
“I know you’re doing your best, Kirsty. I just… I don’t know what to do. I feel like a burden, a helpless old man who can’t even care for himself. I hate it. I hate feeling this way. But oh, that feels so good, Kirsty, oh fuck. Can’t believe you’re doing this to me; why?”
“You’re not a burden, Dad,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re my dad, and I love you. This is just one of those things we have to deal with. We’re in this together, and we’ll get through it.”
As I stroked faster, my breast jiggled around under my baggy low-cut tank top.
I wanked him off harder, trying to ignore the awkwardness and guilt that threatened to consume me. I looked at his face; his eyes fixated on my cleavage, his mouth slightly open as he breathed heavily. I could see the relief and gratitude in his expression, and it made me feel like I was doing something good, something important.
But it was hard to ignore the fact that I was masturbating my father, a man who had changed my diapers and taught me how to ride a bike. It felt wrong, like a betrayal of our relationship, a violation of the boundaries that had always existed between us.
“I… I’m close, Kirsty,” he said, his voice strained. “Oh, fuck, I’m so close.”
I didn’t know what to do. Should I stop? Keep going? I felt like I was on the edge of a cliff, about to fall off into the unknown.
“Just let go, Dad,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. I’m here for you.”
“Ahh…” He groaned, his entire physique tensing as he reached his apex. His essence surged forth, coating him and the surrounding area. I swiftly grabbed a washcloth, attempting to disregard the unconventional act I had just performed for my father.
Gathering a deep breath, I felt a sense of relief wash over me as I tended to him, cleansing his chest. “Looks like I’ll need to rewash this part, Dad. How does that sit with you?” I said.
His response followed a heavy breathing quiet tone: “Indeed, I feel much a lot better, a lot better indeed. Thank you, Kirsty. I apologize for placing you in such a position – it’s not what is customary between a father and daughter. However… I am at a loss for how I could have managed without you.”
I had just completed cleaning Father’s form and aided him out of his bath, experiencing a torrent of emotions I found difficult to articulate. I had never imagined needing to assist my dad with such an intimate act – yet, in that very moment, I had tenderly granted him both relief and solace, vital necessities he had fervently desired.
As I helped Dad back into some clean, fresh clothes and his wheelchair. I took him into the kitchen, where I would make him breakfast.
I moved around the kitchen with a newfound sense of purpose, cracking eggs and whisking them together while the bacon sizzled in the pan.
I allowed myself a small smile as I plated the eggs and bacon. “There we go, Dad. Like old times,” I said, setting the plate before him.
He looked up, a genuine smile breaking through the worry lines on his face. “Smells fantastic, Kirsty.”
I sat opposite him, nibbling on a piece of toast. The silence was less oppressive now, filled with the familiar sounds of breakfast. We didn’t need to talk; we knew the effort behind this simple meal.
After breakfast, I cleared the table and washed the dishes. These mundane tasks kept me grounded, providing structure to the chaotic whirl of our new reality. As I dried the last dish, I heard the familiar beep of my phone—a message from Katrina, my best friend.
“Hey, miss you! How’s everything? We should catch up soon.”
I stared at the message, a lump forming in my throat. I missed her too. I missed all of them. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell her everything, not yet. I typed back a quick reply, keeping it light, and shoved the phone back into my pocket.
I wheeled Dad into the living room, settling him by the window where he could watch the world outside. “I’ll be in the garden if you need me, Dad.”
He nodded, his eyes already lost in the view. I stepped outside, the cool air hitting my face like a wake-up call. The garden was overgrown, and the flowers Dad had tended to be now choked with weeds. I knelt, pulling at the stubborn roots, feeling a strange satisfaction as they gave way under my hands.
As I worked, I let my mind wander. This garden was a place of joy, a shared hobby between Dad and me. I remembered the summer afternoons we spent planting seeds and watching them grow. It seemed like a different lifetime, a different version of me.
My mind kept flashing back to the bathroom, where I kept hearing him. I keep hearing him Ungh grunt over and over. I can’t believe I did that; I am disgusted at myself for jerking off my dad.
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the intrusive thoughts, but they clung stubbornly to me, a heavy weight on my shoulders. I tried to focus on the task before me, tugging at the weeds with renewed determination, but the memories persisted.
I could still feel the warmth of his skin under my hands, the texture of his soft hair, and the irony of the situation – this was my father, yet I had just provided a physical release that no man other than a partner could typically give.
An overwhelming sense of shame coursed through me, coupled with a strange tenderness towards my dad. But it was all messy, a whirlwind of emotions I hadn’t anticipated or experienced before.
Exhaustion crept in slowly, my muscles screaming after hours of gardening and tending to my father’s needs. A weary sigh escaped my lips as I straightened up, my hands hanging limply by my side.
I looked up and saw Dad watching me intently, a soft smile on his lips. For a moment, our gaze held, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the strength he contained within him. He may have been physically broken, but his spirit remained fierce and unyielding.
As the sun slowly dipped beneath the horizon, the day’s weariness caught up to me, and I knew it was time to retire and rest for the night. I helped my dad into his Pajamas and to bed as I leaned down and kissed his forehead.
“Love you, Dad,” I said as he smiled back, “love you too, honey.” I turned off the lamp and headed to the bathroom.
Shutting the door gently behind me, I removed my tank top and shorts, followed by my damp knickers. I eased into a warm bubble bath, the soapy suds enveloping me in a comforting embrace. An ache settled in the pit of my stomach – an amalgam of exhaustion, stress, and guilt. I silently mourned the loss of my old life, something I knew I would have to let go to support my father.
I put my life on hold, not seeing my friends; it’s been weeks since I, well, you know, had sex. I used to have sex regularly. I look down at my body in the bubbly water.
My hands move over my curves, remembering the touch of others, the pleasure and passion we shared. I close my eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. It’s been so long since I felt that kind of connection, that unspoken understanding.
My fingers trace the contours of my breasts, lingering on my nipples, feeling them harden under my touch. A tiny spark of desire ignites within me, and I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to feel that closeness again, to be wanted and desired.
My hand goes under the water between my legs to my hairy pussy, which I haven’t shaved in a long while.
My fingers delve into the damp curls, finding my clit, swollen and sensitive. I begin to circle it gently, my breath hitching as the pleasure builds. I imagine a lover’s hands on me, their touch igniting a fire within me. I think of the weight of their body on top of mine, their lips on my neck, their hips thrusting against me.
I slide a finger inside myself, feeling the warmth and slickness there. I imagine it’s a cock filling me up, stretching me out. I gasp as I hit that spot inside me, the one that makes my whole body shudder with pleasure.
“Oh fuck,” I whispered to myself, “Oh god, I need cock.” I kept seeing visuals in my mind that I didn’t want to see, my dad’s cock in my hand. I closed my eyes as I fingered my twat.
I couldn’t shake the image from my mind. My father’s cock, hard and needy in my hand. It was wrong, so wrong. But I couldn’t deny the arousal that surged through me, the heat that pooled between my legs.
I quickened my pace, my fingers slick with my arousal. I imagined it was someone else, anyone else but my dad. I started talking dirty and quietly to myself while adding an extra finger, pretending it was my dad’s cock.
“Oh daddy, I’m so close. Don’t stop, just like that. Yes, just like that. Ungh, I’m going to cum. Right there, don’t stop. Oh, fuuuuck.”
Water splashed as I kept my eyes closed as my fingers fired in and out of my pussy.
I bit my lip to stifle a moan as my orgasm washed over me, leaving me trembling and breathless. I opened my eyes, feeling a mix of shame and satisfaction. I had just masturbated to the thought of my Dad, something I never imagined I would do.
I pulled the plug and stepped out of the tub, wrapping myself in a towel. I went to the guest room I was staying in, my old room it used to be. I dried off and just put on a long T-shirt with nothing underneath.
I crawled into bed, feeling the day’s weight pressing down on me. I couldn’t sleep, my mind racing with thoughts and memories I couldn’t escape. I kept seeing my dad’s face, his eyes filled with gratitude and shame. I kept hearing his voice calling out my name as he reached his climax.
2 weeks later:
Is health was still the same, and the routine was the same. I went to my dad’s room one morning to get him up. As I entered I saw the bed covers rise a little, he had an erection a case of morning wood.
I froze, caught off guard by the sight. “Morning, Dad. Someone is excited, whats on your mind.” I asked, keeping my voice steady.
“Oh, um, good morning, Kirsty,” Dad said, his voice strained. He quickly adjusted the covers, trying to hide his arousal. “Just… erm.” He didn’t know what to say.
I walked over and sat on the edge of his bed.
I placed a hand on his arm, looking him in the eyes. “Dad, it’s okay. We’re adults, and these things happen. It’s natural.”
He looked at me, relief flooding his features. “I… I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Kirsty.”
I smiled softly. “You didn’t, Dad. I’m just here to help you in every way I can. Do… do you want me to see to it.”
“If you’re comfortable with that, Dad,” I continued, forcing a smile. “It’s perfectly natural. I’m here for you and do whatever I can to help you.”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright, Kirsty. Thank you. I appreciate it more than you know. I mean my hands are much better I can do it.”
“You relax, Dad. You need to rest. Let me,” I said as I pulled the covers over, pulled down his pj bottoms and started to get to work.
“Ah, Kirsty, that feels so good,” Dad murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t believe we’re doing this again.”
“Oh, god, I need a good seeing.” I can’t believe I said that out loud as my dad looked at me, confused.
“Sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, just I… I haven’t had sex in weeks; just ignore what I said.” I said as I continued to pleasure him.
I stroked him gently, my thoughts were conflicted. On one hand, I was providing necessary relief for my father. On the other hand, I was a young woman, feeling an unwelcome surge of arousal from this intimate act. I tried to push past the discomfort and remain focused on my task.
With each slow, deliberate motion, a strange tenderness enveloped me. I remembered the countless times he had dried my tears or mended my broken heart. Never had I imagined I’d be the one bringing him comfort.
I put my hair up in a ponytail as I didn’t want my hair to get in my way to what I was about to do next. I leaned forward, my lips near the head of his cock.
“Sweetheart… w-what you are doing,” he said as I held his stiff cock.
“Dad, its better this way than making a mess,” I stopped, pulled back, and looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “Dad, it’s okay. I want to help you, and this is the best way I can think of right now. I… I hope you’re not uncomfortable with this.”
He looked at me, his eyes filled with shock, gratitude, and something else I couldn’t quite place. “Kirsty, I… I don’t know what to say. This is… unexpected, but I… I trust you. I need you to be careful.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath. I leaned forward again, my lips brushing against the tip of his cock. I closed my eyes, focusing on the task, trying to push aside the conflicting emotions that swirled within me.
I took him into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the head of his cock, tasting the saltiness of his arousal. I started to move my head up and down, my hand gripping the base of his shaft, setting a steady rhythm.
I tried to ignore the awkwardness and guilt that threatened to consume me, focusing instead on the pleasure I was bringing my father. With each gentle stroke, his breathing grew heavier, his hips thrusting upward to meet my mouth.
“Kirsty… oh, God, Kirsty,” he gasped, his hands reaching out to tangle in my hair. “This… this feels so good, sweetheart.”
My head bobbed up and down while my other hand went between my legs and my t-shirt.
I moaned softly around his shaft as I fingered myself, the dual sensations combining to create an intense pleasure that threatened to overwhelm me.
“Kirsty, are you doing what I think you’re doing?” he said as he pants as I stop sucking.
I opened my eyes, looking up at my dad, who was watching me with a mixture of shock and desire. I pulled back, releasing his cock from my mouth.
“Sorry, Dad, but I am horny; you can’t blame me; I have been here for weeks with no dick,” I said as my eyes half shut with desire.
“Kirsty, I… I don’t know what to say,” Dad stammered, clearly surprised by my actions. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
I smiled reassuringly. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m not uncomfortable—just, well, I have needs too. It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone, and well, this is the situation we’re in. I don’t want to be insensitive, but…” I trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
Dad regarded me with a mixture of concern and understanding. “I see,” he said finally. “If you feel like this is something you want to do—and that you’re comfortable doing—then, well… I can’t deny that it’s also been a long time for me. But I want to ensure you know what you’re getting into.”
“I do,” I nodded. “And I know you love me—that we have a special bond. That’s what makes this okay. We’re not doing anything wrong or shameful—we’re simply two adults with needs who care about each other and try to make each other feel good.”
Dad looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded in agreement. “Alright,” he said. “If that’s how you feel, then… well, I trust you, Kirsty. I always have, and I always will.”
And with that, I took off my shirt completely naked and shifted my position so my pussy was in his face as I took him back into my mouth, losing myself in the rhythm of pleasuring him. Bobbing up and down.
“Kirsty, you taste so sweet,” Dad murmured against my skin, his voice muffled by my flesh. “I’ve missed this—the intimacy, the connection. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this close to someone.”
I took him out my mouth, “Uh, Dad, eat my pussy. Mmm, that feels so good.”
It was strange but somehow comforting to hear those words coming from my dad. He tentatively reached up and traced a finger down my labia, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through my body.
I shifted, spreading my legs further, allowing him better access to my most intimate area. I moaned softly as his tongue began to explore, delving into my folds and swirling around my clit.
“Oh, fuck, Dad, yes,” I gasped, my hips bucking against him. I couldn’t believe we were doing this, but I couldn’t deny how incredible it felt. I surrendered to the moment, letting myself be carried away by the pleasure of my dad’s touch.
“I know this is wrong to say this, but I-I wish I could put my dick in you; your pussy is so good, sorry baby…”
I cut him off, “It’s ok. There’s no need to be sorry. You’re a man; after all, I will help with your needs.” I got up and squatted over his dick which was rock solid, pointing up.
“Fuck, Kirsty, you’re so wet,” Dad said as I positioned myself above his cock. I gripped his shaft, guiding it to my entrance, feeling the warmth of his skin against my slick folds.
With a slow, deliberate movement, I sank onto him, his hardness filling me up inch by inch. We both sighed in pleasure, feeling the connection that had been absent for so long. “You feel so fucking good, baby,” he groaned, his hands moving to my hips as I began to ride him.
“Y-you like that, uh, do you, dad? Oh fuck,” my tits bounced up and down as I dragged my cunt up and down fast on his cock.
As I rode him, I could feel every inch of his cock sliding in and out of me, stretching me out and filling me up. The sensation was overwhelming, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body.
I closed my eyes, losing myself in the moment as I moved faster and harder against him. My tits bounced up and down with each thrust; as I bounced up and down on his iron rod, he groaned beneath me. “Oh God… oh fuck…” he muttered under his breath, his hands gripping my hips tightly as he struggled to hold on to some semblance of control.
“That’s it, Dad; take your daughter’s pussy,” I moaned loudly as I took all his cock. Making sure every down thrust, I took it all until my clit slapped against his old balls. “You like this? You like how good it feels?”
I could feel the pressure building inside me, my arousal threatening to spill over like a tidal wave of pleasure. With each thrust, I was falling deeper into the abyss of desire that surrounded us.
And then suddenly, I couldn’t hold back any longer – my orgasm exploded through me like a bolt of lightning from the clear blue sky, sending shockwaves racing through every nerve ending in my body as I screamed his name in ecstasy.
“Uh..uh…UGH…” I moaned as the intense waves went through me while bouncing up and down faster on his cock while tightening my pussy on him, too, which helped bring him close to his orgasmic release.
“Argh sweetie, go on love, take all this cock, it feels so good…” Dad muttered as my pussy pulsated, gripping him tightly, milking his cock while I bucked wildly on top of him until he reached the point where he could no longer control himself.
“Kirsty..I am…going…” He said gaspingly as he closed his eyes tightly before grabbing hold of me and releasing deep into me with satisfying grunts that echoed throughout the room.
I didn’t stop; I was furiously twerking my ass faster, up and down on his still-hard cock, as I felt his hot load spurting deep inside me, filling me up with his warm essence. I screamed out in pleasure, feeling my own climax wash over me like a tidal wave of pure ecstasy.
“Uh…uh…” I gasped as I twerked and ground my cunt hard as I rubbed my clit. As it took my breath away, I squirted hard.
As I gasped and panted in pleasure, feeling my heart race with the intensity of the orgasm that still reverberated through my body, I collapsed forward onto him. Our heavy breathing was the only sound in the room as we lay together, lost in each other’s embrace.
Dad wrapped his arms around me tightly, pulling me closer as he tenderly kissed my forehead. “Oh, Kirsty… sweetheart,” he whispered against my skin, his emotion-filled voice. “That was incredible – mind-blowing.” He paused momentarily before continuing tentatively: “We didn’t do anything wrong today; I know that sounds crazy, but it is true.”
He pulled back slightly so he could look into my eyes directly – searching for some sign that maybe… just maybe… this wouldn’t change everything between us forevermore. “You need to know something important…” Dad started hesitantly but didn’t go any further when he noticed how conflicted I was about what transpired between us.
As I climbed off my dad, feeling the cool air hit my now soaking-wet pussy and his warm cum leaking out of me.
Dad looked up at me from where he lay, still catching his breath. He reached out a hand towards me, his eyes filled with concern and confusion. “Kirsty… are you okay?” he asked gently, watching as I stood there by the bedside, trying to make sense of everything myself, too.
“I am more than ok, thank you, Dad,” I smiled, looking at his limp old dick as I rubbed my cum stained pussy, “honest, thank you, Dad.”
I grabbed my T-shirt and put it on momentarily. “I will make you a coffee, Dad. Don’t get up, as I haven’t finished with you yet if that’s okay.”
6 months later:
Life had drastically changed in the months following that fateful incident. I could hardly remember the person I used to be; my old friends and hobbies were long forgotten as they were replaced with a new routine centred around caring for my Dad.
Our sexual encounters continued, each time growing bolder and more passionate than the last. Strangely, what began as a desperate act of kindness had blossomed into something far more profound – an all-consuming love unlike anything we had ever experienced. We both knew it was wrong on so many levels; it went against every moral code we believed in – yet somehow, we could not resist each other’s pull anymore.
I had just gotten home, and he could shower and bathe. I went to the toilet, shut the door, pulled my skirt and knickers down, and sat down. I reached for my bag to get out a pregnancy test.
I had been getting these strange cravings lately, and my breasts were so sensitive that the slightest touch sent electric shocks down my spine.
As I saw the two blue lines in front of me, blood drained from my face. I was pregnant… with Dad’s child. Wait, he’s 60. I guess old men still can get you up the duff. I mean, we have been fucking every day.
I am going to be a mom.
