In Love With Daddy Ch. 01

This entry is part 1 of 2 in the series In Love with Daddy

Hi, I’m Taylor, a 28 year old married man with a 4 year old baby boy. You might say that I am just your everyday Joe. I watch football, love to barbecue, go to work to earn bread money for my little family, and I enjoy sitting down in a sports grill with the fellas to have some beer and talk chicks. My wife Becca is stunning, my boy Alexander is growing fast right before my eyes, we live in a nice middle class suburban neighborhood, and I find my work fulfilling. Just an average guy—a dime a dozen. But in reality that is only a part of me. In fact it’s only the outer shell. For hidden away deep inside of me I have a dark secret: I am a closet homosexual. And I am in love with my dad.

It all started—well, at least I think it all started here—after Mom died when I was 19. She got in a car accident on her way to work one early morning. I was devastated, shocked, and although it was nearly Midterms in my sophomore year of college I decided to rush home to be with Dad and my sisters back at home for the funeral. Those were hard times. Emotionally strenuous for all of us. I was about to book a hotel room for the week long stay ahead of me but Dad insisted on me staying with him. So I agreed and he set up the guest bedroom for me and everything else in terms of arrangements for the funeral went on track. The first few days of my stay were totally normal so I won’t talk about those. But something happened the night before the funeral, something totally unexpected: for the first time in my life I found myself looking at my father—grieving though he was—in a not so son-like way. Here’s how it went down:

I was sitting there on the couch in the living room with one of my textbooks open in front of me, bored out of my mind, when a knock came at the door and Dad quietly entered.


“Hey Dad,” I said, putting the book away onto a side table. “How are you? Have a seat.”

He smiled a kind of sad smile and sat down on the couch right next to me, close like he wanted to whisper something to me. I scooted away towards the arm of the couch a bit but I didn’t have much room there.

“Taylor, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done to help,” he said softly. He was turned so that his knees and his chest were facing me at a slight angle.


“Dad, it’s nothing,” I said, and turned towards him. “Everything ready for tomorrow?”

He looked towards the ceiling and then returned to look upon my face again. “Yeah it is,” he said. “All set . . . I wish I didn’t have to keep on thinking about it though. My mind’s a blur! I need to get thinking about something else.” He chuckled.

“Hmm . . .” I took my eyes off of him and looked at the T.V. in front of us, with a DVD player on a stand just below. “How about we watch a movie tonight? Just like the old days?”


He pursed his lips, hesitant. Finally: “Okay, son,” he said, smiling now and settling down. “Let’s watch something. Anything you want. I don’t care.”

After searching through his somewhat scanty DVD collection we decided on something and flipped it on. I don’t remember the name of the movie. But I do remember Dad, and how my feelings for him first began to bud as we sat there in the dark watching it.

It started like this: He had scooted up right next to me on the couch, as I stated before. That was fine, but throughout the film it seemed like he was getting closer to me every time I turned to look at him in the dull light coming from the T.V. It seemed that I could feel his body heat against me. I didn’t mind all of this, enjoying the warmth since it was a little drafty in the room.


Now about halfway in the movie we suddenly became closer—a lot closer—since he raised his arm and put it around my back, placing his left hand on my shoulder. I shuddered at the feel of it but looking at his unturned face in the dark I noticed—for the first time, really—the sadness in those brown eyes, the loss this man has just suffered. I felt a wave of pity for him, and wanted him to be okay, to be comforted in his time of greatest need. I smiled at him and leaned deep into his open chest, and took his hand with both of mine. I began to massage it, locking and then unlocking fingers with him. I turned to look at him and he, in turn, turned his eyes towards me and smiled.

About five minutes later and I felt him leaning over to face me again at that same angle that he had at the beginning right when he had sat down with me. I kept my eyes on the screen but from their corners I saw him gazing on me. He reached out towards me with his right hand (his left being over my shoulder) and placed it softly around me towards my left side, just above my hip. Once there, I felt his thumb begin to roll over my skin, back and forth, and his hand slowly sliding up and then down again towards my hip. I shivered at the touch of his thumb against my stomach, and inside of my chest just above it my heart was thundering. He was, for these first few moments, still staring at me. I dared not turn to look into his eyes—those sad eyes. Finally he turned again to the T.V.

Gradually, my heart calmed and I started to like his hands on me, his left on my shoulder clasped in my own two hands as I continued to massage them, his right on my side sliding over my hip with his thumb caressing my stomach. I felt so comfortable then, and let my body melt into his warm embrace. In that position we went through the rest of the movie, though I wasn’t paying any attention to it anymore, just to those soft hands, delicate fingers. I didn’t even try to move even after the credits started rolling. We just sat there against each other enjoying the peaceful moment, listening to the music pouring from the dark screen.


“So . . .” Dad said after the last of the white lines on the screen had disappeared. “How did you enjoy the movie?”

“It was good,” I said, lying. I hadn’t even grasped the plot. It was all just a blur of cowboy dressed people flying across the screen jabbering about God knows what. “So . . .”

“Yup . . .” he said. “So . . . I guess we probably got to get to bed right?”


I sighed. “Yeah, suppose so.” I rose my head and turned to look into his face again, the light from the DVD menu shining brightly upon it now. He looked back at me, his eyes serious, though not quite as sad as before. “Dad . . .”

“Thanks for . . . being there for me, Taylor,” he said now slowly, and swallowed. His eyes, I noticed, passed over down my face all the way to my lips. “You are a good son.”

With that, he let go of me and brought his left arm back towards his side again. I brushed back my hair with my hand and watched him as he got up from the couch now. I caught myself just then looking straight at his butt as he reached the T.V. and bent over to take out the DVD. I scanned the jean-clad bumps twice, and then quickly raised my face to his as he turned around.


“Goodnight, then,” he said. He opened his lips as if he were about to say something else but then hesitated. “See you tomorrow.” I watched him as he walked out of the room leaving me there, exhausted on the couch.

A few minutes later and I was up and preparing the hide-a-bed. The funeral was to be in the morning so I would have to get up real early. Sleep would be appreciated if I could get some. As I was about to get into the covers a picture on the wall caught my eye: it was me and Dad on a trip to Washington D.C. a few years back. In the picture his arm was around me and we were both smiling. Looking at my father’s face made me smile and I felt my heart jump, and my limbs filled with excited energy. I bit my lip and ran my fingers over my father’s photo, imaging that I was there again with him, in his arms. I swallowed hard. What was I thinking? I asked myself. Did I have butterflies in my stomach just now? I put the picture down and got into bed. After turning off the light I gently ran a hand over my stomach where his thumb had caressed a couple hours before.

“Am I . . .?” I started to ask myself aloud. “Am I . . . excited by Dad?”


A horrifying thought, yes, but somehow when I said it aloud, and remembered the feeling of those hands on me, I was filled with a kind of exhilarating power, and felt like getting up right then and leaping high into the air. The taboo of it, the forbidden fruit, my father. All of it, with accompanying images, ran through my head all night and it was only far into the early morning that I finally fell asleep.

The funeral the next morning was pretty normal, except that it was hard to talk with Dad. It’s like there was a clamp over my throat and I’d get real nervous around him. It seemed like he felt the same way. And he kept on looking at my lips, and I swear that I saw him looking at my ass once, in the church of all places. Maybe I just imagined that. I don’t know.

I left town that night since I had work the next morning real early, Sunday, and then school—my Midterms in fact—started on Monday. Dad was really preoccupied with all of the relatives at the funeral so I just rushed back home in my little car, packed my stuff, and began the long drive back to school.


The years passed, I finished up my degree in Nursing, landed a great job at an Emergency Room in the same city where I went to school, and I met and fell in love with a beautiful blonde named Rebecca—Becca for short. Me and Becca were living out of an apartment but times were good and we had our first and only child, Alexander. Everything was pretty much normal. I still thought, often in fact, of that night with Dad and how his hand against my stomach had felt, and how the butterflies had bounced around inside. I called him often but saw him seldom, and nothing abnormal passed between us. A few years after Alex was born I began to view pornography. Not just any porn though, but gay porn, and my favorite (if I could find it) was gay incest porn. I had to do it all behind my family’s back, of course. At every opportunity I would go online and masturbate. I still had sex with my wife, but I found myself enjoying it less and less. She was beautiful and had great breasts and a super personality—all a guy could ask for—but she just didn’t excite me anymore. I only got excited now at seeing or reading things online about horny gay brothers or, the thing that really got me going, father and son sex. It thrilled me so much to imagine that and worse, to spend moments in self-pleasure imagining how it would feel to have my own father sucking on me, pounding his penis into me, of kissing those soft tender lips of his. I began more and more to crave him, but for a long time nothing happened outside of my own mind.

Everything changed though when I finally convinced Becca that we should move back to our hometown, and closer to Dad. That’s where I pick up this story:

“Hey Dad,” I said as I approached him at the restaurant where we had agreed to meet up.


He smiled and spread his arms wide and I fell into him for a very close hug. A memory of a thrill sped through my veins at his touch. We sat down, looked at the menu and ordered, all the while just talking and getting caught up with what not. It had been a long time since I had last seen him, and longer since I had been alone with him. Well, alone if you count all the people here in the restaurant.

“So Dad, now that I’m back home we can hang out,” I said, and sipped my Coke.

“Yeah, I’d like that, Taylor,” Dad said. “What are you doing this weekend . . . maybe Saturday?”


“Hmm . . . well we’ll be all unpacked by that afternoon,” I said. “We are almost finished now, actually. Why, what did you, uh, have in mind for Saturday?”

“Well,” he began. “I usually play racquetball on Saturday afternoons. I’ve got some friends who play with me but this week they’re all busy. I was originally planning on just going anyway to practice but if you want—it’s fine if you don’t—but if you want to you can come along . . . I have an extra racquet.”

“Oh yeah, Dad,” I said. “Yeah, sure. I’d love to. Let’s plan on it!”


So we planned on it, and Saturday finally came, and he and I drove to the gym and played an hour of racquetball.

“Wow, good game, Dad,” I said, wiping my forehead with a small white towel as we walked back towards the locker room. “You’re sure in shape for an old guy.” We both chuckled.

We were the only two in the locker room that night. I went to my locker and started to take out my bag when Dad said behind me, “You want to shower up?”


I halted and put down my bag. I turned towards him and found that he had already taken off his sweat-drenched shirt. He was ripped! I wasn’t joking when I said that he was in shape! Giant pecs, hard nipples, rivets in his stomach, tan skin. I knew he was fit but not so muscular. His sweat dripped in beads down his chest making it shiny in the florescent light from above. I swallowed hard.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “I guess we should, huh?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to get my car all sweaty,” Dad said. “I brought some soap if you don’t have any . . . Irish Spring. Good stuff.”



I slowly removed my own shirt and watched him sit down on a bench and remove his sports shoes and his socks. He stood up, half facing me, and in one smooth motion pulled down his gym shorts. I stared on wide-eyed as he bent over—his hard tight ass coming into straight on view—and grabbed his shorts and briefs from the floor and placed them in his locker. He turned to face me all the way and I saw his penis. It dangled limply against his thigh, his balls hanging beneath. It was long too, and wide, vein bumps all along the flaccid tan shaft, black hair all surrounding it.

“Are you okay, son?” he asked.


“Uh,” I quickly brought my eyes to look up into his. I made as straight and normal face as I could. “Yeah I’m fine, Dad. Just, uh, zoned out a bit. Kinda tired, ya know.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “You coming?”

I nodded quickly, nervous. The butterflies were at it again. I bent over and took off my Nike’s and my socks. Standing back up again, I took another look at him and saw him watching me, his hand on one hip, looking like a Greek statue. I felt so embarrassed that I was so puny compared to him. I was fit, yes, but not ripped like an Adonis! Nevertheless, after a moment, I put my thumbs at my shorts and pulled them all the way down and kicked them off immediately following.


My penis—big but not incredible like his—flopped out against my thigh. I instantly felt it twitch, and looking down upon it I saw that it was starting to fill up with blood, started to get hard. Dammit! I thought. I gotta think of something else!

I walked just behind him as we headed towards the standing showers in the next room. I tried to not think of what was happening here, tried not to look down at those tight hot buns directly in front of me, but I simply couldn’t. The temptation was too high. I so wanted to reach out and touch that butt, to caress it like his hand had caressed my stomach that day several years ago. But I didn’t. After all, he didn’t seem to be getting too excited in seeing me. What would he think if he found out that I fantasized about him, jerked off to him, wrote erotic stories about him? I couldn’t take the risk of an approach, not yet at least.

He lead me to a corner of the shower area and put his soap down upon a little ledge there. Turning towards me—that enormous penis facing me again, tantalizing my eyes—he reached with one hand and twisted the knob on the shower. Water came pouring out as he turned beneath it. I took the one right next to him, almost forgetting what was happening since I was so nervous and so embarrassed. I did the best I could to not show him my excitement, but I couldn’t help but notice that my penis was rapidly enlarging between us as I soaped myself up and as I stole glances at him doing the same, at that perfect Olympian body glistening in the warm steamy water. He looked at me then, those big brown eyes directly onto my face, but then, as I watched him, his eyes trailed down my body—only very quickly, like he was only taking a guilty peek. The mere thought that he might be checking me out, his own son, was enough to harden my penis the rest of the way. It was now hard as rock and pointing straight up towards him, right in his view. I turned away from him as fast as I could and then, closing my eyes, tried to think of things that would make “it” go down.


“Taylor,” Dad said now just behind me. He must have taken a couple of steps closer to me. I could feel him there, inches away from me.

“Yeah, Dad?” I said, not turning.

I almost fell over when, totally unexpected, I felt him place his hands at my naked sides. I shivered even though the water was warm—too warm in fact. He didn’t stop there though. He caressed my side and his fingers explored the region around the edges of my stomach, and he slowly slid his hands lower on my waist down onto my hip, only inches away from my rock hard and completely and embarrassingly erect cock! I know that there must have been pre-cum dripping from my penis just then. I was absolutely dazzled by his sensuous touch.


“Taylor,” he repeated, his breath just behind my neck now. “Do you want to come over to my place and watch a movie with me, like we did that night before your mother’s funeral?” I took his hands in mine and guided them slowly over the middle of my stomach. “I enjoyed it so much. You don’t know how much I enjoyed it.”

I was having trouble breathing. I thought that I might die just then, struck by pleasure itself! I managed out, “Uh, yeah, Dad . . . how about tomorrow night—oh wait, uh, that doesn’t work actually . . .” Damn wife! I thought just then. She always has to make me do things that I don’t want to do. When was I ever free anymore? “Um, how about, Wednesday night—no, afternoon, I mean. Wednesday afternoon?”

His hands, those caressing, fondling hands beneath mine, over my stomach! I closed my eyes and tried to hold back the orgasm that I knew would come if this kept up much longer. Oh God!


“Sure,” he said now. “Wednesday . . . at 5 I am free.”

“Okay,” I replied. “5 okay, Wednesday it is . . . I always wanted—”

“Hey Mike!” a man’s voice said from somewhere behind us, interrupting me. “What’s up?”


Dad let go of me and I could hear him turning around very quickly. “Oh, hey Bob, just showering up after a tough game of racquetball with my son here.”

The situation was so completely and absolutely anti-climatic that my penis drooped again in no time and I had turned around to see my father shaking hands with another man about his same age who was just as nude as us, but less fit, I’m sorry to mention. It took away all the excitement of the situation and while the two talked about whatever it was they were talking about I exited the shower.

The drive home was quick. We didn’t say much to each other, only listened to the radio a little bit. Then, saying goodbye until Wednesday, we parted ways as he dropped me off at my house where Becca was waiting for me to fix the air conditioner as I had promised. Bitch.


I jacked off every night the next four nights. On one of them Becca had wanted to make love and so she had got all dressed up in some fancy black velvety lingerie for me to try and excite me, and I did appreciate her efforts, but it didn’t excite me much at all. She lay on the bed above my body sucking me off and all the while I could not think of anything except those big fatherly hands rubbing around on top of my stomach in the shower that day. That thought turned me on enough that I finally came and so Becca thought it was her.

After she had gone to sleep I lay there thinking about what I would do—what I could do—about her and the boy. And what made it worse is that I was not at all sure that Dad was as into me as I was into him. Maybe he just wants comfort, not sex. He is a sensitive guy, I think. I hardly got any sleep that night, especially since I knew that it was the night before our Wednesday afternoon plans.

The moment finally came and, having dressed up in one of my nicest summer outfits, I approached my father’s door step and rang the bell. In only a moment he was at the door and inviting me inside. He led me downstairs—not to the living room—and he had there a couch that I had never before seen, and a big screen HDTV. He inserted a DVD that he recommended for us and we both seated ourselves on the couch, him on the right side, me in the middle about a foot away from him. I was so nervous. I didn’t know if I should make any moves yet or not, or if I should just wait for him. I had decided to wait, so I kept my distance.


“Okay, let’s start it, huh?” he said now and reached above his head to turn off the lamp to the side of the couch where he sat. He coughed.

The movie began. It was a romantic comedy of all things—the type of movie my mom would have liked. A real chick flick. I chuckled to myself. Why did he put in a romantic comedy? I don’t get it. But I smiled and blushed when I thought of how cute it was—yes, cute. It was adorable. He was adorable. I turned to him and caught him looking at my legs—which I had just got shaved that morning despite Becca’s disapproval. I had told her that it was because of the summer heat and humidity. I had really done it for Daddy, my Daddy. In fact she would be very surprised to learn that I had prepared myself for this afternoon a little bit further by shaving off all of my hair, including even the hair around my penis. I wanted to feel young again, like a teen, and I wanted Daddy to touch me like I was just his little boy again. I had been so turned on as I shaved and waxed my penis that I had cum right there on the spot. Becca in the other room had begun to start pounding on the bathroom door at that moment asking me to hurry up.

“You shaved your legs,” Daddy said now.


“Uh, yeah Daddy,” I said. I got so turned on calling him Daddy just then. “I did it for the heat. I, uh, feel like a little boy again.” I giggled and he just smiled at me.

“C’mere,” he said in as much a southern drawl as he could. So cute.

I scooted over so that I was right up against his chest which he had opened to me by throwing his left arm over my shoulder as he had done all those years ago. Except now he put his other free hand not on my side or my stomach, but on my thigh, just below where my jean shorts cut off. He squeezed my leg once and then began to softly, smoothly caress my clean shaven and waxen thigh.


I looked at him smiling and blushing and he looked back down at me only his eyes were now on my lips.

“Daddy, do you want to kiss me?” I asked. Immediately afterwards I regretted it. Stupid! I thought. Kiss me? Just like that? So direct? This is placing him in a position where he either does it or he doesn’t do it. No ands, ifs, or buts (except maybe his “butt”) about it!

As I sat there rebuking myself for my boldness he leaned in and planted his lips on mine. I was so taken back by it, by the quickness of it, the softness, the silkiness of his nice juicy lips right up against mine! I didn’t know what to do.


My heart pounded, my blood boiled, and I felt like fainting just then. I don’t even know how much of that first awkward kiss I actually felt since my senses must have been so shot by it but I know for sure that the second kiss was good. Better than good. It was long and wet and our mouths twisted against each other, intense but gentle at the same time, like heaven and hell wrapped in one. On the third kiss I wrapped my lips around his upper lip and sucked, loving the taste of him, of his saliva entering my mouth.

While we kissed his hand on my thigh crept up towards my crotch area, not yet touching my penis but just below it and down deep between the crack between my legs towards where my butt was. He rubbed there firmly but kindly, up and down. But most of my attention was with his lips.

“Oh Daddy,” I called out between a kiss. “I—”


“Dad, you home?” A voice. Again. Another one, dammit! A woman’s voice this time. My sister! Damn her to hell!

Dad withdrew his lips from mine but continued to look at my eyes. He was panting. “Yeah, I’m here Lauren!” he called out. “Me and Taylor were watching a movie . . .” He smiled sadly and squeezed my thigh. “I’ll be up in a minute!”

With that he stood up. There was a bump in his pants. There was a bump in my pants too. He looked at me quickly before grabbing a coat that he had lying on a table there and putting it up against his crotch. He went upstairs and began talking with Lauren.


I sat there dismayed, disappointed, but at the same time unbelievably happy. I had just made out with my Dad, my Daddy dear. I blushed as at the thought my penis pushed up harder against my jeans. I looked down and there was a slight dark spot where pre-cum had wetted the fabric. I got up and ran to the bathroom where I splashed some water on myself so that I could pretend like I had just had an accident with the sink not in my pants.

The rest of the night was lame. Apparently Dad had forgotten that he had planned to have her spend the night since she had some business to do in the city the next morning. Although Dad seemed totally normal and hardly talked or even glanced at me, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him, wondering all the while what would happen next, if anything would happen next.

I had to go home to put Alex to bed that night—it was my turn—so I said my goodbyes and went back out to my car. That night I had tried to call Dad but he didn’t answer. He had said earlier that week that he would be busy at the office. Well, busy at the office except for Wednesday night of course, which had been blown so badly.


I was starting to doubt myself, to think that maybe Dad had been freaked out by what had happened the other night. Maybe it was just an emotional moment, something that had just happened but didn’t necessarily mean anything. I spent the whole rest of that week sitting there lonely at nights on my computer watching gay porn all by myself and beating myself off to the thought of those fingers against my thigh. Oh, Daddy, how I wanted you so bad those terrible, dark nights.

Needless to say, really, Becca was completely surprised and disappointed in me for shaving myself. She said that she wasn’t a lesbian. What did I care? She could do whatever or whoever she wanted, I told her. She had got so angry that night that she had kicked me out of the bedroom and had sent me downstairs to the couch. All the better for me so as to make it easier to sneak to the office computer that night!

After trying his cell phone all week long, and getting no answer but leaving messages asking him if he wanted to “meet up and talk” Dad returned my calls.


“Hello, Dad?”

“Taylor,” he said. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing,” I was quick to answer. “Nothing at all. What are, uh, you doing?”


“I want to know if you would like to come over at about 10 tonight, so that we can talk . . .”

“Uh, yeah, Dad,” I said. I swallowed. “Sure. 10. Sounds great. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” he said. “I am driving home from downtown . . . I spent a little time there today running some errands. But I want to see you tonight after I get home and after I prepare a few things.”


With that he hung up and I rushed to my bedroom to get myself ready for the evening. Thankfully, Becca was gone with Alex visiting her parent’s place, probably to complain about me of course. So I had free reign over the whole bedroom and the whole bathroom to get myself ready for the night. I applied fresh wax to all of my previously hairy areas and then I reached in my drawer and at the bottom part of it, hidden beneath some towels I had an enema kit that I had taken from the ER last week. I wanted to clean myself out a bit, feel fresh and clean for the big date! After taking a shower I went back into the bedroom and found the panties that I had bought myself a couple of days before. I slid them on and admired myself in the mirror and at the bulge there beneath the black silky cloth. All this being done, I dressed in short shorts and a button up Hawaii-style shirt.

I glanced at my watch: 9:44. Time to leave.

The drive over seemed so short! Too short! I was so nervous, but so excited at the same moment. How would it be? Would I do well? Would this even go through? Maybe I was preparing myself for the wrong thing to happen; maybe he would tell me it was wrong and we would stop right here and now. Maybe, maybe, maybe. All of it ran through my clouded and overactive mind.


I cleared my throat and, standing and trying to calm my breathing on the doorstep, I reached out and rang the doorbell. In about a minute Dad came to the door and opening it wide invited me in. He looked great in an open polo shirt and some khaki shorts. He had even done his hair. And what was this? Cologne! He was wearing cologne!

“Come this way, Taylor,” he said and reached out for my hand. I took his generously as he led us around the house. “Upstairs, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem, Daddy,” I said, my voice almost catching in my throat as he led us up the narrow set of stairs. It was dark up there. I knew where we were going: to his bedroom.


We arrived at the door and I realized that it was filled with dim light, candle light in fact. He had set up candles around the bed and on the dresser and side tables. There was a bottle of champagne and two glasses next to one of the candles there on the side table. And on the bed—that big fluffy glorious bed—there was set a dark black jewelry box and a dozen long stem red roses.

“Oh Daddy,” I said, gasping and bringing my free hand to my throat. “It’s beautiful.”

“Don’t say anything just yet,” he said, leading me to sit on the bed next to him. Just ahead of us was a mirror and I looked at my ghost white reflection there and wondered if all of this was just a dream. “I have something for you . . . well a few things.” With this he grabbed the roses with one hand the box with the other.


I took the roses first and brought them right up against my nostrils to smell them. “They’re lovely, Daddy.” The box came next so I put the roses to the side of the bed. “What is this, Daddy?” I asked him, feeling the soft shell of the luxury box.

“Open it, please,” he said. At this he put his hand on my hairless thigh as he had done the night before. He again brought his other arm around my back and began caressing my side from the back. “It’s for you, from me.”

My mouth wide, I opened the little box and heard it snap quietly. It was a necklace! I raised it to be able to look at it in the light from one of the candles. It was silver, with little gems lining a heart-shaped medallion which hung from it. It was beautiful! I felt like a little princess just then. And my handsome king, my father, my Daddy, was right next to me holding me, protecting me, and giving me nice things. This is what I needed, I knew then. I didn’t care how wrong or taboo this was. I needed a strong man to take care of me.


“Oh Daddy!” I called out and turned to him. “Daddy, it’s wonderful!” I leaned over and hugged him. On my return I stopped just in front of his face and softly kissed his lips. There was a gentle slapping sound as we parted.

“I want to see what it looks like on you,” Daddy said.

I took it out of the box and started to put it around my neck when he stopped me, saying, “No, Taylor. I want to see what it looks like on you.”


I instantly knew what he meant. We had such a connection now, at this gorgeous intimate moment. I nodded and slowly got to my feet. Standing directly in front of him, I carefully began to strip. I didn’t have to worry about my shoes since I had removed them upon entering his house, so I started with my button up shirt. One by one I undid the buttons as he sat there watching my every movement. I got them all undone and sloughed off the shirt, letting it drop towards the carpet. I brought my hands down to my belt buckle and pulled it loose. Almost done. Last of all, I unzipped my jeans and let them drop from me. Now I only stood there in my panties.

Daddy reached out and touched my stomach just then, caressing it gently, nurturing it. Below my stomach my penis shot as forward as it could go in the confines which the panties allowed it, a giant bulge.

“Daddy, I want you to place a baby inside of me,” I said.


Daddy kept on fondling my stomach, running his fingers gently, slowly over my skin, his fingers brushing my navel.

“I want to have my own baby,” I said, taking his hands now and guiding them towards my upper chest now, onto my nipples. “I want to have my own baby brother grow all up inside of me!” I giggled as his thumbs rubbed my nipples. “Daddy, can you make me have a baby? Your baby?”

He was breathing hard now watching me and touching me. “Oh yes, son,” he said now. “I will give you a baby.”


I smiled playfully and let go of his hands. “Hey Daddy,” I said. “You gotta see me with your fancy little bitty necklace on, remember?”

He smiled and brought his hands smoothly down my sides towards my panties. Tugging his fingers beneath the top of the panties he pulled them down off of my hairless shaven legs. My penis glared at his face, pulsating as blood pumped it to even greater heights. I reached over to his side and took the necklace he had given me. I put it around my neck and then said, “Ta-dah!” Giggling, I rocked my bare hips from side to side, my arms outstretched. “Do you like it, Daddy bear?” I turned around slowly, my butt now in his face.

I was about to come around again to face him when I felt his hands, those strong hands, around my waist again much like they had been that day at the showers before that asshole had so rudely interrupted us. Except this time I felt something cool, wet against my right buttock. The soft wet thing was there again in a moment, only closer to my crack. It was his tongue! He was licking me!


“Daddy dear!” I yelled. “That tickles!”

“Tickles your little pussy, right son?” he asked, licking right between my butt crack, deep between it towards my anus. I bent over slightly so as to expose my hole to his mouth even more. All the while his hands were gliding over my body. I felt his tongue slide inside of my anus. Once, twice, three times, the last time almost all the way.

“Oh, you taste so good!” he called out.


“Daddy, I want to taste you too,” I said now, rocking softly from side to side, my hands on his. His tongue withdrew from my anus and his strong hands turned me around so that my penis was again directly in front of him. “I want to have your cute little sperm go into my little mouth here”—in saying this I was pointing at my mouth—”so that our child can find its way into my tummy down here!” I patted myself on the stomach. “So how ’bout you skittle outta those clothes of yours and be a good Daddy?”

I took him by the shoulders to balance myself and put first one knee and then the other on the bed so that I was clenching him by the waist with my thighs. In this position I leaned in to kiss him.

His hands went around my back now and down to my butt so that he could kind of hold me up. My penis pressed into his rock hard stomach and I could feel his own enormous cock pressing up against my butt crack through the shorts he still had on. Together, we both slid back further towards the middle of the bed, my feet knocking off the roses onto the floor by accident as I fell on top of him onto the fluffy mattress which melted away at his back. Our tongues clashed in the spaces between and just on the insides of our mouths. Mmm, Daddy was so tasty.


I rolled myself off of him and onto the side of the bed. “Be a good boy and take off those clothes!” I played.

He chuckled back and then sat up so that he could take off his shirt. There was that beautiful hard chest of his again. I licked my lips. He undid his own belt buckle and threw off his shorts exposing that gigantic cock, hard as iron, straight into the flickering room.

“That’s better!” I said. Looking up into his eyes, I lowered my head towards the head of his penis. I stuck out my tongue and licked it. There was some pre-cum there. Tasted salty. I licked it again, this time wrapping my tongue around its sides a bit more. I smiled. “Daddy, I came out of you . . . right here.”


“Taylor!” he yelled as I put my lips around the head of his penis now. I took in as much of the giant penis as I could, licking it ferociously with my tongue. It was so salty, so fleshy. I revolted it yet loved it at the same exact time. I was intoxicated with lust. Daddy began to moan and he put his hand around the back of my head. I kept going up and down and all around with his shaft, pretending it was a popsicle that never melted.

Just when his moans were really beginning to escalate I withdrew my mouth from around his penis. “Daddy,” I said. “I want you to treat me like you should treat your little boy . . . I want you to give me what I want in the you know where!” I giggled playfully as I pointed at my crotch. “I prepared myself especially for you, Daddy pooh.”

With that, I put my legs around his waist and carefully spreading my butt crack open as wide as possible I sat on top of his penis, letting it slide into my anus as I continued to lower myself onto him. It was so big that it hurt going in, even though it was still wet with my saliva. Oh God it hurt! I felt like crying just then it hurt so bad and felt so unnatural. But it was for Daddy, my Daddy dear. So all was fine. I opened my eyes and stared down at him as he took my buttocks now and grasped me, pulling me further into him, on top of him. In that position we made love. It was love. I kept looking into his eyes the whole while, my arms raised above my head as I moaned with the pain and the pleasure of it all.


My penis slapped down against his iron stomach with every bounce that I made on top of him, his penis coming in and out, in and out of my anus, up and down, up and down.

“Oh Daddy . . . I love . . . you . . . so much!” I said, each part of the sentence between the bounces on his dick.

“Taylor . . . I love . . . you too!” he called out, clenching my butt so hard it would have a mark later on for sure.


With that last hard clutch I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I came. My penis violently ejected streams of cum through the air onto Daddy’s stomach, up onto his neck, and even directly against his face. “Oh Daddy!” I screamed as I jolted with the force of it.

Just then I felt his own penis explode inside of me. It seemed like a hose against the walls of my anal cavity, filling me up. He groaned in pleasure with that last thrust. Breathing hard I collapsed onto his chest and then fell to his side, his softening wet penis sliding cleanly out of my now aching butt hole. I looked into his eyes and saw my cum there right against his cheek. I leaned in and stuck out my tongue and licked it up. After that, I met his lips and we shared my cum as our tongues caressed each other passionately.

Tired, in pain, I finally fell down onto my back at his left side, panting along with him.


“Daddy,” I said. “Oh Daddy . . .”

He wrapped an arm around me tenderly and we lay there trying to calm down. The bed sheets below us were wet with our sweat, and of course some other bodily fluids. Finally we both regained control of our breathing and I turned so that I was propping my head upon my hand with the elbow on the bed below.

“Daddy, I am so in love with you,” I said, smiling and looking over that nice face of his.


He smiled back and bringing his hand around to my side he hugged me to him. “Taylor, I have been in love with you since that night that we watched the movie together . . . you’re all that I need.”

“Aww . . . thanks Daddy.”

We fell asleep in each other’s arms. The next day I wrote this story. So I have yet to find out what will happen next!


Written by spicylatina1991

Series NavigationIn Love With Daddy Ch. 02 >>

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