Four weeks after her sixteenth birthday, Leah McCluskey lost her virginity. Her father Martin knew this because he himself had seen it with his own eyes. No pussy that tight had ever been penetrated before. He was sure of it.
The day the big event happened, he was late for work. Returning to his pokey two-bedroom flat (a slice of a new-build complex by the Thames) on account of having forgotten his work laptop, he paced along the pristine laminate floorboards, searching for it. That’s when he heard the moans: high-pitched, long and strangely familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place. His daughter’s bedroom. Bouncing up and down, her thighs parted across the body of a male stranger, he watched his sweet little Leah take her first cock, spying through the thin crack of her open bedroom door, her sixth-form uniform half-on, ragged and damp with sweat.
The sight of his naked teenage daughter; her young, swollen, bare breasts bouncing through her open blouse while her tight, pristine pussy was being stuffed with a thick, cream-covered cock, did not disgust him as much as he had imagined such a sight might have. Perhaps the realisation that his young kitten had been becoming a woman before his very eyes over the past few months; her skirts becoming much shorter, her blouse buttons less guarded, and her underwear becoming racier, lacier and altogether thinner, had prepared him subconsciously for the fact that she would soon be having sex and that one day, he might see or hear it. It was a small flat after all.
Standing by her MDF door, Martin stood in hypnotic awe, watching the thick cock of the stranger slam into her supple body. Looking down, he realised he’d automatically begun rubbing at his crotch, keen to free his sex-starved cock from his Y-fronts, but resisted, enjoying the torment, shame, and arousal.
He played spectator for the full fifteen minutes, ignoring the buzzing of his work mobile phone in his blazer pocket, his paternal eyes filled with perverse pride at seeing a fertile, sticky, white creampie, leaking from his daughter’s equally fertile pussy, before pacing out of the flat, closing the front door with the sleight of a burglar, and driving off to the farthest corner of the local Lidl car park. Beneath the veil of an overhanging oak tree, he spent the rest of the afternoon edging himself, his mind clouded with the fresh memory of his teenage daughter becoming a woman.
***
Over the next three months, Martin’s addiction to the sight of his daughter being fucked, grew and grew like a malevolent plant, creeping upward within a humid jungle’s canopy. Every Monday, he’d leave at 08:45 for work as usual.
“I’m off out love,” he’d sing to his daughter, standing by the door in his knackered suit bought from C&A fifteen years ago, shoeless holding his briefcase. “I’ll see you later. Have a good day.”
“You too, daddy,” Leah would shout back from her room, applying her makeup and drying her hair, preparing herself for a pre-sixth form quickie— one she thought her father was none the wiser about.
After opening and shutting the front door for the sound effect alone, quick as a flash he’d dash across to his bedroom on tip-toes, hiding in his walk-in closet, until at 09:00 on the dot, the intercom would sound. Letting her friend in, Leah would sash over to the front door, make out with him and take him back to her room. She was putty in his hands when he entered her room. Martin would then do what he did best— creep over to her door and, without making a sound, watch his weekly dose of the most taboo, yet arousing pornographic performance he’d ever seen.
“I’ve been touching myself all week, thinking about you,” Leah would often say, unclipping her bra, while the boy tugged at it. “Feel my pussy. It’s so soaked, and sticky just thinking about you. Go on— touch it. She’s ready for you.”
Martin loved watching his daughter get fingered. It was a curious thing— perhaps the most innocent part of his otherwise deranged obsession with his own daughter, but even so, he was never quite able to work out why. Watching two fingers slide in and out of her tiny teenage slit, with its fleshy, long lips and engorged vulva, did something to him. To be exact, it filled his holey underpants with pre-cum.
Doggy, reverse cowgirl, missionary— Martin enjoyed watching Leah being fucked in all positions, often impressed with how well her tiny frame could take such hard poundings from this much older man. They never used condoms to his knowledge, and although as a father he was distraught, as a pervert he was all the more pleased at the prospect of being able to raid her laundry hamper later that night. He’d marvel at the sticky white streak in her gusset— the remnants of a weeklong load, dripping out his daughter’s cunt and into her black thong during a day of fractions, continents and To Kill a Mockingbird. Yet one day, abruptly, her weekly meets with this sex friend came to an abrupt end, with him finding himself hiding in his wardrobe for a noisy fuck that did not come.
Weeks later, he tried to weave it, organically into a conversation. The two had just driven to pick up a takeaway pizza on a cold, rainy, Thursday night.
“So, everything alright on the boyfriend front then,” he asked smoothly, his heart rattling in his chest like a BB in a can. “Not that you have to tell me. There might be nothing to tell.”
Leah wrinkled her face. “Boys… ugh. They’re literally all the same, aren’t they?”
“Fantastic, I know.”
Leah laughed. “ More like bastards, users, and heartbreakers, daddy. That’s how it goes.”
“Surely there must be some good un’s. Even just for a bit of fun.” Merging with the slip-road, Martin did his best to focus. He didn’t want to push his luck.
“Fun?” asked Leah, curiously. “How’d you mean?”
“Well… I don’t need to tell you, you’re a big girl now. And… well what I’m saying is, just don’t be like me and your mum, is all.”
Leah turned to him, grimacing curiously. “Are you talking about… sex, daddy?”
Martin laughed to himself. “I believe I am. Well— what I’m saying is. Be free— have experiences. Your teen years are for making memories and—”
Leah interrupted him, “Daddy, I don’t need sex. I need pizza, and a good snuggle on the sofa.”
Martin changed gears. “Now that is something I can offer.” The two shared a glance of affection, Martin trying his best not to eye his daughter’s exposed midriff, the shadow of her erect nipples conspicuous beneath the light of the LED light from the lamppost above.
Later that evening they snuggled on the sofa, her head on his chest, his arm across her own, his erection pulsing centimetres away from her warm folds of skin as he held her closely, watching as the television’s cameraman zoomed in on an enthralled audience.
***
Three more months passed, and much like his own perverted hobby in voyeurism, Christmas had snuck up on Martin. He’d tried to bring up the conversation of Christmas presents with Leah, to get her to reveal what she wanted for Christmas, but to no avail. She’d taken to moping and sulking around the flat whenever it was his turn to have her for the week, communicating in scowls and huffy sighs exclusively, a change in behaviour which Martin quickly put down to a lack of weekly sex. He tried eavesdropping, spying on her text messages, and even resorted to asking Leah’s mother, Elaine, who true to form, barked at him down the phone for asking such an apparently stupid and obvious question, that Martin suspected she herself didn’t know the answer to. Yet, two weeks before the big day, there he was— none the wiser, all the more anxious and increasingly horny. Browsing the internet for a good five hours one Saturday, drunk with desperation and throbbing with lust, he made a decision.
Five days later, there, on his crumbling leather sofa he sat, the gift-wrapped parcel perched across his lap. They’d even gone the extra mile to hand-write the name tag, which he thought to be an odd, yet charming addition. Yet the more he looked at the rectangular red box, knowing what was inside it; what he had bought his daughter, he felt wracked with embarrassment and yet excitement. This was the gift that would solve her problems; would make her happy. Make her pussy happy. It was one of the newest ones— one of the best ones if the reviews were to be believed. One woman from Bagshot claimed that it had made her squirt five times in one night. Another in Wendover said she’d never look at her fingers the same way again. Sure, she might think it was a bit of a weird gift, but if her own father couldn’t buy her this, who bloody could? It’s not like he, himself wanted to penetrate her.
Pacing towards her bedroom with a slight grin on his face, he stopped. Suddenly, he began shaking, trembling with waves of panic, that washed over him like thick, foamy surf. What the fuck are you doing Martin, he thought to himself. A sex toy?! You’ve bought your own fucking daughter a sex toy, and you think that’s going to go down well. You’re in enough shit as possible with Elaine, and now—
Suddenly, he heard the front door click shut.
“Alright daddy,” Leah sighed, throwing her school bag to the floor. “You’re home early. No work today?”
Martin turned to her, clutching the present. Leah’s eyes lit up.
“Ooh. A Crimbo present. That looks deceptively fancy. Who’s the lucky recipient?”
Martin tried to open his mouth, but rooted with fear, it remained glued shut with aridness.
Leah paced over to him, her short pleated skirt fluttering with every step, as she walked up and read the label. Her eyes lit up. “For me? Oh, thank you, daddy! Thank youuu! I mean, I know I’ve been a bit off with you. I’ve just had some stuff on— well, it’s all boring really. But this is great! I don’t know what it is, but it feels—” Leah released the present from Martin’s limp grip, weighing it with her hands. “It feels pretty expensive. Can I open it?”
“No,” Martin mouthed sternly, eyes fixed on the floor. “It was a mistake.”
“A what?” Leah said, disappointedly. “A mistake present? What does that even mean?”
“It means, I got it wrong and it needs to be sent back.” Martin attempted to retrieve the box, but his daughter tightened her grip.
“Oh please, daddy? One early present. I’m sure I’ll love it. Don’t be so hard on yourself— you know I’ll love anything you buy me.”
Martin sighed to himself, gesturing his surrender, as he walked over to the coffee machine, gazing out into the city below. He waited for a scream of disgust. For shouting and tears and every bad name under the sun, and yet none of that came. He turned to his daughter, holding the thick, teal-coloured vibrator in her slender, tan hands. From his distance, it looked like the size of her forearm.
“I just thought— you know, with you being young and single, that it might be useful,” Martin pleaded, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “I’m not a pervert— honest Leah, I’m not. I’m not like—.” With a single finger, Leah beckoned him closer towards him. Obediently he walked over to her, and at her firm motion, sat down on the sofa.
“Daddy, I know,” Leah said flatly.
“Know what?”
“Everything. The spying. Going through my knickers. Everything.”
Martin prayed for a heart attack right there and then.
Reaching out, Leah placed her hand on his, the surprise offering of a smile on her face. “But it’s fine— it’s normal. I’ve known it for a while and I think it’s cute. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You just admire me. You want the best for me, like all daddies. It’s natural— we learnt it in biology, even. It’s science daddy. What could be weird about that?”
Martin wiped at his tears. “I don’t— I don’t understand. I mean— aren’t you mad at me?”
Leah shook her head, and smirked to herself, before pacing over to the sofa adjacent to him. Sitting down with a thud, her sixth-form skirt flicked upwards, revealing her lace-covered hindquarters, the thin strip of a gusset wedged between her pussy lips. Raising both legs into the sofa cushions, Leah spread them slowly, pulling her gusset to the side, maintaining eye contact with him: transfixed with surprise and delight. This can’t be happening, Martin thought to himself, as he watched his daughter tease her clit, licking her lips seductively. This has to be some sort of lucid daydream. He watched as Leah carefully parted her lips with a thumb and forefinger, revealing her creamy slit to her father, his mouth ajar with a rush of arousal.
“Now this is my Christmas present to you,” she grinned, biting her lip, as she held the head of the vibrator towards her sticky layered labia. Teasing herself slowly, she probed its domed tip in circles as she closed her eyes, finally letting it slowly, but surely slip within her, the teal object stretching her pussy. Martin watched the streams of juices glistening across its rippled shaft, dousing it delicately as for the first time, it disappeared bit by bit inside her warm, young cunt, the vibrations booming within her nimble frame, echoing around the entirety of the humid room.
