Bred By My Daddy (Taboo breeding sex)

Bred By My Daddy (Taboo impregnation sex)

By Francis Ashe

Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition

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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.