I slammed the front door behind me after another late shift, the house quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. My daughter, 22-year-old Lena, was supposed to be out with friends. Instead she stood in the kitchen wearing nothing but one of my old t-shirts, the hem barely covering her ass. Her legs were bare, smooth, and she had that look in her eyes I had been trying to ignore for months.
"You waiting up for me again?" I asked, voice already rough.
She turned, slow, letting the shirt ride up. No panties. Just her shaved pussy and the curve of her hips. "Couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about you."
I dropped my keys. "Lena, we talked about this."
"No, you talked. I listened and then I got wetter every time." She stepped closer, reached down, and grabbed my cock through my jeans. "You're already hard, Daddy. Stop pretending."
I should have pushed her away. Instead I grabbed her wrist and pulled her against me. "You want it dirty, you get it dirty.
No fucking around."
I yanked the shirt over her head and shoved her face-first against the kitchen counter. Her tits flattened on the cool surface. I kicked her feet apart and dropped my jeans. My cock slapped against her ass, thick and leaking.
"Fuck, look at this pussy," I growled, dragging two fingers through her slit. She was soaked, dripping down her thighs. "Been thinking about Daddy's dick all night?"
"Yes," she moaned. "Want you to fuck me like you mean it."
I lined up and drove in balls-deep in one thrust. She cried out, cunt clenching around me like a fist. I didn't give her time to adjust. I fucked her hard, hips slapping, the wet sounds filthy in the quiet kitchen. Each stroke bottomed out, stretching her open.
"Take it," I snarled, one hand fisting her hair, the other smacking her ass hard enough to leave a red handprint. "This is what you get for teasing your own father."
Lena pushed back, meeting every thrust. "Harder, Daddy. Ruin me."
I pulled out, spun her around, and lifted her onto the counter. Her legs wrapped around my waist as I slammed back inside. I leaned down and sucked one nipple into my mouth, biting just enough to make her yelp. Her juices coated my balls and ran down the cabinets.
I fucked her like that until her legs shook. Then I pulled her off the counter, bent her over the kitchen table, and drove back in. The table legs scraped the floor with every brutal thrust. I reached under and rubbed her clit fast and rough.
"Come on my cock," I ordered. "Show me what a dirty incest slut you are."
She came with a broken scream, pussy pulsing and squirting around me. I kept pounding through it, chasing my own release. When I was close I yanked out, spun her to her knees, and shoved my cock down her throat.
"Swallow it," I grunted, holding her head as I came. Thick ropes shot straight into her stomach. She gagged but swallowed every drop, tongue working the underside until I was empty.
We didn't stop there. I carried her to the couch, laid her on her back, and ate her pussy until she came again, thighs clamped around my head. Then I flipped her over and took her ass for the first time, working lube and spit until I could bury myself to the hilt. She screamed into the cushions, begging for more.
By morning we had fucked in the shower, against the bedroom wall, and once more on the living room floor. Cum leaked from both her holes. Her voice was hoarse from moaning "Daddy" every time I bottomed out.
This wasn't gentle. It was raw, messy, and exactly what we both needed. Every night after that she waited up, ready to be used. And every night I gave my incest daughter exactly what she asked for: hard, filthy, no-limits fucking until we were both wrecked and satisfied.
