Daddy's Valentine Gift

This is my entry in the

Literotica Valentine's Day Story Contest 2025

. If you enjoy it, please vote by giving it stars at the end.

Many thanks to my long-suffering editor, neuroparenthetical. Also, special thanks to Bridgetrose, whose support and encouragement helped get this story over the finish line.

This story contains Daddy-daughter love. If it's not your thing, you've been warned. It's a work of fiction, and all characters are over the age of eighteen.

———

Valentine's Day is coming up soon. Even though it's weeks away, the stores are already filled with heart-shaped boxes of candy, sentimental greeting cards, and love-themed odds and ends. I don't mind that one bit, though. It's a special time of year at our house -- one with some history to it.

To properly relate the significance, I'll need to back up a little and tell you about my son-in-law, the moron. More properly, he's my ex-son-in-law, since the divorce was finalized a while ago. Early last year, he moved out of his and my daughter's apartment and shacked up with some stupid slut he'd met on line. Perhaps I'm being overly critical of the slut; the real villain here is Chad, the doofus who left my sweet daughter in the lurch. She was devastated, of course, but she did her best to cope. The immediate problem was financial; Rachel couldn't afford the apartment by herself, so she was forced to move back home. That was fine by me; I was looking forward to having her back home with me. I'd been lonely in my big, empty house, and I couldn't imagine a better housemate than my daughter.

Before she'd gotten married, it had been just the two of us. Fran— sorry, my wife, and Rachel's mother— had been shopping, and on the drive home, a drunk driver had run a stop light at eighty miles an hour. She'd died instantly, so they'd said. The guy had walked away nearly unscathed— just a few bumps and bruises. He'd killed my wife, but he'll be eligible for parole in less than a decade. Bastard.

Rachel had been just eight at the time, and the loss of her mother had hit her hard. I'd been worried about the fact that she wouldn't have a motherly influence to help her through the trials and tribulations of becoming a woman. I never met anyone to take Fran's place. I'd been both Mom and Dad for the next ten years, trying to guide my daughter through the joys of puberty and growing up. As far I could tell, Rachel had handled it well. We'd had heart-to-heart talks about boys, about the changes her body was going through, and all the things her mom should have been there to help with. I'd taught her how to shave her legs. I'd gone to the store with her to buy her first bra. I'd given her the talk about the birds and the bees, although she'd already heard most of it from her friends at school.

Needless to say, Rachel and I became close. I've often wondered if the popular perception about dads and their daughters is true. Is there always a special bond between them, regardless of circumstances? I know Rachel and I had something, but I truly believe that it was so much deeper than what most dads could possibly have with their respective daughters. Ours was a bond forged through adversity— the adversity of losing her mother, who was also the love of my life. I'd do anything for my daughter, and I know she'd do the same for me.

The first February after her mom had died, I'd taken her out for a special Valentine's Day dinner, complete with flowers and a nice card. That first time, I'd told her she was Daddy's Valentine; she'd liked that a lot. One look at her bright eyes and beaming smile, and I'd known that a tradition had been born. As she'd gotten older, she'd begun to look more and more like her mom, and on more than one Valentine's Day, I'd felt like I was back in high school, out on a date with my best girl.

She and Chad got married when she was only eighteen. I wasn't overly enthused about it, but my attitude was that if she was happy, I'd be happy for her as well. What I didn't know at the time was that even then, he had something going with another woman. I don't know a lot of the details, and I'm just as happy not to know. One thing I do know is that he hurt my baby girl, and for that, I'll never forgive him.

Proving what an absolutely horrible person he was, Chad walked out just weeks before Christmas a year ago. By the time February rolled around, Rachel had gotten over the initial shock, and was working through all the other emotions that go with discovering a cheating spouse. Valentine's Day had been a fun day for Rachel and me in her younger years, and I didn't want him to spoil the occasion. I planned to take her out to a fancy restaurant, buy her some flowers, and present her with a card addressed to "Daddy's Valentine," just like I'd done for so many years before Chad had entered the picture.

I made reservations at our usual restaurant, and checked to make sure Rachel hadn't made other arrangements. "Are you ready for our Valentine's dinner? I've made reservations at Fogo de Chão for tomorrow night. It'll be just like old times."

She looked at me for a moment or two. "Dad, what if we changed things up a bit? Chad and I had a ... different way to celebrate. I learned to cook a few things, and I can whip up a mean steak

au poivre

. I think you'll like it. "

"Whoa, sounds fancy! What is it?"

"Essentially, it's just ribeye," she said with a chuckle, "but with extra stuff. Trust me, you'll love it."

"Okay then, we'll eat here!"

"Umm, there is one other thing, and I hope you'll be okay with it. It's going to sound a bit odd. Promise me you'll consider it before saying 'no.'"

She'd gotten my attention. I promised to consider whatever she said, but I'll admit, her tone made me a little apprehensive.

"Chad and I were what's known as 'at-home nudists.' We were usually naked when we were just hanging around the apartment. I never mentioned it to you, because, well, I was kind of embarrassed, but I came to enjoy it. I really love the freedom of not wearing clothes, and I don't want my enjoyment of nudity to be associated with Chad. I don't want to let him ruin it for me. If you have a nude Valentine's dinner with me, it'll help me to forget Chad. Will you? Will you have a nude dinner with me?"

Her request took me a bit by surprise. I wanted to make sure I responded properly— I didn't want to lose her a second time. When I'd lost her to Chad, it had felt far too similar to when I'd lost her mom. There'd been none of that "gaining a son" bullshit happening in either my head or my heart; that's for sure. When she'd moved back in, it had felt like both a new start and a very confusing echo of an old one. It had just been the two of us, in

our

house, and she looked so much like Fran, and there was no kid around to cockblock the newlyweds, and... Yeah. It had gotten weird for me, and I'd been keenly aware of just how much and in what ways.

The Valentine's Day plans she'd suggested were... exciting, to say the least. We could do what we wanted— anything we wanted, with no one there to judge us. On top of that, she wanted to do that 'whatever' in the nude. Although I'd had more than a few improper thoughts about her, dining naked with her was something I'd never even considered.

I must have sat there with a surprised look on my face for a while. Eventually, Rachel laughed and said, "Don't worry about it, Dad. We don't have to be nude if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it's cool," I replied. As I've said, I wanted to handle this correctly. "We can try it, if it's what you want. Are you sure you want your father to see your... bits?"

She laughed again. I began to wonder if her request was just a joke she was playing on me. "Dad, you were married; I was married. I know you've seen a naked woman, and I've seen a penis before. I know you have one, and you know I have a vagina. What's the big deal? But it's up to you. We can skip that part if it's too weird. Either way, I'll still make you a killer steak dinner."

For most of my daughter's life, I'd handled any and all questions about the human body and sexuality. She was presenting me with an opportunity to be naked with her, and my history as her sexuality advisor gave me adequate cover. "No, I'm good. Let's do it."

Rachel beamed; it instantly reminded me of that first Valentine's Day after... you know. "When you get home from work tomorrow, dinner will be ready and waiting. If you change your mind about clothing, it's fine. No pressure, okay?"

"That works, but don't worry -- I won't let you down. Have I ever?"

"No, Daddy, you haven't. I love you!" With that, she gave me a kiss on the cheek, and we changed the subject. The rest of the evening was typical, with no more conversation about being naked.

That night I went to bed at the usual time, but thoughts of the upcoming evening kept me awake long into the night. My biggest worry was exactly what you're thinking it was.

What should I do if I get hard? Do I try to hide it? Would she be more offended if I got hard, or if I didn't? Should I compliment her boobs? Do I tell her she has a nice ass?

I had so many questions— so many points of uncertainty. The one thing they all had in common was my naked daughter. Before I realized it, I was slowly stroking my dick. My worries took a backseat, giving way to images of my beautiful, twenty-year-old Rachel, totally

au naturel

.

I'd seen her in bikinis before; I usually helped her pick them out. I knew her bra size was 32C - same reason, Mr. Mom—but I'd tried to keep those times from lingering in my mind to the point of arousal. The fact that I'd be seeing Rachel nude was definitely lingering. I knew that we'd be looking at each other's genitals the very next day. I wondered if she was as excited about it as I was. I wondered if she, too, was masturbating.

I could see her in my mind's eye as I jerked off, and I saw a very detailed picture. She was on her back, her legs were spread, and she was practically folded in half. Her knees touched the mattress on either side of her head, and her pretty pussy was wide open. She was plunging a flesh-colored rubber penis deep into her cunt, then pulling it back out again. She did so over and over, moaning with each penetration of her sex.

As I imagined all of that, I stroked my cock faster and faster. Each time my hand traveled from root to head, I pictured that fake phallus exploring Rachel's tunnel. I knew I should never think of my own daughter in that way, but the fact that we'd be naked together in less than twenty-four hours was fueling my horniness. I fucked my fist until I couldn't hold back any longer, then shot a load of cum onto my stomach.

The following morning, I woke up at my usual time of 6:00 AM and got ready for work. Rachel was still only working part-time, and she usually got up at about 7:00. I hesitate to say that morning was unusual, but our conversation did soon enough turn to our plans for the evening.

"Daddy, can I have your credit card today? I need to buy some stuff for our dinner tonight. I guarantee it'll be worth it!"

"I'm sure it will," I replied, but I wasn't thinking about steak.

"Just to warn you, I'll need a bottle of cognac for this, but I'll keep it to one of the cheaper brands. I won't be buying Hennessy."

"No problem. Whatever you need." I gave Rachel my credit card, finished my coffee, gave her a peck on the cheek, and headed off for work. I'd purposefully avoided asking her if she'd be nude when I got home; I didn't want her to think I was perving on her. True, the nudity had been her idea, but I didn't want to come across as some horny geek-boy, drooling over her used panties in the hamper.

As my work day was drawing to a close, I found that I had difficulty concentrating. I kept thinking about the evening ahead, and spending it with Rachel

sans

clothing. I ended up shutting down my computer early. I just couldn't wait to get home.

I already had the greeting card. All that was left was to stop at the florist next door to my office. The drive home was the same as always, but it seemed to take forever. That gave me time to consider what I was feeling. I was far too excited about being naked with my daughter. I'd already jerked off thinking about her, which was bad enough, but then I was rushing home, anticipating an erotic evening, even though I had never considered actual intercourse with her. I knew I had to tread carefully. I was walking a tightrope, balancing between acceptable family nudity and unacceptable incest.

I arrived home and entered the house, stashing the flowers in the hallway closet. I wanted to "surprise" her with them later, although I figured she had to know they were coming. I went to the kitchen, half of me hoping she'd changed her mind, the other half hoping she'd be naked. When I got there, I had my answer, and it made me glad. Rachel had her back to me, and she was totally nude. Her shapely ass was the first thing I saw as I entered the room.

More than ever, she resembled her mother. It could have been Fran standing there. My eyes widened as she turned to face me, revealing her naked form. Her skin was that perfect young woman's skin -- not a blemish or age mark anywhere. Her breasts were perfect globes, topped by her firm nipples. "Rachel," I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away from the familiar curves, "you look exactly like your mom."

Rachel's expression didn't give much away at first, but eventually the silence clued me in that something was happening. I was already looking at her, but after a moment or two I got enough out of my own head to pay proper attention. Just then, I could swear her eyes were tearing up.

Thank you, Daddy," she said. "You have no idea how much that means to me." Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong about that, but the quaver in her muted voice resonated almost painfully with the lump in my throat. I felt that extra-special bond then; pain had always been a part of it, and so had Fran.

After a few more seconds of thick, heavy silence, she spoke again. "Will you be getting naked with me?" To her credit, it almost sounded casual.

Until that moment, I hadn't truly decided, but I took her question as an invitation— one I couldn't decline. My mind was a swirl of memories and emotions, and it took me a moment to put together a coherent reply. "Yes, just give me a minute and I'll join you." I hung my jacket on the rack by the door, then started stripping. My shirt came off first, then my shoes and socks, followed by my pants. All that was left was my boxers. I was standing behind the kitchen island, so she hadn't seen the way my erect penis was poking a sizable tent in my shorts.

I looked at Rachel before I finished disrobing. "You ready for this?"

"I'm ready," she said with a smirk, "but you know this isn't supposed to be sexual; it's just two people being naked."

Her statement about it not being sexual was both a relief and a disappointment. I tried to suppress the latter, since it was the proper thing to do, but unfortunately, my cock wasn't being proper at that particular moment. I was rock hard. As I pulled off my briefs, my eight-inch shaft sprung up, fully tumescent. Then I took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the counter. My penis was pointing straight out at Rachel. I noticed that she was watching me intently, and the look in her eyes belied her assertion that what we were doing wasn't sexual.

"Oh, my!" she gasped. "Daddy, you're so big!"

"Sorry, baby. I know I shouldn't be hard, but I can't help it."

Rachel was obviously flustered. "No, no, don't apologize. Erections are normal and natural. I'm the one who should apologize for my reaction. I was just surprised at how big it is, that's all— and wow, is it ever big!"

I grinned a little, amused at the thought that my daughter, who was divorced and no stranger to sex, was surprised by the size of my cock. I had to assume that that doofus Chad had been significantly smaller than me. The idea that he had a tiny dick was amusing, but I immediately pushed the thought that followed out of my head. I'd wondered if she would enjoy my larger-than-Chad manhood filling her pussy.

We stood admiring each other for only a couple seconds, although it felt like minutes. Her apology, followed immediately by her comment about my size and her lustful stare at my dick, made me think of the line I'd heard somewhere:

"The lady doth protest too much."

Finally, she shifted her gaze from my crotch to my eyes. "Well, umm, let's get cooking, shall we?"

"Can I help," I asked, "or should I just watch?" I hadn't meant to insinuate that I wanted to gawk at her, but after I'd said it, that's how it felt.

She just grinned at me, seeing my thoughts in my expression. "Whichever makes you happiest, Daddy." She turned back to the stove. "Everything is nearly ready. You're just a little bit earlier than I expected, but it won't be long now." Rachel busied herself about the kitchen, and I helped where I could, but mostly I just admired her nude body while we chatted.

Later, we were sitting at the dining room table, and I was enjoying the best steak dinner I'd ever had. We were both still naked, which felt weird, but in a good sort of way. I kept stealing looks at her tits, which kept my pecker from ever really going down. I found that I was thinking of Rachel less and less as my daughter, and I had to remind myself whom it was I was ogling. Those reminders didn't exactly have the intended effect. Somewhere during dinner, I realized that the constant up and down of my erection was coaxing precum out of my tip. I tried to keep my legs squeezed together so I wasn't leaking jizz all over the chair. Then I used my napkin to wipe it off.

At one point, I'm sure Rachel noticed what I was doing, because she looked at me with a little smirk. "You okay, Daddy?"

"Yep! I'm good. This is... different for me, is all."

"You'll get used to it."

I didn't really know how to take her remark. Was it just a throwaway comment, meant to reassure me, or was she implying that she wanted us to do 'at-home nudity' on a more-or-less regular basis? I suspected it was the latter.

One of the many things I'd missed in the previous ten years was the visual treat of a naked woman. After Fran had died, I'd pretty much shut off that part of my life. Every single orgasm I'd had since then had been a solo affair, always in the sad privacy of what had once been our marital bed. If I fantasized at all while jerking my dick, it was my wife I thought about. Even a decade later, I missed her. I missed everything about her: her face, her laugh, her hair, and, of course, her gorgeous body. That evening, enjoying what could only be described as a romantic encounter with our daughter, I was consumed by my desire for Rachel. I wanted her in a way I'd only ever wanted Fran. 'Wanted' isn't even a strong enough word. I needed her. I needed to feel her body pressed against mine. I needed to taste her kiss. I needed to explore her pussy with my fingers, my tongue, and -- more importantly and urgently -- my cock. The very thought made me harder than I had been all evening.

Rachel stood up to clear the table, and I was eye-level with her neatly trimmed pussy. Her lips were hairless, but starting just above her clit, she'd kept a small triangle of brown pussy hair. I recalled Fran saying she always wanted to be 'bikini-ready'— that she didn't want any stray pubes leaking out from the sides of her bathing suit. Sitting there, gazing at my daughter's snatch, I was transported back to the night I'd proposed to Fran. I relived that night in my mind, recalling how she had, for the first time, allowed me to shave her sex. After that, it had become one of our foreplay options, and I'd always loved the task of shaving her labia. She'd shaved herself more often than I'd done it for her, but she'd said on many occasions that having me do it was far more enjoyable.