My Daughter's Pacifier

The response to the first part was even better than I'd imagined! Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback. I honestly thought the idea was a bit of a "brainrot," but since everyone's enjoying it, here I am with Part 2! I hope you all like this one just as much. Please let me know what you think in the comments! Happy Reading!

For those coming directly to this, this is Part II of a story I previously wrote and published. Please read Part I for the complete context.

Note: All the characters in this story are adults and consenting.

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Hours later, a strange ache lingered around my penis, a constant, unsettling reminder. Lana was back in her room. My wife and son had returned from the supermarket, their cheerful chatter a stark contrast to the buzzing silence in my head. I was still rooted to the living room couch, the television a flickering blur I barely registered.

"What the hell was that?" The question hammered at my brain, a desperate, useless lie I kept telling myself, because the truth was a raw, visceral shock: my twenty-year-old daughter had just given me head.

The sun, a bruised purple and orange, was bleeding into the horizon, and my wife's call for dinner cut through the haze. Weekends were sacred for family meals, but the thought of sitting across from Lana, of meeting her eyes, twisted my gut into knots.

"How was your day, honey?" My wife's voice, usually so steady, pulled me from my silent torment.

"Nice, nice... actually, it was good," I stammered, the words catching in my throat, sounding alien even to my own ears. That's when Lana walked in. She was still in her pink t-shirt and black and pink shorts, but it was the wide, almost unsettling smile on her face that stole my breath. And the best part, she didn't have her pacifier in her mouth anymore.

"You look happy today," my wife observed, her gaze soft on Lana.

"Yes, Dad and I had a lot of fun today," she chirped, her eyes locking onto mine, that predatory smile unwavering. Her casual words hit me like a physical punch, a sudden, sharp pain in my chest. Was she about to expose us? Was she going to unleash the sordid truth of what had transpired between us today? My forehead prickled with sweat; pure, unadulterated panic seized me.

"Yeah? What did you two do?" My wife's curiosity had no limits, her innocence chilling.

"Nothing, we watched a movie together, but it was so much fun, right Dad?" The little bitch. She was reveling in this twisted game, enjoying every agonizing second of my discomfort.

"Right, right, yes it was great," I croaked out, almost choking on nothing at all.

The rest of dinner was a blur. My wife droned on about supermarket deals, my son chiming in with mundane details. But Lana. Her eyes never left mine, that unnerving smile glued to her face. There was no need for post-nut clarity to tell me that my twenty-year-old daughter knew exactly what she was doing. She'd been a natural, a goddamn professional. The soft, complete glide of her mouth, encompassing the entire girth of me, the occasional, playful flick of her tongue, it was a performance worthy of a seasoned pro.

I know I'm an idiot, a moral void, but could you blame me? She was young, devastatingly beautiful. Her C-cup breasts seemed to perpetually defy gravity, constantly vying for my attention, perched high and perky, often in my direct line of sight. Her tight shorts barely contained the swelling of her thighs, her legs smooth and inviting. Christ, the thoughts alone were enough to stir a fresh, insistent throb in my loins.

Dinner concluded quickly, Lana and my son retreating to their rooms.

My sex life with my wife had been... stagnant, lately. We still had sex, but her interest seemed to have waned. She rarely went down on me, never with the primal skill Lana had displayed. Age, too, was beginning to etch its mark on both of us. Sex had become an infrequent ritual, reserved for birthdays, anniversaries, maybe Christmas, or those rare nights when alcohol dulled our inhibitions. For the most part, we both resorted to porn and masturbation, more me than her, or so I liked to believe.

The night descended with an unsettling swiftness, or perhaps I was simply too consumed by my own dark thoughts to register the passage of time.

"You seem lost today. Everything alright?" My wife's voice cut through the quiet as she sat on the bed, methodically rubbing moisturizer into her skin. She still had it. Standing at five-foot-seven, she was impeccably fit, unlike me. Her legs retained their shine, their softness, and she still looked damn good.

"Yes, yes, everything's fine," I mumbled, pulling myself together. "Just thinking about tomorrow, I guess. A few important meetings."

"Okay," she responded, her tone unconcerned, already half-listening to her white noise.

My wife's nightly routine was an elaborate ritual, a stark contrast to my simple change into boxers and immediate surrender to sleep. She'd shower, brush her hair, don a head cap to prevent tangles, then apply her array of lotions. Finally, she'd slip into her silk pajamas--a shirt and shorts, mostly--plug in her headphones for white noise, cover her eyes with her favorite mask, and drift off.

Usually, I was long asleep before she finished, but tonight, sleep eluded me. My daughter's face, the precise feel of her lips encompassing my penis, played on a ceaseless loop in my mind. It felt... impossibly good. I didn't realize when the series of thoughts began to lull me into a restless half-sleep until I heard the softest crack of the bedroom door.

I'm a heavy sleeper; a door creaking would never normally rouse me, but tonight, suspended between consciousness and slumber, the sound registered. From the inky darkness of the corridor, a figure emerged. My mind, still sluggish, struggled to make sense of it. The faint glow of our night light finally illuminated the face, undeniable: it was Lana.

She had changed, now wearing a long yellow t-shirt that skimmed her mid-thighs, adorned with a goofy Tweety Bird figurine. She moved with the stealth of a cat burglar, soft and slow, and I watched, feigning sleep, my eyes barely slits. She knelt by my side of the bed, her gaze fixed on me. Without a moment's hesitation, she slowly lifted the covers, exposing my boxer briefs beneath.

My breaths hitched, growing heavier, deeper, yet I remained motionless, perhaps unwilling to disrupt the unfolding scenario. Her small, soft hands reached for the hem of my boxers, and before I could truly register the action, she pulled them down, baring my semi-erect penis. Her fingers, feather-light, then wrapped around me, her head descending. Was she back to suck it again? Was this truly happening, with my wife sleeping mere inches away? I was paralyzed, utterly incapable of action, of protest. But before I could even formulate a thought, her lips enveloped my exposed, reddened head, and the same electric current, searing and exquisite, shot through me as it had hours before.

Her mouth was wet, her lips impossibly soft, her tongue dancing with the tip before she swallowed me deeper. She worked me in and out, a rhythmic push and pull, beautiful in its execution. In moments, I was fully erect, my lower body responding to her practiced motions. The sensitive tip, caressed by her tender mouth, sang with pleasure. My eyes closed, all thought vanishing, leaving only the sensation of her mouth, of my penis. She grew bolder, confident in her newfound ability, pushing deeper, almost gagging herself on me a few times. The wet, rhythmic sounds of flesh and saliva would have been plainly audible to my wife, had her headphones not been firmly in place.

I was floating in pure bliss when, suddenly, a hand began to rub my chest. My eyes snapped open in shock. Lana, her mouth still wrapped around my dick, stared at me, her eyes widening as she caught my gaze. She swallowed, her mouth still full, but it wasn't her hand stroking me. My wife was cuddling me from behind, her fingers tracing patterns across my back, her breasts pressing into me, her nipples already firm. She seemed still asleep, yet clearly in the throes of some dream-fueled desire.

I was utterly overstimulated, experiencing a confluence of pleasures a man my age would kill for: being caressed by my beautiful wife while simultaneously being orally pleasured by another young woman (let's ignore the daughter part for a moment, please). Lana, seemingly unfazed by her mother's movements, continued her work, though the overwhelming sensations were driving me to the brink. I twitched, my throbbing penis signaling its imminent release, and I suppose she read the signs, deciding to push me further.

She pulled out, leaving a glistening string of saliva and pre-cum clinging to her pink lips. A knowing smile played on her face as she peeled off her t-shirt, revealing her completely naked body beneath. My eyes widened further, speechlessly taking in her perfect form. It felt as if I was no longer in control of my own actions. She moved closer, taking my hand and guiding it to her firm, perky breast. The soft tissue beneath my palm, her nipple pressing against my skin, was almost enough to send me over the edge, but I held back, desperate not to make a mess. I wanted to come in her mouth. I couldn't believe I was even thinking this.

I gently massaged her breast, my thumb tracing circles around her nipple, as her other hand once again found my penis. Slow, deliberate strokes, each one drawing a visceral response, my hips involuntarily thrusting forward. I couldn't see her panties, and from my kneeling vantage point, her pussy remained hidden.

Suddenly, my wife's hand slid from my chest to my stomach, then, inexorably, towards the exact spot where Lana's hand was working. Sensing the shift, Lana abruptly pulled her hand away. In the next instant, my wife's fingers had closed around my already slick, engorged cock. Her strokes were faster, stronger, and Lana stood watching, her exposed breast still warm beneath my palm, as her mother pleasured me. Her eyes were wide with a fierce curiosity, as if she were taking notes. Then, I felt a gentle tug from my wife. I reluctantly released Lana's breast and turned onto my back. I hadn't even noticed, but my wife had already shed her shorts, her eyes still masked, her ears still plugged with her headphones.

Climbing over me, she guided my penis into her. The shared wetness made entry effortless, and as she pushed down, a deep, resonant moan escaped her lips, filling the room. Lana, now standing a few feet away, watched us, her mouth agape, her fingers instinctively moving to her own pussy, slowly massaging herself, feeling what her mother was undoubtedly experiencing.

It was too much, a dizzying overload, yet I had no desire for it to stop. I unbuttoned my wife's shirt, Lana's eyes riveted on me. Her D-cupped breasts, though large and slightly saggy from age, were now exposed. I kneaded them, squeezed them, toyed with her nipples, constantly glancing at Lana, who observed every move with rapt fascination. My wife's moans deepened, becoming more urgent; she was nearing her climax, and so was I. Lana, too, seemed swept up in the escalating tension, her petite body now trembling with the rough, eager strokes she was giving herself.

My wife's hands landed on my chest, her nails digging into my skin as she screamed my name, "Fuck you, Brandon!" And with that, we both convulsed in simultaneous orgasms, a cacophony of groans and skin rubbing. Amidst the clamor, I heard soft, muffled moans from my daughter. When I turned to look, she had already snatched her t-shirt from the floor and vanished, leaving me alone with my wife, basking in the raw, intense afterglow of the best orgasm of my life.

I wondered if this was just another "practice" with Lana, or if her peculiar habit was even the point anymore. But one thing I knew for sure: she had grown into a fine young woman.