[I struggled with where to place this story. It has elements of voyeurism, cuckolding, and incest without properly belonging to any of those categories. The story was inspired by Lis Evans' video, "I Fucked a Russian Model in my Kitchen!" -- I encourage you to watch it after reading. Enjoy!]
"I'm not your little girl any more, Daddy." Looking in the mirror, remembering the look on his daughter's face when she said those words, Dale Evans wondered when she had grown so bitter towards him. She had been such a sweet child, always innocent and carefree. He remembered the pride he had taken in her ability to charm strangers, with her friendly smile and angelic blonde locks. When had she turned into the surly, sulking 18-year-old with a laughing smirk that seemed to mock his very existence? He had merely been insisting that she maintain some common decency and avoid staining the family morals.
Dale sighed as he rinsed his toothbrush under the faucet and turned off the tap. Tomorrow would be soon enough to face the question of what to do with her. Lis had been confined to her room since their argument. Tomorrow he would decide on her punishment. Tonight, he felt too tired.
That Johnson boy, though! Dale felt a stirring of rage as he buttoned his pajamas, remembering the young delinquent behind the stadium pressing his hand into his daughter's backside, mouth chewing at her pretty lips. In public, no less! He would not be made a laughingstock in this community! What did Lis even see in that boy, anyway? Surely he had raised her to carry herself with more respect than that? A boy with a growing drug record, and two previous girlfriends left in a family way with nary a care behind him? Dale felt certain it couldn't be more than a passing whim, although a dangerous one to be sure. If she just wasn't allowed to see the boy, no doubt Guy Johnson would be forgotten within a week.
With that comforting thought, Dale Evans peeled back the covers and climbed into his bed, reaching out to shut off the bedside lamp. Tomorrow he would deal with everything. He fell asleep within moments of his head hitting the pillow.
Deams are tenuous, gauzy things, most barely remembered in the morning light and even then only fleetingly. They bleed into one another so that the boundary where one dream ends and the next one begins is never quite clear. Dale's dreams followed this vagrant pattern for some time after his breathing had settled into a peaceful rhythm. Deeply asleep, he did not hear the soft click of the latch on the house's back door as it opened and shut.
In his dream, Dale saw the kitchen of his own house. There was no mistaking the setting; unlike most dreams the details were sharp and lifelike. The white tile and painted brick were the same ones he saw every morning over coffee. The fluorescent light gave everything a slight sense of cold.
The one jarring aspect to the familiar surroundings was the man standing in their midst. Even in sleep, Dale felt his heart rate increase with a sense of indecency. Guy Johnson had never, would never set foot in his house. Yet in the dream there he was, leaning against the counter while taking a drag on some sort of vaping device and playing on his phone. Dale doubted very much that it was just tobacco that he was smoking. He could almost make out the pungent aroma of cannabis in the exhaled puff.
What happened next made Dale's heart skip a beat. From behind his left shoulder, his daughter stepped into view. She was wearing some sort of cami top and a short black and white leather skirt Dale had never seen her wear before, and hadn't even known that she owned. With a sexy sway she walked up to Guy Johnson and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his for a long kiss. Guy's hand reached around and grasped her left buttock like he owned it. Dale tensed up. That boy was groping Lis like he owned her. His daughter.
Dale willed his hands into fists, ready to knock the living daylights out of the punk who was molesting his pride and joy. But in this dream he seemed unable to move as he wished; he was frozen in place even as he strained to throw the interloper out of his kitchen. So he watched helplessly as the dream unfolded before his eyes, as his daughter very willingly molded her body against her lover, as her tongue wrestled with his in a passionate kiss. Dale wanted to look away but he could not, even as the boy squeezed his daughter's ass with both hands, inching up her skirt in a way that threatened to strip her of all modesty if continued.
The two lovers were running their hands all over each others' bodies,caressing and stroking. Dale found himself moving closer, stepping to the side so that he could see them in profile. He was not in control; his dreaming brain seemed to have its own agenda and was following it regardless of his wishes.
The next moment something happened that made Dale gasp. With a coy twist of her head, his daughter separated from her lover, and then slowly dropped to her knees in front of him. Dale couldn't believe his eyes. She wasn't! His own daughter? But yes she was. Her hands were all over the growing bulge in the boy's shorts. She was massaging his cock through his pants. The boy seemed to have a sizeable penis, tenting the fabric with some urgency. And then she was pulling the pants down, and the boy's erection was out, and her hands went to it, and Dale suddenly couldn't breathe. His daughter was holding a live, naked cock in her hands. She was only 18, nearly a child still. How could she know her way around a cock like this?
His daughter glanced upwards with a sultry look as her hands caressed his cock. Then her mouth opened, and she leaned slightly forwards to slide the cock between her parted lips.
Dale couldn't believe it. His daughter could not be sexually active. He had raised her better. Yet here she was, with a boy's fat prick pumping her pretty little mouth. And she seemed to be enjoying it, pausing to caress it again with her hands as she gripped the base before plunging her face down once more, eyes closed in ecstasy.
Dale wanted to look away, but couldn't. He was powerless to close his eyes, to turn his head. The dream-view came in closer, so that he was hovering over her shoulder to watch his only child as she stuffed her face with cock. With a sickening feeling in his stomach, Dale noted that she seemed to approach her task with some expertise. There was no sign of a gag reflex as she smoothly took the boy's length, and she slobbered and stroked like a pro. Dale was no expert on blowjobs himself, but he felt a sneaking suspicion that if he had been on the receiving end of this one she would have him blowing his load in mere minutes.
This was his daughter! Dale recognized the little braid in her hair that she had put in that morning. Why was she fellating this boy like a common whore? How could this be happening? And why was he being forced to watch? With a shrinking horror, Dale recognized something else: a stirring of lust in his own loins. He could not deny the hotness of the scene before his eyes. His daughter was a beautiful girl, always had been. Forced by the power of the dream to watch her giving head, Dale felt his penis harden and swell.
As his daughter continued to stroke and suck on the cock, pulling off from time to time so as to admire her work, Dale's illicit arousal grew. When she stuck out her tongue obscenely to tap the boy's fat cockhead against it, Dale leaned in for a closer view. This could not be happening. But it was. And it was turning him on more than he would have ever thought possible.
