How I Peg My Father (Daughter/dad)

How I Pegged My Father (Daughter/dad)

Bored, a daughter discovers mom and dad's kinky secret.

Incest, pegging, dad and daughter, cum eating, summer, vacations, dumped, mansplaining, the birds and the bees.

##### To the Reader. This tale contains incestuous sex between a willing daughter and her father, anal sex with a strapon, and very slight hints of the use of handcuffs. so please don't read it if that bothers you, feel free to devote the time to other more interesting tales.

My contribution to the Summer Lovin' Story Contest 2022; vote (if you liked it) and leave a constructive comment, please. ######

Chapter 1 -- Showtime!

I opened the door to the hotel room, where my father was working on the laptop. Through the door I could see accounting emails on the screen, boredom personified. The cold air from the air conditioner stiffened my bare nipples. I shook out my blond hair so that it would be more exposed.

Walking silently on the bare toes of my shoeless feet, I entered, trying to approach in surprise without attracting his attention. He knew it was just the two of us in the apartment, and without turning around he said, "What is it, my cub bear?"

I replied, "It's Showtime!"

He turned around and gasped.

I had never seen a man with that expression. Amazed, shocked, amazed, offended, happy but also worried. And I had never seen a cock suddenly get hard like it did that day. Good. With a wicked sneer, and the most detached voice possible, I said to him:

"I was looking for a vibrator in Mommy's drawers, and instead I found this harness of black straps... and in front, it has a ring that looks like it's set up to house this huge, purple and orange dragon cock ... what do you want to confess to me, dear Daddy?"

He was still in shock, overwhelmed by emotions and sensations.

"Oh my cub bear... daughter: how did you find the strapon your mom uses on me?"

Chapter 2 -- a little flashback.

If I can break through the Fourth Wall, like Deadpool... you will all wonder how we got to that point.

I was not supposed to be here. I was supposed to be on vacation with Jasper, my boyfriend. Former boyfriend. Everyone knows that the two seasons when we are most likely to be broken up are before Christmas and before summer vacation: Christmas to avoid spending money on gifts, and the vacations to have the freedom to hunt any possible prey without being accused of cheating.

Jasper was my first real boyfriend. I had first had sex with a female friend of mine (but only to experiment) and then with her older brother, and then with some fellow students, but the only one I had ever fallen in love with was my Jasper.

I would like to tell you that he was everything to me - but instead, in that summer, he was just a selfish devil to me, who had left me to go off freely with his three companions to visit archaeological centers between Rome and Pompeii.

I could not go with them (with what role? The Smurfette?) and he dumped me.

Without a vacation, without a plan, I found myself at 19 with no idea except to stay in Amsterdam alone at home while my family took a two-week vacation on the Italian coast, in Tuscany near the island of Elba. The Amsterdam airport was jammed, with lines that lasted up to six or eight hours, and it was much better to travel by car.

To comfort me from my crying, my compassionate mother Wilhelmina said, "Margret, come with us, pack your suitcase, don't forget anything, and you will spend one last vacation together with your parents and brother. Next year we will see."

But I was completely out of my mind. I joined the vacation with my family only to forget about him.

Instead, I forgot a bunch of things.

I forgot my suitcase: not even a dress of my own, a pair of flip-flops, a swimsuit. Nothing.

I forgot my cell phone.

Most importantly, I forgot to take my pill the day we left.

Then, because I get carsick, in order not to vomit my mom gave me a sleeping pill, and I slept all the way to Florence. My father choose a residence near the coast, within a park of cypress and oak trees, with some comfortable two-story cottages. On the first day I was too tired to swim in the pool, and opted for sunbathing topless in our small garden, with a bikini bottom borrowed by my mom (her breast was larger but I don't wear a bra). A very skimpy thong, but I had smeared sunscreen all over with great care, and I didn't get sunburned..

I didn't think I would arouse so much interest in the neighborhood, but I distinctly heard at least two boys masturbating and enjoying the sight of my bare breasts, and maybe even a man from the upstairs window while his wife slept.

I didn't care. I was angry at the whole male gender and didn't want to know anyone. My brother has known me for many years and knew very well that this was no time for jokes or shenanigans, and he kept his headphones in his ears the whole time to avoid arguments.

The next day I didn't even think about it: I was menstruating like a waterfall.

Just as well, I thought: the only time of the year when there is no Jasper to fuck my pussy, and I can finally fulfill my gynecologist's advice and take a break after consecutive months on the birth control pill.

But I had cramps and a painful headache.

My mother had already planned everything: the next day there was a nice excursion by ferry to the island of Elba (the one where Napoleon had been exiled. Dumped, like me).

I was not able to participate, and my mother understood that well.

You have to know that in my mother's family fibroids in the uterus are very common. It runs in the family. My grandmother, my aunts, my mother, and my cousins. All of them. My mother first gave birth to my brother (Kurt the Firstborn, the favorite) when she was only 22 years old when she was still a medical student, and then she gave birth to me two years later: it was a race against time because, before the age of forty, surgeons decided to perform a total hysterectomy. They removed her uterus, tubes, and one of her two ovaries. The vagina works perfectly: my mother always pointed this out to friends and relatives at dinner. But she can never have children again.

Did genetics and biology perhaps have an impact on her choices in life? Perhaps they did. For a bet, she and her sister pledged to date guys shorter than them. So my aunt married a doctor of Caribbean descent, Dutch and coal-black, who was almost a palm shorter than her; and my mother married my father, who at that time was only a geology student: no one could imagine that he would win a national competition and become the youngest director of the Amsterdam Gemological Museum, at the head of a staff of dozens of men and women: a true Alpha male.

My mother was taller than him by a full forehead, and she never gave up on heeled shoes (even at the pool, she wears slippers with thickened soles).

My mother always said she fell in love with my father because of his heart, not because of his height. We know about the bet because Auntie always tells us about it. But in my opinion, there was also something else: I believe that in my mind, as in my mother's, there was a need to find a good guy who was willing to have children soon. She found my father, who was the perfect father: I thought I had found my Jasper, and instead, I had nothing.

Not only did I not have a man: I had no swimsuit or clothes! My mom has bigger breasts than me and is taller: the only thing we have in common is our shoe size. The first day we bought panties for me, to accommodate the tampons, because my mom only uses thongs or stringy swimsuits (where by "stringy" I mean that a string goes through the buttocks and barely covers the front cleft).

My mom always says that Italian women look at her negatively but if stores sell that kind of swimsuit, that implies that some women buy them no? And since she has no problem with tampons, she has been enjoying her almost full tan for several years, regardless of the comments of jealous local wives.

Chapter 3: Lost and found.

That morning, Mom had left by car with my brother Kurt. The plan was: to arrive at the harbor in Piombino by car, board the ferry, travel to the island of Elba, and meet an old friend of hers for lunch (Cornelia diminished to Cora, later to become proverbial in the phrase "Cora the Cougar" for her obsession with leopard short clothes and animalier skimpy swimsuits).

They were supposed to return by ferry in the early afternoon.

Without a car, it would have been total boredom for me. We were in a beautiful Tuscan village, on top of a hill, with a nice cool breeze even in August. Tall cypress trees provided shade for reading or resting. Cicadas and crickets replaced the noise of urban traffic. And cooks competed to spoil us, with amazing breakfasts, galactic lunches, and romantic dinners.

"The Tuscan countryside is like Heaven on Earth except that my personal Adam abandoned me alone," I thought angrily.

My father had stayed in the residence to work on the laptop.

I slept until ten o'clock. My period had woken me up at six, then I had fallen back asleep. I swallowed an espresso coffee but didn't feel like eating.

I pondered the possibility of getting a tan while voyeurs jerked off watching me. But I was not in the spirit to give free gifts to strangers.

If anyone deserved masturbation, that someone was me.

I could have masturbated with the shower stream, but I was annoyed at the idea of consuming so much water, for ecological reasons.

My mother had always been explicit with us about sex: she always walked around the house naked, and she had never pretended that sex was not part of her life. She would talk about vibrators and clitorises with her friends at dinner in front of us children, in the same tone as talking about the fabric of curtains or the color of glasses.

I knew my mother had her own vibrators at home; I wondered if she had brought any on vacation. I had been so absent-minded, I had forgotten mine-along with all my clothes.

I decided to go to my mother's room to see if she had brought a dildo or a vibrator. I had forgotten all my things, but she was much more organized than I was. I was looking for a vibrator, or better a wand, with which to massage my clitoris.

I opened some drawers. My mother was a very neat woman: the shirts together, the clothes in the coat rack, the shoes in the shoe rack. And the vibrators in the vibrator drawer, top right.

I thought: "There are my mom's old friends! Sure, then I'd have to wash and disinfect them but it's better than thinking angrily about Jasper ... uh, what's that?"

Beneath the dildos and vibrators I already knew, there was a tool I had never seen in person. Oh well, I had seen it in some porn videos, but I didn't know it was, like, a family tradition.

It was a strapon. A black leather panty, triangular, with an adjustable metal ring in the middle; joined with strong black leather straps.

Curiosity prevailed over lust. I could always masturbate afterward, but I wanted at all costs to experience the sensation of wearing the strapon. The metal ring in the middle seemed adjustable, and quite solid: if I fastened a dildo, it would not easily slip out of my grasp.

With beginners' luck, in the drawer, I immediately saw a huge dildo shaped like a dragon cock, orange, and purple. It was wide in diameter, really fat, with raised veins and a large knob on the end.

The base had a foot that fits perfectly into the ring. I looked at myself in the mirror, strutting around. My stupid pussy was bleeding into the tampon from that damn monthly cycle, but this fucking dragon cock didn't have that kind of problem. Maybe there is no such thing as penis envy, but there is definitely such a thing as period-free envy.

I stayed for a few minutes looking at myself in the mirror. Then it occurred to me that that kind of object had to be used in two. The dildos and vibrators could be used by my mother alone, but this, geez! This had to be used against someone.

And the only person in the house was my daddy.

Naked, wearing a huge purple and orange dragon cock, I started barefoot toward the room where he was typing on his laptop.

He without looking at me muttered "cub bear"-he always called me that, even as a child when I didn't yet have blond hair on my pussy. Now the hairs would be there but I always shaved them, like my mother. Nevertheless, my daddy still called me "cub bear."

I opened the door and said, "Showtime!"

Chapter 4: Father to daughter: the Talk about Birds and Bees.

My father was in a panic. His eyes sent mixed messages: concern, duty, shame, surprise.

But he was a scientist, and the rational approach prevailed in him. Still seated, he spread his arms wide in his typical gesture, which we all knew in the family meant: "beware you all: now I start boring mansplaining."

I blocked him by putting an index finger before his mouth, while with my other hand I gripped my dragon cock, as a threat in front of his eyes.

"No mansplaining with me, Daddy."

He nodded silently. With two fingers he closed an imaginary zipper over his lips.

"You can only answer my questions. And they will be many. But no long speeches and no Full History of Whole Mankind, otherwise there will be punishments..."

With a sigh, my father said calmly, "Honey, your mother loves pegging. I adore your mother. I would do anything to make her happy. A friend of hers (Cora the Cougar) had told her about this particular harness, but you can't use it with this dildo."

"Why not?"

"Because, so to speak, for pegging a man's anus, it's more convenient to use a thinner dildo and lots of lubricating gel."

"Are you asking me to go pegging with you!!!? But Dad!" said I in a mock scandalized voice.

Honestly, I was not attracted to him as a Man, but I was very interested in the sexual technique per se. And perhaps, I thought, it would be best to learn the first steps with someone I had full confidence in. My daddy had taught me how to swim and ride a bicycle (old movies showed that he had taught me how to walk even though I didn't remember). Perhaps he was the right person to teach me pegging.

He was already on the defensive. "No, please, I wasn't even thinking about it, I was here working at my laptop! I knew very well that my wife keeps the vibrators in the top drawer, but I didn't think I would bother you, I thought you were still thinking about Jasper."

Dad realized that he had made a big mistake. Naming Jasper in front of a dumped, nervous girl with a purple dragon cock in her hand is not a good idea at all. He immediately asked for forgiveness.

"Excuse me! I didn't mean to say that name. But I understand that in your little heart there are so many mixed emotions. If I understand correctly, he told you that you are too vanilla?"

"Yes." It was hard for me to admit it, but he was my dad, and perhaps he was the only person who could help me understand boys (of course I couldn't talk to my brother, to avoid jokes and mocking).

"Tell me honestly how vanilla. I don't judge you. I care for you."

It was a strange sentence to hear, holding the thick purple dick of a dragon in front of the same daddy who had cradled you as a child. It was an awkward and unreasonable moment. A big tear gushed from my left eye, while the right remained dry. I decided to confess everything without shame. I don't know if I would have done it dressed normally. But wearing the strapon, I felt like I was invincible, like Lady Thor or Valkyrie.

"Jasper and I do everything but anal because I'm afraid it will hurt. We have Velcro handcuffs, which by now after "50 Shades" everyone has, and sometimes he asks me to whip him blindfolded with the soft whip--that's it. Oh, and he has a fixation on dancing strip teases, in heels. But it doesn't seem fair, because I always have to undress for him, learn the dance steps and all the seductive moves (while the heels hurt my ankles), while he doesn't put any effort into it: he just jerks off his fat cock and smiles while sitting comfortably on the couch..."

"I agree. It's not egalitarian."

"You think you could help me, Daddy?"

His eyes finally showed a smile. I had seen that smile before when the man unscrewed the childish wheels from my bicycle. It was the smile of a father who knows, with knowing confidence, that he will be able to help his daughter.

"Sure thing: I always can help you, honey. Now please run to your mother's room and put the Evil Dragon back in the drawer. I don't know why your mother brought it on vacation I think she uses it sometimes as a challenge against herself (to see how far she can dilate her pussy), but she never uses it with me. To use the strapon with me, you'll need a violet dildo, with a wide base, a thin shaft, and an even thinner, softer tip."

I ran faster than Flash. Violet dildo, searching a Violet Dildo. I opened the drawer. Found it. Removed the Dragon. I put on the Violet. I grabbed the lubricating gel. I closed the drawer. I ran barefoot to my father's room. I still had my menstrual pad on but had completely forgotten about it. Was it unsexy to look at? He had not mentioned it. I decided I didn't care; I was too curious.

I found my daddy lying on his back on the lower part of the couch: the peninsula that allowed people to watch television while lying down. He held two pairs of handcuffs, open, and he was naked. He always walked around the house naked, too, but I had never noticed that he was so carefully shaved.

"Can I ask you a request, if you don't mind?"

"A request is granted to you, but no more," I replied, trying to appear more confident than I was.

"At the time of pegging, your mother always handcuffs my wrists to my ankles, and in a way, it would make me feel more comfortable -- reproducing the scene in the most usual form, that is."

"Ah was that the request? I was already thinking of doing it for free. (I giggled) and now that you're helpless, with your cock in the air and your rosebud exposed, what do you suggest I do?"

I had locked the straps of his right ankle to his right wrist, and equally to the left. He was looking at me with a pillow under his neck. He was exposed and completely helpless, while to me he looked like a heroic warrior princess wielding a heavy broadsword with two hands.

"Dear, you need to lubricate both me and the dildo a lot, and then rest the tip slowly."

Ah! I was forgetting. Excitement plays tricks. Of course, the lubricant.

"But if it's too lubricated you won't feel anything!"

"My child, trust me, a lot of lubrication is needed. You are lucky because your little vagina lubricates itself, but I don't, and I need a lot of lubricants."

"I thought you were going to go on all four."

"For the first few times, it's better if there's eye contact...you can tell a lot from the eyes, from the look, and then, from the sufferer, there's less fear...not that I'm afraid of you, cub bear, it's that if I don't see what's going on back there, it increases the tension. I know that in a lot of porn movies you see pegging performances against bound, blindfolded, and caged men, but in my opinion, it increases the tension to an unbearable level. Trust me, it's better if we can face each other."

It was all so new, and so exciting to me-his cock slowly rising as I stroked the edge of my lower target with my lube-filled hand. Should I have kissed him? He hadn't asked, and I wasn't sure I wanted to. Kissing his lips, kissing down even, better not to kiss.

I pushed the tip in. He squinted and groaned, as if a rhino had gored him, but instead less than a phalanx had gone in. But he gasped and demanded with his whole body that I slow down.