Last Days with Daddy

Warning: The following story covers intense themes including by not limited to; forced sexual encounters, rape, slut-shaming, victim-shaming, brief moments depicting requests for homosexual acts as a form of dirty talk, cum-play, and more. All characters engaged in any sexual activity are at least 18 years of age, including when referenced in the past at a younger age i.e. Amber in high school. Reader discretion is advised.

Author's Note: This story is depicting the end of the world and an incestuous relationship that forms as a result. Given the fact this is erotic literature, this focuses very heavily on the sexual encounters, and far far less on the aspects of the how, the why, and the character's reactions and feelings about the world ending. For the sake of the story, everyone has already accepted their fates and are simply looking to make the most of the time they have left.

I read on a forum that often father-daughter incest stories overwhelmingly depict the daughter initiating the relationship. For this story, I decided to take up the challenge of doing the opposite. Since I am a fan of dominance and degradation, the end result became the intense story before you today. This story features intense themes, especially in the finale, and can sometimes even border on the absurd. This is not intended to make light of real-life abuse and is for entertainment purposes only.

Finally, I do not like stories uploaded in chapters and plan never to release a single storyline in more than a single part, this is a complete and self-contained story, but as a result, is quite long. If you are the type of person who likes to read a story entirely, please note that word count before embarking. Thank you, and enjoy.

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Locking the door to the house I lived in with my father, I tossed his keys into the bowl near the door and walked into the kitchen. My feet glided over the hardwood floors I slid across in my socks every morning just like Tom Cruise. As I rounded the corner, I saw my father leaning against the kitchen island, and a smile grew on his face as his eyes met mine.

"Back so soon?" He asked, looking up from the papers he had been reading.

"Yeah," I replied with a huff, "the teacher didn't even show up. The coursework isn't that hard on its own, but I don't know how I am supposed to get this certificate if the teachers aren't even going to be teaching."

"Should I call and complain?" He asked.

"Yes, Daddy~" I said in my best 'do this for me because I'm your princess' voice, attempting to be more satirical than anything else.

"You know, I've started to realize you only call me 'Daddy' when you want something."

"When did you start realizing that?" I joked.

"How old are you again?" he asked.

"23," I replied, feigning offense.

"Then about 17 years ago I'd say." I stuck my tongue out at him and told him that I would never ask him for anything ever again, saying it as if that would be a punishment for him. But as I hopped up onto the counter, both the phone in my pocket and my father's on the counter, began to explode in a cacophony of noise.

"Tornado, or flood?" My father asked sarcastically as they blared the emergency alert sound effect on repeat.

"Little Suzy's been kidnapped, or Grandpa took off with the car?" I suggested.

"Incoming missile strike from-" he continued to joke before stopping dead in his tracks as he read the alert on the phone.

As he continued to read without saying a word, I dug my phone from my pocket to see what the big deal was.

We had a little more than 5 days left to live.

An unforeseen, unpredictable event was on the horizon. Although I could not fully understand just what was happening, one message was very clear; it was the end of the world. Total extinction of the human race was guaranteed.

We were glued to our phones for the next hour as we jumped from credible news sources to uncredible news sources to the president's address.

Finally, my father put his phone down and said, "Let's eat."

As I watched him prepare us dinner, as he did on most nights, I noticed how his hair started to have the lightest signs of gray appearing. As he turned to grab something off the counter, I noted that he really was quite handsome.

We ate mostly in silence and listened to the news as it droned on in the living room.

"Are you scared?" he finally asked as he collected our plates. The topic seemed almost too taboo to the point neither of us wanted to start the conversation.

I thought for a long time before I finally responded.

"No," I said, "not really. Well, I mean a little, but I think I am okay."

"Me too," he replied. "I've always taught you to keep a cool head, so don't waste your time worrying about it. It's out of our control."

"My thoughts exactly," I told him. I was young, but I'd be lying if I didn't say that it almost felt like a relief. To know something was completely out of my hands, and that I had nothing to do in the matter allowed me to relax. I have always seen myself as a leader and someone who takes charge of a situation, excluding when I can get my 'Daddy' to do something for me of course. But now I have come to like the feeling of control being taken away from me.

"Anything you wanted to do?" he asked.

"You know, we were supposed to go to the casino this summer, you were going to teach me how to play blackjack," I reminded him, now realizing we were never going to be able to go.

Before I knew it, we sat with a deck of cards between us and my father began to deal them to me.

"12," he said pointing to the 5 and the 7 after giving me a rundown of the rules.

"Hit," I replied.

"20," he now declared.

"Stay."

"Dealer busts, you win," he told me with a smile on his face.

We continued playing for at least another hour before the thrill of winning or losing began to lose its luster. By that point we had graduated to using the money in our wallets, the amounts became joined and passed back and forth without much care as to who had contributed what. But eventually, I realized after a losing streak, I had completely run out.

"And that is what it is like to play at a casino," my father told me as if I had just learned a big life lesson. "The house always has an advantage in every game, they don't outright cheat, allegedly, but when you keep playing, the odds are you will lose eventually."

"Let's keep going," I said defiantly, my competitiveness getting the better of me.

"You are out of money," he reminded me, "You don't bet money you don't have, that's how you go into debt."

"Well, I'll bet something else," I told him looking around before I noticed my backpack in the corner. "I'll bet my laptop," I told him, pointing to the bag now, figuring I was no longer going to be doing any schoolwork.

With a sigh, he began to deal more cards clearly frustrated I didn't seem to swear off gambling.

"Dealer has 21, you lose," he declared.

It was true that he held an advantage, but as we continued to play, he failed to inform me that the biggest problem with gambling, is that everyone thinks they are just one more hit from winning it all back. And as a result, my bets began to grow exponentially, until I was betting things I had no business gambling away.

"My entire shoe collection."

"Bust."

"All my makeup."

"Bust."

"My bed."

"Dealer has 21."

"My entire room, like the structure itself."

"Bust. I think you've bet me everything but the shirt off your back," my father laughed as he reached over and grabbed the playing cards box.

"That's it!" I declared, "I'll bet my shirt!" My father looked at me hesitantly, but eventually played the cards.

"You have 18, the dealer has 20, you lose," he told me.

Without thinking I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and lifted it over my head, revealing my bra to my father. He paused for a moment as he did a double take, seemingly unaware that I would go through with it. I slapped the shirt down on the table and almost sent the cards flying. Reluctantly, he took it and placed it by his pile of winnings.

"I bet my pants next," I told him, to which he did not respond. It seemed clear he was struggling to not look up from the cards. But as he placed the cards, it finally happened.

'You have 21, dealer busts, you win," he told me. "Would you like your shirt back?" he asked, already reaching over to grab it.

"I want your shirt!" I yelled in a moment of excitement. Did I actually want his shirt? No, not really. But when the moment came for me to finally get revenge on him, I took the opportunity without thinking. At the moment forgetting he had taken things I willingly offered up.

"My shirt?" he asked perplexed, "I didn't realize we were playing strip poker." Yet, like me, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off of him.

That was when I realized he was quite fit. He didn't have a six-pack or anything crazy, but he seemed to be in good physical condition for someone who worked such a sedentary job here at home. As I took my winnings I started to wonder if he worked out, but couldn't think of when he would have had the time.

My winnings were short-lived, however, as he managed to win his shirt back. Tossing it into his tressure pile alongside mine, it wasn't long until he had claimed my pants. I was hesitant at first, but he gave me a smug look that told me he didn't think I would do it. Not wanting to admit defeat, I dropped my pants in front of him and tossed them to the floor.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen," I thought as I got back into my seat and promptly remembered the glass table offered little in the field of cover for my newly exposed body. Again, for some reason I couldn't quite explain, I chose to claim his pants the next time I won. As he removed his pants, I saw him adjust his underwear as he sat. We were both only in our underwear, now would have been the perfect time to call a quits, but as my father looked me in the eye and asked if I wanted one more round, I said yes, unaware of what I could give him.

"Bust," he said, flipping another card giving me a total of 23.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, as I wondered what I had just lost. Perhaps I was just having a block or simply ran out of things worth offering, but I couldn't think of anything left to give him. "I think I just lost," I admitted.

"You need to give me something," he replied, very affirmatively, his competitiveness finally beginning to show.

"No, I think I lost lost," I repeated, "I don't own anything else-" I tried to say when I suddenly felt his hand grab my wrist, and pull me down to the floor in front of him.

"Then give me your mouth," he demanded, with no sign on his face telling me he was joking.

"M-my mouth?" I questioned, as I tried to retract the look of shock on my face. He was joking, he had to be joking.

"If you have nothing left to offer, then I want your mouth."

"Are you serious?" I asked trying not to sound frightened. Without a verbal reply or a nod, I saw him reach into his boxers. It was obvious that he had a boner, I was just trying to be nice and didn't want to make things awkward by mentioning it, but towards the end of the game he stopped trying to hide it and the shape and size were prominently on display through the glass table. I was planning to let it go and let the weird sexual tension dissipate after the game, we were already crossing lines by allowing one another to strip as a punishment, but with one motion he pulled his cock out and presented it to me.

For a moment I felt like screaming from just the sudden realization I was now staring at my own father's fully erect penis. There was no filter, no blur, no pixelization, the outline was there, but now it was in full view. Worse, he was showing it to me. I didn't just catch him as he got out of the shower, he wanted me to see his cock. I had little time to process this fact however as I became painfully aware of the fact I could feel his hand on the back of my head, and it was slowly pulling me closer.

I resisted for a moment, pulling my head back, but he was stronger than me, and the force he used made it clear he was going to get what he wanted. I realized at that moment that if I didn't take the lead, I was about to get my face fucked. I fell forward turning my head slightly so that the side of my face connected with his thigh, there his cock occupied most of my vision.

"Do I have to?" I said, likely already knowing what he would say.

"You lost the game," he said as if to say that if I didn't want this, I should have simply played better.

Reluctantly I began to touch my lips to the base of his shaft, and I cursed myself for continuing to play even after he began to ask me to take off my clothes. I kissed it slowly, and little by little worked my way up the shaft. Finally, his hands left my head, and I was free to move on my own. I wondered if I should just stand up and call it off, but as I recalled him dragging me to the floor by just my wrist, my fear of retaliation prevented me from breaking focus. After reaching the tip I broke off and thought for a moment before I stuck out my tongue and slide in down the shaft back the way I came. My body shuttered as I retracted my tongue back into my mouth. It was no longer an obvious bulge in his underwear, and it was no longer even a moment of perversion as he presented it to me, I had just tasted my father's cock and as I glanced up at him, I got the impression that he was waiting for more.

I felt its warmth as I wrapped my fingers around it for the first time, and lifted it as I licked from the base up. I could see a bead of precum glistening on his tip as my tongue climbed, and perhaps foolishly, I diverted at the last moment to avoid tasting it. His hands touch my face again, this time in a tender and loving way until I felt two fingers slip into my mouth. Motionlessly I held my mouth open and let his fingers dance on my tongue as I continued to hold my dad's cock in my hand. They slid around my mouth and played with the spit and drool they found inside.

After they eventually slipped out, I realized he wanted me to act.

As I knelt on the ground before him, I knew that I had no other option but to suck my dad's dick, but the question was not if, but how I wanted it to happen. If I acted now, on my own, perhaps I would be able to save what little bit of dignity I had left. And if I resisted, he may use his strength to force me down and rape my mouth. As much as I despised the idea of giving in, the thought of him fucking my mouth by force sounded worse.

Like pushing myself to jump into freezing waters, I opened my mouth and took the head of his cock inside, wrapping my lips around it, and sliding my tongue underneath it. I could taste some of his bitter precum as it touched my tongue, but overall I tried not to think about it. Hoping to block out the thought of what was happening as a whole, I focused on my form.

I bobbed my head lightly, not wanting to take him too deep, his cock was big enough that it might make me choke if I push it too far. Before when I performed oral, I always managed to choke if I let my larger partners go too deep, and as much as I hated to admit it, this cock was big. And as a result, it was impossible to imagine this as anything but what it was. This was not an ex-boyfriend, some hook-up, or even some handsome pornstar, as much as I tried to disassociate from the situation, I could not escape the fact that the man on the other end of the cock I was sucking, was my father.

I couldn't believe he was doing this to me. Before the apocalypse, hell even two days ago, he would have never done something like this to me, or at least I hope he wouldn't have. I quickly brushed off the idea of him forcing me onto my knees on a "normal" day, because that somehow felt worse. At least now, with the earth only who knows how many day's away from ending, I could lie to myself and say he isn't a bad person, and who wouldn't do it?

Suddenly I began to imagine how many other women are being forced to do something similar at this moment, how many dads were forcing themselves onto their daughters... I quickly brushed that thought away too, "focus on your form" I reminded myself when I suddenly heard a noise.

"Ohh," my dad moaned. "That feels good baby," he complimented. I glanced up at him and realized his head was thrown back in pleasure, and a large smile sat across his face. One hand returned to my head and although I flinched, fearing he would force himself deep into my throat, he just rested it on my head. Slowly he played with my hair, petted my head, and caressed my face. "You're such a good girl," he praised, and for a moment there, I think I almost felt happy.

"I think I'm going to cum," he said abruptly, grabbing my head and pushing it down so that all of his cock was in my mouth. My initial concerns were right, and I felt like I was choking as he pumped himself into my mouth four or five times. Eventually after letting go, I fell onto my ass and started to cough and catch my breath.

Soon after I felt a hot liquid hitting my body and I realized my father had stood up and was beginning to shoot his cum down on me as he stroked himself. Thankfully he spared my face, but his seed continued to make contact with my chest and stomach until there was nothing more than a bead dangling off the tip.

He fell back onto the couch as he tried to catch his breath. The hot liquid he emptied onto me pooled into the various dimples on my body, and as I sat there processing it all, I felt it go from hot, to warm, to cool.

"I think we should call it a night," he eventually said, looking over his shoulder to my bedroom door, basically suggesting I should leave. I stood up slowly, my legs feeling a little wobbly for a moment, but overall, I was thankful I was about to escape his presence. The cum began to drip down my body, but as I started to shuffle towards my room I made no effort to catch it. Passing the table, I crouched down and picked up my clothing.

"Amber," he said, somehow knowing what I was doing.

"Yeah, Dad?" I asked, once again becoming nervous.

"Our game today, I'll give you back your room and bed... but I'm keeping your clothes."

"Oh, ok..." I replied, questioning if he was expecting me to thank him. Slowly I let my shirt and shorts fall from my hands onto the floor.

Eventually making it to my room I closed the door behind me and sat against it in silence. A few minutes later I could hear my father get up, and enter his own room, closing the door behind him.

I washed up, cleaned my body of my father's cum, and brushed my teeth, making sure to pay extra close attention to my tongue, with hardly more than a handful of thoughts in my mind, let alone anything spoken. Looking at my cabinet full of clothes, I slowly slipped into another pair of panties and a bra, some of the only things not lost in the game, and crawled into bed.

As my head hit my pillow and I relived the night's events in my head for the fourth or fifth time, something was telling me to cry. My body, my mind, and my consciousness were all saying "Cry, come on cry, you know you want to," but as I eventually began to drift off, my eyes were dry.

5 Days Remain

I quickly swept around the room, two, maybe even three times. Nothing... Everything I could wear was something I had bet and lost. As I looked at myself in just my bra and panties in the full-length mirror, I wondered if that was exactly how my dad wanted me. Short of coming out with the bed sheets or a bath towel wrapped around me, I didn't think I was going to be wearing anything modest from this point on.

Glancing back at the cabinet full of my clothes I wondered if I just wanted to say "fuck it," put something on, pack a bag, and leave. But I would be alone, and the news alerts on my phone said more and more people were accepting the "it's the end of the world, why the fuck not smash all the store windows in town" mindset. Although I didn't think I would need to fear for my life, yet, I knew no one in this part of the country. I would be putting my trust in strangers, or resigning myself to sleep under a bridge for the next 5 days. If it really was 5 more days, at least here there were food, water, and comforts.