Sleepwalking Daddy

He jammed himself into me as hard as he could and gave off a loud roar as he filled me up. He held both hands on my butt cheeks and started squeezing them, all the while pulling me towards him, pushing himself as deeply into my cunt as possible. It felt heavenly. Dad's pulsating cock kept pumping more and more of his rich and slippery cum into my pussy; spasm after spasm shook through him as he gave me every drop he had, coating my vaginal walls in his semen. I kept encouraging him to give me everything, extending his orgasm for as long as I could.

"That's right, daddy... cum in your daughter... cum in your daughter, please cum in your good little girl..."

As we slowly sank down on the floor together, I drifted off into a heavenly feeling, like I was floating on a river of post-orgasmic bliss. I lay on top of him, resting my head on his chest, still feeling him inside me for as long as he could remain hard. We stayed there for a while, enjoying the feeling of his sweaty skin against mine. The incestuous union between father and daughter was complete -- both of us were now in it, all the way. After a few minutes of cuddling, I looked at him with a smile and said:

"This is going to happen again, dad. We are going to have sex again."

We both knew it was true. There was no fighting it. We were lovers now. Giving a tired smile back at me, dad stroked his fingers through my hair and said:

"I know."

EPILOGUE

Over the next half year, my dad and I fucked like crazy. Sometimes, I would go to his bed and initiate sex while he was still sleeping. If I was loud and rough enough, he would wake up and take over, screwing his lustful teenager with abandon. Sometimes, I would initiate before we even went to bed, sucking him off on the couch while watching TV. Sometimes, we would shower together, sharing moments of intimacy that turned even more intimate.

I loved the times when he was the one who started it, as it confirmed that found me irresistible. Over and over, I would flirt and tempt him, then he'd fuck me hard until we both howled in orgasmic pleasure and he filled me with his cum or squirted it all over me so that I had to either go shower or wear it all day. By Christmas, we had screwed each other's brains out in every single room in the house, and as the weather got warmer in the spring, we fucked each other in all sorts of outdoor locations too. Gentle lovemaking, rough stuff, oral, anal, we tried it all. I was having the time of my life.

I deemed my experiment a complete success: while I still got some kicks out of letting my dad have sex with me in his sleep, he definitely stopped sleepwalking completely if he'd had sex with me before going to bed. I concluded that it was indeed sex that was needed for him to have a quiet night. This led me to my next project: finding a more long-term solution. Finding him a woman.

I was going to leave, sooner or later. I had already started applying to some of the best institutions in the country, and even if I were to choose a university fairly close to home, there was no way I could live here permanently. At some point -- either this spring or after over the next few years -- I would move out to live my own life. Dad had made that clear too, when I'd hinted that I wished we could stay together forever during one of our post-coital chats:

"I wish we could do this forever..."

"I don't."

"No?"

"Don't get me wrong, sweetheart ... I love you, but I want you to live your own life. Get an education, a career and a family. A husband, maybe, kids of your own. You know?"

Well, I did agree, I truly did. Even if it was sad that this was one day going to end. But I didn't spend too much time agonizing over that. Instead, I sank my energy into looking for someone I deemed suitable. I wanted a good, dependable, sexy girl for my daddy.

It actually took a while -- probably because I started off by going about it the wrong way. Posting on message boards that I wanted "somebody to fuck my dad" got me lots of replies from women (and men) who were into some really kinky shit, but not the kind of mentally stable and reliable people I wanted. While their enthusiasm may have seemed good at first, most of these people were not really trustworthy. I got really bad vibes from the ones who said that they enjoyed having unprotected sex with random people at truck stops; some people seemed like gold diggers, some were women in their forties and fifties who were desperate for romance, some were completely unrealistic since they lived too far away...

In the end, the solution was found pretty close to home. My classmate Greg had an older sister, Sandy. She was in her late twenties, looked really pretty and had just gotten a job in town as a reporter for a local paper, so she seemed both responsible and well-educated. We had met coincidentally in the park one day and started talking, then all of a sudden we were talking about sex and boyfriends, and I confided in her what I was trying to do. Taking a moment to think about it, she then concluded:

"You know ... that sounds pretty much exactly like the kind of thing I need right now."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah... I've had my fill of college guys, so if I were to start dating someone right now, I would definitely be looking for an older guy. Someone a bit more ... mature. Established. You know what I mean?"

"And not just for a one night stand, right?" I inquired.

"No, but I'm not really looking for a husband or anything either. Just ... regular sex, you know... like..."

"Friends with benefits. Jinx!" we said at the same time, laughing.

Later, I took her home for coffee and let dad find us there, not letting him know exactly what we were up to. Having been briefed by me already, she started flirting with him pretty much immediately. When the two of them seemed to really be hitting it off, I made myself scarce and spent the evening with a couple of friends. I came home pretty late, Sandy's coat was still hanging by the door and I could hear loud moaning noises coming from upstairs. Smiling at the apparent success of my plan, I went to bed alone but feeling content.

As I was making breakfast the next morning, Sandy came stumbling down the stairs, unsteady on her feet, half-dressed with her makeup smeared and her hair looking like that of a 1980s pop singer. I poured her a cup of fresh coffee, then simply asked:

"Success?"

"Fuck yeah...!" she replied, making us both grin at each other.

I left for Stanford the following month, confident that my dad's nights of sleepwalking were over.

THE END