Nine years. That’s how long it had been since I last saw my dad. Nine years of birthdays, Christmases, school plays, and milestones—all without him. I was just a little girl when he left, barely nine years old, clinging to the faint memories of his deep laugh and the scratchy wool sweaters he always wore in winter. Now, at eighteen, those memories felt more like a dream I could barely recall. Fuzzy around the edges, slipping through my fingers every time I tried to hold on. But I needed answers. Why did he leave? Why didn’t he come back? And most of all, did he ever think about me?
I spent days hunting for clues. Old family friends shrugged helplessly, and dusty records turned up little. Just when I was about to give up, a woman at the diner where he used to work years ago scribbled an address on a napkin. A tiny flat, three hours away. My heart twisted as I stared at it. I’d found him, but what if he didn’t want to see me? Or worse, what if he’d forgotten me entirely?
I stood in the shower that morning, letting the hot water cascade over me as I tried to steady my thoughts. The warmth seeped into my skin, but it did little to calm the tight knot in my chest. My eyes closed as I tilted my head back, feeling the water run through my hair and down my back. I kept going over it in my mind—should I do this? Should I just show up after all these years? The thought scared me, made my stomach twist, but at the same time, something deep inside told me I had to. I needed answers. I needed him.
The steam filled the tiny bathroom, clouding the mirror as I reached for the shampoo. My hands moved on autopilot, lathering my hair while my thoughts ran wild. I thought about what I’d even say to him, whether he’d slam the door in my face or let me in. Would he even recognize me? It felt like I was preparing for battle rather than a reunion. As I rinsed the shampoo from my hair, I let out a long sigh, trying to shake the nervous energy building up inside me.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrapped the towel tightly around myself, the rough cotton brushing against my damp skin. The cool air of the room hit me immediately, and I shivered slightly as I walked to the fogged-up mirror, wiping it with the side of my hand. My reflection stared back, looking more anxious than I wanted to admit.
I dug through my dresser, pulling out a red bra and matching panties. The bra felt snug, and I sighed in frustration, adjusting it. Then came the jeans—tight enough to feel just right—and a white blouse so thin I had to double-check that my red bra didn’t show through. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t about how I looked; I just needed to be ready for whatever came next.
The drive felt endless. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my fingers ached. The countryside blurred past, but I barely noticed. When I finally arrived, his flat looked like it had seen better days. The paint was cracked and peeling, the steps worn and uneven. A small patch of grass out front was overgrown, littered with stray dandelions and weeds. My chest tightened as I approached the door. It felt surreal, like stepping into a part of my life I’d tried to forget.
I knocked. The sound was louder than I expected, and I held my breath as I waited. When the door creaked open, I almost didn’t recognize him. The man I remembered was vibrant, with strong arms and a booming laugh that could fill a room. The man in front of me now looked smaller somehow, his shoulders slouched, his hair streaked with gray. His face was etched with lines, each one a story of hardship. But his eyes—they were the same. That same warmth, dimmed but not gone, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
“Emma?” he whispered, his voice cracking like dry wood. He looked stunned, as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. My throat tightened, and I felt tears prickling behind my eyes. Before I could stop myself, I threw my arms around him. He hesitated for a moment, then wrapped me in a hug so tight it almost hurt. He smelled faintly of cigarettes and something familiar—like the cologne he used to wear when I was little. I blinked back tears, my face buried in his chest.
Inside, the flat was small and worn but clean. A battered leather couch sat in the corner, the cushions mismatched and sagging. Across the room, a double bed was shoved against the wall, unmade but inviting in its simplicity. The kitchen was tiny, barely big enough for one person, with a scratched-up counter and an old stovetop. A single mug sat on the counter next to a box of tea bags. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, revealing a space so small I wondered how anyone could turn around in it.
We talked for hours. He told me about the years since he’d left—how he’d struggled to keep a job, how he’d moved from town to town, and how he’d always wanted to reach out but didn’t think I’d want to see him. I told him about my life—school, friends, how I’d spent so many nights lying awake, wondering where he was. There was an awkwardness between us, but it was softening, bit by bit, with every shared memory and every apology.
As the evening stretched on, I noticed his face looked pale, his movements slower. He hadn’t eaten all day. “Dad,” I asked, breaking a pause in our conversation, “What are you having for supper?”
He waved it off. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Don’t worry about me.”
I frowned. “You’ve got to eat something. You can’t just survive on tea.”
He chuckled softly, but I wasn’t having it. With a sigh, I pushed myself off the couch and headed for the tiny kitchen. The fridge was nearly empty—just a carton of eggs, a half-used pack of bacon, and a bottle of ketchup. I rummaged through the cabinets and found a tin of baked beans and a loaf of bread. “Looks like you’re having a Full English,” I called over my shoulder.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, but I could hear the gratitude in his voice.
“Too late,” I teased, grabbing a frying pan. The kitchen filled with the comforting sizzle of bacon and the warm, earthy smell of beans heating on the stove. I cracked the eggs into the pan, watching the yolks glisten. When it was ready, I handed him a plate and sat beside him, both of us cross-legged on the couch. He took a bite, and for the first time that day, I saw a hint of a smile.
“You always did like bacon,” I said, smirking.
“And you always were bossy,” he shot back with a grin.
That night, he offered me the bed, insisting he’d sleep on the couch. But I couldn’t stand the thought of him curled up on that sagging thing. “Dad, the bed’s big enough for both of us,” I said softly. “Come on.”
He hesitated but finally agreed. I went to the bathroom and got undress. I left off my bra as its been killing me all day. I then changed into one of his old T-shirts, the fabric soft and worn against my bare chest, down to top of my thighs. I slipped into the bed first, and he followed, staying on his side. We lay in silence for a while, the dim light from the streetlamp outside casting soft shadows on the walls.
“I missed you, Dad,” I said quietly, my voice trembling.
“I missed you too, Emma,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. His hand found mine under the blanket, and he gave it a gentle squeeze me. My back facing him with his body pressed against my back as he cuddled me tightly.
As we lay there in the darkness, the only sound was the quiet hum of the city outside. I could feel his warmth seeping into me, his breath soft against the back of my neck. It was a strange mix of comfort and vulnerability, the weight of our shared history heavy in the air. I closed my eyes, letting myself relax into the moment, feeling his heartbeat steady against my spine.
“You okay, Dad?” I asked softly, my voice breaking the quiet. My back was still pressed against him, and I could feel the slight rise and fall of his chest, his breath warm and steady now.
“Yeah,” he murmured after a pause, his voice low and heavy with emotion. “I’m just… I don’t know. This doesn’t feel real, having you here like this. I’ve missed you so damn much, Emma.”
My throat tightened again, that familiar ache creeping in. “I missed you too,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out. I could feel his arm draped over my waist, the weight of it grounding me in the moment. He held me like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go, and honestly, I didn’t mind. It felt safe, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the muffled sounds of the street outside. The city never really went to sleep, but in his little flat, it felt like the world had paused just for us. I shifted slightly under the blanket, adjusting myself so I could nestle even closer to him. His warmth was comforting, like a thick quilt on a cold winter morning.
“I didn’t think you’d ever come find me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. There was something raw in his tone, something that made my chest ache. “I thought… I thought you hated me.”
I shook my head, even though I knew he couldn’t see it. “I never hated you, Dad. I was just… confused. Hurt. But I never stopped thinking about you. Never.”
He tightened his arm around me slightly, pulling me closer. “I thought about you every day,” he said, his voice cracking. “Every single day. But I was scared. Scared you wouldn’t want anything to do with me, scared of screwing up your life even more than I already had.”
I turned my head slightly, glancing over my shoulder to see his face in the faint glow of the streetlight filtering through the window. His eyes were glossy, his expression a mixture of guilt and relief. “You didn’t ruin my life, Dad,” I said gently. “You leaving—it hurt, yeah. But I’m here now, and that’s what matters.”
He let out a shaky breath, and I felt him press his forehead lightly against the back of my head. “You’ve grown up so much,” he whispered. “You’re not my little girl anymore. But… I’m so proud of you, Emma. I don’t deserve you, but I’m proud.”
His words hit me harder than I expected, and I blinked quickly to stop the tears from spilling over. “You’re still my dad,” I said softly. “You always will be. And I’m not going anywhere.”
We stayed like that for what felt like hours, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His hand found mine again under the blanket, and he squeezed it gently, as if to remind me he was there. I gave his hand a little squeeze back, a silent reassurance that I wasn’t going anywhere, either.
Eventually, the heaviness in the room began to fade, replaced by a comfortable silence. My body started to relax, my eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment. His breathing slowed, the rhythm steady and soothing against my back.
“I’m glad I found you, Dad,” I murmured, my voice barely audible as I drifted closer to sleep.
“Me too, sweetheart,” he replied softly, his words melting into the darkness. His hold on me didn’t loosen, and I let myself sink into the warmth of his embrace.
“You sure your comfy laying like that,” dad said to me as I was laid on my side kind of like in a ball. I always had my knees not fully to my chest but more less near my stomach.
“You sure you’re comfy lying like that?” Dad asked, his voice soft and laced with a little concern. I was curled up on my side, the way I’d always slept. My knees were loosely drawn toward my stomach, not quite tucked all the way in, just enough to feel secure. One arm rested beneath my head like a makeshift pillow, while the other lay lightly in front of me. It was how I’d always settled—almost like a gentle coil, the kind of position that made me feel small, safe, and cocooned in my own little world.
“Yeah,” I murmured, my voice soft but firm. “I’ve always slept like this. It’s just… how I get comfortable.”
He let out a quiet hum, like he was mulling it over. “You’ve slept like that since you were a kid,” he said, his tone shifting into something warmer, almost nostalgic. “I used to peek into your room at night, and you’d always be curled up like a little kitten. Never sprawled out like most people.”
I smiled faintly, the memory warming me from the inside. “Some things never change, I guess,” I said with a soft chuckle, adjusting slightly to get even more comfortable. The worn mattress dipped beneath me, and I shifted my knees just a little closer to my stomach, relaxing further into the blanket.
“I just don’t want you to wake up all stiff,” he said, his voice teasing but still tinged with that fatherly worry.
“I’m fine, Dad,” I reassured him gently, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’ve been sleeping like this my whole life. If I wasn’t comfortable, you’d be the first to know. Some nights I could barely sleep hearing you and mum, well you know… busy.”
I laughed softly, feeling my cheeks flush in the darkness. “You were never very quiet, sorry I hope I didn’t embarrass you.” I admitted, the corner of my mouth twitching up in amusement.
Dad let out a short, awkward laugh, clearly caught off guard. “Oh, Emma…” he said, his voice low and laced with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. “You weren’t supposed to hear that, sweetheart. We thought we were… well, discreet.”
I couldn’t help but grin, even as my cheeks warmed at the memory. “Not as discreet as you thought,” I teased, adjusting the blanket over my shoulders. “Thin walls, Dad. I used to wonder if the neighbors heard too.”
He groaned softly, the sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “Alright, alright, no need to remind me. Your mum always said I wasn’t exactly the quiet type.”
I turned my head slightly, glancing at him over my shoulder with a playful smirk. “I guess it’s one of those things you don’t realize when you’re a kid, but looking back… let’s just say I connected the dots.” My voice was light, teasing, but there was no malice in it—just a shared humour about the awkwardness of being a family.
“God, I don’t know whether to laugh or apologize,” he muttered, though I could hear the smile in his voice. “If I embarrassed you, I’m sorry, Em. Honestly, we were just… young, I guess. Stupid and in love.”
“I wasn’t embarrassed,” I admitted, shifting slightly on the mattress to nestle deeper into the blanket. “Not really. It was just one of those things you don’t know how to process at the time. I wasn’t sure what you both was doing, I was still kind of young. First it sounded like you was hurting each other haha silly I know. But as I grew up I learned what it was. But, you know, it’s kind of nice to think about now. You and Mum being… you know, that close. Happy.”
Dad exhaled a deep, quiet breath, and I felt him shift slightly behind me, his arm still draped lightly over my waist. “We were happy,” he said softly, his voice carrying a bittersweet tone that tugged at my chest. “For a long time, we really were. Your mum… she had this way of lighting up a room. And yeah, we had our fights like any couple, but when we were good, we were really good.”
I smiled faintly, my head resting against the pillow. “I could tell,” I murmured. “Even as a kid, I could feel it. You two were just… connected, you know? Like a team. It’s weird to think about now, looking back. But I also don’t blame you for leaving, I did take note of how she started treating you at the end.”
Dad’s breath hitched slightly behind me, and for a moment, I felt him stiffen, like he wasn’t sure how to respond. His arm around my waist remained steady, but the silence between us shifted, heavier now. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost hesitant.
“You noticed that?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t think… I mean, you were so young. I didn’t think you’d understand what was going on back then.”
I shrugged gently, the movement barely visible under the blanket. “I didn’t understand all of it, not really,” I admitted. “But I noticed things. The way you both stopped laughing as much. The arguments at night when you thought I was asleep. And… the way she started snapping at you over little things, like you couldn’t do anything right.” I paused, my throat tightening. “Even as a kid, I could tell something was wrong.”
He sighed deeply, and I felt his forehead rest lightly against the back of my head. “I think things started to go rocky when we stopped doing things together, even you know sex stopped totally. She was getting it from somewhere else. I have a high sex drive but I wasn’t demanding. Shit so sorry you don’t have to hear all this crap so sorry Em.”
I froze for a moment, unsure how to respond. His words hung heavy in the air, raw and unfiltered, as if years of bottled-up frustration had finally spilled out. My cheeks flushed hot, and I felt my heart twist—not out of embarrassment, but because I could hear the pain behind his apology.
“Dad,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady, “it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I mean, yeah, it’s… a lot to hear, but I’m not a kid anymore.” I paused, my throat tightening as I tried to piece my thoughts together. “I’d rather you be honest with me than keep everything bottled up. You’ve been carrying this by yourself for so long. Maybe… maybe you need to talk about it.”
“You don’t wanna hear about my sex life Emma,” he said still cuddled up.
“Dad,” I said softly, my voice steady despite the awkwardness hanging in the air. “I’m not saying I want every detail, but if you need to get something off your chest, I’d rather you talk to me than keep it bottled up.” I paused, shifting slightly under the blanket so I could glance back at him. “You’ve been carrying so much for so long… maybe it’s time to let someone else help with the load.”
“Trust me I have a load well built up over the years and not the load you think… Sorry I should shut up lets just say I have years pent up pressure.” he said sounding embarrassed.
I let out a soft chuckle, the tension in the room easing slightly at his attempt at humor. “I get it, Dad. You’ve been through a lot.” I turned my head to face him fully, my expression gentle and understanding. “But you don’t have to carry it all by yourself. I’m here now. And I want to listen, even if it’s hard.”
I felt tension building up, I felt his crotch press into me. A bulge it was throbbing against my ass.
“Dad…” I started, my voice barely a whisper, the words catching in my throat. I could feel my cheeks flush hot, a mix of embarrassment and something else I couldn’t quite name swirling in my chest.
“I-I’m sorry, Emma,” he stammered, his voice thick with shame. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean for it to—”
I cut him off with a gentle touch of my hand on his, the contact grounding us both in the moment. “It’s okay, Dad,” I reassured him, my voice soft but firm. “It’s okay. I understand. It’s been a long time since you’ve been close to anyone… I get it.” The words spilled out of me, a mix of understanding and a strange sense of comfort settling in the space between us.
“Doesn’t help when you kept saying help with the load and even if it’s hard. I am trying to compose myself I ain’t a perv honest.” he muttered, his voice barely audible as he tried to regain control of himself. I could feel the warmth of his body pressed against my back, and I knew that if I turned around, we would be staring directly into each other’s eyes. I chose to stay facing away from him.
I wanted to help him, I know that sounds bad. I rolled my bum against his crotch behind me. Grinding right into him tightly.
“Oh god sweetie don’t… don’t do that,” he said as he moaned as I continued to push into him and rolling my ass. I moved his hand from my hip and put it up my shirt and left his hand on one of my tits.
But my body had already answered for me, arching into his touch, seeking comfort in the taboo intimacy. “Dad,” I murmured back, turning to look at him fully in the dim light, my eyes searching his, “I know. But I want this. I want to help you, not out of pity, but because… because you need human touch. You need to feel wanted. Now have a good squeeze.”
“You ever bigger tits then your mums,” he chuckled as he played with my breasts I slid my underwear down and took them off. I threw them out of the bed and turned onto my back. I lifted my shirt to the top of my breasts and I pulled his head down to one of my tits.
Under the low glow of the streetlamp filtering through the window, I watched his eyes—dark with conflict, yet soft with a need that mirrored my own. His hand, hesitant at first, grew bolder, kneading my flesh gently. His chuckle was a low rumble against me as he teased about my development, a hint of fatherly pride mingled with the forbidden tension between us.
“You’ve grown up beautifully, Emma,” he murmured, his voice gruff with emotion. I felt the raw edge in his touch, the pent-up years of solitude, the yearning for connection. I reached to his boxers and pulled on the waistband and pulled them down just under his hairy balls. I grabbed his shaft and stroked him as he kissed and sucked my boobs.
His breath hitched as I stroked his cock, the rigid length pulsing in my palm, hot and eager. “Emma, this is—this is wrong,” he choked out, but his hips betrayed him, thrusting gently into my grasp. I pumped my hand up and down.
“Shhh,” I hushed him as my hand tugged away at his cock.
“Emma,” he groaned, his voice gravelly, “You’re… you’re all grown up, my god…” His hand finally, tentatively, cupped my mound, feeling the damp heat. His fingers brushed my clit, sending shivers down my spine.
His shaft felt thick as my hand wanked him off hard, “you like that dad, get on top of me if you want. Come on show me what you was doing to mum all those years ago.”
He rolled on top of me his hard cock just near my pussy, I grabbed his cock and guided him. The head of his sticky cock parting my labia. He pushed forward and my pussy started to take is cock inside of me.
I put my arms around him and on his ass as he slowly started to pump his cock in and out of my gash.
“Oh fuck,” he gasped, his voice breaking, his forehead pressed to mine, eyes locked with wonder. “You’re so damn tight, baby girl.”
I bit my lip, stifling a moan as his length went deeper, each inch a revelation. “Dad…” I whimpered, my nails digging into his back, urging him on. “More, please.”
His hips rolled, a primal, instinctive rhythm, and the air filled with the slick sounds of his cock sliding into my slick pussy, the squelch like a hungry mouth, devouring each stroke. “Emma, you feel… incredible,” he groaned, his voice raw and guttural, thick with need. His breath was hot against my ear as he hilted himself, filling me completely, his balls slapping a lewd rhythm against my ass with each thrust.
I writhed beneath him, the friction igniting sparks of pleasure that shot straight to my core. “Dad, oh God, don’t stop,” I gasped, my voice a breathless plea. The bed creaked in time with our urgent movements, a chorus to the slapping of skin, the wet schlick and squelch of his rod parting my folds. He was relentless, sinking into me, stretching me, the sound of our union a filthy harmony.
His fingers dug into my hips, holding me in place as he pounded, the sound of our bodies colliding, loud and unapologetic. “Fuck, baby, you’re gripping me so tight,” he growled, his pace quickening, the bed squealing in protest beneath us.
I reached down, feeling the slick heat of my cunt wrapped around his cock, the head slick with my arousal, and guided his hand. “Touch me, Dad… touch me like you used to touch Mom,” I begged, my voice lost to the erotic storm. His fingers found my clit, circling it with a knowing pressure, drawing out my moans into the night.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he grunted, his thumb tracing the sensitive nub, the wet hush of my pussy taking every inch of his dick. His mouth found my neck, sucking, biting, leaving marks of possession as his cock hammered into me, relentless, each plunge driving the breath from my lungs.
“Harder, Daddy,” I demanded, the taboo word on my lips spurring him on, driving him wild. He obliged, slamming into me with a ferocity that had me seeing stars, the headboard knocking against the wall in time with his fervent thrusts.
I arched, my back bowing as his cock hit that sweet spot, the one that made me cry out, “Yes, right there, Daddy!” The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the slap of his balls against my thighs a percussive beat to our frenzy.
He devoured my moans with his mouth, our tongues clashing in a desperate dance. My tits bounced with each pounding thrust, the nipples hard and aching for his touch. “Daddy, please,” I whimpered, needing more, needing everything.
He latched onto a nipple, sucking hard, a growl vibrating against my skin as I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper. I could feel his cock pulsing inside me, his breath ragged against my breast. “Emma, I’m… I’m gonna…” he warned, his voice a savage whisper.
“Yes, fill me!” I urged, squeezing my cunt around his length, milking him. He came with a guttural roar, his hot seed spilling inside, the sound of his release a wet, sloppy gush, his cock throbbing as it emptied.
And as his seed flooded me, his moans mingled with my own, the room filled with the visceral sounds of our climax—his cock pulsing deep inside, the sloppy, wet rhythm of his release. My walls clamped down on him, milking every last drop, the intimacy between us now irrevocably changed, yet somehow unbroken.
“Damn Emma, I shouldn’t have cum inside of you, are you ok” he said pulling his dick out of me.
His concern washed over me, a balm to the electric tension still thrumming in the air. “I’m on birth control, Dad,” I reassured him, my voice barely audible, still tingling from the aftershocks of our forbidden intimacy. “It’s okay… more than okay.”
The room hummed with the aftershocks of our climax, the quiet settling over us like a tender blanket after a storm. His seed trickled down my thigh, a warm, intimate reminder of what had just passed between us. My breaths came in uneven gasps, my heart thundering in my chest as Dad slowly withdrew, his cock slipping from the snug heat of my pussy with a lewd, wet sound, like the last note in a symphony of primal need. He rolled to the side, his eyes still locked with mine, a mixture of guilt and awe painted across his face.
“Emma, sweetie, I… I never wanted this,” he murmured, his voice heavy with regret, yet laced with a deep, undeniable affection. “But God, it felt right, so damn right being with you.”
I caught his hand, intertwining our fingers, and brought it to my lips, placing a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “Dad,” I whispered, my voice soft and filled with the same raw emotion, “it did. It was wrong, but it was what we needed. Connection. Understanding.”
He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving mine. “I love you, Emma. More than I can say.”
“I love you too, Dad,” I replied, the words simple yet charged with the weight of our history, the unspoken apologies, and the newfound intimacy.
His hand found my cheek, caressing it tenderly. “You’re incredible,” he said, the words a quiet confession, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I never imagined… but I’m glad you’re here.”
We lay there, the only sounds now the gentle hum of the refrigerator, the muted hush of our breaths, and the occasional thrum of a car passing by outside. The air was thick with the scent of our mingled arousal, a heady reminder of the taboo we’d crossed. Yet in his eyes, I saw a peace settle—a peace that had eluded him for so long, and I felt a similar calm wash over me.
Pulling the covers up, he cocooned us both in warmth, his arm wrapping protectively around me. “Sleep, baby girl,” he whispered, his voice a low, soothing melody. “We’ll figure out the rest of this… together.”
I nestled closer, my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, now steady and strong. The rhythm of it lulled me, a father’s lullaby after years of silence. I sighed, content, as he placed a gentle kiss atop my head.
“Promise me,” I murmured, my voice already fading into the tranquillity of sleep, “promise you’ll never leave again.”
“Promise.”