The summer air was heavy with the scent of salt and sunscreen, clinging to my skin even hours after we’d left the beach. Mom had spent the day lounging under a striped umbrella with her oversized sunglasses, flipping through the latest thriller. Dad, of course, had commandeered a kayak for half the morning, calling out to me to join him, while I pretended not to hear from my perch on the sand.
“Kelly, are you sure you’re okay just sitting there?”
Mom’s voice carried over the gentle crashing of waves.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I called back, not bothering to look up.
I was trying to disappear into my own world—earbuds in, music up. The problem with family vacations is that they make you feel like a kid again, no matter how close you are to being an adult. Dad’s enthusiasm for snorkelling and Mom’s insistence on dragging us to tacky gift shops were sweet in their way, but it felt suffocating sometimes.
Dinner that night was at some touristy seafood place. Mom insisted on splitting a lobster plate “for the experience,” while Dad debated the merits of fried shrimp versus grilled, loudly enough that the waiter had to stifle a laugh. I sat there poking at my salad, wishing for something simple, like a burger or pizza.
“Kelly, you’ve hardly touched your food,” Dad said, frowning.
“I’m not that hungry,” I replied, twirling a piece of lettuce on my fork.
The truth was, I felt restless. I wanted space, and freedom. I wanted to be eighteen and not the awkward, half-adult daughter stuck navigating family dynamics in a place that wasn’t mine.
Back at the hotel, I excused myself early.
“I’m going to take a swim,” I told them, grabbing a towel.
“Don’t stay out too late,” Mom said.
The pool was quiet, the water still except for the ripples I made slipping in. The hotel lights cast a shimmering glow, bouncing off the surface like tiny stars. I floated on my back, staring up at the real ones, feeling the tension of the day finally ease. It was peaceful, almost meditative, and for the first time all day, I felt like myself.
By the time I got out, my limbs were heavy with exhaustion. I padded back to the room, leaving faint wet footprints on the carpeted hallway. Inside, the room was dark except for the faint glow of Dad’s iPad on the nightstand. He was already asleep, glasses askew, while Mom’s side of the bed was empty. She must’ve gone down to the lobby or something.
Too tired to fuss, I rummaged through my suitcase, pulling out the first clean things I could find—a soft T-shirt and a pair of cotton panties. I’d change into proper pyjamas later, I thought, collapsing onto the bed in the tiny cot wedged against the window. But the second my head hit the pillow, I was out.
The room was cool, the faint hum of the air conditioner lulling me into a deeper sleep.
Then I felt it.
The mattress shifted slightly, dipping behind me. A warm presence settled into the bed, and I felt the faint tug of the covers as they moved. My half-asleep brain registered it lazily—Mom must have finally come back.
“Mm,” I murmured, not bothering to open my eyes.
The figure stilled, their breathing even and soft. I drifted back into the haze of sleep, thinking nothing of it.
I couldn’t believe what was happening. After a long, exhausting day of activities, I decided to take a late-night swim in the hotel pool to unwind. When I was finished, I was too tired to dig through my suitcase to find something to sleep in, so I simply threw on a clean T-shirt and a fresh pair of panties. I had intended to change into my pyjamas later, but I ended up falling asleep on the bed in my parent’s hotel room before I had the chance.
I was lying there, my body exposed and vulnerable, when I felt someone climb into bed behind me. I assumed it was my mom, and I didn’t think anything of it. But then I felt something hard and thick pressing against my ass, and I realized with a shock that it wasn’t my mom at all – it was my dad.
I tried to say something, to let him know that it was me, not my mom, but before I could get the words out, he had already pulled down my panties, exposing my bare ass and wet pussy. I was too shocked and scared to move or say anything as I felt him slide his hard, thick cock inside me.
I couldn’t believe what was happening – my own father was spooning me, he was actually fucking me, thinking I was my mom. I wanted to scream, to push him away, but I was too terrified to do anything. I just lay there, frozen, as he pumped in and out of me, grunting and moaning with pleasure.
His cock felt enormous inside me, and I could feel every inch of it as he thrust deeper and deeper. I couldn’t help but moan as he fucked me, my body betraying me even as my mind screamed in protest. I couldn’t believe this was happening, but I couldn’t deny the pleasure that was building inside me. I could feel my pussy getting wetter and wetter with each of his thrust. The sound of our wet sex echoed in the room, sloppy and dirty.
I tried to hold back, to resist the orgasm that was threatening to overwhelm me, but it was too strong. I came hard, my pussy clenching around my dad’s cock as he continued to fuck me. I could hear the sound of my pussy juices being slapped around by his cock.
My dad pumped and pumped, his balls slapping against my clit as he grunted, shooting his thick ropes of cum deep inside my pussy. When he finally finished, pulling out of me and collapsing on the bed beside me. I quickly pulled up my panties, I tried to process what had just happened. I couldn’t believe my own father had just fucked me, thinking I was my mom. I didn’t know what to do or who to tell. I was trapped in a nightmare that I couldn’t escape. He was soon asleep like he just fucked me and nods right off, I quietly got out of bed and went to my own room.
I didn’t tell anyone about this, I kept it a secret, I couldn’t face the shame and humiliation of what had happened. I tried to put it out of my mind, but every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel my dad’s cock inside me, and I knew that I would never be able to forget. The smell of sex lingered in the room, a constant reminder of what had happened. My pussy was sore and used, a reminder of the incestuous act that had taken place. I couldn’t help but touch myself, replaying the events in my mind, feeling his cum leak out of me. I was trapped in a cycle of shame and pleasure, and I didn’t know how to break free.
Note: This story is a work of fiction and is not meant to be taken as real. It contains incestuous themes and is intended for mature audiences only.