It was Sunday morning, and the insistent rapping on the door shattered the fragile peace of my apartment. I dragged myself towards it, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. It had been almost a year since I’d last seen Lily, my nineteen-year-old daughter. A year filled with the relentless grind of work and the uphill battle against the ever-present darkness of my depression. She lived with her mothers, and our lives had simply…drifted apart.
I pulled the door open, and the sight that greeted me sent a jolt of pure shock through my system. There she was, Lily, looking so much older than I remembered, a suitcase planted firmly at her feet. Her usually vibrant face seemed subdued, her bright eyes clouded with a worry that tugged at my gut.
“Lily? What…what are you doing here, honey?” I stammered, my mind racing, desperately trying to catch up. My tiny apartment was a disaster zone – remnants of a forgotten breakfast still littered the coffee table, a testament to my ongoing struggle to simply function.
She shifted, her gaze darting around, avoiding my eyes. “Hi, Dad,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. “Can I…can I come in?”
Of course, she could come in. “Absolutely, come in, come in!” I stepped back, gesturing her inside. The air suddenly felt thick with unspoken words. The delicate floral scent of her perfume, a fragrance so unfamiliar to my stale, musty existence, filled the cramped space.
She hesitated just inside the doorway, the suitcase a solid barrier between us. “Sorry about the mess,” I mumbled, instantly regretting the apology. It sounded weak, and pathetic. And it was the first thing I’d said to my daughter in a year.
Finally, she looked up, her green eyes, so strikingly like her mother’s, searching mine. “It’s okay, Dad. Really, don’t worry about it.” But I saw it – a flicker of something in her expression, a fleeting shadow of concern, or perhaps disappointment. I couldn’t quite decipher it.
“So…” I rubbed the back of my neck, acutely aware of the faded stain on my t-shirt. “Is everything alright? You okay? With…your moms?”
She moved further into the living room, the suitcase landing with a quiet thud. “Things…aren’t great, Dad. Not really.” She took a deep, shaky breath, and I noticed the tremor in her hands.
My heart lurched. This wasn’t just a casual visit. This was something far more serious. The depression, a constant hum in the background, amplified, becoming a deafening roar. I wasn’t equipped to handle this. I could barely manage my own life, let alone be the father she needed.
“What’s wrong, Lily? You can tell me,” I said, trying to inject a note of reassurance into my wavering voice. I pulled out the least offensive chair from the kitchen table and offered it to her.
She sat down slowly, her eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears. “Can I stay here for a while, Dad? Please?”
The question resonated in the air, a simple plea laden with unspoken anxieties, hopes, and fears. Panic surged through me. My cramped apartment, my chaotic life, my own fragile state of mind…could I really do this?
But then I looked at her, at the vulnerable young woman who was my daughter, and I knew there was only one answer.
“Of course, you can stay,” I said, my voice stronger this time, imbued with a resolve I hadn’t felt in months. “You can stay as long as you need to.”
Her face crumbled, and tears streamed down her cheeks. I knelt in front of her, took her hand, and squeezed it tight. “Tell me what’s going on, Lily. Let’s figure this out together.”
And in that moment, something shifted within me. The depression didn’t vanish, but it felt…lighter. I had a purpose again. I had my daughter, and she needed me. My own needs would have to wait. It was time to be a dad.
“Can we talk about it later, Dad? I’ve been travelling since 5 AM,” she said, relief washing over her face. She grabbed her suitcase and headed towards the spare room.
“Of course, honey,” I replied, a wave of relief washing over me that I didn’t have to delve into the deep end right this second. “Get settled in. Make yourself at home. There’s… uh… probably not much to eat, but we can order something later?” My pathetic attempt at hospitality hung in the air, but Lily simply nodded, a tired smile gracing her lips.
Later that afternoon, I ventured into the living room. Lily was sprawled on the couch, clad in just panties and a t-shirt. She was watching TV, seemingly lost in her own world. She looked so thin.
I cleared my throat, suddenly intensely uncomfortable. “Hey, Lily, are you comfortable? Want me to, uh, close the blinds? You’ve… you’ve grown up a lot.” I gestured vaguely towards the window, hoping she’d pick up on my awkwardness. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Lily glanced down at her attire, a slight blush creeping up her neck. “Oh, sorry, Dad. Just…comfy.” She pulled the blanket she was snuggled under a little higher, covering more of her legs. “Yeah, the blinds would be good, thanks. I might actually go for a bath, Dad.”
“Absolutely, honey. Clean towels are in the laundry room,” I replied, forcing a smile as she left the room.
A few minutes later, a nagging thought struck me. I needed to warn her about the boiler; it had a tendency to get scalding hot without warning. I headed towards the laundry room, intending to catch her before she got in the bath.
I reached the doorway, ready to speak, but the words died in my throat. Lily was standing there, her back to me. She hadn’t seen me. She reached up and pulled her t-shirt over her head, revealing her bare back and the delicate curve of her spine. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Then, with a fluid motion, she slid her panties down her legs.
I froze, paralyzed by a mixture of shock and an undeniable, unwanted arousal. I should leave. I needed to leave.
But I couldn’t move.
Suddenly, she turned, and her eyes widened in horror as she saw me standing there.
“Omg, Dad! W-what are you doing?” she gasped, her hands instinctively flying up to cover her breasts, her small, pale body trembling.
“Oh, God, Lily, I’m so sorry. I was coming to tell you about the boiler and…” I stammered, mortified.
She cut me off, her gaze darting downwards, a strange, almost calculating look in her eyes.
“And you’re getting hard over me. You’re honestly getting hard over me,” she said, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.
“No, no, of course not,” I stammered, my voice cracking. But it was no use. The evidence was undeniable.
She took a step towards me, closing the distance between us, her naked body inches from mine.
“Obviously, you want this. Look at you,” she whispered, her hand reaching out and closing around my crotch, her fingers wrapping around my erection through my jogging bottoms.
I grabbed her wrists, gently but firmly pulling her hands away. “Lily! Stop. This isn’t right.”
“Oh, so spying on me getting undressed is right, though, is it?” she retorted, her eyes flashing with anger and something else I couldn’t quite name.
Then, she dropped to her knees, her eyes locked on mine, and, without a word, she reached for the drawstring of my pants.
I gasped, a mixture of shock, horror, arousal, and utter disbelief flooding my senses. This couldn’t be happening. My own daughter…doing this?
She pulled them down with my boxers and my cock sprang out solid hard. She sucked the cock head and then started bobbing her head up and down.
“Ahh fuck Lily, your killing me darling,” I moaned as I hadn’t got any action in a long while so my balls were heavy.
Her mouth was hot, wet, shockingly skilled. A primal groan escaped my lips, a sound I hadn’t made in years, maybe ever, in this context. My hands were frozen at my sides, useless, paralyzed between the instinct to push her away and the burgeoning pleasure that was clawing its way through my shock.
Her tongue danced around the ridge of my glans, sending shivers down my spine. The pressure was exquisite, agonizingly good. I looked down at her, her blonde hair a curtain around my groin, her eyes locked on mine with unnerving intensity, even as her mouth worked me with a practised ease that belied her nineteen years.
“Lily…” I managed to gasp, my voice thick with disbelief and a growing desperation for release. My legs were trembling, barely holding me upright. The blood was pounding in my ears, drowning out the everyday hum of my depression, replacing it with a different kind of roaring – the roar of pure, unfiltered lust.
She didn’t stop. If anything, she seemed to intensify her efforts, her grip tightening, her suction increasing. The throbbing in my cock became a fiery pulse, each movement of her mouth driving me closer to the edge. I could feel my control slipping, the lines blurring between right and wrong, father and daughter, sanity and madness.
My fingers twitched, yearning to bury themselves in her hair, to guide her, to deepen the pleasure, but the taboo, the sheer wrongness of it, held me captive. Yet, there was a part of me, a dark, shameful part, that was screaming for more, that was reveling in this forbidden intimacy. It was like a twisted dream, horrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
“You like this, don’t you, Dad?” she mumbled around my shaft, her voice muffled but clear, laced with a strange mixture of defiance and something almost…triumphant. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, a challenge.
And she was right. God help me, she was right. Beneath the layer of disgust and self-loathing, there was a raw, undeniable thrill. The pleasure was too intense to ignore, too overwhelming to resist. My body was betraying me, screaming its desires while my mind was still reeling in disbelief.
I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensations, trying to block out the image of who was doing this to me, the reality of the situation. Her mouth was a furnace, her tongue a flame, licking and swirling, pushing me further and further into the red zone.
My breathing became ragged, shallow gasps. My back arched, muscles tensed. I could feel the build-up, the pressure mounting, the imminent release. “Lily… I…” I choked out, unable to form coherent words.
Suddenly, she pulled back slightly, just for a moment, enough to look up at me again, her lips glistening with my precum, her green eyes burning with that same unsettling intensity. “Almost there, Daddy?” she whispered, the endearment twisted, corrupted, yet strangely…arousing in this context.
And then, she plunged back down, deeper this time, taking more of me into her mouth, her hand now reaching up and squeezing my balls, adding another layer of exquisite torture.
The world exploded. A guttural cry tore from my throat as I came, a torrent of release, a spasm of pure, unadulterated pleasure. I bucked against her mouth, helpless, consumed by the wave of sensation. My cum shot deep into her mouth, hot and thick.
She swallowed it all.
When it was over, I stood there panting, leaning slightly against the doorframe, my body trembling, my head spinning. Lily slowly straightened up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze fixed on the floor. The silence in the laundry room was thick, suffocating, charged with unspoken emotions and the weight of what had just transpired.
She finally looked up at me, her expression unreadable, a mask of cool detachment replacing the seductive fire from moments before. “There,” she said, her voice flat, almost bored. “Feel better now, Dad?”