“Truth or dare, Emma?” Mike’s voice cut through the quiet of the living room, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Boys, honestly.
“Dare,” I drawled, crossing my legs slowly. My skirt, a little black number I knew he liked, hitched up just a touch higher, the slit doing its job. “Make it a good one, Mikey boy.” At eighteen, I was finally feeling confident, curves blooming in all the right places, and I wasn’t shy about showing them off, especially to my annoying but cute older brother.
“Okay, sis,” he began, a slow smirk spreading across his face. Oh no. This was the look that usually preceded some kind of ridiculousness.
I raised an eyebrow, already feeling a sliver of regret for my impulsive dare choice. “Oh no… what now?” I asked, leaning forward just a little. My low-cut top did its thing, and I could practically feel his eyes flick down, and then dart away awkwardly. Good. Distracted him nicely.
“Come on then, just spit it out, Mike,” I said, getting impatient with his dramatic pause and smirking. Seriously, just get on with it.
Mike’s smirk just widened the little pain in the ass. “Alright, alright. I dare you to stand on the coffee table and shout out the most embarrassing secret you have. Loud enough for the neighbours to hear.”
“Oh my god, really? That sounds way more like truth, and hello, I said dare,” I scoffed, folding my arms across my chest, which, naturally, pushed everything up and out even more. I sighed dramatically. “Come on, what else have you got? We’re home alone, it’s late, and I am not shouting some random secret for the whole street to hear.”
Mike leaned back on the couch, rolling his eyes like I was the dramatic one here. “Fine, fine, Miss Difficult. How about this… I dare you to chug your entire beer in one go. No stopping, no breathing, the whole shebang.”
I glanced down at the bottle of beer in my hand, the condensation cool against my fingers. “That’s it?” I scoffed, lifting the bottle to my lips. “Please, that’s child’s play.”
I tilted my head back and just went for it, downing the whole bottle in one long, steady gulp. It actually burned a little, but I was determined not to show it. Slamming the empty bottle down on the coffee table with a thump, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand with a bit more attitude than necessary.
As the night rolled on, we cracked open a few more, and things got a little hazy, a little louder, a little more giggly. That’s when the front door practically banged open, and our parents stumbled in. Dad was first, letting out a loud burp that echoed through the hallway as he tripped over his own feet and pretty much face-planted onto the couch. Mike and I just burst out laughing at the ridiculous sight of him sprawled out like that.
Mom followed in behind him, kicking off her heels with a dramatic sigh that spoke volumes. “Great. Another wild night for your father,” she muttered, shaking her head wearily. Then her eyes landed on us, and narrowed suspiciously. “Wait a second,” she said, her gaze sharp, even tired as she was. “Are you two drunk?”
Mike snorted, attempting and utterly failing to look sober. “Us? Drunk? Pfft. No way,” he slurred, which completely gave him away.
“Sober,” I chimed in, trying to sound as innocent as possible, but the slight hiccup that escaped me ruined the effect. “Totally sober.”
“Just… just make sure you clean up, okay?” Mom said, rubbing her temples. “I am off to bed. Early start tomorrow. Your dad can… well, sleep there,” she sighed, gesturing to the snoring lump on the couch. She just shook her head again and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Dad snoring away and us to our own devices.
Mike leaned over, nudging me with his elbow and grinning. “Well, that went better than expected, huh?”
I laughed, stretching my legs out on the already cluttered coffee table. “Yeah, she didn’t even yell. Guess we got lucky.”
He grabbed another beer from the table, the hiss of the cap echoing in the quiet room. “One more before bed?”
I smirked, grabbing one for myself. “Why not? Might as well celebrate getting away with it.” We clinked bottles and took a long swig, the comfortable silence settling back between us as the alcohol buzzed pleasantly in my veins.
Then, out of nowhere, Mike’s smirk returned, but this time it had a different edge to it, a mischievous glint in his eyes that made me instantly wary.
“Okay, new dare,” he said, leaning forward, his voice dropping a little.
“Oh no,” I groaned, already sensing this was going to be trouble. “I should have stuck with the truth.”
“Nope, dare it is. And this one… this one’s a good one.” He paused, drawing it out, and I could practically feel the suspense building. “I dare you to… go over there,” he nodded towards the couch where Dad was still snoring away, oblivious to the world, “and suck Dad off.”
My jaw actually dropped. “Mike! Are you insane?!” I whisper-yelled, glancing towards the hallway where Mom had disappeared. “That’s disgusting! That’s our dad!”
He just shrugged, taking another swig of his beer like it was no big deal. “Hey, a dare’s a dare, right? You said make it a good one.”
“Good doesn’t mean completely screwed up and wrong!” I argued, my voice rising despite myself. “There’s a line, Mike, and you just stomped all over it! I’m not doing that.”
He sighed, putting the bottle down on the table with a little clink. “Come on, Emma, don’t be such a wimp. It’s just a bit of fun. Think of the look on his face if he woke up!” He chuckled, but I was definitely not laughing.
“Fun for you, maybe! It’s completely messed up!” I crossed my arms, stubbornly refusing to even consider it. The thought alone made my stomach churn.
“Fine, fine,” Mike said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Look, don’t do it right here, right now. Too weird, even for me.” He paused, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous light. “But… later. When we’re all in bed. Sneak in, do it, and then sneak back out. No one needs to know it was me. Or you. Just… a little late-night surprise for dear old Dad. Dare still stands.”
I stared at him, my mind racing. It was still completely wrong, totally insane, but… the rebellious part of me, the part fueled by the alcohol and the thrill of the dare itself, started to whisper, “Maybe… maybe.”
“Absolutely not,” I said, shaking my head firmly, but even to my own ears, it lacked conviction.
He just smirked again, knowing he’d planted the seed. “Think about it, Emma. Dare’s a dare.” He leaned back, popping open another beer. “Night sis.”
“Night, Mike,” I mumbled, still reeling from the sheer audacity of the dare. Suck Dad off? It was beyond messed up. But… not in front of Mike. That would be even more weird. And somehow, doing it secretly, in the dark… that felt… different. Wrong, definitely, but… different. Maybe… just maybe… I’d think about it. But definitely not in front of Mike. That was just plain creepy.
Later that night I crept downstairs, dad was on the couch snoring his head off. I took a deep breath and adjusted one of Dad’s legs so I could get close. What the fuck am I doing?
I unzipped his pants and put my hand in the fly and into his briefs and took out his limp dick. God, it felt weird touching my dad’s dick. I wrapped my hand around it, not sure if it did anything with him being out of it.
Shit I am really doing this, I pumped my hand up and down as I heard quiet whimpering coming from him.
I pumped my hand up and down as I heard quiet whimpering coming from him. His whimpering got louder and turned into soft moans, and I could feel his dick thickening in my hand. Oh god, was he waking up? Panic flared in my chest, but a strange thrill mixed with it, keeping me rooted to the spot.
His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then slowly, they sharpened, locking onto me. My heart leapt into my throat. He was awake. And staring right at me. His gaze travelled down, down to where my hand was still moving rhythmically around his hardening cock, and then back up to my face. His expression shifted from sleepy confusion to something unreadable, a mixture of shock and… something else. Was that… arousal?
He didn’t say anything for a long, drawn-out moment, just continued to stare, his breathing becoming heavier. I froze, my hand still around him, not knowing what to do, trapped like a deer in headlights.
Then, a low groan escaped his lips, and he reached out a hand, not to push me away, but to gently cup the back of my head, his fingers threading into my hair. “Emma?” he murmured, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep. My name sounded strange, and intimate, coming from his lips in this situation.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. My mind was a whirlwind of shock, fear, and a bizarre, unwelcome flicker of… excitement. This was insane. Completely, utterly insane.
He shifted slightly on the couch, his other hand coming up to rest on my back, just above my hip. His touch was surprisingly gentle, yet it sent a shiver through me. He was awake now, and definitely… reacting. And not in the way I expected.
“What are you…?” he started, his voice still husky, but then trailed off. His eyes were fixed on mine, and I saw a flicker of something intense in them, something I’d never seen before. It was like… hunger.
“I…” I started to stammer, trying to pull back, to explain, to anything that could make this less mortifying, but his hand tightened on my head, holding me in place.
“No, don’t stop,” he breathed, the words barely audible. “God, Emma…” He groaned again, a deeper sound this time, and his hips arched slightly off the couch, pushing into my hand.
My breath hitched. He liked it. He actually liked it. A wave of disorientation washed over me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t part of the dare, or… anything. This was wrong. So wrong.
But… a tiny, rebellious voice whispered in the back of my mind, a voice fueled by the alcohol still buzzing in my veins and the sheer audacity of the situation, “Maybe… maybe not?”
He reached down, his fingers brushing against mine on his cock, and gently guiding my hand. “Like that,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, his breathing quicker. “Yeah, like that…”
My hand moved again, following his unspoken direction. It was surreal. Touching my dad like this, feeling him respond, his moans growing louder, more insistent. This was so far off the rails.
“Your mother…” he gasped suddenly, his eyes widening slightly. “God, your mother hasn’t… hasn’t touched me like this in ages. Doesn’t let me… anything.” He trailed off again, his focus completely consumed by the sensations I was – unexpectedly – eliciting.
He reached out again, his hand now moving to my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin lightly. “Emma,” he said my name again, softer this time, almost a plea. “It feels… amazing.”
He stopped me then, gently but firmly taking my hand away from him. Relief and a strange sense of disappointment warred within me. Had I actually been enjoying… this?
He sat up slowly, groaning slightly, and looked down at me, his eyes still glazed with arousal, but now with a definite question in them. “What… what are you doing, Emma?” he asked, his voice still thick, but clearer now.
I opened my mouth to try and explain, to blurt out something about the dare, about Mike, about anything that could make this even remotely make sense. But the words wouldn’t come. Shame and confusion choked me.
He reached out, his hand ghosting along my arm, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin. Instead of waiting for an answer, he leaned forward, his gaze intense. Then, gently, he pushed me back against the couch cushions.
“Dad, what are you…?” I finally managed to whisper, my voice trembling. I tried to push him away, but he was heavier than I expected, his body pinning me down.
He didn’t answer, just continued to look at me, his eyes roaming over my face, and my neck, lingering on the exposed skin of my chest above my low-cut top. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached down and lifted the hem of my nightie.
Panic flared again, hotter this time, sharper. “Dad, no! Stop!” I protested, my voice rising in pitch.
He ignored me, his movements smooth and strangely assured. He reached under my nightie, finding the elastic of my panties, and with a swift tug, pulled them to the side, exposing me completely.
My breath hitched in my throat. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Not my dad. Not like this.
Then, I felt it. The blunt head of his cock, hard and hot, pressed against my most sensitive spot. He positioned himself between my legs, and with a slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside me.
A sharp gasp escaped my lips. It stung, a sudden, surprising pain, but underneath it, even as shock and horror ripped through me, a different sensation bloomed. A hot, pulsing throb that resonated deep in my core. Pleasure, terrifyingly intertwined with the wrongness of it all.
“Oh my god,” I breathed, the words barely more than a whisper, a stunned, disbelieving exclamation. My body, traitorously, was already starting to react.
He was inside me. My dad. Inside me. This wasn’t how truth or dare was supposed to go down at all.
I couldn’t believe it was happening. My dad’s cock was buried inside me, stretching me in a way that made my whole body tense up and tremble at the same time. The initial sting was fading, replaced by this hot, pulsing ache that hit me right in the gut. I should’ve been screaming, pushing him off, running upstairs to lock my door and pretending this was some fucked-up dream. But I wasn’t. I was pinned under him on this shitty old couch, my nightie bunched up around my hips, my panties shoved to the side, and my thighs shaking as he started to move.
“Oh fuck,” I gasped, the words slipping out before I could stop them. His hips rocked forward, slow at first, like he was testing me, seeing how much I could take. And god, it felt… it felt wrong, but that wrongness twisted into something else, something dirty and wild that made my breath catch in my throat. I could hear him groaning above me, low and rough, like he’d been holding this in for years. Maybe he had. He said Mom hadn’t touched him in forever, and now here I was, his eighteen-year-old daughter, taking it all.
“Emma, shit,” he growled, his voice thick with something primal. His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging into my skin hard enough to leave marks, and he thrust deeper. My head tipped back against the cushions, a loud moan ripping out of me before I could bite it back. “Ohhh, fuck, Dad!” It was too much—too full, too intense—and my body was reacting on its own, hips twitching up to meet him even as my brain screamed at me to stop.
He didn’t slow down. If anything, my moaning just spurred him on. His pace picked up, each thrust harder than the last, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the living room. I could feel every inch of him, thick and hot, sliding in and out, hitting spots inside me I didn’t even know existed. My pussy clenched around him, wet and needy, and I hated how good it felt. Hated it and loved it all at once.
“Goddamn, you’re tight,” he muttered, his breath hot against my neck as he leaned down closer. His stubble scratched my skin, and I shivered, my hands flying up to grab his shoulders. I didn’t know if I was trying to push him away or pull him in deeper, but my nails dug into his shirt anyway, clawing at him as another groan spilt from my lips. “Ughhh, yes, harder!”
He obliged. Fuck, did he oblige? His hips slammed into me now, relentlessly, like he was unloading every pent-up frustration he’d ever had. The couch creaked under us, Dad’s snores from earlier replaced by these guttural grunts that matched the rhythm of his thrusts. My legs spread wider on instinct, thighs trembling as I took him deeper, the pressure building low in my belly until I thought I’d explode.
“Ohhh shit, ohhh fuck,” I whimpered, my voice breaking as the pleasure crashed over me in waves. My clit throbbed every time his pelvis ground against it, sending jolts up my spine that made my toes curl. I could feel sweat beading on my chest, dripping down between my tits, my nightie sticking to me as I writhed under him. “Dad, I—fuck, I can’t—” I didn’t even know what I was trying to say. My head was spinning, lost in the heat and the filth of it all.
He shifted, grabbing one of my legs and hitching it up over his shoulder. The angle changed, and holy shit, it was like he hit something deep inside me that made my whole body jerk. “Ahhh! Yes, there, right there!” I cried out, loud enough that I was sure Mom would hear if she wasn’t already passed out. But I didn’t care anymore. I was too far gone, moaning and groaning like some porn star as he fucked me senseless.
His cock was relentless, pounding into me with this wet, sloppy sound that only made it hotter. I could feel my pussy dripping, soaking the couch beneath me, my juices slicking his shaft every time he pulled back. His balls slapped against my ass with every thrust, heavy and full, and I wondered—god help me—I wondered what it’d feel like when he came. Because he was going to, wasn’t he? Years of frustration, like he said, all building up to this.
“Emma, fuck, you feel so good,” he rasped, his voice shaking now. His hands slid up my body, shoving my nightie higher until my tits bounced free, nipples hard and aching in the cool air. He grabbed one, squeezing it rough, his thumb flicking over the peak, and I arched into him with a desperate, “Ohhh, yes!” My whole body was on fire, every nerve screaming as he fucked me harder, deeper, chasing his release.
I could tell he was close. His thrusts got erratic and sloppy, his breathing ragged as he groaned louder. “Shit, Emma, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—” He didn’t finish the sentence, just slammed into me one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. I felt it then—his cock pulsing inside me, hot spurts of cum flooding my pussy, thick and sticky as it coated my walls. He groaned long and low, his whole body shuddering above me, and I couldn’t help it—I came too.
“Fuuuck!” I screamed, my voice raw as my orgasm hit me like a freight train. My pussy clamped down around him, milking every last drop as I shook beneath him, thighs quivering, hands clawing at his back. Pleasure ripped through me, white-hot and blinding, and I moaned so loud it echoed off the walls—drawn-out, shameless, “Ohhhh god, ohhhh fuck, Dad!”
He collapsed on top of me, panting hard, his weight pinning me down as we both came down from it. His cock was still inside me, softening now, and I could feel the mess—his cum mixed with mine, leaking out around him, dripping down my thighs onto the couch. My chest heaved, tits rising and falling as I tried to catch my breath, my mind a hazy blur of shock and satisfaction.
“Jesus, Emma,” he muttered after a minute, his voice hoarse. He lifted his head, looking down at me with this dazed, almost reverent expression. “That was… fuck, that was incredible.”
I just nodded, too wrecked to speak, my body still buzzing from the aftershocks. I should’ve felt guilty. I should’ve been horrified. But all I could think about was how hard I’d just come, how he’d fucked me like he’d been starving for it. And maybe… maybe I had to.
He shifted, pulling out slowly, and I whimpered at the loss, my pussy clenching around nothing. His cum followed, a warm trickle that pooled beneath me, and I could smell it—musky, sharp, mixed with the scent of my own arousal. He sat back, running a hand through his hair, still breathing heavily as he stared at me—my flushed face, my trembling legs, my soaked, messy cunt still on display.
“Guess that’s one way to get rid of frustration,” he said with a rough chuckle, and I couldn’t help it—I laughed too, a shaky, disbelieving sound. What the fuck had we just done?