Idk about you but I'm thinking Uncle Leon or Dante whose the family drunk and loves his niece because she's the only one that doesn't yell/treat him like shit and he makes sure she really knows how much he loves her (｡♡‿♡｡)
YEAH!!!!! ANON HI KISSES YOU… I can see Uncle Leon giving you a special treatment, like spoiling you rotten cause he wants to keep you to himself. Like the only good thing in his life, why wouldn’t he let you go?? While uncle Dante would be so much ickier than Leon though…. More handsy and direct with his intentions. But yeh, they both love her so much, to the point they try to keep her with them and they depend toooo much on her. A day without a message and they are already crushing out 🙂↕️
Under cut tw: incest, ddlg, cockwarming
Leon would buy you expensive stuff and watch her wear it - he can’t help himself and he gets sooo hard too, for him this is a way to leave a mark on her :3 or when he gets too drunk so he tries to find an alone moment with his favorite niece. To touch her, to nose the skin of her neck while trying to press his half hard cock in between her thighs, enjoying the feeling of their plushness around his sensitive cock. Probably ruined some shorts too cause he’d lost himself and ends up to cum on her. Then he’d be a guilty mess, post nut clarity and all that shit. For some days he’d avoid her gaze or interacting with her while swearing this is the last time - but she is still so nice and good to him, he can’t help but repeat that cycle again :3
Dante, I think, he’d be so icky like…. Always sitting next to her or just making weird comments about her body, even worse when he is drunk. Would try to invite his niece to his place most of the times, like he has free beer and pizza so why would she refuse the offer? Also I need to push uncle Dante ddlg agenda, cause I know this man would get off of her calling him daddy and it would push him to be a little bit better; taking care of her, but still end up drinking his mind off on random afternoon and she ends up in his lap, cockwarming him like a good girl :3
Sucking dad Leon dick and you see flash above your head bc your old man will make future pornstar out of you. His fingers would angle your head, pulling out to nestle his dick on your lips for a brief photoshoot before shoving it down your throat
Omg yes!!! Him waking up in the middle of the night, a wet warmth around his crotch beneath the blanket in simple words your mouth. caressing and patting your head to keep your head firmer against his twitching dick while a pool of drool slowly trickles down:3
A routine atp bc you can’t live without his dick at all and he uses this a lot in his advantage; only skirt for easy use in public, while you’d cling on his lap he’d slip his dick inside you :3 pussy or ass it depends on the day, but he lovessss slipping it inside you and feel it slowly getting harder
sending this hoping ur reqs are open im so sorry if they’re not !!
can i req reader seducing dad leon while mom is still somewhere in the house? slowly pulling up your skirt (or maybe you’re wearing his shirt and it’s too big on you), spreading your legs for him, etc., in their room/marital bed? whether or not it’s the first time dad!leon and reader have had sex i leave up to u both routes are sooo scrumptious
haiiii my reqs are always open dw dear and omg this is so yum i was so happy to receive this!!!! i hope i did the justice to this tbh ngl o: i had in mind di Leon ngl lol!!! happy fathers day to our dad :3
WHORE DISCIPLE
Leon S Kennedy x female reader | MDNI!! 18+ | dead dove do not eat, incest, dad-daughter incest, smut, porn without plot, female reader, conflicted emotions, infidelity, fingering, vaginal sex, loss of virginity, unsafe sex, teasing, obsession, he is sweet, dirty talk, petnames, sorry for mistakes lol.
Win a lotto. Your mom hit a real jackpot with your dad — your friend told you with a dreamy sigh.
He is straight out of hottest titled porn. A chiseled jaw with stubble sprinkled grazes your skin akin to a fresh cut grass after every kiss. Especially vulnerable to the tickle that comes with it, a trilling giggle escapes whenever your skin presses against him in a quick, accidental kiss. It makes your pussy wet — a real deal. A real pussy eater jaw, would make you moan dad more! plenty.
A real man. As much as one can be, your personal guilty pleasure. A quixotic wet dream, haunts you whenever another dark blonde man, adorned by crow feet, ravages a new pussy on your screen. A girl with the most cake; you want it all. Long legged cuties spread their legs for every type of cock; imitating their smeared expression by spit and sperm, taking notes of arch and overexcited movements. And a skirt perfect enough to flash your heart-shaped butt. Learning from the best. You are going to be a much better lover than your mom is. Louder, prettier, with your cunt as expressive as your eyes are. Leon just doesn't know that yet.
Not only this, but other knowledge slips through his fingers like sand. A constant vague hunger, a food unrelated one — touch starved, your clit throbs whenever he is in your eyesight. The morning coffee caprice vanishes and the sausage grows chewy dry, keyed up on the chair.
You drag him into predicaments a father wouldn't find himself in, normally. A family dinner doesn't go without his fingers amidst your plush thighs, while your mom's mouth is chewing onto quick made dinner. That's a family dinner, not a fucking porn scenario. In his defense, he is a simple man, and you guided him there! A father is not supposed to have pictures of your perky tits on his phone either; happy Father's Day, dad! Oops! That was just a mistake, dad! — your excuse, a gift for Father's Day. He promised to delete them (he never did).
In his defense, a daughter is not supposed to blueball her own dad. Nor tossing around your lacy underwear your mom doesn't wear, Leon bought them all with you on his rare holiday, freshly soaked with your slick leaving a trail lasting whole day on his fingertips. Even non present, you haunt him in pictures hanging on the walls of the house. A hand on his thigh (too close to his dick) every family picture can't be without a touch.
What's his is yours.
And his shirts. They disappear with a suspicious frequency, the stereotypical jealous wife would have the most picturesque fantasy; a possible lover. A faceless woman, red wine coloured nails on the waifish fingers, loosely hung on his shoulder in a cocktail dress, ebony eyelashes that bat away any worry in a man's heart. Young and driven by caprice, soaking herself in the perfume before the rendezvous — a valid explanation for Leon to reek in cherry notes. Instead, a red squared bottle, on the sink of your bathroom, emanates that cloyingness, your pajama consists in his shirts — naturally doubts don't exist inside your mother's heart. Just affectionate. Daddy's girl. Through and through. To bone marrow.
Freud would have a field day with you. Penis envy is bullshit, the coke fried brain conjures nonsense treated as a fact if it is from a man. Your mother is envious of you, not vice versa. As a matter of fact, it is evident by her gaze hopping up and down across your figure, lips separate in a loud smack; you look like a whore, dress up nicely, don't bring shame to my name.
A Givenchy wouldn't look like a rug on you. Birkin wouldn't cheapen your outfit either. She doesn't deserve that. There will be no kids clinging to your hip — no fucking way, your dad doesn't need another baby while he has you. Envious of slipped youth by popping a baby, envious of your perky boobs that will never be tainted by pregnancy, and a pussy that would get him hooked worse than a heroin.
It is going to be. You will make it sure. Well, made it sure. An urgent notification from your mom popping on his screen is enough to urge him into bedroom, pretty obvious despite his following-lady-lead-is-not-my-style bullshit, ring coiled around his finger is the most normalcy he could ever get.
Instead, the sight in front of him jumped off a tacky fantasy. A garnish Hitchockian, cool platinum blonde femme fatale on the book cover one would find on the shelves of a lonely lady with blue eyeshadow and grey roots peeking out; you just lack a red satin robe. With a loose deep cut. And you are not blonde.
Nonplussed, forced to meet your eyes, being half of your mother, Leon clearly hasn't gone mad to confuse you with her. Yet at least. Like a pretty gift in his shirt, you are sitting on the same bed he conceived you. And Leon is too aware for his own good about the throbbing dick beneath his jeans.
"What are you doing here?" Leon asks, uncertain if he even wants to hear the answer.
"Waiting for you." The fabric slowly pulls up by your two fingers, legs spread in front of his glued eyes to your walking digits. A peek of your pussy, until it is on full display; slick drips across your lips. Jesus Christ, so alone, needy with throbbing clit waiting for your dad. Stop Leon, this is your daughter. Vulnerable, like a newborn puppy.
A hard swallow, tensed lips. "You need to dress up, before your mom comes here," Leon says, hand resting on doorknob this close to turn and leave the room. "I'll bring you clothes."
"No-no-nonono!" You trill. "Dad, please, stay! Please, please, please or I'll scream."
"Scream?" His hand drags across his face, in hope it would wipe the growing weariness. Your dad is not a stupid man, otherwise he'd be your birthday's gift soaked in formalin. Lost Cherry by Tom Ford.
"…You can't do this to me, and I can't do this to you, pumpkin," Leon says plaintively. To your mom too. But that fades as quick as the floor creaks before he stops himself from stepping closer. "And your mom can enter any time."
"I am not asking a lot."
"Missy, you are trying to bite more than you can chew."
A loud pop, like from a lollipop, falls from your heart-shaped lips. Not so different from your gaze (Leon swears to god your pupils form hearts) immersed by tracing his figure before lingering on his groin. It gave you answers to every existing question in your pretty little head.
The outline of his dick is embodied. Not hiding struggles against the fabric of his jeans, harder than he has ever been. As much as Viagra is a good AED for whiskey dick — a dry sex in the dark with your mom cancels its effect.
"I don't think mama would be happy about this though." Your head nods towards his hard dick. "Aaand, you can always lock the door," you add simply.
Innocently staring at him, this is a joke he swears to god. A terrible one. A good father would wash your mouth, maybe slap this nonsense out of you. Click! In the heaving silence to his sensitive ears it felt like a full blast; probably echoing across every angle of the house, just a second your mom's footsteps have to ring next. Instead there is nothing. The door is locked. Only a mellifluous giggle slips out of you, amused by your father's standing like a useless dildo.
"Can't believe I've been raising a whore of a daughter all this time." Lower lips juts out which gets kissed away as soon as it appears.
"I am not!"
"Then who? Your mother?" Leon asks. His hand settled amidst your plush thighs, fingers run across your pussy savoring clinging slick to his skin. Carefully, it dips inside your leaking warmth, forcing your eyelashes flutter at a thick digit slowly thrusting inside your squeezing walls.
His lips distract your body from hypothetical painful stretch around his digit. Exquisite. His kisses are always. With no space for you, peppering them all over your face, leaving a trail of sparkling marks. Suffocating, drunkens your senses. His stubble tickles you to sink deeper into the bed with a muffled creak. Sheets susurrate by your squirming as his lips shift to your neck, like there is an invisible candy necklace, lulling him to bite and soothe the mark with his tongue.
"How many boys got you like that?"
"Zero." And Leon leans back to look into your face better.
"A virgin?" At your age there are a minimum two kids clinging to stretched by another pregnancy hip. You have none, busy daydreaming about dad's cock. "Fuck, were you keeping yourself for your dad?" You nod.
A wave of guilt sobers him, a glimpse of conscience lingers in his stormy blues. It is supposed to be taken by a man, your heart would swell with love from one glance, a man that would love you with the same intensity. Something romantic, rose petals on the bed with guttering candles. Your needy whine crosses this out, narrowing to only one trivia; there is no man better than your dad.
A hard swallow. A kiss on your forehead (more for himself than for you). Another finger slips, you hiss softly at the burning stretch. "Oh, don't worry, alright? That's what I'm here for."
It doesn’t linger for too long, replaced by growing pleasure. It buds inside your cunt whenever his fingers curl to press onto your sweet-sweet spongy spot. Your first, your best man, the only one you want. His head rests on your knee, gaze directed in between your legs; your hole swallows his fingers with a loud squelch as you get wetter after every steady pump. Amusing. Ridiculously easy for him. Perhaps a grace, ignoring soaked hole, which belongs to his dear daughter. The first and only one child.
There aren't many moments in his life comparable to this velvety wetness squeezing his digits with so much need. A honeymoon flashes in his mind, that's a bad comparison — you couldn't take this from your mother. If his head is not failing him. Hit it too many times, job's downsides.
Pussy out of porn, he'd say. And he knows them very well, marriage dries a woman, but his balls are painfully full with nowhere to ease. Fleshlight could be a good choice, your fuddy-duddy daddy prefers old ways; easier to explain, easier to hide. An almost identical unnatural amount of slick gathers around his fingers — you just lack pornographic pretenses.
In the end you are asking for this with your whole body, wavering with your hips towards him as if hoping for more. Something thicker, bigger. Something real. A pop echoes by his withdrawn hand. Risking your mom's knock is undesirable and Leon is too hard right now to brush you away. Too late, he tugs onto his belt, your ears pick up a loud zip. Your head flicks up, like a curious cat with identically dilated pupils, trying to get a peek of his dick.
Flipping pages of the raunchy magazines hidden beneath your mattress, there were all kinds of dicks printed on; big ones, curved to the left ones, ones mushroom looking, ones you wouldn't find among various porn actors, sickeningly similar to your dear daddy, chosen subconsciously by your nefarious mind. Until today you would never know what his dick is like. Thick, unlike many porn dicks the size is not enormous, it was made just for you, not weathered by Viagra abuse or STD bouquet, but naturally hard, his head glistens with smeared precum. A glittery sparkle. Perfect lipgloss.
"It is rude to stare, baby." Almost flattering to your old man, this close to pull your face down onto sheets. Leon tugs your hips towards him, not letting your shame to mouth a quick 'sorry'.
Your legs hang onto his hips, skin-to-skin his dick slots between your folds, a little tease to what’s coming. With a glide up and down, his tip positions to your hole. Not falling into teasing for too long, slowly his dick sinks into you. A light whine slips as he pushes through, anxiously your head tosses to the side awaiting for worse to come.
"Look at me, or I'll stop," Leon says. Glossy eyes dart towards him. Tight, sickeningly tight. Virgin tight, the type of pussy a man dreams, driven to knees by raising every existing skirt in hope of it. "I know it hurts, baby, but you can do this for me, so fucking good —fuck." You flutter around him as his dick pushes further until he is buried fully. "You like your dad here, huh?"
You nod — a little bit redundant, he doesn't comment. Your pussy answers for you. His hips slots against yours, balls nestle flat against your butt. Your walls flutter tightly, gripping him as his dick slides out, slathered by your slick mixed with drops of blood. Fucking hot, his dick throbs before with undulate motion of his hips, with a full thrust he buries his dick until it kisses your cervix.
A light discomfort vanishes into at foreign fullness between your legs. That's new, doesn't feel like your fingers at all. Those were only two while his dick is three in girth? You'd say even four. Three and half — sounds about right. There was an expectation of excruciating pain to twist your body; perhaps you were born under a lucky star, it never comes. Well, you know this shit hurts as hell, feels like you are getting raped, your friend's words are meaningless now, and you were too naive to believe them. Frankly, what could you even know?Her cherry was popped long before you got to know her. It doesn't matter now, thoughts unrelated to your dad are kicked by his quickening pace.
If someone would have told him his dick would plow deep inside you on the same bed you, his first and only child, were conceived — a trigger would have been pulled. Your pampered existence is the sun for him to orbit, dick deep inside your pussy doesn't change that instead you centers him like he is your whole world. For both of you, it is an unchanging fact.
Not so far from the truth. Ecstasy takes shape in your dilated pupils, your lips struggle to keep your moans low as his dick plummets down into your hole. They bubble up like an itch you can't suppress in a series of breathy mewls.
Dad, dad, dad!
They repeat over and over whenever he grinds against your cervix, whenever he is making your eyes roll back and clamp your thighs taut around his hips.
"Can't be quiet, can you?" Leon grunts. You tried. Really. His hand comes to muffle your whines. "Hush now." A hard thrust into your suctioning hole, your hips buckle towards his. "You have to stay quiet, she might hear."
Your gushing slick around his thrusting dick washes away any lingering guilt attempting to sit on his chest like a cauchemar, a living nightmare caused by his mistake but soothed by your nails digging into his back. Still a sweet baby needs your dad not merely as a shield but as a man. It is everywhere, squelching and slapping echo in the room. His dick throbs as your unfocused gaze tries to stay on him longer than one second. A thrust and it gets kicked out, numbing your senses only.
The pleasure builds up in a crescendo as his dick keeps the steady rhythm by rutting inside your fluttering hole. Overwhelming, like nothing before; your fingers don't even stand next to the perfect arch pressing onto your insides. Every withdrawal of his hips leaves your body with a longing desire to feel full again. And vanishes as soon as his dick thrusts into you back in a loud slap of your connecting fleshes, driving you deeper into the mattress. Your squirm grows, trying to keep up with his pace by matching movement — a tsk tells you are not doing the best job. Doesn't stop Leon from praising how good you are, how good your pussy is to him and how much he needs to fill you. A reason for his dick pulses with every thrust, losing control as his balls tighten more and more. You can feel it by his rougher, selfish snaps overwhelming every inch of your body, driving your legs to tremble and eyelashes flatter rhythmically.
Too dumb on your dad's cock, orgasm hits you like an unexpected crushing wave, milking him as Leon tries his best to prolong for himself. He is a man, every man is simple. But spasming walls make it only harder for him, consuming every rational idea — his sperm is not supposed to be deep inside you, that's dangerous. That's not responsible (nor fucking his daughter, but alas!). A last deep thrust, his dick throbs inside you as he spills the load.
Fucked big this time. Leon fucked up huge this time; he can only hope he shoots blanks. His spent dick slips out of you. Leon leans back with a heavy breathing, thoughts narrowing to leaking sperm between your plush thighs. Even infertility is not one hundred percent of protection, those trashy reality shows, where everyone beats each other in real time, proved that point. Viscous as nectar, droplets roll across your curved skin before ending onto the sheet. Plan B exists, then this can be hidden in his memory. Nothing happened, right?
"Tell me you promise!" you say. "Dad!! For God's sake! Are you even listening to me?" Leon winces, his eyes darting to your face — so close now, too close for his comfort. "I'll tell everyone you raped me then!"
"What?!" Leon exclaims. He can't do this at his age, blood pressure will kill him."I didn't, what the fuck?"
"Then promise this is not last time."
Hesitantly, Leon nods. A lie, no fucking way, despite the oozing proof of his misdeed and a fresh memory of your pussy — Leon won't fall to the same mistake again. What happened remains only in these walls, once and never repeated.
He hopes so.
"I love you," you say, clinging to his side. His arm pulls you closer.
-> summary: your dad would do just about anything for his girl, even the most perverse of requests.
♡ content warnings: dead dove do not eat, dad/daughter incest, oral sex (fem. receiving), daddy kink, faux innocence, slight manipulation.
♡ notes: this is lowkey mediocre and kinda rushed but idgaf i wanted to write something about the tables being turned on perverted dad leon lmfao, comments & rbs appreciated!
Leon’s a simple man—he is simply paternal and loving and that’s all there is to it. Nothing out of the ordinary that he still leans in close, demanding a kiss in return for every single thing he does for you, or how he uses that outdated skill of meticulously braiding your hair picked up from when you were only a little girl. A father’s love never dies, especially when his only daughter (you) has become the object of his personal infatuation over the years.
As expected, you would come to share the same sentiment. Pampered to death, growing up in what can be described as one of the more healthiest households has done quite a number on you. Your daddy’s exceeded your standards romance-wise; warm, embracing, fatherly and loving in every single aspect, it’s everything a girl like you had desired.
And you love and love and love him to your wit’s end. Of course you did—he’s your dad of all people, you’d be attached at his hip forever, holding as much love in your heart for not only his paternity, but his absolute, undiluted love. He can’t say no to anything you ask or put your foot down for.
“Daddy,” you start one evening, frowning and sitting at the edge of your bed in those flimsy pajama shorts that look more than lingerie than anything, “I’m telling you—it’s really hurting down there.”
“What hurts, baby? Where does it hurt?” Leon asks with just about the right amount of fatherly affection he could muster, brows furrowed in worry as he no longer lingered at your room’s threshold like a apparition in the dark, heading towards you and standing over your slightly leaned-back form.
Having to stifle a small smile that would’ve gave your whole innocent-little-daddy’s-girl act away, you bite down on the fleshy wall of your inner cheek prior to going the full way to getting what you wanted.
“Right here,” trailing your hand downwards the surface of your stomach, fingertips lining soft fabric sensual and slow as if it were a striptease, finally using a palm to cup your clothed mound, “hurts real bad, dad, do you think you could kiss it better?”
His breaths make an audible stutter once he makes the connection, kiss-plump lips slightly agape when he stares between where your hand is and the pretty batting of those lashes gently caressing your cheeks. You can’t be serious, there’s no way. Sure he’s kissed thousands of bruises and scrapes and cuts you’ve managed to gain over the years, girlhood to adolescent to young adulthood, but something like this was merely incomparable.
Lord forgive his sorry ass for whatever he was about to succumb to on this night.
“Well, uhm, are you sure?” he blinks a dozen times within a second, attempting to dissect whether or not this was some type of cruel joke being played on his psyche. Give him a break, he’s teetering on the verge of sixty, only a few five years off, “Maybe you could just sleep it off, kid, or I’ve got some spare ibuprofen and Tylenol in my drawer, I think that could fetch—“
“Dad,” your voice halts the air like a needle through skin, sighing and spreading your legs a little further to give further emphasis on the ‘pain’, “can’t wait that long, it’s really hurting.”
Leon blinks at you, hard, finding himself in a standstill. He could’ve bolted out of there, slamming your door on the way out without the customary goodnight, honey and burrow in his empty nest of a bed, pledging to never bring such scandalous matter up under his roof again. That was the problem here. He was letting you take the reins on nearly every aspect, stringing him around like a marionette when he, in actuality, held the most authority. After all, he paid the bills, he put the food on the table, he was the one who ended up becoming the human coatrack for every single bag he had paid for at the mall.
This could not go on. He’ll show you who’s in charge first and foremost—he’s going to make his own decision on this predicament, no matter how perverse or depraved it was to the naked eye.
He swipes a palm over his hair, palming the flaxen strands back before running it down the entire expanse of his face, “Christ, baby,“ he jumbles over his words, hop-scotching and jumping all the wrong things he could say to find the correct ones, “it’s a little inappropriate for me to do that, don’t you think?”
“Why?” you ask, blinking and feeling the nearby breeze wisping in from your half-cracked window.
“Because it ain’t right.”
“But we’re family, that’s why—“
“—there’s not a single thing wrong with it.” You finish for him, flashing the sweetest of smiles that ignites like a rapid blaze spreading out on a large, dry endless field. Goddamn minx in disguise. A sex pest enthralling his little girl.
Leon thinks he’s gonna regret this forever. You see it on his face—how a single hand stays splayed over one half of his face, his Adam’s apple subtly bobbing with the one heavy breath which exhales out of his throat. A dichotomy between right and wrong. Right—because you’re his girl, his life, the one person he rarely said no to on a streak of months, perhaps even years at this point. Wrong—because you’re his fucking daughter for crying out loud, his own flesh and blood that has never looked so good in her yellowed bedside lamp. One testifier discovers you two out and hollers, there goes his perfectly quaint life.
Those are, however, only the if’s. Within these four walls are only two sentient beings, you and him, and whatever third party neighbor was laying behind your closed curtains bound to their own privacy. His guilt reveling in the aftermath would be the only eyewitness and that was that.
He feels a silver of defeat pass through him, prickling the top of his spine and slowly traveling down the lengthy column while settling at the bottom. The sensation worsens as he no longer fixes to stand, instead settling between your spread legs, large palms smoothing across each thigh before moving to cup the underside.
“You gotta tell me how bad it hurts, sweetheart,” he says carefully, mouth going cotton-dry while brazenly gaping at the thin layer that separates the tip of his nose from your wanting pussy.
“It’s hard to tell,” you pout, heart punching against your ribcage at such a rate you wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if you suffered from cardiac arrest.
Sighing, his fingers hook into the place where you’ve been wanting him the most—tightened around the trimmed waistband of your shorts. Using this to his (more like your own, really), advantage, he slides them down your legs meticulously and almost hesitantly. Must’ve been coincidence how your panties somehow got caught in the crossfire along the way, pussy so wet that a bridge of stickiness strings from your ruined gusset, joining how your lower-half garments are left carelessly discarded by his aching knees. He’d rather put you over his knee for forcing your dear old dad to bend and lean into positions he hasn’t seen in the last decade or so.
Beggars can’t be choosers. Especially when they came to him in the form of the nefarious little brats who dug at his heart, turning the tender middle to the softest mush he’s felt since your mother came into his life. Shame. She had dissipated as fast as she came into the picture, but perhaps it was for the better.
“Alright, honey, up here,” Dad taps one of your legs by the side and that’s enough for you to move both of them, resting them on the mantle of his shoulders while you’re biting your lower lip in an attempt to not give yourself away right then and there, “stay like that for me, I’m gonna uh…. kiss it better for you, okay?”
You nod and watch his head disappear amidst your legs, descending below. For a second, you see his face—how his cheeks are blossomed over with the faintest twinge of red, or how a slight perspiration beads at his forehead, causing his overhanging strands to stick adhesively. The type of face that visibly showed off how he’s trying not to actively bust in the meanwhile. He can be so cute sometimes.
Leon starts off tender and delicately runs his tongue down the split of your already soaked pussy, a grunt stifling at his throat’s base when the flavor explodes across the flat plane of tastebuds lining his tongue. A whine is quick to be knocked out of you, hips gently bucking against your daddy’s face, feeling the slight brush of his nose bridge bumping up at your throbbing clit.
His hands splay across each of your inner thighs, head bowed as if in prayer when he finds a coherent rhythm to trail along with. His soft lips focus on giving your clit a barrage of sincere kisses, fingers sliding in to thumb at the hood of your clit, pushing it back and you think the sensation just about teeters you on the edge of a climax. But you persist—mewling like a kitten and clawing your nails relentlessly into the sea of linen beneath you.
“Need more,” you whimper aloud, impatience bubbling underneath your oh-so patient surface, “I’m hurtin’ so, so badly, daddy.”
“Shh, honey, dad’s got you,” Leon’s voice is muffled against your pussy practically swallowing his face, savoring the ebbs of your wetness before allowing himself to fully indulge in the fruit of your self-made ambrosia. You think it drives him near hysterical judging by the way he slumps his shoulders forward, fingers pressing near bruise-purple indents into the doughy flesh of your thighs. The things the state of being pussydrunk can do to a man.
With boyishly flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes that you could get traverse for days, he makes it no secret that his ministrations have grown to become more fervent; less of that delicate, wedding-night affection that you’d expect out of a barely-twenty groom with zero prior sexual knowledge, and more like the type of faux-romance you’d see on the stashed raunchy VHS tapes kept in the basement’s furthest backcorner. You remember that. Clear as day, retained in your memory as if it were something worth remembering.
Wet tongues, tits as big as your daddy’s yet sporting that mild artificial swelling which without a doubt, stamped the pairs as nothing but fake, reddening angry cocks amplified by the use of constant, over-the-counter Viagra, imitated moans and whines that would’ve probably gotten them somewhere further than the porn industry—these things did nothing but harm on your poor innocent malleable brain. Besides the fact that Leon was already a flat-out pervert, such exposures already worsened that rampant gene he had passed down onto you.
That being said, you’ve technically been doomed for life. Through and through. To whatever extent he could paint himself as innocent in this scenario, nobody was truly a clean slate in this situation. Like father like daughter.
Dad tongues at your pussy as if he’s got nothing to lose, sliding the warm pink muscle in-and-out of your hole and latching his lips onto your nub respectively, gathering more arousal to take in greedily. No wonder he could hold down an unstable marriage for another year and half with a skill like this.
Has your head thrown back against the mattress, hips rolling over and over again while the sweetest of moans reach the hanging ceiling. Your heels dig into the firm planes of his shoulders and that’s enough to tell him you’re gone—fully losing your grasp on reality and surrendering to rays of ecstasy he bathes you in. God, you wish you could see his face right now; blissed out, embarrassed, oh, most definitely humiliated. You’d get a real kick out of that.
But one thing about your daddy: he knows his way around a girl whether you liked it or not. You could’ve been a two-bit hooker, his wife, some young bar quickie Leon would think about every few months or so—he’d fuck you all the same. Men are just like that. Lowlife, dishonorable degenerates who stick their bones into anything living and worthy of coddling them in waves upon waves of eternal affection.
“Feelin’ any better, honey?” he asks, breathless and gazing longingly at your spread labia, swollen and ever so slick with the combined mess that you both partake in.
Garbling and attempting to knock some sense into yourself, you blink down at him through crescent-lidded eyes, stubbornness bleeding into your tone when you respond with: “Just a little more,” it comes out meeker than intended, but the point is across and basically dangling in his stupidly handsome mutt face, “please, dad, fuck, just—“
Leon already has an exact idea on what direction this is going in. Just give me a little bit more, dad! I promise I’ll be good and don’t you love your daughter and you never let me get what I want, he’s selfish, mean, a fucking asshole—
He’s seen the whole gist. The countless acts and tactics you’ve put up for years. Your daddy is many things but he is not stupid in the slightest. Can read you front to back, like the lines etched into his palms, like the constellations that peppered across a vast, black abyss. Been there and done that. In the end, you always get what you want because he lets it happen and he’s feeling especially generous today so he’ll let this whole thing off in a one big detonation of everyone-gets-their-piece-of-cake. There isn’t much more to happiness in his sorry life than a happy thriving daughter under his thumb.
Doesn’t take much for him to drive you over the edge—making out with your soaked cunt, kissing your clit like the most precious of jewels, spit from his moving tongue dribbling between your folds and gathering at the underside of your ass. It’s all very nasty but you’re in no position to criticize the debauched aspect when he’s the reason your hips are squirming against his face, cunt fluttering around his mouth as if it’s got nothing to lose. With your back arching off of the bed, eyes no longer fighting to urge to roll back anymore, the pleasure consumes you head to toe—
Speckles of ecstasy glitter throughout your vision when you come, squirming hips suffocating Leon in your pelvis while you’re moaning so loud it most definitely woke a neighbor or two. The mounting pressure at your core snaps like a strained cable, releasing the floodgates and wetting his face forehead to chin. A grand finish fit for a pampered girl. You’re satisfied and he’s exhausted and opened up new doors for himself that are impossible to shut again—honestly everyone’s winning here, as expected.
Leon grunts quietly, carefully maneuvering your trembling legs off of his sore shoulders with a soft kiss to your knee. Despite everything, his means to be a father is still there. It’s only second nature at this point. His splattered face glimmers under the reflections of your lamp, lips parted, hair matted down by sweat—looking rugged and handsome as he always is, “You owe me one for this,” he mutters, fond yet awkward smile plastered slightly on his lips, “still hurting or—?”
“I… no, that was fine,” you respond when the right words form a sentence on your tongue, “thanks, daddy, I love you.”
He’s thoughtful enough to fish out a new pair of shorts and panties somewhere deep in your closet, doing most of the work and helping redress what had been undone. Standing up once more, you can see that his expression is blank and, for the most part, is unreadable of his emotions. Although, it only takes a single blink for him to offer a warm, fatherly smile to you—makes your heart feel tender at the edges. He strokes your hair back sweetly and it’s like falling in love with him again for the first time.
You wish you could do more. I mean, yeah, you most certainly had the ability to sink to your knees in front of him, or even bend over right then and there to show him what he’s missing, but that’s just pushing it. Dad already does so much for you. That’s something saved for another day.
As he wanders back over to your half-opened door, nudging it open with his foot, he gives you one last look and scratches the back of his head, “Love you more, baby, get some rest.”
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