Daddy Rape Stories

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Daddy Rape Stories


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Daddy-daughter Confessions
Daddy-daughter confession stories and sins




Confession Stories
Confessions Current: daddy-daughter




7.966 Confessions | 


Confessions on TikTok



I'm turning 24 next month.
My stepfather and his best friend got me drunk last night and ended up having sex with me.
Since they made a video of the entire thing, I saw that it wasn't rape.
I actually instigated it by stripping down to my panties and teasing them both.

I know I'm looking like the world's largest asshole and a bitch.

But something inside me is telling me that it was wrong.

I told my mom and even showed her the video.

She laughed it off saying boys will be boys.
She also kept telling me that maybe deep down inside me, there was some kind of a fantasy.

She wasn't concerned about it, especially since he's not really my father.

She added that I could do much worse.

I don't know what to feel.

Especially since, I've caught myself watching last night's video constantly.

Is something wrong with me?
you had fun, your mom was okay with it, you didn't do anything bad, love the moment and embrace it
its okay
Well I can't see that you did anything wrong, but I can't say the same about your family. When you showed your mum the video the whole thing could have blown up in your face. In fact that would have been the more natural reaction. For your mum to think it is funny that her husband and his friend had sex with her drunk daughter and made a video of it is kind of weird. She was obviously in on it.
Nothing illegal and no one got hurt. Live it up girl. Hell, I'd love to have a step daughter like you lol
You didn't do anything wrong. Life is full of experiences, some can feel questionable after, but if nobody else has an issue, the you shouldn't. As far as watching the video over and over, you are probably just subconsciously turned on by it. Just go with it. No shame or guilt. Life is too short
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No! Nothing is wrong with you! And if your mom is ok with it, you should be too!
Sounds like a perfectly natural enjoyment of a moment. I think you should enjoy and have fun as it seems to fascinate you, do it again often :-)
Fuck them again and you will feel better
I did every time my dad fucked my brains out
Okay, first off. What the fuck is wrong with people in this comment section. You guys have problems, ya need to see a shrink for cause Holy shit.

Second off, no you did nothing wrong. But that doesn't make this situation okay. Now it's been quite a while since you posted and it may already be too late. But if there is something deep down inside you saying that something is wrong, that's your gut feeling and you should always follow it.

Your Step-father and his friend took advantage of you while you were drunk. Sure you instigated it but it doesn't mean he should have acted on it, much less even taken a video on it. Jesus, this is messed up on so many levels. And your mom trying to justify it is just the cherry on the top of all red flags that should be going off in your head.

THIS. ISN'T. RIGHT.

Nothing like this just randomly happens. Hell I wouldn't be surprised if they put something in your drink to make you feel this way. If you didn't remember what happened. Then you were too intoxicated to give consent.

The "boys will be boys" line does not apply to this at all. Boys will be boys usually applies to guys doing idiotic things like the movie jack ass or something. Not straight up sexual acts with their step-daughter!!

I implore you to please seek some help if there is any indication that you may feel that something ain't quite right about this situation. Please.

I saw my wife cheating on me, and having sex with her co-worker, in the bed that we have slept in for nearly over fifteen years now.

I've been having a constant nagging feeling in the back of my mind for a few months now. Especially, since she's started to work from home, thanks greatly to the Corona virus.

I've had friends and family telling me that they've seen her and the guy frequenting out the way travel lodges...

People saw them and sent me recordings from their phones, where it shows them clearly going in and out of seedy travel motels.

They've even have had a few weekend "business" trips last year.

I've always tried to look past it all, and actually gave her a huge berth of a margin of error.

My nagging feeling actually started when after she started working from our house, she also insisted on her "co worker" ... come and work from the same place, that way, neither of them would get lonely at any point.

Their office didn't care, and I plainly actually love my wife, to care about anything so trivial. If it made her happy, I'm on board with it.

He started coming over and working from our house, around the end of April.

It was okay at first, but around the first week of June, especially during the days of the extreme heat waves, I started to notice a pattern.

Even though we have overpowered central air conditioning system, I've always walking into the house, and finding my wife only walking around in skimpy underwear and what appeared to be a hastily thrown on a short thin silk white robe.

A robe so short, that it never actually covered more than top quarter half of her amazing butt, and barely covered the areolas of her elegantly massive breasts.

Each and every time, she'd be totally out of breath, panting, running out of our bedroom and running down the stairs to meet me and our daughter.

I've always picked up our daughter from school on my way back from work.

So, she's been like a eye witness to this changing behavior.

After about a few agonizingly long minutes of her constantly blocking our way, and actively trying to distract the two of us, her co worker would stroll out from out of our bedroom door. Fully clothed, in a t-shirt and shorts.

She'd look back and smile, then give us some half assed explanation about why he was in there.

Our daughter and I would look at each other and roll our eyes at each other.

It gets worse, when you learn that, my wife doesn't make an effort anymore to come up with a decent suitable lie.

No, it's actually the same half hearted one, telling me that he needed to use our bathroom. Which is weird by itself actually, especially since you are going to have to walk past two completely good rest rooms just to get to our bedroom door.

If I eventually do decide to go check out our bathroom, I distinctly get the smell of sex wafting from it.

Our bed a mess, pillows and blankets shoved off and on the ground.

My wife's clothes flung around all over the room.

Sticky wet spots littered the sheets.

I'd on occasion, find condom packs on the carpet.

It was clear as day, that they were definately having sex.

I loved her, so, I just avoided the subject, along with the thousand questions running through my head.

They would almost always, eventually head out of the house for a late lunch, and wouldn't eventually be back until after 9 at night.

One does have theories.

My daughter and i, on that inevitable day, just ended up ordering a pizza, and went to freshen ourselves.

We just went quiet the entire time.

We came back down, without speaking a single word.

Sat around the table quietly.

Ate our pizzas in utter silence.

Like autonomous drones, we both got up and went upstairs and into the secluded movie watching lounge area.

It has had become like over a decade long only Daddy and Daughter bonding time.

Where my daughter and I go into look the door to the inside, turn off the lights, pull the blackout blinds, hangout, talk and watch something on the huge television.

Eventually, we'd snuggle up in the corner of the couch, in each other's arms, and maybe drift off to sleep.

This day wasn't that different either, but this time without a single word.

We turned off the TV after the movie finished.

We held each other and the eerily quietness was only broken by our breathing.

Everything was engulfed into the darkness.

This went on for a while.

My daughter finally broke the silence.

"DAD! You do understand that Mom's actually been cheating on you right?"
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You seem to accept it and that is up to you, you have your reasons. You could speak with her but your choice is yours and hers is hers.
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I think I recently had one of the hardest days of my life. It was a personal issue so I’m not gonna disclose the issue, but everything was falling apart and I couldn’t gather enough courage to pull myself out of the muck.
Today, I happened to spot a thread on Quora that asked readers to describe the hardest day of their lives. I came across an answer that has occupied my head from the very moment I read it. I couldn’t help but write about it because every person should read the story of this brave woman called Ann Young , who has been fighting with life since she was a little kid.
The hardest day of my life was my entire childhood.
At age 3, my uncle made me lick his penis “like a lollypop.”
At age 9, I was raped by another family member.
At 15, my mom and step-dad thought it was funny for my step-dad to touch my breasts.
My mom’s second husband would make me strip naked and lay in the center of my bed while he beat me all over my body.
My mom’s third and current husband, my step-dad, beat me regularly for a decade, from the time I was 5 until I was 15.
I got hit for making too much noise in the morning. I got hit for eating the last pickle. I got hit for speaking. I got hit even if I opened my mouth to speak. I endured black eyes, bloody noses, fat and bloody lips, a broken finger, welt marks and bruises all over my body. I’ve been hit with a croquet mallet and beaten with a whiffle bat until it was broken in half. My entire childhood was terrifying.
On top of it my mom would tell me that she didn’t want me, that if she could do things over she wouldn’t have had me. She didn’t want me.
My step-dad made fun of me every day because I was a little chubby. He would entertain guests by making fun of me. He would encourage me to make fun of him in return and then laugh at my poor attempts. Whenever I did make a joke he didn’t like, he would beat me for it.
I tried my best to overcome it. By age 30, my body gave out. It was too damaged from all the physical abuse. I have Enthesopathy, Fibromyalgia, and polyarthritis, just to name a few. I also suffer from chronic PTSD, major depressive disorder, and anxiety.
I live off of SSD and receive less than $12,000 a year to survive. All of my hopes and dreams were stolen from me.
Shortly after my uncle sexually abused me, he killed himself. I have wondered all of my life if he killed himself because of what he did to me.
The person who raped me when I was 9 years old was my older brother. He did not live with us.
My two older brothers grew up with our biological father while I grew up with my mom and step-dad. My mom didn’t want the boys. She barely had anything to do with them. She kept me because I was a girl and because she wasn’t entirely sure who my father was. I grew up believing that William James Young Sr was my father. My mom kept me away from him for most of my childhood because of my brothers, according to her.
The brother who raped me did so during a very rare visit to our home. He was allowed to spend the night that night. He hated me. He hated that my mom kept me and had barely anything to do with him. Little did he know what I was going through.
I didn’t tell on him until I was 11. My mom contacted the police and a woman came to our home. I had to tell her everything. My brother was arrested and sent to live in a juvenile detention facility for 4 years. His last year there, my mom took some interest in him for some reason. She started bringing my rapist home for visits. One day she made me sit at the dining room table and write a letter. She forced me to write that I had forgiven my brother and that I wanted him to come live with us. None of it was true. I was terrified of my brother. Additionally, my parents never got me any help for what he did to me. They said that they couldn’t afford it. My parents could afford new jewelry every Christmas for my mom and yearly vacations to Las Vegas but they couldn’t afford anything for me ever, not dental check ups, not doctors, nothing. I was lucky to get a coat for winter and with that I was forced to get on my knees and thank my parents repeatedly for all they did for me.
My mom had my rapist come live with us. Then they blatantly favored him right in front of me. He was good looking. He made them laugh. My step-dad would have my brother join in in making fun of me.
Eventually, they kicked him out when he became a serious drug user and started selling their stuff.
I came to forgive my brother. I learned that he did to me what someone had done to him. He is currently on parole after serving his second prison term. He never stopped using drugs. I don’t have anything to do with him.
A couple of people have asked me, “Why didn’t you get out?” As a young child, I didn’t realize I was being abused. I thought that all kids got hit like me. I was a bad child. I didn’t clean my room when I was told to. I made too much noise. Sometimes I talked back. I ate the last pickle. I didn’t clean up my parents mess in the kitchen. I could go on.
When my step-dad broke my finger my parents brought me to the hospital. I was told to say that I slipped and fell in the driveway. I was threatened that if I said anything else I would be hurt worse. I was too terrified of my parents to say anything but what I was told to.
It wasn’t until my early teens that I was allowed to spend time with friends in their homes. That’s when I saw that they weren’t being beat like I was. I remember one friend talking back to her dad. I winced and cowered in anticipation. I was shocked by her father’s response. He spoke to her firmly but lovingly. I finally started to see that what was happening to me was not normal.
At 15, I overdosed on Advil. I was questioned by many people at the hospital but I was still too terrified to speak about my parents. I blamed it all on a bad grade.
Eventually, I started to confide in some of my friends and one friend’s mom in particular. I would tell her something and then I would be shocked and intrigued by her response. She was the one who got me to open up a little.
At one point CPS (Child Protective Services) were notified by another friend’s mom. I told CPS a few things over the phone. The next day they showed up at my high school. I was horrified. My step-dad was a teacher at the school. I was brought to a guidance counselor’s office. I knew that the guidance counselor knew my step-dad. I was too terrified to speak. I only confirmed the few things I had told CPS on the phone. From there, a detective brought me down to the police station.
I was brought upstairs to a room full of desks. The detective introduced me to the secretary. I recognized her name. “She knows my step-dad!” I exclaimed. The detective yelled at me saying that whatever I had to say would stay in that room. Again I was too terrified to speak about my parents. The detective started asking me if my step-dad touched my breasts “playfully or sexually.” To me it didn’t matter. I thought it was wrong that he touched me period. I couldn’t answer the detective. He kept asking me over and over again, becoming more irate everytime he asked. He was outright screaming at me. I thought about how my parents would laugh at me everytime my step-dad touched my breasts. They thought it was funny that I would get upset by him touching me. After the third time he touched me, I stood up and stormed off. That’s when my mom said, “oh we can’t even play with you!” Because she had said that, I finally answered the detective, “playfully.” That was it. That’s all he wanted to know. He was done with me.
The detective then brought me down to CPS. I was made to sit in a worker’s cubicle. Somewhere in the room, I could here my mom and my rapist brother talking. I could hear my brother saying, “She’s lying! She’s lying!” I could hear my mom say, “He’s a respected teacher in this community!” While hearing all of this, I was questioned by the CPS worker. Again, I was too terrified to speak. At no point in time during that day was I given a safe place to talk. No one offered me a single ounce of compassion.
I was put in a foster home that night. I spent 4 nights there. On the 5th day, my parents called me. They said all the right things. They told me that they weren’t angry. They said that they loved me, that they missed me and that they wanted me to come home. I agreed to go home.
The CPS worker came and brought me home. She stayed and chatted with my parents for a few minutes. My parents were so polite and friendly to her. I really thought at that moment that everything was going to be okay. Then she left. My parents watched her leave. Then they turned on me and the smiles on their faces morphed into something that looked pure evil. I got a verbal beating that day that was so awful I just ran. I ran out of the house and I didn’t stop running until I got to my friend’s house a mile away. It was the friend whose mom I had confided in.
I lived there with my friend and her mom for a few months. One day my friend and I got into an argument over something stupid like kids do. My friend decided that she didn’t want me living there anymore. Her mom went to pray about it. Five minutes later she decided to bring me home. They packed up all my stuff in a garbage bag and drove me to my parent’s house and left me there.
I spent one night home. I endured more verbal abuse. The next day I ran away again. For some reason I ran back to the same friend’s house. This time the police were called. I told the police I was being abused. They told me they would handcuff me if they had to to bring me home. They treated me like a run away, not an abused child. They advised me to get a job or do some after school activities to keep myself out of the house. That’s what I did. CPS never did another thing for me.
My step-dad did not lay a hand on me again after CPS was notified. The verbal abuse was worse then ever though. When I was
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