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Teasing Daddy Stories

Daddy-daughter Confessions
Daddy-daughter confession stories and sins




Confession Stories
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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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All my preparations and quivering anticipation was to have ended in bliss, the kind only my father could give me… I was my father’s lover and he was mine. Everything was perfect.
I didn’t cry. It was painful what he did, but I didn’t cry. He said it was ok.
I didn’t cry the second time either. I liked it. He was gentler. He told me it was our secret, our special thing, and no one should know about it.
I went to him the third time it happened, it was raining and the thunders scared me. We did it again, I enjoyed it. We began to do it more often, and each time I enjoyed it more.
I was twelve that first time, and a happy child, happier than any other child I knew. I doubt if any other child had so much love. I was my father’s lover and he was mine. Everything was perfect.
 And then, on my twentieth birthday, the unthinkable happened.
My father broke up with me. Just like that. He said it wasn’t right, what we do, and that we must stop. End of matter. It felt like a full stop at the end of an epitaph. It was too sudden.
I had no warning, no premonition. The break up was like death. I had taken the week off from school just to be with the only man in my life, the best man I ever knew, or so I thought. I thought my birthday would have ended sensually, like all the others. It was usually the best birthday present he gives me, a passionate night of love making right out of a romance novel.
It had been a while. My higher education had taken me away. And I sorely missed my beloved father. I went home that day with thoughts of my father obscuring all other thoughts. I arrived late in the evening. He wasn’t home yet. I made myself as adorable as he liked. It was not hard. My allure had never needed much artificial furnishings; a touch here and a touch there, and I would be set to win any beauty contest. That evening I was at my best.
All my preparations and quivering anticipation was to have ended in bliss, the kind only my father could give me.
Instead, I got the shock of my life. That terrible day, I knew exactly how the deer must feel when the hunter’s bullet crashes through its heart. I learnt how it must feel to be shot out of the sky.
I had hoped he didn’t mean it, that this was just another punishment, but the way he said it convinced me it was final. I knew my father; I knew the look on his face. It was the same look he had when he shot Dragon our Alsatian. This was not like before when he would refuse to touch me because I misbehaved. My father had never hit me or scolded me; his punishments were usually more severe and silent. He would simply refuse to touch me for days on end. Such days were hell for me. I could barely survive without him. When he was pleased with me, he really would take his time and give me much pleasure that I never knew was possible.
 I was a very well behaved child; I had all the proper manners for a proper lady. Thanks to my father.
But this was no punishment. This was a cessation. This was my death. I tried to make him see reason, to convince him that we were to be forever. I told him of our joys, our laughs and how love couldn’t be any better. I begged him not to kill his beloved and only child.
 It is true what they say. Men are beasts; unfeeling beasts.
 How could he end something so wonderful, something so perfect? He said he still loved me, but I didn’t believe him, I couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t even look me in the eye when he said it. There must have been a reason, but I didn’t care for whatever it was. I knew it wasn’t about right or wrong, there is no love that can be wrong, especially the kind we had. It was beautiful; we were one, my father and I. Our love transcended that of a father and his daughter. It was the stuff of heaven. No, His reason wasn’t religious, not at all, my father wasn’t that sentimental. I was his sole religion, he worshiped me.
 There was no one else either, I knew that much. My mother died while birthing me. Ever since, I had been my father’s heartbeat. And he was my breath. I never missed my mother. I never knew her, never would meet her. I would, perhaps, have liked to know her, but somehow I thank God she wasn’t with us. It would have been awkward. I don’t think I could have shared my father with any one.
 My father gave no reason for killing me. He couldn’t explain why we could no longer have what we had. There was nothing I didn’t think, there was no thought I didn’t wish to explain his decision by. Something, perhaps, must have happened to his hormones. I couldn’t believe this was my perfect father. I couldn’t believe my day could ever become so dark.
 He only said he was doing it for me, that it was for the best, my best. How could I have ever believed the man loved me? He even looked sad that day, so sorrowful and tired. In better times and in our previous world, I would have taken him in my arms as I was wont, and work my magic on him. Over the years I had learnt his special recipe. I was the only one who knew his mix. I had never asked him, but I sensed that even my mother didn’t take him to the heights I took him.
 But his words belied the sorrow on his features. He had said the break up words so casually, as if he had thought it through and found it a simple matter. There should be a special kind of voice and words for pronouncements of that nature, something equal and suitably terrible. The normalcy and casualness of his words were a negation. It was like mockery. I didn’t know I could ever stop being what I was to him; I had never thought our relationship would end. But end it did, and in so shocking a manner. Good things shouldn’t end that abruptly. Relationships don’t die at once. Death is not a casual occurrence.
 The most painful part of it was that I didn’t die. I felt like dying. I wanted to die. But I didn’t know how to go about it. I should have killed him too; I should have hurt him too. He looked like he was hurting, but I should have made sure. It is too painful to feel the pain of death and yet be alive. There is no pain worse than the pain of death.
 And then, the man wanted us to be Father and Daughter, just father and daughter. I couldn’t understand why he would want to reduce our love to something merely biological and normal. Why on earth couldn’t he see that I could never be happy as just his daughter, and that I could never be remotely happy with any other arrangement? We were happy, I made him happy. Why do some people reject their own happiness?
 For a long time I had believed my father loved me. On my twentiethbirthday, I knew the truth. That day was my awakening to the heartlessness of men, and the absurdity of love. That day, I grew up, I grew old and I died.
 It was the last day I spoke or saw my father. He killed me, so I made sure I remained dead to him. I became a living dead, dead inside and alive only in looks.
 As I left him that evening, I looked back a lot of times. He didn’t recant, he didn’t rethink. He watched me leave. The tears were streaming from both our eyelids. I could feel his sorrow; it was thick enough to touch. The feeling was apt; death had occurred.
 The man came for me twice, later. But he came as a father coming for his daughter. He should have come for me as a soul for its soul mate, like breath for air, like the dying for life. That was what we were; romance and its love.
 He came, just that twice. I waited for him too, but he never came again. I gave up.
 I made a new resolve. Men would learn from me, the very hard way. I have what they want. My beauty is the glaring kind that every body agrees with. But my heart would be a different matter. I knew most men wouldn’t resist me; they can’t be as tough as my father, my looks were not enough for that man to change his mind and do the right thing, the best thing.
 It wasn’t easy. It took a while before I could stand the touch of any other man, but vengeance helped me detach my body from myself.
 I would forever be grateful for my looks; it was my ultimate shield. It helped me survive and helped my resolve. I set off on a mission, to hurt as I had been hurt. I soon became very successful. I brought both boys and men to their knees. I killed them and still left them alive. I remember the families that fought themselves over me, the brothers that would never forgive each other, the scandalized churches and governments, the suicides, the bankruptcies. There is a lot a body can do when it is rightly motivated.
 My father didn’t know what he unleashed.
 Payback is a beautiful side of nature. There is no payback as sweet and profound as when it’s total and final, like death. No man recovered that encountered me.
 But vengeance was not so much fun. I didn’t feel any lasting relief. Hurting men didn’t make me feel much better; it was a constant reminder to my own heartbreak. But I couldn’t stop. Sometimes I wondered what the whole point was. I could never lose the pangs I had for my father’s touch. Payback did not completely fill the chasm that my father dug in me. I doubt if anything ever would.
 I would have easily given everything up for things to get back to what it was.
 I lived like someone on a mission, and I wanted to be free from the service, but I just couldn’t. In moments of weakness, I would always think about what my father and I had. Thinking about our perfect love brought me tears and gave me joy. At such moments, I would really try to feel and have fun, I would let my guard down to see if I would be alive again. It was no use. No other man was like my father. No one even came close. No one was able to get me right, something was always missing. With my dad it was perfect, he knew just what I wanted, and how. No two people were ever in sync as my father and I was. No other man could bring me alive.
The last time I had pleasure was with my father.
This many years have passed, since I lost my beloved father. And more recently the world lost him too. I just left his grave side. I have never been able to understand why I keep visiting his grave, despite the distance, despite all. And each time, I always leave with an exhausting longing, a fiery desire, and an intense craving.
I would do anything; anything, just to have sex with my father again.
Op-ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija.
the writing seems like it was written by a professional author 🙂
MMMMMMM! Made me hard. I love getting hard. Cuz once your hard, there is only one thing to do with it. Jack it off.
I jacked off to pictures of tweens in panties and bra after i read this story. MMMMMMMMMM!
I jacked off to sexy tweens in panties and bra after I read this. MMMMMMM!
Close to home !!! I am MWM, have grown kids. My Daddy started with me at age 5 and proceeded till I was 15. He died and I almost did also. It is still like a very pleasant dream !!!
I ended it with my daughter when she was 12. She was devastated. It took years to reconnect.
I loved the story! The writer makes me feel like it is a deeply personal confession of how this incestuous love with her father
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