Silver Lining

by sooper

Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Incest, Father, Daughter, Pregnancy, .

Desc: Incest Sex Story: Simple plot : Wife turns to alcohol, so husband turns to daughter. My first story, so feedback would be appreciated...

"Can't the - hic - two - hic - of you - hic - fuck - hic - keep quiet?"

I whirled around, surprised at the sound of my wife's voice. It had been over an hour since she had retreated into our bedroom, carrying a bottle of rum, and I had been sure that she was dead asleep before coming here. My wife stood silhouetted against the dim corridor, a bottle in her hand. She leaned against the doorway, her untied robe sashaying about, her stout form almost filling the doorway, hair all tousled, and waving her hands in an unsteady fashion.

I said nothing.

Beneath me, squirming her torso without letting my shriveling cock slide out of her, my daughter leaned sideways to see the sorry sight of her drunken mother. For a second, I felt her muscles tense - and the quiver of her pussy as it continued to massage my cock seemed to revive an erection that had ebbed the moment I had realized who it was who had interrupted us.

"A woman - hic - can't even - hic - shet shome deshent shleep - hic - without - hic?"

"Go back to sleep, Mom. Sorry we woke you up." Even as she said this to her mother as sweetly as was possible with a straight face, my daughter started to knead my ass-cheeks, restarting at a slow pace our interrupted fuck. I nodded at my wife.

Although she was far too unfocused to see my nod, my wife seemed to answer with a nod, only to lose her balance when she moved her head, and almost fell down. Still leaning on the doorframe, she took a large sip from her bottle, said something that sounded vaguely like "Good night" and turned on her heels. For a few seconds, in the stillness, we could hear the sound of her feet shuffling unsteadily across the hallway.

"God," my daughter exclaimed, bursting out into loud peals of laughter, "THAT takes the cake."

I laughed along with my daughter, all the tension forgotten. Both of us knew the risk we were taking about getting caught, but to get caught and be let off like this had never even figured in our most optimistic dreams. I reached over her head and switched on the lights - the room instantly became as bright as day, causing my daughter to squint as she wrapped her hands around my neck and drew me to her breast...

Everything had been bright and rosy in my life for close to two decades in my life, since that day in high school when I had laid eyes on a beautiful senior of mine, Rosie. We hit it off almost immediately, and lost our virginity together - she was a year senior, but that hadn't translated into sexual experience - within six months. Even if that moment hadn't produced Suzie, our only daughter, I am sure we would have married each other one day. The moment she said she was pregnant, I asked her to marry me.

The honeymoon was postponed twice, once for the exams, and then when it was time for Suzie to join us. By that time, there was no more need of a honeymoon, and Rosie fit well into a triple role of student, wife and mother, earning a scholarship at the same college that I won a sports scholarship. Suffice to say that both of us made the best of our education to get good, decent jobs that we were content with.

The long period of happiness was however marred by a greater, shorter period of sadness, when Rosie had an accident while she was carrying our second child. At the expense of having any more children, I had a healthy Rosie back, and I couldn't have asked for anything more.

So it was that we started to spoil our only child, Suzie. She did not grow up into a brat, though, inheriting her mother's brains as well as her beauty. The only thing she seemed to inherit from me was my sense of humor and - although it was evident only later - my love for sex. The three of us were very close.

By the time Suzie was ten, I had resigned from my job and taken up painting. Rosie would often model for me, and I have to admit that few pictures of her in the flesh were ever completed, for obvious reasons. Rosie, meanwhile, was steadily rising in her career at Wall Street, and the few paintings of mine that were completed - mostly modern art - fetched enough for her not to feel the pinch of being the sole bread-winner for the family.

It was shortly after Suzie's fourteenth birthday, when I had come down to my parents' place for a weekend visit, when our idyllic peace was shattered. Three men broke into our apartment to rob us - they ended up raping my wife and sodomizing our little girl.

For what solace it offered, the cops hunted down all three, but it had scarred all of us.

Then began the period of therapy. Even I needed to see a therapist to get over my guilt of not being there for my family when they needed me most; but Rosie and Suzie pulled through, and it seemed as if, a year later, nothing had happened. Suzie regained her place at the top of her class, and Rosie seemed to be bringing home bonuses every other month.

It was two years since the rape, almost to the day, when Rosie was fired from her job. For a while, she seemed to brush it off, and we decided to move down to my parents' farm, a far cry from the maddening city. It was there that I realized how dependent my wife had become on alcohol to carry on with her daily activities.

My gravest mistake at that point was to assume that this was only a temporary binge and that my wife would get over her addiction. It was a picturesque location, and since we had only a little garden that we considered our farm, the rest of it having been sold out, my hectic schedule involved little more than painting and ferreting a very beautiful and vivacious almost-seventeen-year-old girl to and from her school. Unfortunately, as you noticed, it did not leave time for being by my wife's side. I just assumed that she would ask for me if she needed me.

By the time either Suzie or I realized the extent of her mother's drinking problem, it was too late to do anything on our own. We tried Alcoholics Anonymous too, and I even pretended to be an alcoholic at AA myself so as to provide moral support to my wife, but none of it worked.

When we moved into the city for a few weeks, her drinking became even worse. We returned to the farm.

It is to Suzie's infinite credit that she displayed maturity beyond her years in taking over from her mother. Her meals were even more wonderful than Rosie's, a combination of both her mother's and her grandmothers' instructions, and she proved to be a wonderful housekeeper. God knows where she found the time to pick up after her mother, join me at the garden and the workshop, cook, clean, laundry and keep her grades up. I know only that she did all this, and without ever complaining to me even once about it.

Suzie was about the only thing in my life which held me back from the depths of frustration. Although my daughter was a wonderful companion who would listen to me for hours, or just sit silently as I tried to capture the scenery, I missed my wife terribly. Rosie, who was still alive, was coherent, at best, for two hours a day, but they were never enough, for that time was spent in going to the nearest pub and back to stock up. Neither Suzie nor I could stop her from hoarding our cellar with liquor.

For a long time, Suzie and I cared for her, tolerated her. Suzie had never even spoken out against her, whereas I admit I was starting to lose my tolerance for Rosie. All that ended on Suzie's eighteenth birthday.

The party was well under way at our house, with Suzie looking absolutely magnificent in her emerald-blue gown that accentuated her curves and firm breasts and flaming hair, matching the color of her eyes, and the pearl necklace that hung from her neck could not draw any attention away from her sexy cleavage. With her heels, she was almost as tall as I, and with her smile, she paled everything else in beauty. Her presence that night was electric.

Rosie had promised me that she would stay sober at least on the occasion of our daughter's birthday, a promise that I knew she had violated as soon as she showed up just as Suzie was about to cut the cake - so preoccupied had I been with the arrangements that I hadn't even realized that she had visited the pub again. Sensing trouble, I moved closer to her, trying to steer her away from the crowd and into her room, but she pushed me away.

For a second, it looked as if she just wanted to wish Suzie for the occasion. A collective gasp went up from the crowd when Rosie just puked all over the birthday cake.

Suzie tried to keep a straight face, but the tear that flowed down her right cheek was obvious. She watched numbly as her mother dropped the bottle on the dinner table, sending plates to the floor, before hiking her skirt all the way up to her waist and peeing into the large bowl of punch.

A few minutes later, Suzie and I managed to escort a struggling Rosie into her room. Suzie was on the verge of breaking down, and it must have taken her enormous will-power to keep her emotions under control. I was seething with rage, and if it hadn't been for Suzie, I might have just slapped some hard sense into my wife.

As soon as we entered the room, I flung my wife rather roughly on the bed. Suzie let go of her mother limply before breaking down. I turned around to find her crying, her eyes red and swollen, and pulled her into a hug.

"Why, dad, why?" she kept asking. As I couldn't answer, I did the only thing I could - I continued hugging her.

Rosie pulled herself up and puked all over my daughter's gown, before going a step further and grabbing a strap of the dress. Before either of us could react, she tugged at the thin material, tearing it. The rip went all the way down to the slit at her waist, a part of the dress in Rosie's hand, the remaining hanging on Suzie by a single shoulder-strap.

I stood transfixed at the sight. All that my daughter had underneath her special dress had been panties, powder-blue thongs pressed against her crotch. I saw her breasts, full and round, firm and topped with pink nipples, unblemished skin but for a small birthmark above her left aureole. The flesh seemed to quiver slightly, and a drop fell from her cheeks on the breast.

I tore my eyes away and glared at my wife, who was, without the slightest sign of guilt - or realization - wiping her mouth on the piece of cloth she held in her hand. Then she tossed it back to Suzie before falling back on the bed. Within seconds, the drunk was asleep. Her snore punctuated the humiliation.

Even as a baby, Suzie had never been much of a cry-baby, but all this happening on a day that was supposed to be special to her, and she threw her arms around me, forgetting that she was naked but for a negligibly small piece of lingerie, placing her head on my shoulder and sobbing uncontrollably. Fatherly instincts caused my arms to encircle her protectively, one hand on the back of her head, the other on the small of her back, pressing our bodies together in a way that was meant to be comforting and reassuring.

It was at that moment that I realized with a shock that her naked breasts were crushed against my chest, her nipples for some reason hardening within the embrace. Worse, it caused one of the biggest erections in my life. And the worst of it was that it was pressed right against her crotch, where she was sure to feel it.

For a few seconds, her crying continued, and I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when she looked up at me with a puzzled expression. Her mouth parted slightly, as if to ask me something, while her eyes had a mixture of sadness and surprise in them. Her lips looked so enticing, the small gap between them assuming a sensuality that was rapidly becoming the sole focus of my concentration. She closed her eyes, as if signaling an unasked surrender, and drew in a breath. I started to lean over...

No, I shouldn't, said someone inside my head. Not her. Not my own daughter. Not when she was naked, and vulnerable, and there were guests below...

I pulled away, and something flashed in her eyes - was it relief, surprise or disappointment? I looked at the clock on the wall behind her, not wanting to be drawn into any more feelings until I had gotten a grip on myself. "I'll see the guests out," I told her, my voice low, shaking. "Maybe we can have this some other day... Get dressed, hon. Go to your room and take some rest."

Not trusting myself to look at her again, I spun on my heels and walked out of the room.

Most of the guests had already left, and my nearest neighbors - who lived a quarter of a mile away - were discreetly dropping hints to the few dense enough to expect the party to continue. I was thankful for their efforts, saving me the trouble of unfortunate explanations, and within minutes, I had shut the door behind my neighbors, whom I had promised a beer the next time I ran into them at the pub.

The house was a mess, and it took me an entire three hours to put everything in order once again. Every fifteen minutes, I had gone up to Suzie's room - I was so angry I couldn't care less about Rosie - with the intention of giving her company, only to turn around at her door at the sound of her crying. I suppose it was all the more reason I should have knocked, but the images of Suzie naked and enticing were forcing themselves into my head every time I shut my eyes.

At the end of it all, I suppose I chose the easiest way out, stretching out on the sofa in the living room. It was close to midnight when I heard a door creak open, and then soft footsteps paddling towards where I rested. It was Suzie, and thankfully, she was no longer crying. She must have washed her face, I thought, or perhaps taken a shower. She looked fresh.

"Dad?" she asked hesitatingly.

"Come here, sweetheart," I told her. She smiled as she walked over to me, the thigh-length robe emphasizing an attractive figure. I couldn't help noticing the gracefulness of her long legs, with their slight tan, and the way her muscles tightened when she took a step. Reminding myself that it was my daughter I was ogling, I managed to return my attention to her face.

By which time she was already settling on the floor in front of me. I started to get up to make way for her on the sofa, but she pushed me back to a reclining position. "Thanks, Daddy," she said simply.

"For what?"

"Just, you know, being there for me and everything. And trying to keep me happy and... "Apparently, she could think of nothing else to thank me for, so she leaned over and gave me a tight hug. Once again, as I felt her breasts pressing against me, I could sense another erection coming and tried to smother it by pressing my thighs together. That backfired - with my legs as a background, my arousal was even more evident. It was not a fact Suzie missed when our hug ended.

She giggled when she saw the outline of my penis, seemingly amused by the sight as much as she must have been by my plight.

"What's so funny?" I asked, trying to make light of the situation. "Never seen one like that before?"

"No," Suzie replied, grinning, "Never seen THAT one like that before." With that, she gave my dick a squeeze. My first reaction should have been paternal, moving away and asking her what she thought she was doing. My actual reaction was to cream my underwear at my daughter's first touch. The appropriate paternal reaction came a few heartbeats later.

"Sorry Dad, just couldn't resist," she said playfully. "Of course, I don't mind exercising my fist for a few more seconds -"


She grinned impishly at me. "Just kidding! Jeez, you would think I asked you to fuck me or something!"

"Watch your tongue, young lady," I said, fighting myself to keep from smiling at her.

"Come on Dad, indulge me. After all, it is my birthday."

"Neither age nor experience is an excuse to have a foul tongue, young lady, but since tonight's your special night, I'll let you take a rain check on the lecture."

She rolled her eyes at me and stuck her tongue out. "Thanks," she said cheekily. Our conversation abruptly lapsed into silence.

"You've got a few more minutes in the day, Suzie," I said a few minutes later, absently running a hand through her glorious red locks while she leaned back against the frame of the sofa, "Anything you would like to do to sign off your eighteenth birthday?"

"No," she replied before turning around and looking at me with a strange expression. "Well, perhaps... if you don't mind..."

"I won't," I promised, "What is it, me fair lady? What doth thy heart asketh?"

She giggled at my Victorian attempt before placing a lovely finger on my lips. "Kiss me," she said simply.

I leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"No," she protested as soon as she felt my lips on her forehead. "A real kiss. A man-woman kiss."

"I don't know, honey, it's not - proper. For fathers and daughters to, I mean -"

She never let me complete my sentence, pulling my face towards hers and pressing her lips against mine. I was surprised by the raw passion of her lips as they mashed mine, and her tongue slid into my mouth. It was as if a dam had burst, and I had no intention of fighting the flow; I kissed her back. For a few seconds, our intensity was at its peak, as I experienced one of the most erotic kisses of my life, before the passion ebbed - though it still remained in the background - and we continued kissing each other idly for some more time.

Her lips, soft and moist, continued to be locked with mine as neither of us seemed to want to be the first to pull away. Both of us were panting for breath, and the expulsion of hair from her nostrils seemed to tickle my cheeks. There was no longer an urgency of need in our kiss; whatever passion had erupted between us had turned to complicity and comfort. She had her eyes closed, as if savoring the moment; I had mine wide open, knowing that I could never have enough of the sight of her face so close to mine. I could have died at that moment without even knowing it.

When we finally parted, both of us hungry for air, I saw that her face was flushed. Suzie saw me staring at her. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

I nodded weakly, not knowing what to say. My dick throbbed painfully within the confines of my pants, demanding release. I suppressed the thought.

My daughter leaned over again and gave me a quick peck on the lips, withdrawing herself quickly so that we wouldn't be drawn back towards the lust that had briefly overtaken us. "Thanks Daddy," she mumbled, her voice sultrily diffident. Then she turned around on her heels and scurried off to her room, leaving a very confused father admiring the faultless curves of her backside.

What a day! As I turned off the lights and headed upstairs to my bedroom, I couldn't help reflecting on how my perceptions had changed. My daughter had grown up into a sensual creature right under my nose and I hadn't noticed it, until now; I loathed my wife and for the first time, gave up; I was hard as a rock and had nowhere to turn to for relief.

Entering the room, I saw my wife sprawled out on the bed, snoring loudly. She was drunk to the bone, and even the room was permeated with the smell of alcohol. This was nothing different from other nights; in fact, most other nights she would have passed out on the couch in the living room itself. As I stripped off to change into boxers, I fondled my erection, wistfully hoping for my wife to wake up and, in a rare moment of sobriety, blow me.

I do not know what gave me the idea, but in a few seconds, I had stripped my unconscious wife of all her clothes and had positioned myself at her lips. She had hardly moved a muscle during the entire exercise. I hesitated for less than a second when I felt her dry lips, for I was already beyond caring about how it would affect my wife. I sought my own relief, and I wasn't ashamed to be selfish about it.

Dispensing with any foreplay, I shoved my cock right into her pussy. It felt awkward, and a pungent smell seemed to rise almost immediately, causing me to wonder about my wife's hygiene. Grabbing her hip, I raised her ass off the bed and started to fuck her roughly. She started to grunt but I am sure it was more involuntary than it was deliberate, and her eyes never opened for the five minutes that it took me to blow my load. I held her in my hands until my cock had spurted its sperm for the last time and then pushed her away, disgusted.

It was only then that I glanced at the mirror beside the bed; Suzie was standing at the doorway, an inscrutable expression on her face. By the time I turned around, she was gone. The sound of her door slamming shut echoed through the silent shout. I winced.

Way to go, boy, I told myself. Really. Way to go!

As usual, when I woke up the next morning, Rosie was still sleeping. I didn't want to look anywhere near her crotch, not wanting to start the day with the sight of my dried cum on her thighs. In the light of day, I felt a little ashamed for having forced myself on the woman I had exchanged vows with, until, remembering the way she had ruined our daughter's birthday, I wanted to stick my foot in her ass.

The reflection on the mirror reminded me of something else I had almost forgotten - Suzie had seen me rape her mom yesterday. And she hadn't seemed all too pleased about it. Cursing myself, I stopped brushing my teeth, rinsed my mouth, pulled on a robe and dashed across to her room. Suzie always rose early so that she could make my breakfast - today was no different.

"Hi," I said as I entered the kitchen. "Good morning."

She didn't even turn around. "Hi," she said simply. I groaned inwardly. It promised to be a long warning, and the short robe she had on was not making it any easier for me to think coherently. All night long, I had had wet dreams about my own daughter, and whenever she stretched - or even moved, for that matter - the robe would shift and I would see flashes of the dreams. My cock had been flaccid when I entered the kitchen; now it threatened to grow into Jack's giant beanstalk.

I didn't say anything until Suzie had joined me at the table, a plate of burnt eggs and diluted juice before me. She pretended to pore over the newspaper.


She ignored me.

"Ahem!" I repeated in a louder voice.

She turned the page over to the business section.

"EXCUSE ME!" This time, it was almost a roar.

My daughter took her own sweet time responding. "Yes?"

My throat ran dry. Just like that. One moment I was Mark Anthony, the next Helen Keller. Her eyes flared, and the red hair tended to magnify her anger. She stared at me for a few seconds before throwing up her hands in exasperation and stood up.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Incest / Father / Daughter / Pregnancy /