The Kiss
by Ashley
Copyright© 2026 by Ashley
Incest Sex Story: In a moment of high emotion, Eve kisses her father on the lips for the first time in years. Their lives would never be the same again.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Incest Father Daughter Analingus Masturbation Petting .
I knew that Dad would be waiting up for me; he always did, so I wiped my eyes and took several deep breaths before I opened the door.
“Hi, Dad,” I called out from the bottom of the stairs, hoping to avoid a scene, but my voice let me down by cracking.
“Eve, honey?” he called back. “Are you OK?”
I stuck my head around the corner to the lounge and tried to say the words, “Sure, I’m fine,” but they got stuck in my throat. I’m guessing that my eyes were red, or my expression showed how much I was hurting, because he was up and out of his chair in an instant.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked as he strode toward me, his expression of pained concern leaving all of my attempts not to cry in tattered shreds.
“Oh, Daddy!” I wailed, throwing myself at him as the tears began to flow. He enveloped me in his strong arms, and I buried my face in his deep chest and bawled my eyes out, feeling barely half of my nineteen years. He did just what I needed most: gently stroked my back and my hair while making whispered and mostly meaningless assurances that everything was going to be alright.
It worked. Of course it worked - it always worked. There wasn’t a problem in my world that my dad couldn’t fix.
He waited with infinite patience until my chest stopped heaving and my sniffles had at least slowed, before asking softly, “What happened, darling?”
It all came flooding out. “It was Greg. He broke up with me.” His arms tightened around me, and I knew he was feeling an urge to go and find Greg and beat the living shit out of him. But that wasn’t what I needed. He didn’t even ask why, just held me and let me get there in my own time. “He wanted me to ... well, let him ... put it in my ass.” I actually loved being touched back there, but as far as I was concerned, that hole was strictly exit only. I felt as much as heard the low growl rumbling through his chest. “When I told him I wasn’t ready--” The tears threatened to start again, so I stopped there.
“Jerk,” Dad said bitterly, and I knew the restraint must have been killing him to keep it that polite. “I always hated him.”
I managed a little sniffly giggle. “You hate all my boyfriends.”
“They weren’t good enough for you,” he agreed. “No one will ever be good enough for my baby girl.”
Perfect. Always perfect. I looked up at him, a tiny grateful smile on my lips, and he looked down to return it. “Thank you, Daddy,” I said. And then I kissed him. It had never been a conscious decision that I’d ever made, but looking back, I think that was the first time I’d kissed him on the lips since I was about twelve.
It was just a simple, innocent kiss between a daughter and her father. Except that it wasn’t. The moment that my lips touched his, it was like time was standing still, and the universe suddenly consisted solely of his soft lips pressing on mine. I felt myself melting in his arms even as my heart skipped and jumped like a playful puppy. All thoughts fled my mind, except an unspoken plea that this kiss should never, ever end.
Sorrow mixed with my giddy euphoria when I felt his lips leave mine, and I opened my eyes to see him looking down at me with an expression every bit as stunned as I felt. I didn’t have a clue how long it had lasted, just that I wanted more.
“Erm ... er ... no problem,” he stuttered. For a moment, I was confused, and then I remembered that a lifetime ago I’d said, ‘thank you’ to him. I tried to form a response, but I couldn’t stop looking at his full lips. Wanting to kiss them again. Wanting with all my heart to take his face in my hands and kiss him and feel again what I’d just felt. Not only that, I wanted to-- I brutally stamped out that thought before it could even properly form.
“Night, Dad,” I said in a panic, and I more or less ran away.
“Night, night, sweetheart,” I heard when I was already at the bottom of the stairs.
I lay on my bed, my eyes facing the ceiling but seeing nothing, as I ran over and over in my mind what had just happened. I was no stranger to passionate kisses. I’d kissed - a few moments with fingers and thumbs yielded the grand total of nine - boys, but that kiss hadn’t felt like any of them. And I’d thought that I loved two of them!
As I lay there with my mind racing, one thing that I definitely wasn’t thinking about was the dampness in my panties. Because it just was not possible that the kiss had turned me on that much. Definitely not. So there was no point at all in checking.
In the end, I concluded that it must have been just a freak event: a crazy mix of hormones at Greg breaking up with me, my intense love for my father, and ... who knows, maybe just being a horny and frustrated teen. Maybe Dad’s look was just that the kiss had lasted too long. Maybe...
That was what I was still telling myself as I got undressed for bed, peeling my panties down by the sides for no particular reason at all.
I didn’t think I’d sleep, but I must have because the next thing that I knew, I was waking up, once again with my heart trying to escape my ribcage. I’d been dreaming that we were kissing again, and it had been so, so real. My hand had somehow ended up between my legs, pressing on my pussy, and as I pulled it out, even I couldn’t kid myself that it wasn’t wet. Very wet.
The dream had ended with the kiss at exactly the same point as reality. But my subconscious, or my body, or something, knew what it had wanted to happen next. I was in love with my dad, and I wanted to sleep with him!
When I went down to breakfast, Dad was normal. Very normal. You know what they say: fake it ‘till you make it’, so I did my best to be normal too. We didn’t really have any choice.
I’m not going to tell you that I forgot about what’d happened, but I thought about it less and less. And I found myself drifting as I stared at his lips less and less. But the dreams ... Nothing ever happened in them - I always woke up at the end of the kiss - but their effect on me didn’t change. A constant reminder.
By the time my birthday came around, I could almost, if not quite entirely, believe that my feelings for my father had returned to normal.
Most of his gifts to me had been the result of my less-than-subtle suggestions, but he kept an intriguing-looking one back until last. A box that looked suspiciously like one that might contain jewellery. When I opened it, I gasped out loud - it was a simply gorgeous silver necklace. I squealed like a little girl, jumping up and holding it to my neck in front of the mirror.
“Here, let me put it on,” he said, moving behind me. He fastened it for me, and I admired it in the mirror. There was something about it: the way it felt ... or the color of the silver ... and it gradually dawned on me.
“Is this platinum?” I asked him, not quite believing it.
He nodded. “I saw it in the jewellery store, and I couldn’t resist it. I knew that you’d look so beaut--” He stopped then because I’d spun around, grabbed him by the shoulders, and planted my lips on his. There was no thinking involved; I’d just done it.
Again, time seemed to lose all meaning. Again, my head spun. Again, my heart fluttered, and my breathing laboured.
There was a difference this time, though: when our lips eventually parted, there was no mistaking the feeling of an erect penis pressing firmly on my wildly tingling clit. There was only one thought in my head - it isn’t just me!
“I’m so sorry,” he said, his face blanching. For possibly the first time in my life, I saw my father looking scared. I wanted to let him know it was all right.
“But, Dad,” I said, reaching for his hand as I was about to tell him that I understood. That my clit was in the same state as his cock. But he was already gone. Moments later, I heard the front door closing and then the sound of his car starting.
I sat down with my head in my hands, my mind in a turmoil: I wanted him. I wanted him so badly. And it would seem that he wanted me too. I knew that it was bad, but it felt so right.
I knew what he was scared of, because it frightened me too - a desire and need so powerful that I knew I’d be willing to give up anything for it. Well, almost anything: If he really couldn’t deal with it, then, as much as the thought gave me a real physical pain in my heart, I’d have to crush my feelings for him down into a tiny ball in the pit of my stomach, and keep them there. Nothing was worth losing him over!
Then, just as I’d come to some sort of conclusion, some part of me piped up with: but what if you could be together? What if you could express your love in the most beautiful way imaginable? What if you could feel that cock - which had seemed so hard and so big as it pressed against you? What if you could feel your daddy’s cock inside you?! And I almost whimpered as a surge of overwhelming need made me tremble.
I sat there, thoughts like those chasing themselves around and around inside my head, not really getting anywhere. I looked at the clock and two hours had passed: where was he?
I fetched my cell and texted him, ‘Please come home. We need to talk’.
The reply was immediate and simple, ‘OK’, and it instantly released the tension I hadn’t even been aware I’d been containing - at least he was still talking to me.
Ages later, I found out that he’d been driving aimlessly around, fighting his own mental battles, and had eventually ended up on a bluff where we’d often picnicked when I was little.
When he got home, I was sitting at the kitchen table. Why do these talks always have to take place there? Who knows. He looked just as worried and confused as I felt. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to--
He sat down, and I took his hands in mine.
“I love you so much, Dad,” I began. It seemed like a good place to start.
“I love you too, sweetheart. So, so much.”
“Just to be absolutely clear, I was just as excited by that kiss as you were. At that moment, I wanted nothing more in the world than for you to make love to me.”
“But, Eve,” he began, and I squeezed his hands.
“Please let me finish, Dad.” He nodded, and I took a deep breath. “But if we did that, became lovers,” God that sounded so good, “we’d have to live a lie. We could never show our feelings for each other in public. We’d have to be so, so careful to never let anyone find out. Stealing furtive lovemaking sessions where we could,” furtive lovemaking!!, “Would that be any way to live?”
I paused there, unable to read his expression. “So you’re saying that we shouldn’t...?”
“What do you think?” I pressed.
“That would probably be for the best,” he agreed.
“Good ... good,” I said doubtfully, rising from the table. He stood up as well, and we faced each other uncertainly. I opened my arms to him. “A hug?” He took a step forward and wrapped me up in his arms.
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