Taboo in Paris
Copyright© 2025 by Kinjite
Chapter 8: Back Home
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 8: Back Home - When Emily's Paris school trip hotel overbooks, she's forced to share her father's bed. The city of romance becomes her ruin—his breath scorching her neck, her sighs dissolving as he teaches her body to crave corruption. Night after night, they tangle in forbidden intimacy, sweat-slick and shuddering, his reckless hunger destroying every boundary. And when her best friend Kim stumbles upon their secret? Some sins weren't meant to be suffered alone.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Consensual Fiction Incest Father Daughter Cream Pie First Oral Sex Pregnancy AI Generated
The weeks after the EuroTour were a whirlwind of reflection and quiet intensity. While the rest of the group returned to their normal lives, Kim, my dad, and I carried a secret that bound us together in ways no one else could imagine. Late at night, after the house had gone quiet and my mom had fallen into her usual deep sleep, my dad would quietly slip into my room. His visits had become routine, his presence as natural as it was illicit. The rules we’d once carefully considered no longer mattered. There were no more discussions about precautions, no more hesitation. He never held back anymore, and neither did I.
There were close calls, of course. Once, my mom nearly caught him leaving my room in the early morning hours, her voice drifting up the stairs just as he disappeared into the hallway. Another time, she noticed the scent in my room, wrinkling her nose as she opened the window. “It smells ... musky in here,” she said, her tone casual but curious. “You should air this room out more.”
I nodded, my heart racing, knowing full well that no amount of airing out could erase what happened within those four walls.
Kim, too, had become a constant presence in this new reality. She visited often, sometimes after school, sometimes staying over for sleepovers like we’d done when we were younger. On some afternoons, the three of us would sit together, sharing quiet moments that felt intimate and secret. It was as though we’d all silently agreed to this new dynamic, a deeper understanding we never spoke about aloud.
On Friday nights, we’d have movie nights. Once my mom had gone to sleep, the clothes would come off, even in the living room. Kim and I would sit on either side of my dad, our bodies pressed against him, his hands roaming freely as the movie played in the background. The skin-to-skin contact was intimate, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex.
At school, no one suspected a thing. Kim and I attended class, hung out with friends, and went about our days like nothing had changed. Maya and Dave were inseparable as ever, dreaming of college and travel. Though Maya had noticed that Kim and I seemed to be pulling away from the group, she chalked it up to teenage drama and focused on her own happiness.
Liam was still pining for me, though he’d become increasingly distant since the trip. He’d tried to reconnect with me a few times, but my polite detachment left him frustrated. He started spending more time with Caleb, forming an unlikely friendship—Caleb, the outgoing, popular guy, and Liam, the shy, awkward one.
Beneath the facade, however, there was always the quiet knowledge of what Kim and I shared. Every glance, every brush of a hand, every fleeting smile was charged with a deeper meaning.
The weeks turned into months, and the secrecy became second nature. Every close call only heightened the tension, but none of us were willing to stop. The risk, the thrill of keeping it hidden, became part of the excitement. We lived in two worlds—one of public appearances and normalcy, and one filled with private, unspoken bonds.
The nights we spent together remained sacred, untouched by the outside world. The mornings, the rest of our lives, were just a performance, a carefully crafted illusion. We all knew the truth was there, beneath the surface, but for now, we chose to continue living in that duality, pushing forward despite the weight of what we’d built.
It had been three months since the EuroTour, and life had settled into a strange rhythm. The nights with my dad had become routine, my body and mind attuned to his possessive touch. But something was changing. I’d noticed it for weeks now—my period hadn’t come, my breasts were swollen and tender, and my jeans were getting tighter. I’d tried to ignore it, to pretend it wasn’t happening, but the small, undeniable bulge at my stomach was impossible to dismiss.
Kim hadn’t said anything, but I could tell she was going through the same thing. We both knew what it meant, but neither of us had the courage to say it out loud. The fear was there, silent between us, a heavy weight we carried everywhere we went.
Every night, when my dad held me, his hands would slide over my growing belly, and I’d feel the weight of it—both literal and emotional. But we never talked about it. We pretended it wasn’t happening. Even as my stomach swelled with the evidence of our actions, we stayed silent.
The thought of being pregnant terrified me. Worse, I knew what it meant: this wasn’t just any pregnancy. This was my father’s child. And though I tried not to think about it, the fear of what that meant lingered—birth defects, complications, things neither of us could control. But with my mom in the picture, we couldn’t say a word.
Then there was my dad. Ever since he’d started sleeping with me, I suspected he’d stopped being intimate with my mom. They still shared the same bed, but I doubted anything was happening between them. I didn’t ask, though—I didn’t want to know the details.
One night, after he’d slipped out of my room, I heard her confront him in the hallway.
“Were you just in Emily’s room?” she asked, her voice sharp.
“She wasn’t feeling well,” he said, his tone calm, reassuring. “I was just checking on her.”
I held my breath, waiting for her to push further, but she didn’t. She just sighed and walked away. Still, I could see the doubt in her eyes, the way she glanced at me later, her expression troubled.
It all became real the day I felt the first wave of nausea. I was in the middle of class when the dizziness hit me like a punch. My stomach twisted violently, and I could barely hold myself together as I stumbled out of the room and into the hallway.