The Willowbrook Vessel Book 1: Daddy's Claim
Copyright© 2026 by Victoria Kane
Chapter 2: Gemma
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 2: Gemma - In quiet Willowbrook, Gemma has become the secret vessel for seven powerful older men. Her own father is only the first. What starts as one forbidden night spirals into a dark, addictive cycle of breeding, risk, and total surrender. Her husband remains blissfully unaware, proudly raising children that are not his. The logbook grows. The hunger deepens. And Gemma is only getting started.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Sharing Wimp Husband Incest Father Daughter Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Pregnancy Squirting
The second day of the seminar arrived.
After tasting her father’s cock the previous night Gemma resolved to push him further. She chose the role of his innocent little girl once more: sweet, affectionate, utterly dependent. That morning Nat woke early and came downstairs to fry eggs for breakfast. Guilt still clung to him from the trouble he had caused her the night before.
When she appeared in her dressing gown he apologised at once.
“I’m terribly sorry about last night, love. I behaved disgracefully on my very first evening here. Quite embarrassing.”
Gemma smiled softly and stepped closer. “It’s all right, Dad. Let me look after you for a change. You’ve taken care of me for years.”
She wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug, pressing her fuller figure against his body. “You’re so sweet, making breakfast for me. Josh never does this sort of thing.”
She tilted her head up, kissed his cheek lightly, then rested her head on his shoulder. Almost at once she felt his erection stirring, pressing firm against her lower abdomen through the thin pyjama fabric. His hands settled on her back. They stroked up and down. The touch sent shivers racing across her skin.
His palms drifted lower. They cupped her hips. Gemma decided to press on.
“Dad, do you think I’ve put on weight? The girls at work tease me that I’m getting plump.”
She turned slowly in his arms, offering him the full view. “What do you think?”
“You’re not plump at all. Your figure is lovely.”
She turned her back to him, arching just enough. “Is my bottom too big?”
He hesitated only a moment. His hands returned. They squeezed firmly. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”
“Well ... last night, when I was helping you out of the karaoke room, one of your friends grabbed me. He said my bottom was ‘firm and bouncy.’ I was mortified.”
Nat’s grip tightened. “Which one? Tell me his name. I’ll have words with him.”
“I couldn’t see properly. It was dark. I’m not angry, really. But it upset me that he thought I was one of the girls there.”
“Don’t take it to heart, love. Those old boys are frustrated. Wives long past caring. They come to these things to let off steam. If they weren’t drunk they wouldn’t behave like that.”
Gemma glanced up at him, playful. “And you, Dad? Are you frustrated too?”
He laughed. A little uncomfortably. “Perhaps a bit.”
Emboldened she pressed further. “Feel it properly then. Tell me if it really is bouncy.”
She turned fully away from him. After a brief pause his hands returned. They kneaded her buttocks with deliberate pressure. The sensation was exquisite. She bit her lip to stifle the moan that rose in her throat.
“Mmm ... yes, very firm. Very bouncy. You must exercise regularly. Such tone.”
He did not stop. Gemma leaned back slightly into his touch.
“Dad ... are you going to keep squeezing all morning?”
He chuckled. “You’re incorrigible.”
She turned to face him again. “The seminar tonight. More karaoke with your colleagues?”
“Yes, probably. Why?”
“May I come along? I’d like to point out the man who grabbed me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “If you wish. But it won’t be much fun for you. Mostly older men. And they’ll behave themselves better if they know you’re my daughter.”
“Then don’t tell them I’m your daughter.”
He looked at her curiously. “What should I say?”
“Continue the pretence from last night. Let them think I’m ... your companion for the evening.”
He studied her for a long moment. “If that’s what you want.”
After breakfast she showered, dressed for work, and drove him to the seminar venue. All day her mind wandered. Replaying the feel of his hands. The taste of him the night before. By evening she was soaked again.
She returned home, showered, and changed with care: white strapless bra, thin white camisole, black lace thong, a short red flared skirt just above the knee, white strappy high heels. She applied fresh makeup. She wanted to look fresh. Inviting.
She telephoned Nat when she arrived at the hotel. He came down to meet her. His eyes travelled slowly from her face to her feet.
“My goodness ... you look stunning, love.”
She smiled. “Remember our agreement.”
“Of course. But stay close. Some of these men might get ideas.”
He placed his arm around her shoulders and guided her into the karaoke lounge. The place was already lively. Around two in the morning by British reckoning. His colleagues spotted them at once and began teasing good-naturedly. Nat led her to a corner booth and sat beside her.
As the evening wore on the men grew increasingly drunk. Nat drank sparingly. Perhaps mindful of her presence. One of his friends, already quite inebriated, summoned one of the lounge hostesses to kneel between his legs. Soon two more joined. Servicing others openly. The room filled with low moans and the wet sounds of mouths at work.
Nat leaned close. “Shall we leave?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Let them enjoy themselves.”
She picked up the microphone and began to sing softly, perching on Nat’s lap. “May I sit here, sir?”
He smiled and adjusted her comfortably. She sang while gently rocking her hips against the growing hardness beneath her. His hands settled on her waist. Then slid lower to grip her hips. The friction was maddening. She grew wetter with each subtle movement.
His colleagues gradually drifted off with their companions. Eventually Nat suggested they go home. She rose reluctantly. The ache between her thighs had become almost painful.
The drive home passed in silence. Guilt and desire warring inside both of them. At the house they parted for showers. Gemma could not sleep. Masturbation no longer sufficed. She needed more.
She slipped downstairs in her dressing gown and black lace knickers. She knocked softly on his door.
Nat opened it, surprised. “The air conditioning in my room isn’t working properly. I can’t sleep. May I stay with you?”
“Of course, love. Come in.”
He gestured to the bed. “No need for the floor. Plenty of room here.”
She slid under the covers beside him. After a while she turned toward him, resting her head on his chest and draping an arm across his waist. His hand settled on her hip. It stroked slowly. The touch drifted lower. Cupped her bottom. Kneaded gently at first, then more firmly.
She pressed closer. His fingers slipped beneath the lace, tracing her cleft. She gasped softly.
“Dad...”
“Yes, love?”
“You missed out on fun with your friends tonight because of me,” she murmured. Her voice barely above a whisper.
Nat’s hand paused on her hip. “I don’t mind.”
She shifted slightly. Her fingers drifted lower until they brushed the hardening length beneath his pyjama bottoms. “What sort of fun, exactly?”
He exhaled. Eyes holding nothing back in the dim room. “You saw them, love. You know how they were enjoying themselves.”