Tonya's Testimony
Copyright© 2026 by Uncle Jailbird Joey
Chapter 4
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 4 - Tonya loves her daddy very much, but is it okay to love him that much?
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft ft/ft ft Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Incest Father Daughter Swinging First Masturbation Oral Sex Safe Sex
The thought of Peter painting my insides causes my hips to twist sensually, and I guess that’s what causes him to stop his staring, slide the patio door open, and interrupt my sunbathing.
“Come swim with me, little girl,” he commands.
I hasten to comply, my body gleaming from coconut-scented tanning oil and semen. I follow him to the pool, where we slip into the warm water and embrace, my perky breasts pressed to his broad chest, our legs tangling. I wrap my thighs around his waist and drape my arms around his neck, purring. After enjoying this blissful embrace for a few moments, I ask, “Do you remember the swing club?”
My stepfather’s penis hardens against my stomach. “Of course.”
“Remember that couple we hooked up with?”
“Sure.”
“That was Abby and her stepfather.”
He gawps at me, dumbfounded.
“I guess she has the same daddy fetish that I do,” I say aloud, thinking: and that Stella, my mother, did, too.
Peter finds his voice. “Hold on. That redheaded friend of yours from school who spent the night that time that —”
“Yep. That masked vixen that you fucked and painted white was later your houseguest and slept under your roof, under your care.”
His breath catches. “But she’s your age!”
“She is.” And the same age, I think to myself, that Mom was when she started having sex with her stepfather. “Actually, she’s a month older than me; her birthday’s next week.”
He facepalms for a moment, then starts and looks into my eyes. “Waitaminute ... At the swing club, did you know it was her?”
I shrug. “Well, this is kind of embarrassing to admit — especially since she and I had hooked up one time before that — but no ... not at first.”
My stepfather furrows his brow. “What do you mean, ‘not at first’ — wait: what do you mean by ‘hooked up’?”
“Well, it was just a bored-and-horny-at-school thing, but it was ... you know —” I make a peace sign and press my fingers to my face, sticking my tongue out between them: the universal sign for cunnilingus.
He chuckles. “Oh. I didn’t know you did that.”
“Well sure, Daddy,” I say, “I bet lots of girls experiment like that these days.” But a part of me wonders: Do they really? Or is this another delicious perversion I’ve inherited from Stella? Maybe I’ll ask her some day.
“All right,” Peter says, sighing, “and even though you had ... been with her, you couldn’t tell it was Abby at the swing club?”
I roll my eyes at my stepfather. Sometimes I do these things deliberately to remind him that I’m still a teenager. “Well she didn’t recognize me either, Daddy — I mean, it was kinda dark in there and neither of us girls spoke and we were both pretty busy; plus, you don’t expect to find many girls our age at a swing club — I mean, girls dressed as schoolgirls, sure, but not actual schoolgirls — but on Monday, in advanced English lit, she kept glancing at me, and I caught her adjusting her necklace the same way the redhead at the club had fiddled with hers, and I started piecing things together.”
The story seems to ignite Peter’s passion. His hands grip my butt, and he lifts me higher. I respond by reaching between us and guiding his rigid cock to seat itself at the entrance of my puffy vagina once more, teasing him with the subtlest in-and-out motions I can manage. Then he drops me down slowly, inch by inch, letting me feel the familiar stretch as he fills me completely.
“And there were some other things, too,” I say, gasping, “like a freckle pattern on her neck that looked really familiar, so I started asking her about how her weekend was, and she was just like, ‘wild.’ Eventually, she admitted that she had had a hook-up with some guy, and when she described how he was built and how he came all over her tits, I realized she was talking about you.”
I begin to roll my hips, grinding him deep inside me with languid circles that make the water ripple around us, while he slides a hand up to caress my B-cups.
“So I dropped some hints about my own ‘wild’ weekend, and I could see the gears turning in her head, and then ... well, her green eyes went wide — she finally figured it out — and we just started laughing at how we didn’t need to wear masks any more.”
My stepfather’s thrusts grow firmer, water splashing softly as he bounces me on his length, one hand sliding up to stroke my face.
“It brought us closer. We started hanging out more, making love, trading stories about our partners and ... their relationships to us — that was an extremely delicate conversation, believe me — but once we figured out that we shared the same society-defying secret, well, we became girlfriends forever. That’s why she jumped at the sleepover invite — not just because we had grown so close, but because my stories about my daddy turned her on, and the little firebox slut wanted to see you again, tease you a little, maybe more.”
“I can’t believe Abby was actually the redhead from the club,” he mutters, his free hand guiding my hips faster as the pleasure builds low in my belly, a coiling heat that makes me clench around him.
“Yeah. We agreed to keep it a secret — though I did cheat a little by trying to help you figure it out on your own. Remember how we all went out for ice cream, and our houseguest and I kept bending over the counter so that you could peek down our shirts?” I smile mischievously. “We did that because I told her it would be funny to tease you like that ... but actually, I just wanted to see if you would recognize the birthmark on her left breast.”
Peter furrows his brow. “I was stopping myself from looking down your shirts because your mother was right there —”
“You needn’t have bothered. In fact, all the sneaking around we did was probably unnecessary. I think Mom would have been fine with the two of us being together.”
My stepfather raises an eyebrow and asks incredulously, “You think that she would have been okay with me messing around with you?”
“Yep. I’m sure of it — don’t ask me how I know, I just do.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. I don’t want to spill Stella’s secrets from her diary, but I think I now understand some of the tension between her and my daddy and me — as well as the wistful smile my mother gave me the night of the sleepover before she went upstairs.
Aloud, I say, “Didn’t you notice that as soon as we got home from the ice cream parlor, Mom went upstairs to bed early with a ‘headache’?” My fingers trace sarcastic air quotes in the air. “She’s really smart, and she knew what she was doing: leaving you alone to entertain two horny schoolgirls who put on skimpy bikinis and splashed around in the pool as soon as we were safely out of the public eye.” I smirked, allowing him to visualize the memory of our bikini tops sliding down as Abby and I play-wrestled in the water, our bodies slick as eels as we peppered him with nip slips.
What Peter cannot visualize, however, is something only I saw: Stella watching me act like a slut through her bedroom window. At the time, I convinced myself that she couldn’t see how I was teasing her husband with my young, wet body. Now, having read her diary, I think she understood what I was doing better than I did.
“Yeah,” I say after I let him remember that day for a minute. “my mother knew what was happening, and so did my redheaded girlfriend, and so did I; you were the only one in the dark. Didn’t you think it strange that as soon as we got tired of flashing our tits at you in the pool, Abby and I came in to get ready for bed, and when we came back downstairs to join you, the slutty redhead was dressed just like I was: a loose T-shirt, a tiny thong, a pair of stripy cotton socks — and nothing else? I might be able to get away with it, but girls with D-cups don’t go braless unless they have a damn good reason, and she had one: Didn’t you wonder why our strange, sexy houseguest was wearing an outfit perfectly matching what you secretly told me you liked to see me wear around the house?”
I gasp as my stepfather bottoms out hard, the water buoying us into a rhythmic fuck that feels endless, and I enjoy its pattern for a moment before continuing.
“Oh, Daddy,” I finally murmur against his ear, “Don’t you want to know what really happened the night of the sleepover? I feel like there are some things you were missing, and I’d like to see your face when you hear about it.”
He chuckles. “All right, little girl. Why don’t you tell me your side of the story.”
I smile whenever he calls me his little girl, but my smile turns to a grimace as his penis throbs inside me and he pulls me down for a deep kiss, our tongues tangling as he pistons upward.
I break the kiss to continue, my voice breathy. “So those knee-high stripy sport socks that Abby was wearing were mine — I lent them to her — and I told that horny redhead to just keep inventing excuses to bend over in front of you because you’re an ass man ... God, that was fun. Remember how she kept ‘dropping’ things all night? And how she never bent her knees to pick those things up? That was no accident ... Nor was the fact that her thong was riding deep inside her; that was a very purposeful camel toe I arranged specifically for your viewing pleasure.”
Peter groans and buries his face in my neck. “I’ll never forget that night ... And it wasn’t just your girlfriend, you teased me pretty hard, too.”
I chuckle. “You bet I did. Remember how I ‘accidentally’ spilled some water on the coffee table and got on all fours to wipe it up, my booty pointed straight at you? I mean, who does that? I was practically acting out a cheesy porno for you, and you were too far gone to be skeptical, and Abby had to bite her fist to keep from laughing at the look on your face.”
My stepfather’s breathing quickens. “You’re right, I didn’t even notice her, I only had eyes for you.” His hands cup my butt as he fucks me steadily now, the water churning with our movements. “But now that you’re pointing it out to me ... you two were relentless,” he groans, his voice thick with memory.
“Oh, we were just getting started,” I whisper, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist and riding him with abandon, my clit grinding against his base on every downstroke. “That redheaded slut pretended to want to look at the photos on our bookshelf, so she stood right in front of you in your chair and stretched up on her tiptoes, bending forward a little so that her shirt lifted up and she pointed her almost-naked ass right at your face. I was standing behind your chair at the time, and I could see that our houseguest was so wet her panties were practically transparent. I could smell her arousal —”
“So could I.”