Adopted Daughters: Their First Time
Copyright© 2026 by Marc Morven
Chapter 1
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Daddy’s Forbidden Lessons
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Incest Father Daughter Rough Anal Sex Massage Masturbation Oral Sex
Elisa: My 18-Year-Old Italian Adopted Daughter
- Elisa and me
This is the story of how, at age 60, I took my 18-year-old Italian adopted daughter’s virginity. Over the course of a couple of years—from when she was 18 until she turned 20—we took things very slowly until we finally had sex.
The good thing about the story is that throughout our relationship, although it was short and only lasted a couple of years, there was always the utmost respect for each other.
- Beginnings
To understand how I ended up doing all these things with my adopted daughter, you have to understand the circumstances, because I’m sure that if any one of these things hadn’t happened, none of it ever would have occurred.
First. Elisa’s body.
Both my ex-wife and I adopted Elisa when she was 15. My ex-wife passed away when Elisa was 17, but during those two years they lived together, my ex-wife turned our adopted daughter into a real little slut. She had her breasts done, her butt done, her lips done, her nose done, and had her undergo lots of cosmetic procedures. I’m not going to lie—my ex-wife was a high-class escort; that’s how I met her—and she was already just a pretty face, so she passed that mindset on to Elisa. As a result, by the time she was 18, Elisa wasn’t a normal girl—she was a girl who’d had multiple surgeries. And I’m not going to lie—it all looked perfect on her. Elisa was already gorgeous to begin with, with her blue eyes and long hair. But those sagging boobs and that surgically altered butt made me feel a little embarrassed to walk down the street with her because she literally looked like an expensive whore.
Second. Elisa’s attitude.
Elisa had the body of a high-class prostitute but was very insecure. She spent all day asking me if she was pretty enough, and she walked around the house in clothes that left her practically naked. As I mentioned before, Elisa was adopted, and after finally finding parents, she became very dependent on us and constantly sought our approval. When my ex-wife passed away, that need for approval became focused entirely on me.
Third. Our lifestyle.
I was, and still am, a millionaire. So I lived in a mansion, owned a yacht, and during those two years Elisa didn’t want to go to university. Instead, she wanted to spend all day sunbathing on our yacht or swimming in our private pool. So we spent the whole day together. This is important because Elisa, like any 18-year-old girl, loved luxury, and therefore always wanted to be with me.
Those three things led to Elisa asking me a question one day, shortly after she had turned 18, that would change our relationship forever.
- The Question
To understand the question, you have to understand one thing: Elisa was physically stunning, but like many 18-year-old girls, she was very insecure and had very low self-esteem.
That day, the day she asked the question, the two of us were on my luxury yacht in the middle of the ocean. It was a large black yacht with sofas at the back and several cabins inside. The yacht was so big that it even had two jet skis on board that we used to race each other. The yacht cost around 50 million dollars.
Like I was saying, that day I was in the back of the boat, sitting on some couches, and Elisa was to my right. I’m not going to lie—she was stunning to look at. She had long, toned legs, a firm, beautiful butt that had been enhanced, a lean body, and nice, enhanced breasts. Her face was innocent and childlike—the face of an 18-year-old girl, after all—but since her lips had been slightly enhanced, she had that look that whores sometimes have, like sex dolls. But don’t get me wrong—she was the most beautiful thing on earth. Or rather, more than just beautiful—honestly, she was unwittingly seductive.
That day, as I was saying, I was sitting on one of the sofas at the back of the boat, and Elisa was to my right. We were talking about something related to university when suddenly my daughter said:
“Daddy, do you like my boobs?”
Elisa asked me in her innocent, little-girl voice, the kind of voice that betrays low self-esteem.
Clearly, Elisa wasn’t asking me that question with any sexual intent. The question came up because, having just turned 18, she could have another procedure and wasn’t sure whether she wanted to. It was something we had discussed over the previous few days. I had told her that it was entirely up to her and that I would pay for it if she wanted, but that personally, I didn’t think she needed it.
That—that question—made me look down at my 18-year-old daughter’s breasts.
There’s something else you have to understand: before, when Elisa was under 18, I saw her as a little girl, even though her body was clearly already that of a woman. But when she turned 18, something shifted in my mind, and I started seeing her as an adult woman—obviously because that’s what she was.
I’m not going to lie—before answering her question, I obviously looked at her breasts, and she sort of puffed out her chest slightly to show them off to me.
I’ll say it again: there was nothing sexual about it; for her, it was simply a matter of aesthetics, but they were impressive.
That situation could have ended there—with a simple question and a simple answer—but you have to understand something: spending all day with an 18-year-old model with that body and those huge breasts inevitably makes certain thoughts cross your mind.
So I innocently asked her:
“I don’t know, honey. Can I touch them to see how they feel?”
I asked her, and I won’t lie, I had certain ulterior motives.
Once again, I’d like to explain that a few days ago she had told me that she’d touched them and they felt different to her, so my question had a reason—I wanted to help her see if they were the same size.
“Yes, sure. And please tell me what you think.”
She said this innocently, genuinely indifferent to whether I touched them or not.
So I shifted a little on the couch and placed my hands on my 18-year-old adopted daughter’s breasts for the first time. I put my right hand on her right breast and my left hand on her left breast and squeezed them a little.
I’m not going to lie—I know it’s wrong; after all, she was my 18-year-old daughter—but I got incredibly turned on. Obviously, I hid my feelings and pretended I was just checking out her breasts, but I started touching my 18-year-old adopted daughter’s breasts with great interest.
First, I touched them from the outside, and then—without asking permission, but as if it were perfectly normal—I slipped my hands under her swimsuit and started really touching her breasts, feeling her nipples in my hands.
She didn’t really seem to mind.
The truth is, I had even seen her mother—my ex-wife—do something similar in the past. Again, without anything sexual about it. But this time it was different.
It was funny because if someone had peeked in and seen what was going on without knowing us, they would have seen a man over 60 with his hands on the breasts of an 18-year-old girl who’d had multiple surgeries, and they wouldn’t have had the slightest doubt that she was a high-class prostitute.
Honestly, I spent way more time than necessary fondling my daughter’s breasts, pretending I was weighing them with my hands and measuring them. She, of course, didn’t realize that I’d already noticed long ago that they were perfect, and that I was just playing with them; in fact, she started explaining to me how she saw them differently and what she would do—which was to make them a little bigger.
It was at that moment, with my 18-year-old adopted daughter’s two breasts in my hands, that it began to occur to me that now that Elisa was 18, maybe I could take advantage of her innocence and inexperience to try certain things with her.
I knew I wanted to relive that experience, so I said to Elisa while I was touching her breasts.
“Whew, honey, you have no idea how relaxing it is to touch a nice pair of breasts. Your mom always let me touch them in the afternoons to relax. It’s something that really relaxes me, you know? Touching and massaging breasts like these—big and perfect. I’d thought about asking you sometime if you’d mind if I touched them a little, like I used to do with your mom, but well, I guess you wouldn’t feel very comfortable with that, so never mind.”
I said that last part sadly, and it had exactly the effect on Elisa that I wanted, which was for her to say:
“I mean, it’s no big deal—if it helps you relax, you can touch them; it’s fine. I didn’t know it would help you relax. Otherwise, I would have told you earlier.”
She said it sadly, with her usual low self-esteem.
I thanked her and stopped touching them, and spent quite a while telling her she didn’t need to have any more surgery on them. She talked to me a little more about the subject, and the conversation ended.
She hadn’t realized it—at least not at that moment—but that conversation changed my perspective on her because she’d given me permission to touch her huge, perfect tits, and I’d given her an excuse to do so. Obviously, it was a lie that touching her boobs relaxed me—it actually made me really horny—and when Elisa went to sunbathe, I went to jerk off in the bathroom while thinking about her huge, perfect boobs.
- The Following Weeks
Over the following weeks, something in our relationship changed little by little—without Elisa seeming to fully realize it. What changed was that I started touching my 18-year-old daughter more. Since it was summer, we spent all day on the boat and the evenings at the mansion, and I took advantage of every chance I could to touch her.
That meant that if she was sitting down, I’d give her a shoulder massage, and she loved it. If she was sitting next to me, I’d rest my hand on her leg for a while and stroke it—not for too long, so it wouldn’t feel weird, but long enough for her to get used to me touching her. And sometimes, when she wanted to relax, I’d tell her to sit in front of me and start by massaging her shoulders, but then I’d slip my hands under her swimsuit and spend a good while touching her big, perfect breasts.
My intention was for Elisa to gradually become accustomed to her father—me—touching her regularly. And the truth is, she seemed to get used to it, and she also became more affectionate toward me. Obviously, there was nothing sexual about it on her part, but it was clear that she enjoyed my shoulder massages. In fact, she would ask me for massages herself—sometimes, if not almost every day—and those massages would eventually end with my hands on her breasts.
I’m not going to lie—it wasn’t as lewd as it might seem; it was more affectionate. To her, I was nothing more than a loving father, but I couldn’t stop thinking about one thing: if I could get her to jerk me off, my relationship with her would improve tremendously.
- The Accident
I call it an accident, but it wasn’t really an accident at all. I did it deliberately.
As I was saying, I’d been fondling my adopted daughter’s breasts and giving her massages for several weeks. Sometimes I’d even put my hand on her big butt while we were walking around the boat. And she didn’t seem to mind at all; she’d gotten used to her adoptive father touching her, and we’d talk about life as if nothing were wrong.
On the day of the accident, we were on the boat again, anchored, and I was sitting while Elisa sat in front of me, almost asleep but still awake. I’d given her a shoulder massage and had already moved on to fondling her breasts. And then my dick started to get really hard.
In the past, what I would have done is move my body away from hers a little so she wouldn’t notice, but this time I left her body between my legs, and my dick started to get hard. That made her feel as if a hard stick were pressing against her ass.
At first, I noticed that my adopted daughter didn’t say anything, but she shifted as if uncomfortable. Finally, she turned her head and asked me:
“Dad, what’s that?”
She asked somewhat innocently, although she obviously knew what it was.
I knew that moment was very important and that I had to make it seem normal. If I made it awkward for her, then it would become awkward, so the key was to normalize it. I therefore said very casually:
“Sorry, honey, it’s just that my dick’s gotten really hard. It happens to me sometimes when I touch tits as amazing as yours. Give me a minute to go to the bathroom and jerk off, and I’ll be right back.”
My daughter stepped back, looking a little confused, and I walked away very calmly and went into the bathroom. Honestly, I didn’t jerk off—it went soft on its own—and then I went back to the back of the boat, to the stern, and sat down as if jerking off were the most normal thing in the world.
I had never talked about sex with Elisa before, and I noticed that she was looking at me uncomfortably. I could feel some tension in the air, but neither of us said anything, and then that tension simply disappeared when Elisa went off to sunbathe without saying anything to me.
I knew the key was to normalize it.
- The Conversation
The following weeks were a little strange at first. We were still getting along well, going about our normal lives, and at first I touched her a little less, but then she asked me to give her massages, and we went back to the same thing. And when I say “the same thing,” I mean that I’d give her massages and touch her breasts. The difference now is that when I got really hard, I’d let her feel it against her butt for a while, and then I’d tell her, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, that I was going to jerk off and would be right back.
The first few times I could tell that it shocked her, but eventually it became something normal.
But after doing that for a few days, one day when I came back, Elisa looked at me uncertainly and said:
“Daddy, is that normal?”
She asked me that when I came back from the bathroom after supposedly jerking off after touching her tits.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?”
I asked, pretending not to know what she meant, although obviously I had been waiting a long time for the conversation we were about to have.
“That...”
She said shyly.
There she was, sitting on the couch in her green swimsuit with white stripes, with her stunning body, her big, surgically enhanced breasts, and her innocent, good-girl face.
“The handjobs? Yeah, of course, honey. It’s totally normal between fathers and adopted daughters. Usually, when an adopted daughter has a father who loves her very much and that father becomes a widower, a lot of adopted daughters decide to take their mother’s place and give their adoptive fathers handjobs or blowjobs. That also helps them learn about sex little by little, without any pressure.”
I said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Obviously, it wasn’t true, but Elisa was only 18 and pretty innocent. There was a long silence during which I noticed Elisa becoming pensive, staring out at the sea. She took my words better than I expected, but she didn’t say anything.
The day ended, and for me it was enough that she went to bed with that idea in her head.
- The First Handjob
Weeks went by since that conversation in which I told my adopted daughter that there were adopted daughters who gave their fathers handjobs, but nothing happened—neither good nor bad. I say “neither good” because my adopted daughter didn’t do anything, but also “neither bad” because I kept touching her breasts and openly telling her whenever I went off to masturbate.
It became the norm, and we’d talk about other things as if it were perfectly normal. My adopted daughter was always worried about her appearance and remained a good girl—who was incredibly hot.
The day I got my first handjob while fondling my adopted daughter’s breasts, I was sitting on the sofa at the back of the boat and she was to my left. She was telling me about a TV show that girls her age watch, and she was kind of lying on top of me while I had my left hand wrapped around her back and touching her huge, surgically enhanced breasts.
There’s one thing you have to understand: an eighteen-year-old girl can get used to things very quickly, and by that point I had already been touching her breasts and going to the bathroom to masturbate for almost two months. To her, it was nothing anymore; it had become as ordinary as drinking water. You could tell that she didn’t mind it—she had simply internalized it as something normal.
In fact, strangely enough, since our relationship had become like that, I noticed that she made more of an effort with her appearance for our trips on the boat.
So there she was, lying on the left side of my body, and I was sitting there, touching her tits, and I decided to take out my dick and jerk off while I talked to her. My plan was very simple: if she got upset or felt uncomfortable, I’d apologize and go to the bathroom; otherwise, I’d jerk off in front of her.
So while she was talking and I was touching her tits with my left hand, I pulled out my dick as if it were the most normal thing in the world while talking about other things to see how she’d react.
And I was surprised by how well she took it.
When Elisa saw me with my left hand on her breasts and my right hand on my dick, the first thing she said was:
“Damn, it’s pretty big, isn’t it?”
You have to understand one thing. Elisa was shy, yes, but she was an 18-year-old girl who spent all day with me, and although I was getting turned on around her day after day, she seemed very comfortable with the shoulder massages I gave her and with physical contact.
What I mean is that Elisa wasn’t some painfully shy girl. She was simply reserved. Let’s be honest: she’d had plastic surgery all over her body, had a few tattoos here and there, and while she was inexperienced, she definitely had the look of quite a little slut.
That’s why I decided to try a new strategy with her, which was to talk in a totally crude way, just like her mom did. So I replied:
“Ugh, yeah, with this dick, I’d be pounding your mom’s pussy day in and day out.”
Elisa had the most unexpected reaction I could have imagined. She laughed. She burst out laughing and said to me:
“Damn, Dad, don’t tell me that. I’m your daughter.”
She said it while practically crying with laughter.
The thing about Elisa was that she had that kind of personality. She was always worried about her appearance, but she worried about it so much that whenever the atmosphere became more relaxed, she would laugh.
Since she was taking it so well, I decided to keep going and said to her:
“Look, honey, I’m not going to lie to you—your mom spent all day with my dick in her mouth; that’s just how it was.”
That made Elisa lose control again and burst out laughing while I fondled her huge tits and I kept jerking off.
She was in a really playful mood that day, for whatever reason, and I was really horny that day, for whatever reason. So, seeing her having so much fun, I decided to try to break down our barriers a little and said:
“Damn, seriously, Elisa. I’d give anything for you to suck me off for a while.”
I told her, looking at her a little more suggestively than I should have.