Chapter 3: Daughter Trains with Daddy

Note: Thanks to wrc264 for beta reading this!

Leyla Umayyah

My pussy boiled beneath my dress, juices dribbling out of my shaved snatch and down my thighs. I felt Daddy’s eyes on my ass as I led him up the stairs, the steps creaking beneath my bare feet. Nervousness twisted about my stomach.

It was time to put all I learned from Mom with my younger brother Jalal to the test. Time for my sixteen-year-old body to please my father. I wasn’t a good, pure Muslim girl. I was a slut. A depraved whore. Mom was so right about me. I was so turned on right now to seduce my father. To satiate him with my body.

To feel his cum fire into my pussy like my younger brother’s did.

“Did you have a nice day at work, Daddy?” I asked, feeling his rough hands on mine.

“Long day,” he grunted, hand squeezing mine.

He worked as a construction foreman. His success combined with mom’s teacher salary, provided the life for me and my two brothers. He raised me, clothed me, and though my sluttiness would shame him, I would repay that debt by giving him so much pleasure.

My pussy clenched again, the heat growing, swelling. Such a wanton longing filled me. I threw a coquettish look over my shoulder, smiling at him before purring, “Then let’s relax all that stress away.”

His dark eyes fixed on me, his emotions impossible to read with his thick, black beard, lips tight. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, muscled. The opposite of Jalal’s slender frame and almost delicate features. My younger brother had the tendencies of a scholar not a laborer.

But he learned quickly how to handle a slut. He’d fucked me so hard under Mom’s instruction, fucking me from behind as I devoured Mom’s pussy. I hoped Daddy would fuck me just as hard.

“You’re not wearing your hijab,” Daddy said, noticing the first of my slutty behavior.

I felt so exposed without the headscarf covering my hair and framing my dusky face. I’d worn it for five years since I started menstruating. I felt so wanton to show off my luxurious, black hair to a man who wasn’t my husband.

I’d never have a husband. What man would marry a slut? But I would have so much fun.

“I guess I forgot,” I giggled, reaching the bathroom. I opened the door, the air steamy with the bathwater. My parents installed a large, deep tub years ago. It was like a hot tub, letting you relax in it, soaking up to your shoulders. Daddy needed it to help with aches from working hard all day. I could smell the slight tang of the Epsom salts. “Now lets get you in the tub and soaking.”

“Leyla?” he frowned as I led him into the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you take a bath, Daddy,” I purred.

“This isn’t—”

Feeling bold, I put a shushing finger on his lips, feeling the wiry thickness of his beard. I peered up at him, a coquettish smile on my lips. “You heard Mom. Just relax and let me take care of you.”

Confusion robbed him of his normal dominance. He stood rigid, like he didn’t know what to do as I led him deeper into the bathroom towards the hot water. Then I moved around him, reveling in the power I had over him. My body enticed him, my feminine features arousing him to sin.

Sin I’d have to satiate. It was my fault, so I had to relieve him.

“Just strip, Daddy, and enjoy,” I purred behind him, my fingers attacking my bodice. I worked fast, exposing my naked, round tits beneath. I let the dress fall off my body, exposing my teenage curves as he stared at the water, unaware that I’d disrobed. “Come on, Daddy. Don’t just stand there. I need to take care of you.”

I untucked his shirt from his blue jeans from behind, pulling it up his body. He had darker-brown skin than me, rippling with sexy muscles. My pussy clenched, fresh juices running down my whorish thighs. He turned as I pulled his shirt up his hard body.

His eyes landed on my naked breasts.

He froze, eyes widening, mouth opening wide. My nipples ached beneath his gaze. So hard, thrusting from my round, dusky breasts. I struck a pose for him, looking as wanton and slutty, arousing him further, aching to feel his cock in me.

But fear swelled through me. What if he disowned me? What if he despised me? I was his daughter. I should be pure. I shouldn’t be a slut. But I was. I didn’t want my daddy to hate me. I wanted him to love me. To fuck me.

To use me like a whore.

His hands clenched. I whimpered, my heart exploding in terror as something crossed his bearded face.

Mrs. Umayyah

I hoped my daughter was taking care of my husband. Karim deserved her underage cunt wrapped about his dick for being such a good provider. He had every right to use the little slut. It was a shame she wasn’t pure like me. Wasn’t a good, Muslim woman. But I would make use of her. She was the key to making back the money I lost to my online poker addiction.

And to satiate the lusts sparked by watching Clint fuck his sisters, half-sisters, aunt, and others in the classroom next door to mine. Vicky Stevens, his aunt, was also his slut. Like so many other women. By watching them through the peephole I drilled, I learned how to handle my daughter. How to mold her.

How to turn her into a slut that would please the men I’d sell her body to.

My pussy grew so hot just thinking about it. My little Leyla, only sixteen, spreading her thighs for her customers. Letting them fuck her for money. And at home, she’d satiate her father and her brothers. She would make sure my sons were pleasured, that my husband received the comfort he needed. Men had broad appetites. And Karim only had me until now.

Footsteps creaked behind me. I felt eyes on me as I stirred the fish stew I made. It needed another hour of simmering. I gripped the stove, keeping on eye on dinner instead of masturbating to my fantasy of Karim fucking our daughter like the little whore she was.

“Looking for a snack, son?” I asked. It had to be Jalal crossing the room. His older brother, my firstborn Faizel, wouldn’t be home until later. At seventeen, he came and went as he pleased. Perhaps he was with one of the American girls he liked to date, sluts like my daughter who took care of his needs until he found a proper Muslim woman to marry.

“I am,” Jalal said from right behind me.

Then his hands slid around my waist, up to cup my large tits through the conservative dress I wore. I let out a sinful moan, my body responding to his touch as he pressed against me. I felt his hard cock against my ass through our clothing. He nuzzled into my neck, covered by my hijab.

“Mmm, I am so in need of a snack, Mom,” he groaned, my nipples hardening beneath his massaging hands.

“You naughty boy,” I groaned. “But Mommy isn’t a slut like Leyla. You can’t just walk up to her and grab her like this.”

“I know you’re not a slut, Mom,” he groaned, his hands squeezing again.

“And yet you’re fondling my tits like you own them. They’re your father’s tits.”

“You let me play with them earlier.”

I shivered, his cock grinding harder into my ass. “That was to help Leyla with her training. It wasn’t for our pleasure.”

“I’m just so horny, Mom. And you’re so sexy.”

I shivered, my pussy clenching hard. Juices trickled out, soaking into my panties. “That’s sweet of you to say, but you have to stop.” I grabbed his hands over my breasts, squeezing them tighter into my tits. “Right now.”

“I need Leyla’s cunt. Do you feel how hard I am?”

“I do,” I panted, his hands squeezing and kneading my tits beneath my grip. I swayed, rubbing my ass into his cock. “But I’m not a slut.”

“I know that,” he groaned. “But I need to cum so badly, Mom. And Leyla’s with Dad. They’re busy right now. He won’t know that you helped out your son with his needs.”

I trembled, biting my lip, my pussy so on fire. I wasn’t a slut. I had to remember that. But his hands felt so good on my tits. His cock felt so hard on me. I let out another wanton moan.

Leyla Umayyah

I could see the condemnation building in him. I needed to show him just who I was. I had to arouse him to such passion that he needed me to satiate him. That he couldn’t afford to be angry at me for being a slut. Instead, he’d need my whorish body to pleasure him, to give him the delights of my underage cunt.

I pounced at him, throwing my arms around his neck, being bold like those whores on TV. So wanton, taking what they wanted from men. I kissed him hard, shuddering at the wiry feel of his beard on my face, scratching in such a masculine way at my chin and cheeks. I pressed against his strong body, feeling his muscles through his t-shirt. My nipples rasped and throbbed.

Pleasure shot down to my pussy.

I kissed him hard as he froze again. His domination lost to confusion. I shivered, feeling so wanton. I undulated my hips, grinding my crotch into him. His cock grew harder and harder in his jeans, needing me to pleasure him.

I pulled my right arm from his neck, grabbing his left hand. He didn’t fight me as I brought it to my youthful breast. His rough callouses felt so amazing on my silky flesh. My nipple tingled as I pressed his hand hard against me.

He squeezed.

His lips moved against mine.

His right arm wrapped about me, strong hand seizing my ass. He pulled me tight, fingers so rough on my butt-cheek. I moaned into the kiss, letting him grope my body, feel my slutty delights. His cock throbbed in his jeans.

I had him.

Such triumph surged through me. It was so heady to seduce my father into such perversity. I swayed, our tongues dueling, my body shuddering. I wanted him so badly. My tongue dueled his, plunging into his mouth, driving him wild with my burning kiss.

I dragged my right hand down his strong chest, feeling his muscles beneath his shirt. I reached his stomach. He had rippling abs. I shuddered. Mom was so lucky to marry this man, to experience the pleasure his body gave her.

And now I did, too.

He groaned into the kiss, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, claiming me. He kissed me with wild passion as my fingers reached his jeans. I played with the fastener. It popped open. The zipper rasped as I reached in and found his cock in his boxers. It slid out a slit in the front, so warm and throbbing in my hand.

His hands squeezed my breast and ass with such rough passion. He found my hard nipple, pinching it and sending delight shooting down to my molten pussy. I groaned into his kiss, my hand stroking his hot dick. He swelled so hard, his girth and length a little bigger than Jalal’s.

My pussy couldn’t wait to feel it in me.

But I hungered for more. I thirsted for incestuous cream. I broke the kiss, staring up at my father. His eyes were wild, dark and smoldering. He breathed heavily as I kept stroking his dick. He licked his lips, savoring the taste of my mouth lingering on them.

“Leyla,” he breathed, staring at me.

“Mmm, just enjoy, Daddy,” I breathed. “Mother wants me to take care of you. To show you what I truly am.”

“What are you?” he moaned as I slid down his body, my breast and ass regrettably escaping his grasp.

“I’m a slut, Daddy,” I moaned, kneeling before him, his dark cock bobbing before me, precum beading the slit. “And I’m going to give you so much pleasure. With my mouth. With my cunt. I’m all yours until dinner.”

“And your mother...”

His words trailed off into a powerful, growling moan as my mouth engulfed his dick. I opened wide, shivering at the feel of his hard cock sliding past my lips and into my oral cavity. My tongue swirled around its spongy tip. His face contorted in pleasure, his beard bristling. He clenched his fists, staring down at my whorish behavior.

I stared back up at him, letting him see the desire in my eyes. How much he excited me. I grabbed the base of his dick with my right hand, my left pulling out his hairy balls through the boxers’ slit, fondling them. They were so full of the cream I craved.

My daddy’s cum.

I let out a wanton moan, sucking so hard and bobbing my head. I fucked my mouth up and down his cock. My tongue danced, savoring the salty flavor of his precum. He groaned, ripping off his t-shirt as he enjoyed my blowjob.

“Leyla,” he groaned. “What happened to you?”

I didn’t answer him. I showed him.

My cheeks hollowed as I sucked so hard. I moaned my pleasure, my breasts jiggling as I bobbed with furious passion. My pussy clenched, dripping more and more juices down my thighs, perfuming the air with my tangy musk. It mixed with the scent of his body, the manly musk of sweat and labor, so different from Jalal.

I wished Daddy was my first. It would have been even more special. This man deserved every drop of pleasure sucked out of his cock. Whether by my mouth or my pussy. He raised me. I owed him so much.

I loved him so much.

“My little flower,” he groaned. “Look at you. Such a whore. Such a slut.” His words grew harsher. “Just sucking your father’s cock, bobbing your mouth. You suck so hard. You want my cum pumping down your throat.”

I did. I moaned a wanton yes about his cock, twisting my head, fluttering my tongue. I wanted to give him so much rapture. I stroked the base of his hot dick, feeling his skin slid over the spongy yet hard core. My fingers massaged his heavy balls, the pubic hair wiry against my palm, strong and rough like every part of him.

Then he seized my black hair in his hands. He held me tight, his hands forcing my head up an down his cock. I shuddered as he used me, just a hole to satiate his cock. He fucked my mouth along his cock, using me to masturbate his dick.

I moaned so loudly about that, my pussy squeezing tight, aching to be filled.

“You’ve been so corrupted,” he growled. “I’ve seen it. The way you act around me, wanting me to see your developing body. I’ve fought my urges. I’ve used your mother to satiate them. I thought it all innocent. Just a girl maturing into womanhood, on the cusp of finding her own man. But now I see ... Just a whore like all those Western women. You’ll be wearing makeup, dressing in low-cut clothing, showing off so much of that beautiful skin.”

His grip tightened on my hair, his hips fucking his cock forward. I gasped, his dick brushing the back of my throat.

“You just need cock. You need to be fucked. You love driving men into sin. Your own father!”

I shuddered, pulling my hand off his dick, letting him use my mouth. He thrust harder and harder. My hands moved down, shoving his jeans farther down his legs, gripping the muscular trunks as he plowed his cock into my mouth.

His dick pressed on the back of my throat. I wanted to gag. He growled, hands so tight in my black hair.

“Just a fucking whore!” he said as he rammed his dick down my throat.

I sucked in breaths through my nose. I felt like such an object now. My throat burned around his cock. It hurt, and that just made my pussy hotter. Because I could see the pleasure in his eyes, twisting his face. He loved being in my esophagus. I’d heard of this from other girls.

Deep-throating.

Something a whore like Clint’s cousin Lee would do. That girl would do this for Clint. She’d swallow his cock to the hilt, and he’d cum so hard into her belly. Just like Daddy would for me. I didn’t fight him. I let him use me.

My lips pressed into Daddy’s wiry pubic hair, his balls smacking my chin. I smelled his manly, salty musk.

Then he drew his hips back. I sucked so hard, moaning my pleasure. He grunted, face growing wilder and wilder. I whimpered as his cock left my esophagus. Then he rammed back into me, plunging his dick to the hilt, heavy nuts striking my chin.

Over and over, he fucked down my throat. Each thrust made my pussy hotter. My clit ached. I squeezed my thighs so tight together, putting delicious pressure on my bud. Pleasure rippled through my body. My hands clenched on my father’s thighs.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Taking every inch of your father’s cock. Your mother would never do this. She’s not a slut like you.”

I moaned louder, his words making my pussy boil. He pounded my mouth. I loved the plunge of his cock down my throat, his balls thwacking into my chin. I felt so used. Like a whore should be. I squirmed more.

An orgasm built in me.

“What a whore you gave me for a daughter, Allah,” he growled. “Just a wanton slut. She needs to be fucked. Just a slave to her body. So much temptation.”

His cock rammed down my throat again. He let out a bellowing growl, something primal, something roaring from the depths of his soul. Triumph. His cock pulsed against my esophagus. I felt his cum squirting straight into my belly.

I didn’t even get to taste it. I was that much of a slut.

My clit throbbed against my thighs.

My orgasm exploded through me.

I moaned about my father’s cumming dick. Pleasure rippled through me as he grunted. His cock spurted over and over, his cum warming my belly as the rapture rose through me. I stared up at him, stars dancing about his head.

He looked down at me with such hunger as the final blast of his cum spurted into my mouth. And I knew he’d use me more.

I swooned with delight, my orgasm boiling my thoughts with rapture.

Mrs. Umayyah

I wasn’t a slut, but I was a mother.

And a mother helped her son when he was in pain. And he felt in such discomfort.

“I’m just helping you,” I groaned as I reached behind him, fumbling at his jeans. “Since Leyla is busy. You understand?”

“Of course, Mom,” he groaned. “You’re such a wonderful woman. A paragon of virtue.”

“Mmm, I am,” I panted, unzipping his jeans. His hands abandoned my breasts, hiking up the long skirt of my dress. “Just making sure my children get what they need.

My hand reached into his jeans, finding his cock through the slit in his boxers. I held my baby boy’s throbbing dick in my hand. My pussy clenched, so eager to feel him in me. Thrusting over and over into the depths of my pussy. I wiggled my hips, my cunt on fire for my son. I needed to satiate him. To love him like a good mother loves her child.

I stroked him as he bunched my skirt over my waist. I leaned over the stove more, the stew nearby, steam rising through a small hole in the glass lid on the pot. My breasts shifted in my bra as I wiggled my hips.

His hands grabbed my panties. I whimpered as he drew them down.

“Mom,” he groaned as my pussy, covered by my thick bush, came into view. “Such a beauty. More beautiful than Leyla.”

“You don’t have to lie to your mother,” I moaned. “I don’t have her youthful charms.”

“No, you have much more experienced charms,” he groaned as I pulled his cock towards my pussy.

A pleased shudder ran through me. Then I whimpered as I pressed his cock against my married pussy. I rubbed my baby boy’s cock up and down my pussy. At fourteen, he had matured into such a gorgeous, young man.

And so in need of his mother’s love and guidance.

I gave it to him.

“Mom,” he groaned as he sank his cock into my pussy. The very cunt that birthed him. I savored feeling my son back inside me again, my snatch clenching down hard on his cock. “Oh, yes, Mom. I need this so badly.”

“Just remember to use your sister first,” I panted. “I’ll only help you out if she’s busy.”

“Of course, Mom,” he panted, his hands gripping my hips as his cock reached to the hilt in me. “I’m just so thankful to have a mother as loving and caring as you.”