NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic incestuous sexual nature. This tale is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously—any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, real events, or locales are entirely coincidental. This story does not condone father-daughter sexual encounters or unprotected sex.

Watch out, you turned the corner and entered Millie’s Vast Expanse – a land of forbidden delights, stolen kisses, and loving embraces between those who should refrain from such warm, tender, taboo graces. A father and daughter discover their special love in the tenderness of a dark night. A journey of discovery begins in the wee hours of the morning following a young woman’s fourteenth birthday.

Alone in the darkness, my dream is disturbed by a soft creak and a light clunk, like a door opened and closed with care. In less than a single heartbeat, I realized I wasn’t alone. Roused from my sleep, my eyes flutter, opening to near-total darkness. Rising in bed, I gazed into the surrounding blackness, only able to discern a form at the door.

In the lightlessness of my room, his outline was all I made out, tall and muscular, a man quite familiar to me. A knot forms in my tummy, for I recognize my father standing by my chest of drawers. The glimmering from his cigarette lighted his handsome face in a cherry, red glow. Unmoving, he stares at me. As my eyes become accustomed to the light, his face becomes clear, his ice-cold blue eyes are bloodshot, the aroma of his beer and smoke assaults my nostrils. I can’t understand why he is in my room.

As if to clear up my confusion, daddy asked me a question.

“How old are you,” he asked, his voice in a hushed whisper.

“Fourteen,” I said.

“Yeah, when’d ‘at happen?”

“Drake, I mean Daddy,” I said. For he knew when my birthday happened.

“No, baby doll, call me Drake. Now, sweetheart, when’d you turn 14?”

“Drake, today,” I said, still barely awake. “You weren’t at my party.”

“No, you’re wrong,” he said, glancing at his wristwatch, “today is tomorrow, and your birthday was yesterday, now.”

“What?” I said.

“After midnight, little lady,” daddy said, thumping his watch.

“Oh, yeah, yesterday. You, still, didn’t show up,” I said, sounding somewhat put out.

“What’d I tell ya before your birthday?”

“You’d give me my present when you got home from work. But you never got home,” I said, voicing my disappointment.

“I’m home now, aren’t I?” he asked.

“Yeah, but my birthday is over,” I said.

The grandfather’s clock downstairs chimed a full complement and then rang twice.

“Well, only by two hours,” he smiled at me, the kind of smile which steals your heart. To me, my father was my whole world.

Years ago, my mother died. At the time, I wasn’t a year old. If not for her pictures, I wouldn’t remember her face. Though if you viewed my pictures and a photo of her when she was my age, side by side, you’d think they were both of me. So, when I gaze into the mirror, I imagine I’m her, and she is me.

Not to be cruel, but my stepmother was a cold, nasty, jealous bitch. She’d driven my father into other women’s arms, blaming me for the issues between them, all the while plotting to drive a wedge between us. In general, she made life, for both of us, difficult.

Putting his beer on the top of the bureau, he snubbed out the smoke in an ashtray he’d carried into my room, turned to me, and gave me the biggest grin.

“Come here and give me a kiss, baby doll,” he said.

Tossing off my covers, I jumped out of bed, rushed to him, leaping into his strong arms. With a tight grip, we hugged for several moments, we kissed a father-daughter peck. Closing his eyes, Daddy moved his face close to mine, so close, the heat from his skin warmed my own flesh. With tenderness, he pressed his lips to mine a second time; we kissed in a way we’d never done before. Melting into him, my heart raced, pumping the blood to my head, making my brain spin out of control.

Parting my mouth with his tongue, which was slick with his moisture, darting into my mouth, the flavor of cigarette and beer didn’t invade my mouth. Instead, some sweet caramel savoriness with a salty zing greeted my taste buds. A surging intense craving filled me, a niggling fear consumed me, for I feared if my desire wasn’t fulfilled, I might melt into oblivion.

But my passion took over. Responding to his tongue, my own tongue danced with his in a dizzying, wild, wanton tango. Over the past few months, I’d come to consider kissing as tongues dancing, and ours did. Time froze, and I yearned for this moment to last forever. My mind continued to spin round and round like I twirled on a merry-go-round. The beating of my heart pounded so hard I couldn’t think. All the while, our tongues danced and danced.

In that dizzying moment, I realized I loved my father way beyond as a parent. At last, when we broke apart, I fell limp, like a rag doll, into my father’s arms. Gazing into his beautiful eyes, my mind still reeling, my heart so full of love, I told him I loved him.

“I love you too, princess,” if only he’d understood. The ache in my heart wouldn’t be filled without him, and he loved me like his daughter. Lacking the knowledge to tell him differently, I grinned as if happy to be his daughter, only his daughter.

“Don’t you want your present?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, ask me, sweetheart.”

“Where’s my present?” I asked.

Putting me down on the floor, he opened the door, picked a package up from right outside my room, closed the door, and handed me the gift, wrapped in bright paper and completed with a festive bow. Taking the present, I tore the wrapping paper from the box. Flashing dad, a beaming grin, I lifted the top from the package and dropped the boxtop to the floor.

I couldn’t believe my eyes, goggling into the box at the sheer, pink nightgown and matching panties. My mouth must have dropped open. The nightie was sexy and adult, and my temples pounded at the sight of lacey clothing. Wanting to rip the outfit from the box, I instead controlled my hands, but not my mouth.

“Oh, my goodness, oh, gosh, Drake, this wonderful. Just like a woman wears.”

“You are a woman, Babycakes. A grownup gift for my grownup woman,” he said. “Now, try on your first sexy lingerie, cutie pie.”

“Turn away, daddy.”

“What?”

“I mean, turn away, Drake.”

Turning toward the door, he gazed into the mirror, atop my chest of drawers. With the mirror positioned as it was, I realized daddy had a perfect view of me as I changed. And you-know-what, I didn’t care. Pulling the silly Minnie Mouse t-shirt off and working my matching panties to the floor, I glanced at him, with daddy reviewing my fully formed body in the mirror.

Realizing he liked the view, I resisted the urge to smile at him and busied myself putting on the panties and top. Backing to the window, I took a pose like a model in a magazine, one hand at my head, the other at my waist.

“Well, Drake, what’d you think?”

With a slowness, daddy rotated toward me, his mouth, those thin mainly lips, curled into a sneer, not hateful, but a contented, happy smile, which bordered on a leer. With his fiery eyes roving over my body, a sensation rushed over me, through me, washing me in a gnawing hunger. I yearned for his hand to caress my body, for his hands to set my flesh on fire.

“Oh, my darling, I believe I have produced a prodigy, a wonderment of inspiration, Helen of Troy, Nefertiti, and Cleopatra all rolled into one person. You are the most beautiful woman I have had the pleasure to be with.”

“Daddy,” I said. Fire erupted on my cheeks, and casting my eyes to the ground, I mumbled, “I mean Drake.”

“I mean it, you are the image of your mother, but more gorgeous. And I love you, so, very, very much. The first time I made love to your mother, she was your age. You are so lovely. She was fourteen, I was twenty-eight, and her father would have killed me if he found out. Your mother and I ran away. The truth is, she wasn’t 15 when you were born. The having you proved too much for her, I guess. I blame myself. The greatest sadness of my life is all tied to your mother taking ill and dying before your first birthday. If not for you, my sweet love, I’d have died the same day as well.”

Swishing the nightdress, back and forth, while twisting one of my feet, trying my best to burn a hole in the carpet, I couldn’t believe what my father was telling me. Emotions swept over me like ocean waves crashing into the sand.

And like some sand is pulled away from the shore, many of my doubts were swept away. For I realized he loved me more than a father loves a daughter. Rushing to my father, I clutched onto him, with my head at his belly.

“I love you like a woman loves a man.”

“I know, Babycakes,” he said. “I love you the way you love me. Being a selfish man, I now desire to give you the birthday present of womanhood.”

“OH, daddy,” he broke in on me.

“Don’t call me daddy, my love. When we move away from here and live as man and wife, you can never again call me daddy. I’ve planned on us leave here and starting over somewhere else for some time. I only waited for you to blossom into a woman.”

Taking five or ten minutes, daddy, I mean, Drake, explained we would move away soon to a new town. Living in that new place, I’d be his wife.

“What about Ashley?”

“Yeah, what about Ashley? What can I say about Ash? The woman is nothing to me, and she won’t be coming with us. Don’t worry your beautiful head about your stepmother,” he said. For the briefest moment, this familiar darkness overtook him. Some unpleasant thought entered his mind, consuming his happiness for the shortest time.

From time to time, my father was prone to dark moods, they passed as quickly as they came, and his happy nature always returned. Realizing his dark spirits often preceded his bouts of infidelity with my stepmother, I determined to chase them away as soon they formed.

“Again, my darling, would you like to make love with me?”

“I want this more than life. But, with that said, I fear the pain.”

“Yes, you will have pain; at least pain usually goes, hand in hand, with the first time. If you want to wait,” this time, I broke in on him.

“No, I want this.”

Off in the distance, downstairs in my father’s study, the chimes of the grandfather clock rang out the three-quarter-hour. Soon, the full chime would resonate and be followed by three strikes clanging out the third hour of my fourteenth year.

In a hasty manner, my father undressed with swift grace. Afterward, with him standing before me in all his physical perfection, this warmth spread through my body, both beginning and culminating in my private place; I went lifeless and leaned into him. The vision of my father burned in my mind. While I blistered in an agitated, heightened state and trembled inside with a mixture of anticipation, longing, and dread.

Inside me, some tension boiled. A conflict arose, a battle inside me between saying and doing, and so wanting to tell him how perfect he was, and hankering to hold him, kiss him, and touch all his magnificent flesh. With a move by him, the choice to merely speak was removed from the equation.

Picking me up in his strong arms, he laid me on the bed. Descending, daddy lay next to me. The instant passed so slow, his face inching closer, the darkness covering us in a warm protective blanket, as our mouths touched the slightest amount. The full, soft lips of my mouth pressed sheepishly to his smooth, thin mouth. Electricity rushed between us as we delighted in our moment, stretching the flirtatious contact into minutes. Our kisses growing more robust, longer, needier second by agonizing second.

Our passions turned to passion, while my love for him and his love for me became love. The kiss went on, wet, the tasty flavor vanished from the caramel he’d eaten and the pungent foulness of his Marlboros and beer. If I told you this changed nothing, would you believe me?

Taking the lead, this time, I worked my tongue into his mouth, like a snake slivering through the undergrowth, snatching about as if searching for food. His tongue darted inside my open maw, filling me, desperately tasting me, eager to become a part of me.

Our hands roamed over one another’s body like we’d never touched before. Drake’s touch, both gentle and firm, sent tremors through my nerves, single traveling from his hand to my brain, my emotions, traveling into my hungry, insistent, demanding pussy. The wetness covered my new, pink panties. The code reached my breast, and goosebumps rose, my nipples stiffened, and the fabric became a sensual irritation to my skin.

One of daddy’s hands moved to my left boob, a squeeze, tender and sweet, tightened, and shards of necessity rushed through me. I wanted him, desired to merge our flesh and become one person.

Without understanding when the change of position happened, as the storm raged inside me, through my body, and inside my mind, I found myself naked, trundling underneath my father. The icy-hot touch of his hands dove me to an edge of a precipice. I couldn’t return if I wanted to, and I certainly didn’t want to leave this hallowed place. For the first time since we laid down, our mouths parted, my father’s kisses moved from mouth to my cheek, my neck, and continued to my bosom.

Hot, wet, lusty kisses sending my body into a frenzy. Each inch of my skin sensed everything. The bedsheet’s fabric was soft, my father’s muscles were rock hard, his chest hair grazed my belly as he sucked on my small, budding titties. Puffy areolas swelled as daddy’s tongue worked magic on me, and nipples were painfully hard.

With that said, I arched my back, pushing my nipples deeper into his mouth. One of his hands wandered down, and running his fingers over my pussy lips, he tested my wetness. The touch of his hands promised, we have so, much, more to come.