Accidental Webcam
Copyright© 2007 by North Point
Chapter 9
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 9 - Andy just wanted to say a quick hi to his daughter over the internet phone. Little did he know the shock he was about to get!
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Drunk/Drugged Heterosexual Fiction Father Daughter Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Voyeurism
The first weeks back at college hit harder than Amanda expected.
She had spent the entire holiday break in her father’s bed, fucking until they were both sore, falling asleep with his arm heavy across her waist and his cum still leaking out of her. Now the dorm felt wrong. Too small. Too quiet. Every time she closed her eyes she could still feel the way he looked at her when he was inside her—like she was the only thing that mattered.
Andy felt it too.
He started sending her quiet photos in the morning: her coffee mug sitting next to his on the counter, the empty side of the bed, the spot on the couch where she used to curl against him. No captions. Just the images. Amanda would stare at them longer than she meant to before texting back.
They fell into a new rhythm. Longer video calls. Not just the filthy ones. Real ones. She told him about classes and the annoying girl across the hall. He told her about work and how the house felt too big. Some nights they just sat on camera together in silence, phones propped up while they did homework or scrolled. It felt strangely domestic.
The sexual tension never went away, though. It just changed shape.
It lived under everything.
On the calls that started soft and ended with both of them breathless and messy, the relief only lasted until the screen went dark. Amanda would lie there afterward with her fingers still wet, staring at the ceiling, already wanting him again. Andy admitted one night, voice rough, that he had started sleeping on her side of the bed just to smell her pillow. The confession made her ache.
They tried to be patient. They really did. But the distance kept grinding at them. A week would pass where their schedules refused to line up, and by the time they finally got each other on camera the need was sharp enough to hurt. Amanda started getting restless in class, thighs pressed together, mind drifting to the way he sounded when he was close. Andy told her he had jerked off in the shower that morning thinking about the noises she made when he was buried inside her. Neither of them was handling the separation gracefully.
One night the frustration boiled over.
They were on video. Amanda had already come once, but it wasn’t enough. She was still wound tight, frustrated tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.
“I hate this,” she whispered. “I hate not being able to touch you when I want to.”
Andy’s expression was just as strained. “I know, baby. Me too.”
“It’s not the same. My hands aren’t yours.”
“I know.”
She looked at him for a long moment, something restless and determined settling behind her eyes. The next day she started planning.
One Thursday night in late February, Amanda decided she wanted to give him something.
She spent two days setting it up. Her phone on a stack of books aimed at the bed. A small camera tucked on the bookshelf. Another angled from the desk. She tested the angles until every part of the bed was covered.
She also took her time getting ready. She washed and dried her hair so it fell in soft, loose waves down her back, the way Andy liked it. She did her makeup carefully—smoky eyes, lashes darkened, lips a glossy pink that would look filthy once they were stretched around a cock. She wanted to look like she had put real effort in. Not for Brad. For the man who would be watching later.
When she texted Brad it was casual.
Free tonight?
He showed up a little after nine. Amanda opened the door in a short yellow sundress that barely reached mid-thigh. No bra. No panties. White thigh highs with a thin lace band at the top. The dress was thin enough that her nipples were clearly visible against the fabric. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, and her makeup made her eyes look darker, hungrier.
Brad’s eyes dropped immediately.
“Fuck,” he said, stepping inside. “You look ... dangerous.”
Amanda smiled and shut the door. “Good.”
She didn’t ease into it. The second the door locked she pushed him back against it and dropped to her knees, pulling his cock out and taking him straight into her throat. She moaned loudly around him, wet and messy, looking up so the cameras would catch her eyes watering and the glossy pink lipstick smearing.
“God, you always suck cock like you’re starving,” Brad muttered, hand in her hair.
She pulled off with a wet sound. “Maybe I am.” Then she took him back down, gagging herself on purpose, spit running down her chin and onto her chest.
She stood, turned around, and bent over the arm of the couch, flipping the short dress up onto her back. Completely bare underneath except for the white thigh highs.
“Come on,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “Fuck me.”