Dad Helps Me in the Garden
by MicaMeesha
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Incest Sex Story: I had no clue about gardening, and so Dad came over to help. It started to rain, and I slipped, falling on my back. Dad rushed across to help, and he slipped, falling on top of me, covering me. Goodness, Dad, that doesn't feel like a garden tool.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Heterosexual Incest Father Daughter .
Summer was here, and my garden was a riot of weeds. I guess there were flowers in there too, but I think most of the growing stuff are weeds, but I have no clue.
“Dad.” I phoned him.
“Hello Mica, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I need your help with my garden, Dad. It’s a mess. I don’t know what to get rid of, what to keep, or what to do with any of it. I have no clue. Help Dad.”
“Okay, baby, I can spend tomorrow with you if that would help; the day is supposed to be dry. Do you have garden tools?”
“I have a fork, spade, hoe thing, rake, secateur things, watering can, weed killer and no clue. That’s what I have, Dad.”
“I shall see you in the morning, baby.”
So that was yesterday. Today I am dressed in a canvas skirt, knickers rather than pants to help keep cool, flip-flops, and a t-shirt. It’s going to be hot, according to the weatherman, and all I need is my dad. It’s past nine, and I am dadless.
I went out to the garden and looked. It was just a mess. There was a sort of lawn with things growing in it as well as grass; I assumed they were weeds. The edges had some big plants and lots of small plants, which I assume are also weeds.
“Good morning, sweetie.” Oh, thank God.
“Hello Dad, thank you so much; I don’t know where to start.”
“Well, it looks worse than it is, baby.”
“Oh, does it? Believe me, Dad, it looks awful.”
“No. The lawn has some weeds. Keep mowing it once a week, and that will be fine. We will pull out the worst first, then just make a point of keeping mowing.”
“Okay, Dad, but the edges – I mean, where do I start?”
“Easy, baby; just pull out everything except the shrubs, and then we will put some membrane down and mulch, and it will be fine, easy maintenance.”
“And what’s a shrub, Dad?”
I think at that point Dad wanted to go home waving his hands in an exasperated manner. Dad walked around the edge of my garden and pointed out the shrubs.
“Everything else is weeds, baby.”
So I got to it. I had my wheelbarrow to put the unwanted things in; I knelt down, leant forward and started pulling up the things that Dad had not called shrubs. Shrubs, who knew? It seems I have shrubbery. I worked around on my hands and knees, and after a while, I was really glad I had chosen knickers, not panties; the sun was behind me, and I could feel the heat. Panties would have been sweaty.
Dad was following on behind me, making sure I hadn’t missed anything, I suppose, and tidying up the bigger plants that I was keeping – the shrubs. After about an hour I had to stop.
“Dad, I need a break,” I said and rolled onto my back and gave my knees a rest. Dad sat on the grass and faced me.
“Going okay, Mica; you are doing good.”
“Are you okay following me around Dad, or would you rather go in front?”
“Oh no, Mica, I am more than happy following you.” He had quite the grin on his face; I couldn’t work out why following my bottom could make him so happy. Oh well. We worked another hour, and we were just over halfway round. I turned and sat, my knees up and my arms around them. I was loving the breeze up my skirt.
“Looking good, Dad,” I said, and it was looking so much better than before; the rest still looked awful, though.
“Oh, I can’t argue with that, Mica,” Dad said, grinning. I still couldn’t understand why he found following me around weeding so enjoyable.
“Lordy, Dad, it’s a hot one. It’s really bikini weather,” and it was; goodness, but it was warm. I was so glad I was wearing flowing knickers, not tight panties; otherwise, I would have been soaking wet with sweat down there. Luckily, what breeze there was was keeping me ventilated.
“Don’t like the look of that big thundercloud coming our way, Mica,” Dad said, pointing up at a big cloud. Yes. It was a cloud, and yes, it was big.
I turned over, back onto my knees, and carried on. This edge was a bit deeper, so I had to bend and lean forward more than before, but it was okay; I could lean on my left hand and pull weeds with my right. It took a little longer, but I still managed to get it done. I guessed my knees must be really dirty; I would need a shower or possibly a bath when I was done.
“I’m just nipping to the loo,” Dad said from behind me.
“Okay, Dad,” I replied and carried on. Just as I heard the back door close behind him, I felt a big dollop on my head. ‘Oh no, it’s not going to rain, is it?’ I thought, and then the heavens opened, oh my. It was as if someone had emptied a bucket of water over me; the rain was the heaviest I had ever experienced. I was absolutely soaked through to the skin in a second. I turned to get up and run for the house, but my feet went from under me, and I fell back, winded. I think I may have let out a little scream as I fell. I just lay for a moment getting my breath.
I heard the back door open and looked up to see Dad rushing down the garden in his boxers. Presumably he had stripped to keep his clothes dry and left his boxers on for modesty. Crumbs, he looked a little ‘full’ in the downstairs department; the modesty part hadn’t really worked for him. He got to me and reached down to help me up, and his feet went from under him, and he came falling down on me. He managed to use his arms so that he didn’t crash onto me.
Well. Most of him didn’t come crashing onto me. I was pretty sure that was an erect dick digging into me.
“Dad?”
“Sorry, Mica, er, I guess following you around looking at your fanny all morning had a bit of an effect.”
“Dad, I am wearing knickers; there’s no fanny to see.”
The rain was absolutely falling; it was landing on Dad and then running off him in rivers. I jiggled a little to stop the rain falling on my face, and it had the effect of moving Dad’s dick to my entrance.
“Baby, your knickers did anything but cover your fanny.” He jiggled a little, and his dick moved from my entrance to inside me a little. Oh my.
I suddenly needed my dad inside me, properly, fully. I didn’t care that he was my dad; I didn’t care that he had been looking at my fanny even though he shouldn’t. He was here; he was almost in. I wanted him all the way as the rain lashed us.
“Push, Dad,” I whispered, my words almost lost in the rain, but Dad heard them, and he did, gently, slowly, my dad entering me, filling me, his dick travelling my length, his foreskin unravelling and rolling down him as he entered and then reached my depth. I was full.
Oh my, what had we done? This must be so wrong, but yet it felt so good. I am no harlot, but I am not without experience, and my dad inside me was the best feeling ever. He seemed to just fit exactly; I couldn’t describe it, but it just was right. I have a pulse in my fanny; I could feel it, but I could also feel Dad’s pulse. We beat as one.
“Oh Mica,” Dad said softly, his voice mellowed by the rain falling from his big cloud, “Oh Mica, what have we done?”
“The right thing, Dad. Only, the wrong place. I have neighbours with windows. Let’s go inside, Dad, and we can continue to explore this without prying eyes.”
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