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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Secret Rooms
by Your Ghost (no address provided)
***
A daughter with the hots for her dad takes the situation
into her own hands. (M/f-teen, dream, inc, oral, preg?)
***
I didn't know why I went down into the basement. There
was just something telling me that I needed to go there,
something waited for me down there, waited to be found.
I had no idea what it might be, and not knowing made me
nervous, even a little scared, but I kept going,
descending each step, peering into the dim light cast by
the single bulb at the top of the stairs.
I found all of the things my family had stored over the
years: discarded furniture, boxes of baby clothes, worn
out sports equipment, old dishes, appliances, school
projects. There was a ton of the stuff, but it was all
very neatly arranged and organized.
There was a bed too, but instead of being disassembled
and stored up against the wall near the far left corner
like I'd always remembered, it was put together and
sitting right in the center of the room. Headboard,
footboard, mattress and box springs. There was a
bedspread on it, one I recalled from my childhood.
Pillows too. I looked at it, squinting through the
darkness, and wondered who had put it there and why.
I suddenly felt afraid; I didn't want to go near it. Yet
at the same time I was compelled. I couldn't keep myself
from crossing the room, going carefully around all the
boxes and chairs, the volleyballs and hockey sticks,
until I was standing at the foot of the bed. I bent
forward and touched the bedspread. It seemed cold.
"I bought that ten years ago."
I jumped at the sound of his voice, turned around
quickly, my heart beating hard in my chest. Dad stood by
the bottom of the stairs, where I had just been, his
arms crossed.
"You startled me," I said.
Dad gave me one of his charming smiles and said,
"Sorry."
I looked back at the bed, then back at him.
"What did you say?" I asked.
"I said, 'I bought that ten years ago.' The bed. When
you were just six years old. You complained about having
to share a bed with Trisha. Said that you were big
enough for your own bed, so I went out and got it for
you." Dad's smile widened. "I couldn't tell if it really
made you any happier, but at least you stopped
complaining."
"I was happy," I said. "I remember."
"Your mother didn't want me to buy it. She said I was
spoiling you."
The mention of my mother sparked a hint of pain inside
of me; she had left when I was twelve, taking my sister
Trisha with her. She'd wanted to take me too, but I'd
insisted on staying with Dad. It had been just the two
of us for the last four years.
"I couldn't help it," Dad went on. "You were my little
girl." His eyes drifted slowly down my body. "You're
still my little girl, even though you're not so little
anymore."
I was suddenly aware of how I was dressed, tanktop and
peejay bottoms. I was embarrassed, because I wasn't
wearing anything underneath, and I knew he could tell. I
could feel his eyes caressing the intimate parts of my
body, as if he could see beneath my thin nightclothes. I
crossed my arms over my chest.
"Who put the bed like that?" I asked.
Dad's smile slowly faded.
"You did," he said.
I blinked.
"I didn't," I said.
"You must have," Dad replied. He dropped his arms to his
sides. "It's your bed."
I looked at it again. It was my bed. But I couldn't
remember reassembling it, placing it in the center of
the basement, putting on the bedspread. Fluffing the
pillows. Why would I do that?
"I couldn't have," I said, my voice a whisper.
I felt Dad's hand on my shoulder and I turned to face
him, shame burning my cheeks. I didn't want to look at
him but he touched me under the chin, pushed gently
upward until our eyes met. "Lena, everything in this
room is here because you want it to be."
"But..."
Dad took my face in his hands and kissed me, firmly, on
the lips. I wanted to resist but I couldn't. Then his
tongue pushed into my mouth and I felt a startling heat
blossom in my belly, and between my legs. My shame
deepened. And yet I felt my arms going around him,
embracing him, my hands sliding up and down his back.
We kissed long and deep, Dad's tongue filling my mouth.
I heard myself moan as his hands cupped my breasts and
began to fondle them. His touch was gentle and knowing,
and I could feel my nipples getting hard beneath his
fingers. I moved a hand from his back down over his hip,
then between us. I found it sticking out of his pants,
surprisingly long and hard, and I wrapped my fingers
around it. I started to stroke it, sliding my hand
slowly up and down the shaft, from the head all the way
down to his balls. Dad groaned into my mouth, then broke
our kiss. He let go of my breasts and took a step back,
and even though he didn't say anything I knew what he
wanted.
I dropped down onto my knees then, and held his long
stiff cock in front of my face. I wrapped my other hand
around it, under the first one, and continued to stroke
him, using both hands now as I leaned forward and took
the end of it into my mouth. It was much too large for
me, much too long, and yet I managed to get the whole
thing in my mouth, sliding my lips and tongue all the
way to the end of it. I could feel his pubic hair on my
nose and his balls against my chin. The head of his cock
was in my throat, filling it completely, and yet I could
still breathe.
I thought to myself, 'I have my dad's cock in my mouth!'
"Oh, Lena," Dad moaned softly, as he put his hands on
top of my head. "My sweetheart, my darling... I love you
so much."
I moaned around his cock, knowing he would like that,
and slowly brought my lips and tongue back toward the
head. I held his balls in one hand and massaged them
gently as I began sucking and stroking him. Dad ran his
hands through my hair, moaning and whispering things to
me, filthy things that I'd never heard him say before.
"Suck my cock, Princess. Suck Daddy's big cock, take it
all in."
His words, and the tone of his voice, the sensation of
his cock moving inside my mouth, and his sudden hands on
my breasts, caressing and squeezing, it all fanned the
small heat inside of me, lured it into life. I became
more excited, sucked and stroked with greater energy.
Dad groaned my name, and then I felt his cock throbbing
and his cum spurting into my mouth. It was hot and salty
and it flowed down my throat like thick water.
Finally, I pulled my mouth away and wiped my lips with
the back of my hand. I stood up and looked at my Dad
like a little girl needing affection. Dad took me in his
arms again, kissed me, then suddenly we were falling
onto the bed together. Then he was lying on top of me,
his body heavy on mine, and then we were naked and he
was kissing my breasts. I felt him take my nipples into
his mouth, seemingly both of them at the same time, and
gently suck on them as his hand moved up my thigh.
His fingertips brushed my pubic hair, then delved down
into it, touching my pussy. He caressed the lips
lightly, up and down, up and down, then I felt one of
his fingers penetrating me. The heat that had bloomed
inside me grew into a fire, burning white hot in the
center and flaring out to my arms and legs, through my
whole body.
I told myself I didn't want this, it was wrong, it was
incest, and yet at the same time I found myself
spreading my legs as wide as they would go.
Dad's finger slid further and further into me as he
continued to lick and suck at my nipples. His finger
felt huge, as big as his cock, and he began pushing it
in and out of me, fucking me with it, and then I
realized that it wasn't his finger anymore, it was his
cock. Dad was fucking me with his cock, and suddenly I
exploded and melted inside.
I took his face in my hands and kissed him, pushed my
tongue into his mouth, then took his into mine. He was
still fucking me, steadily pushing his big cock into me
again and again, and I sucked on his tongue, out of
control now, not caring that I was being bad.
His tongue moved in and out of my mouth in tandem with
his thrusts into my pussy. I felt myself getting closer
and closer to orgasm, the heat and the pressure building
inside of me until I wanted to cry out. I did cry out, a
shrill yelp of unrestrained pleasure as my second orgasm
engulfed me.
Dad continued to fuck me, harder and harder, battering
me with his cock, until finally he hugged me so tight
that he squeezed the breath out of me. I gripped his
biceps and held on with all my strength. And then he was
coming, pumping his hot semen into my body, into my
pussy, into my womb. It poured into my like a giant
river, filling me up and overflowing, spilling out of my
pussy and onto the bed.
Dad nearly shouted with pleasure as his cock continued
to erupt. He pulled out of me and held it in his hand,
stroked himself, and his come jetted from the head in
milky arcs that splashed onto my belly, my breasts, all
over my face. There was more of it than humanly
possible, and I was bathed in it, swimming in it, and
still it burst from him, pouring over me like a
waterfall.
Dad lay on top of me again, embraced me, kissed my
semen-covered face, whispered his love to me. I held him
too and returned his kisses, and when his cock slipped
back inside of me my body filled up with light and
orgasm rushed through me like a firestorm.
And then suddenly I was alone, going back up the stairs,
away from the basement and the bed I'd known as a child.
I was still nude, and as I looked down I noticed that my
belly had grown, inflated. I was pregnant. Pregnant with
my daddy's baby. I stopped at the top of the stairs,
placed a hand on my swollen stomach, and smiled.
And then I woke up.
*****
I was in my own room, in the bed that I'd had since the
old one had gone down to the basement. I'd thrown the
covers off myself, but even in the cool morning air I
could feel the warmth of my body, my clammy skin. There
was a tightness in my belly, my nipples were hard, and
the place between my legs felt full and wet. I had cum
in my sleep.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to chase away the
fog of slumber, but at the same time trying to remember
the dream. It wasn't hard; I'd been having the same
dream now for more than a week. Every detail was the
same, every word spoken, every movement made. Even the
end result, my body's memory of orgasm, was the same.
I looked at my clock. Seven in the morning. Earlier than
usual. I could go back to sleep, but for some reason I
didn't want to. Instead I got up, put a robe on over my
peejays, and went to the bathroom. I washed my face,
then studied myself in the mirror.
I tried to find some explanation for what had been
happening to me, but the only thing reflected back was
the confusion in my large dark eyes. I looked down at my
breasts, saw that my nipples were still hard. I touched
them, to make sure that they were real and not some
leftover illusion.
I left the bathroom and went downstairs, wandered
through the living room, the kitchen, the family room.
The house was completely silent and still. I went to the
door that led down to the basement, paused there for
just a moment, then opened the door and went down the
steps.
I found everything there, almost exactly like it was in
the dream; the boxes, the furniture, the volleyballs and
hockey sticks. My bed was leaning against the wall, in
pieces.
It wasn't real, I told myself. It wasn't real, but...
but what? But it could be? Couldn't it be?
I closed my eyes and tried to remember back when I was
six, when the bed had been replaced. Had my dad done
anything to me then? Something that had buried itself in
my subconscious, something that was banging on the doors
of my mind and demanding to be let out?
No, I didn't think so. Dad had always been a great dad
to me. The best Dad in the world. Besides, if there had
been anything like that, then the memories would be
frightening, terrible, painful. Nothing in the dream had
made me feel that way.
What was it, then? Dreams were all about unfinished
business, but if it wasn't about the past, then it had
to be about the future. But we can't know the future.
"We can only create it," I told myself.
I went back up the stairs and closed the door to the
basement. I went back through the living room, back up
to the second floor. I passed my own room and went to
the door of my dad's bedroom, opened it and went in. Dad
was still in bed, asleep. At first I was surprised; I
expected that he'd already gone to work, but then I
realized that this was Saturday.
I went over to the side of his bed, stood there and
watched him sleep. He was handsome, my dad, with strong
masculine features, a long muscular body. He was forty-
two but he was still good-looking enough that even my
girlfriends swooned when they saw him. Sometimes I did
too.
I pulled the covers down to his waist. His biceps and
his chest were well-defined, his stomach hard and flat.
I couldn't see what I'd been looking for, although I saw
the bulge in his pajama bottoms, that mysterious part of
him that I'd never been allowed to know about. The
sentry guarding the door to a room I was never allowed
to enter.
I wondered how much his secret room looked like mine.
I took a deep breath, lifted the covers up, and crawled
into the bed next to my dad. I lay next to him, my body
against his, and put my arm across his stomach. I laid
my head on his shoulder, closed my eyes and thought
about the nature of dreams.
Sometimes they came to warn us, but more often they came
to lead us, to guide us toward the things we wanted, the
things we needed, the things we feared and yet wished
for...
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any
of the scenarios in this story should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 80