The Twisted Love Potion
by Pan
Chapter 2 — Babygirl
“I love you, babygirl,” the 40-year old man panted as he thrust into his teenage daughter.
“I love you too, Daddy,” Dalia responded, her back arching as she came, shuddering with pleasure around her father’s cock.
Ever since Dalia’s mother had died, she’d known her Dad was lonely. He’d gone on a few dates over the last few years, but nothing serious—she’d always figured he just hadn’t connected with anyone, that his love for her mother had been so strong, he’d been unable to reopen that part of his life.
Now, as she felt his cock pulse inside her, Dalia wondered if he’d been waiting for her. Waiting for her to notice how incredibly sexy he was.
Waiting for her to notice how well the two of them fit together. How good it felt when their genitals met, when he fucked his daughter as hard as he could. How good it felt when he came inside her, when he felt her pussy twitching with orgasm around his cock.
Fathers and daughters, Dalia was increasingly realizing, shared a unique sexual connection. She’d literally come out of his cock—and now, she was the one who caused him to shoot out his baby-making sperm. She’d come out of his cock, and now he came into her cunt, every time he could.
“Good girl,” he grunted, as he shot his cum deep inside her womb for what must have been the hundredth time. “You’re Daddy’s good little girl…”
Everything had changed two weeks ago. They’d been at a play—not an uncommon occurrence for the father-daughter duo. Dalia had aspirations of being an actor, and her father would take her to every play that came to their small country town, wanting to both support her dreams and connect with his daughter’s interests.
The play had been fine—engaging, not great—but Dalia had been enjoying seeing the actors at work. It wouldn’t be long before she was off to college (a business degree, at her father’s insistence—something she could fall back on if her acting career didn’t take off) and she loved seeing a glimpse of the life she imagined for herself.
During the intermission, Dalia’s father had given her a few dollars to grab a drink—she’d picked up a Fizz Twist, the only beverage that both she and her father liked enough to share.
As the curtain rose for the second act, Dalia sat forward, rapt. A few minutes in, her father passed her the drink.
One sip later, Dalia’s life changed forever.
As the beverage met her tongue, she suddenly became hyper-aware of her father’s presence, sitting beside her. No, more than his presence…
His masculinity.
Dalia’s nipples tightened, and she held back a groan as she realized. Her father was a man. She’d always thought her father was attractive, in an abstract way—a few of her friends had jokingly referred to him as a hottie—but until that moment, she’d never truly understand what they meant.
The grey streak in his hair, his dad bod, the way he’d always looked out for her…
Right then, even the way he’d unconditionally loved her mother was enough to have her squirming in her seat.
She tried desperately to focus on the play, but she couldn’t. All she could think about was her father, sitting beside her. His arm muscles, his beer gut.
His cock.
Dalia almost choked on the drink when the thought struck her. Her Dad had a cock. A thick, hard cock—well, probably not hard, at the play, but it could be.
It had the potential to be hard.
She could make it hard.
Her eyes fluttered and her clit throbbed at the idea of making her father’s cock hard, of making him erect.
Of taking care of his erection for him.
Dalia was facing forward, but her attention was far from the play. She was picturing herself on her knees in front of her father, his eyes feasting on her naked form, her hand wrapped around his cock, her mouth swallowing down his seed.
The teenage girl’s pussy throbbed at the idea of her father cumming, cumming inside her mouth, her cunt, her ass.
She wasn’t a virgin—she knew what sex was like. But her father was so much more experienced than the fumbling teenage boys she’d fooled around with; he’d do more than stick his penis inside her and wiggle around until he came.
He’d be able to make her reach climax, something that none of her boyfriends had been able to do. He’d probably be better at it than her own fingers; he’d spent literally decades getting women off.
Dalia’s father would be able to teach her things about her own body.
It was getting harder and harder to stop herself from groaning out loud at the dirty thoughts running through her head.
Before she knew it, the play was over, and her father was looking at her strangely. Was she imagining the lustful look in his eyes? Was she just that desperate for him to want her that she was projecting?
Was her father really gazing hungrily at her, wanting her as much as she wanted him, or was it real?
Dalia couldn’t risk doing anything, saying anything—she only had one parent left, after all, and she didn’t want to ruin her relationship with him. She couldn’t jump him, press her lips against his, move his hands onto her ass, whisper in his ear that she was his to do with as he pleased.
No matter how much she wanted to.
The car ride home was silent; Dalia’s heart raced—normally they’d talk about the play they’d just seen, but her father apparently didn’t have anything to say. Did he suspect that something was amiss?
Had she been worse at holding back her moans than she’d thought?
“Good night,” she blurted the moment they got inside the house. She wanted nothing more than to run up the stairs, to get away from the awkward situation she’d created as quickly as she could…but instead, Dalia found herself moving slowly, swaying her rear from side to side as she ascended the stairs.
When she got to the top, she looked back, and was delighted to see her father watching her, unable to tear his eyes away from her perfect teenage ass.
That night, Dalia barely slept. The moment she got into her room, she stripped naked, moving her hands across her body, imagining her father touching her, enjoying her female form. Her skin was smooth, her pussy soaked. She knew that her ass was her best feature—she’d been disappointed when her breasts had stopped growing at a B-cup. Her mother’s had been larger; she wasn’t sure of the exact size, but she knew that her father was a breast man.
Would she be enough for him? Would she be able to satisfy him?
Dalia came again and again, her fingers stimulating her needy clit as she pictured her father towering over her, stroking his cock for her, cumming onto her face, her B-cup breasts. She imagined taking his cock deep into her throat, into her pussy. She even played with her ass—would he be the first man to take her from behind?
If he wanted it, she wouldn’t deny him anything.
She finally drifted off to sleep in the early hours of the morning, her clit sore from overstimulation, still wanting more, more, more.
She wanted her father. She knew it was wrong, but it was undeniable—she wanted him to take her any way he pleased. She wanted her young body to bring him the pleasure he’d been denied since her mother had passed.
Dalia wanted to get him off, and she wanted him to do the same.
When she awoke, Dalia felt like she was hungover. A part of her had wondered if this sudden infatuation with her father would pass, but if anything, it felt stronger than it had the night before.
She wondered how long she could hold out, how long she could resist him.
Her father, she was sure, had never thought of himself as irresistable, but there was no better word. It was only so long before she’d give into her teenage hormones, and attempt to seduce her own father.
Dalia’s cunt pulsed at the thought.
She got off twice more before forcing herself out of bed, and going downstairs to make her father breakfast. If she couldn’t submit to him sexually—which, in that moment, was what she wanted more than anything else in the world—she’d serve him however she could.
Instead of her pussy, she’d provide him with pancakes. She couldn’t give him her cherry, but she could make him a cherry smoothie—his favorite.
To her surprise, her father (not typically an early riser) was already in the kitchen, making himself a coffee. He looked like he’d gotten about as much sleep as she had—his hair was dishevelled (which Dalia thought was a good look on anyone, but her father more than most) and he had bags under his eyes, which somehow managed to give him an sexy haunted look.
“Hi, Daddy,” Dalia said, suddenly shy. The man she’d spent all night fantasizing about was standing in front of her, looking utterly delectable.
“Hey baby,” he replied, running a hand worriedly through his hair.
Dalia, expecting to bring her father breakfast in bed, had dressed to impress. She was wearing a silk black bathrobe—lace webbing covered her breasts, but the robe was otherwise translucent, showing off her flat stomach and long legs. Beneath it, she was wearing a black thong—mostly because any other color would have shown how wet she was.
Just at the sight of her father’s figure, Dalia was soaking wet.
To her utter delight, her dad’s eyes slowly travelled down her body, feasting on the sight. Her nipples stiffened as his gaze lingered on them, and she almost twitched with pleasure at the expression on her father’s face as he admired her perfect form.
“Daddy…” she moaned, unable to stop herself any longer.
“Babygirl…” he replied, and before she knew what was happening, their lips had met, and his hands were roaming all over the body he’d just admired.
“God,” he gasped, pulling back from their incestuous kiss. “Dalia. Baby. We…we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I want it,” Dalia moaned in response. Her hands had gone straight to her father’s crotch, and she’d felt that he was hard.
For her. Her father was hard from looking at her body, from touching her.
She almost came at the thought.
“No,” he said insistently, but Dalia shook her head. She’d spent all night worried that her affection was one-sided; it was the last night she ever wanted to spend apart from her father.
“I love you,” she said gently. It was something she’d said countless times before, especially after the death of her mother, and it was true. She loved her father more than anyone else. “Don’t you love me?”
“Of course I do,” her father groaned, and that was all Dalia needed.
“Then love me,” she said, finally managing to undo the knot of her father’s pajama pants, freeing his cock and moving her mouth back to his. “Love me, Daddy…”
She moved her father’s hand to her wet pussy. The pot of coffee sat beside them on the bench, forgotten, as Dalia learned that her father’s hand—and cock—was everything that she’d hoped it would be….