Mornings are Doug's favorite time of day. The cool quiet as he slides from his warm bed and pads downstairs toward the smell of coffee. He grabs two mugs by habit, yawning and stretching, scratching absently as he sets them on the counter before tugging the elastic band of his briefs under his full balls. He yawns again as he cups his balls in his big hand, rolling them before he slides up the length of his cock.
Already thick in his hand, he strokes himself as he imagines the sweet, pretty face of his little girl. The way she'll look when she walks into the kitchen only minutes after the coffee's ready, all soft and sleep flushed.
Her mouth unpainted and full, her eyes dark and unfocused, her tight little body dressed in a soft, thin tank top and shorts so that he can see every sweet line of her young lithe body. He moans softly, thinking of how she leans against him, curling herself against him. Thinks of her happy little hum when she says, 'Love you, daddy.' He almost fumbles when he reaches for her mug, tipping the head of his cock just past the lip of it as he comes, emptying his balls with a soft grunt.
He sighs a little as he shakes himself off, circling the rim of her mug with his cockhead and then tucking himself back in his briefs. He tugs his robe closed and ties it as the coffee beeps its completion, then pours it evenly between the two mugs, doctoring them both with sugar. He's just taken a sip of his own before he turns and sees his son Brady, home on college break, his eyes wide and astonished.
"What-" he cuts himself off as his little sister scoots past him, her sleep warm body brushing against his, before she reaches for the mug in her father's hand. "Mmmm," she hums in pleasure as she takes a sip. "Daddy's coffee is the best." She stands on her toes to brush a kiss over her father's jaw, then cuddles into his side, her free arm wrapped around his waist. Brady blinks at his sister before he meets his dad's eyes. Doug can't breath, his heart pounding in his chest, because he knows there's no way to explain away what happened.
No chance he can lie himself out of it, because Brady is smart and stubborn and opinionated, and Doug has never felt anything but proud of his kid for that, but right now that just means that Brady could be very well plotting to send his old man to jail.
Except Brady just stands and watches, his eyes sliding back to watch Breanne take another sip; her pink tongue tracing over the rim of the mug before she makes another soft noise of pleasure.
Doug watches his son's face, sees his eyes go hot, and feels himself go warm with heady knowledge as Brady's eyes linger on the curve of his sister's breasts beneath her thin shirt, her puffy nipples, the bare length of her toned legs. His shoulders go relaxed and he smirks as he steps up next to her, bumping against her side, ostensibly to grab a cup for himself.
"So how long have you been drinking coffee, Little B?" "Ugh," she says, pushing him away. "I thought we were done with that nickname." "Never!" Brady exclaims, snatching his sister's coffee and tickling her sides, his hands grazing up over her breasts as Breanne squirms away. Doug watches his son make his sister breathless. Watches their faces flush, and his son's eyes go dark. Feels his cock twitch when Brady's big hands, so like his own, slide over the soft skin of Breanne's thighs.
"Okay, that's enough," he calls out. "Breanne, you've still got school today, so you better get going." "Ugh," she says again, rolling her eyes, but she untangles herself from her brother, then snatches up her coffee and heads upstairs. Brady watches her go, then swivels his eyes toward his father.
"So," he starts, leaning casually against the counter. "How long has she been drinking coffee?" *** It hadn't started with the coffee. It started from going with her to get her first bra, and his first talk with her about boys. It had started with swimsuits going from frilly ruffles, to sleek one-pieces, to two scraps of clingy fabric. "About a year ago," is what Doug says.
Breanne's gone to school and the house is quiet. "I can't-I don't even know how to explain it. The first time it just.happened." "What, like you accidentally jerked it into your daughter's cup and then watched her drink it? Come on, dad." "I was fucking horny, okay?" Doug stands up to pace, running a hand through his hair. "She'd bumped into me when I was coming downstairs, rubbing up against me like a fucking cat in heat, and I rubbed one out in the kitchen.
I grabbed the first thing I could so I didn't come all over everything, then poured myself some coffee to try to wake the fuck up." He slumps back down in his chair, remembering how it had felt that morning. To think of his teenage daughter that way. To think of her mouth, her body. To think of her hot little cunt wrapped around the length of his cock.
It hadn't been the first time he'd thought of her, but it had been the most vivid. It had been on purpose. "I was fucking shaking because of the aftershocks and mortified, head down on the table. I couldn't even look up when Breanne came in, and I guess she thought I'd been making a cup for her, and she just.poured some coffee in and drank it down." Doug laughs tightly, because even thinking of it he's getting hard again. How she'd hummed in pleasure and licked her lips.
"She said it was the best coffee she'd ever had and begged me to make it for her again." He looks up in supplication, willing Brady to understand, and sees his son's flushed face.
The bulge in his sweats. "Fuck," Brady says, and Doug laughs a little freer this time because he knows Brady's thinking of it: Breanne's sweet face begging for his come.
"She used to-" Brady starts, then breaks off and shifts guiltily. Doug leans in. "Tell me." "She used to come into my bed at night before I left for college. Wearing those big t-shirts she'd stolen from you as a nightgown, and little panties with flowers on them." "Yeah," Doug sighs. He'd ruined several pairs of those panties, running that soft cotton over his cock until he'd gotten them filthy with his come.
"She'd get right up against me and fall asleep like she'd flipped a switch. Mouth open and drooling. Body all warm and soft." "Did you touch her?" "No, but I wanted to. Wanted to put my hands all over her.
My mouth." "Jesus," Doug sighs, because he'd looked too. For years he'd looked, but he'd never touched. Not even when she'd climbed into his bed, but he could imagine. His son all but shaking with want as he thought about sucking on his sister's pretty breasts. Tonguing them in the quiet of the night.
"The first couple of times I snuck into the bathroom to jerk off but the night before I left for college," Brady took a shuddering breath and met his dad's dark eyes. "That night I didn't. I was right next to her when I came all over my fist thinking of all the things I wanted to do to her, and I-I couldn't stop myself from touching her.
Just a little, right on her open mouth. And she-you know how she's always been about sucking on things." "Sucked on her fingers until she was ten," Doug says, voice low and rough. "Never could get her to stop." "She just pulled my fingers in, making these hungry little noises." He leans back in his chair, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, but his voice is still strained when he says, "You know, the best fuck I had in college was this little freshman who got smashed at a kegger.
Hot little body that I pealed out of a tiny dressed and poured into my bed. She made these cute little punched out noises as fucked her, and after I came in her cunt I dragged myself up her body and made her clean my cock. And she was good, right? Opened her throat right up for me. Got me hard again as I fucked her mouth.
She was so fucking hot, but nothing," he says, opening his eyes again. "Nothing was as good as seeing Breanne's mouth stretched around my fingers that night, Nothing was ever as good as seeing my baby sister's mouth filled with my come." *** They don't plan it, but they're both pretty buzzed when Breanne gets home: a half dozen beer bottles litter the table and Doug's pretty sure he can still smell the last joint hovering in the air, barely covering the thick scent of come.
It had started with the video of Breanne's last birthday party.
"Pool party," Doug had mentioned, and Brady had said, "Fuck yes." They'd both already been so worked up that it hadn't taken much for Brady to stuff his hands in his pants and start tugging on his cock. Breanne's pretty little breasts bouncing beneath the pale blue fabric of her bikini. It had only gotten better when she'd gotten in the water, the blue going almost translucent, and Doug had smirked as Brady swore softly and came. After, Doug had said, "You know I've got tapes of your mother," before thought better of it, and then he'd dug around in the back of his closet while Brady hooked up the dusty VCR.
"Fuck, Breanne looks just like her," Brady had said softly, as his mother smiled coquettishly at the camera. It'd had been a jolt to realize the woman on the screen was barely a year older than his daughter was right now; a sultry nineteen year old with thick hair and a pouty smile slowly unbuttoning her prim white shirt.
When Breanne shows up she's not wearing a prim button down, but a long, body hugging shirt and pale blue leggings that'd probably go just as translucent as the bikini if Doug was to get her wet.
He has a brief, sizzling moment of eye contact with his son and knows they're both thinking the same thing, when Breanne surprises the hell out of him and sits right down on his lap. "Daddy, you are supposed to be the responsible adult here," she admonishes.
"Haven't I always told you, I'd rather you have your fun here where I can keep an eye on you?" Breanne smacks him on the chest then steals his beer, and says, "Well in that case," before she takes a long, slow pull of it, and makes Doug want to shift in his seat.
"Here, Little B," Brady says, standing and holding out a fresh beer. "We've gotta catch you up." He's knows his daughter has had alcohol before, but three beers in has her leaning tipsily against his chest and slurring her words.
He runs his hand up and down her bare arm, then makes eye contact with Brady for a hot second before he lets his hand wander further: the top of her thigh, the curve of her ass. Breanne hums into his throat, that same pretty noise as when she's drinking his come, and Doug can't help but cup his hand, brushing his fingertips along the hot space where the fabric of her leggings dips in between her asscheeks.
This time she moans, her back arching and her hips tilting until she's pressing against Doug's fingers. "God," Brady breathes out, because he can see Doug's fingers, big and thick moving over the crease of Breanne's leggings. Can see the damp spot that Doug's just starting to feel, and Doug idly wonders if the leggings are indeed going transparent where his little girl is dripping out cuntjuice.
"You had enough to drink, baby, or you want Brady to fix you something special? He makes a real mean shooter," Doug adds, with a significant look at his son. "Special recipe just like the coffee I make for you." "Mmmm, yeah, daddy," she says without opening her eyes. Her hips are moving instinctually against his hand, in a slow, sinuous movement, and it's easy to tug her forward until she's straddling his thighs.
Easy to get both his hands on her ass and guide her cunt to where is cock is hard and heavy beneath his sweats. Brady almost stumbles in his haste to get a glass from the kitchen, and he doesn't even try to hide it when he yanks down his sweats and starts jerking it into the glass.
Doesn't even try to muffle his moans as he watches his little sister ride the ridge of his father's thick cock. Doesn't even try to hide it when he just hands the shot glass over without adding any alcohol at all.
His thick, white come is frothed halfway up the glass, and Breanne giggles a little as she almost fumbles it, then knocks it back like a goddamn pro. She makes that sweet little humming sound again, which goes breathy and ragged as Doug's hand slips in the back of her leggings, his big, rough fingers finding the place where she's wet and warm. Curling up into her as she pants against his chest, all soft and willing and cumdrunk. Her body shivers for him, a languid ripple of pleasure and a pretty little gasp as she comes, and then Doug is leaning close and saying, "You want another drink, sweetheart?
One last one for the night?" He doesn't even notice when Brady picks up his phone, but it's just as breathtaking to watch it afterwards.
To see his daughter slip down between his spread thighs, her hazy blue eyes blinking up at him slowly. Her soft mouth open and flushed for him as he gets his fist around his cock.
On the video he gets to see where her little hand slips inside her leggings as he feeds his cock to her. He gets to see her ride her fingers as she suckles the flushed fat head of his dick. Gets to hear her hungry little sounds as she comes with his cock inside of her, and remember the way she'd quivered as he'd emptied himself inside of her sweet, little mouth.
They take her upstairs after. Doug gets water and aspirin for her, and Brady hands her another pill that she swallows down just as willingly before she sinks happily onto the bed, curling up on her side. "What did you give her?" Brady cocks an eyebrow and says, "Roofie," like it's a dare. Like Doug hasn't been feeding his daughter his come for a year. Like he hadn't just gotten his daughter drunk for the sole purpose of getting off on her pretty little body. Like Doug's still not hard.
He looks at Breanne, her tight little body and her innocent little face. He thinks of all the filthy things he's wanted to do to her for years then turns back to Brady and says, "You should get the video camera."