“Dad, can I borrow your laptop? I need to look for something on Amazon,” I asked, standing beside him as he sipped his beer on the couch.

“Sure, just… don’t be nosy on there,” he warned, “and try to keep it down, your mom had an early night since she’s not feeling well.”

I grabbed the laptop and headed to my room, swigging his beer along the way. Once inside, I changed into just my t-shirt, letting my black panties peek out as the fabric rode up slightly, exposing a hint of skin.

Curled up on my bed, I began browsing Amazon, idly scrolling through recommendations. But my curiosity soon got the better of me, and I found myself investigating Dad’s browsing history instead.

Oh my god, it was all filthy content. I clicked on a site that appeared to be a chat room, and I was shocked to see his profile still logged in. His username was OneThickFatCock69. My eyes widened as I read through his direct messages with girls my age – 18-year-olds. He’s 51.

As I gazed at the large dick pics he had sent, a strange tingle began to flutter between my thighs. I quickly shut the laptop, my cheeks flushed with both shock and a forbidden excitement.

I padded downstairs, carrying the laptop in just my shirt, and handed it back to Dad. He stared at my bare legs, clearly affected by the sight.

“You’re not cold in that, honey,” he remarked, his voice a little husky as he subtly adjusted himself. My heart raced, horrified yet thrilled by the realisation that I was getting him aroused – as his daughter.

I lingered a moment longer than necessary when handing him the laptop, my fingers brushing against his—just enough to feel the heat of his skin. His breath hitched. The air between us grew thick, unspoken words humming like electricity.

“No, Dad,” I murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not cold at all.”

His eyes darkened, travelling down my body in a way they never had before. I should’ve felt disgusted, should’ve bolted back upstairs. But the way his gaze lingered on my thighs sent a shudder through me, awakening something reckless inside.

He cleared his throat and shifted again, the fabric of his jeans straining. “You, uh… find what you needed on Amazon?”

I bit my lip, watching him squirm. “Not exactly.”

A long silence stretched between us. The TV droned in the background, some late-night comedy show, but neither of us was paying attention. His fingers tapped the laptop lid absently.

Then, his voice dropped lower. “You saw something, didn’t you?”

A hot flush spread across my chest. My pulse pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it. “Maybe.”

His jaw twitched, conflict flashing in his eyes. For a second, I thought he’d shut this down, scold me for snooping. But then he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“Shit.”

That single word, heavy with guilt and something else—something hungry—made my stomach twist. I should’ve walked away. Instead, I stepped closer, my bare legs nearly touching his knee.

“Dad…” I trailed off, unsure what I even wanted to say.

He swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t what?” My voice was breathy, teasing. “Shouldn’t know my dad talks to girls my age? What about mom, don’t worry, I wont say anything. Why do you like girls my age?”

I saw the words land, a direct hit. His face, usually a mask of paternal calm, fractured. A flicker of shame was quickly doused by a raw, startling hunger. He didn’t look away from me. The space between us, the few inches of stale, beer-scented air, crackled.

“Honey,” he said, and the pet name sounded foreign, corrupted. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I think I do,” I whispered, not moving. My heart was a wild drum against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that screamed run even as my feet remained rooted to the floor. The hem of my t-shirt felt impossibly high. I was acutely aware of every inch of exposed skin, every goosebump that wasn’t from the cold.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the laptop forgotten on the cushion beside him. He stared at the carpet for a long moment, gathering himself. When he spoke, his voice was low, a gravelly confession meant only for the shadows of the living room and me.

“Your mom…” he began, then sighed, a sound of profound exhaustion. “It’s been years, Chloe. She… she doesn’t see me that way anymore. I’m just the man who pays the mortgage. A roommate. There’s no… fire. There’s nothing.” He finally looked up at me, and the vulnerability in his eyes was more shocking than any dirty picture. “Does that excuse it? No. God, no. But that’s the ‘why’.”

I drank in his confession, feeling a strange, possessive thrill. He was confiding in me, not as his daughter, but as… something else. A woman. I let my gaze drift down again, a deliberate, slow movement. “You didn’t answer my other question.”

A rough, humourless laugh escaped him. He ran a hand over his face. “Is this really a conversation we’re having?”

I took the final step. My shin brushed against his knee. The contact was electric, a jolt that made us both still. I could feel the warmth of his skin through his jeans. “It is now.”

His eyes were black pools in the dim light, fixed on mine. The internal war was visible on his face—a lifetime of fatherly duty being systematically dismantled by a need I had stupidly, recklessly awakened.

“Yes,” he said, the word tight, strained. “It works.”

“Nah, you’re in your 50s, Dad,” I said, trying to see what he would do or say.

I didn’t mean to push. Not really. But the moment hung like smoke—thick, warm, suffocating—and I couldn’t look away.

“Fifty-one,” he said, voice low, almost laughing. “Not dead yet.”

“You have a good cock, bigger than my ex,” I said as I felt embarrassed. I unknowingly started to rub between my legs. My panties are digging into my pussy slit. He tilted his head slightly as he watched me rub my cunt through my panties.

“Chloe—” His voice cracked, rough with restraint.

I didn’t stop. My fingertips pressed harder, a slow, deliberate circle against the heat beneath my panties. His gaze followed the movement, unblinking, transfixed. “You like watching me, don’t you?” I breathed, tilting my head.

He swallowed, jaw tight. “This is… This isn’t right.”

“You didn’t answer.”

A beat of silence. Then, barely a whisper: “Yes. You have seen my cock, do I get to see… well.”

“Get it out then? I will pull my panties to the side and straddle you, but we need to be quiet.” I said as I made my way to him.

---

I moved closer, my breath hitching as his hands trembled at his belt. The flick of the buckle sounded obscenely loud in the quiet living room. Mom was just upstairs—sleeping, sick, oblivious. The thought sent a jolt through me, equal parts guilt and thrill.

“You’re really doing this?” he rasped, tugging his jeans down just enough to free his cock.

I didn’t answer. My fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties, sliding them to the side. The air was cool against my wetness, but his stare was scorching. He was thick, harder than the photos had hinted, the veins standing proud under my greedy gaze.

“Damn, Dad,” I whispered, straddling him before either of us could think better of it.

He groaned as I sank onto him, my thighs trembling at the stretch. His hands flew to my hips, fingers digging in like he was afraid I’d vanish. “Fuck, Chloe—so tight.”

I rolled my hips experimentally, biting my lip at the way his cock dragged against my walls. His grip tightened, urging me faster. The couch creaked under us, barely muffling the slick sounds of my body taking him.

His eyes dropped to my chest, still hidden under my shirt. “Take it off,” he demanded, voice wrecked.

I obeyed, yanking the fabric over my head. My nipples peaked instantly under the cool air—or maybe it was the way he stared. His hands fumbled with my bra, the clasp giving way easily. Then his mouth was on me, hot and hungry, sucking my nipple between his teeth.

“Shit—!” I arched into him, riding harder, chasing the coil of pleasure tightening low in my belly.

He pinched my other nipple, twisting just enough to hurt. “Quiet,” he reminded me, but his own breath came in ragged gasps.

I muffled a whimper against his shoulder, grinding down in slow, deep circles. The base of his cock rubbed against my clit just right, sparks dancing behind my eyelids.

“Like that, baby?” he murmured, thrusting up to meet me. “Bet you didn’t think your old man could fuck you this good.”

I couldn’t answer, too lost in the rhythm, in the way his hands roamed my body—claiming, possessive. His lips found mine in a sloppy, beer-bitter kiss.

Then his thumb found my clit, circling. Pressure built like a storm, my thighs shaking. I came with a silent cry, his name a ghost on my tongue as pleasure ripped through me.

“Unnnghh,” he pumped me up and down harder as he went balls deep and grunted.

He wasn’t far behind. With a choked groan, he spilt inside me, his grip bruising as he held me close. Panting as he pumped me full of cum.

The silence afterwards was deafening.

I lifted my head, meeting his stunned, sated gaze. Neither of us spoke.

Somewhere upstairs.

Mom was still asleep.

We weren’t.