Impregnated my drunk virgin daughter

John loves his daughter Alexa; he would do anything for her. One night, when Alexa comes home drunk, a plan that is perfectly logical from his point of view is born in his mind. Groundings and arguments are useless. The only way to truly protect her is to bind her to him forever. With a child. And when he discovers she is a virgin not just in one hole, but in both, he cannot resist. After all, his daughter belongs to him.

Tags - Incest, Non-Consensual / Rape, Breeding / Impregnation, Vaginal and Anal Sex, Creampie, Daddy/daughter

Words - 7935

Story sample - The clock on the wall struck midnight, and he poured himself another glass. Every tick was like a hammer blow to his patience. Now it showed half past one in the morning , and John was sitting in the dimness of the living room, the only light the cold, blue glow from the television screen, where some old action movie was playing on mute. He gripped a heavy glass of brandy in his hand. The amber liquid glistened in it, and its sharp aroma stung his nose, but the warmth it spread in his stomach had long been unable to quell the anger that was boiling inside him.

She was supposed to be home at ten. That was the agreement. Clear and distinct. But Alexa always did what she wanted. Always pushed the boundaries, tested his authority. She thinks I'm a fool. That she can dance around outside with those boys with gelled hair and I'll just sit here and wait. It wasn't just about the disobedience. It was the image in his head that tortured him. The image of his daughter—his little girl—at some party, surrounded by strange hands, greedy looks, laughing at strangers' jokes, drinking God knows what.

He gripped the glass tightly, until his knuckles went white. Two hours ago, he sent her a message. "Where are you?" Seen, no reply. An hour ago, he called her. Twice. She didn't pick up. Now he had given up. Now he was just waiting. Waiting for the sound of keys in the lock, for her quiet, guilty steps in the hallway. And when she arrived, he wouldn't shout. No, shouting is for the weak. He had a different plan.

The sound was so quiet at first that he thought he was just imagining it—the scraping of metal on metal. Then louder, a clumsy clinking, and finally, after a long moment, the satisfying click of the lock. The door opened with a quiet creak.

A gust of cold night air stole into the hallway, and with it, she. Alexa. She was leaning against the doorframe as if it were her only ally in the fight against gravity. Her hair, which she had so carefully straightened in the morning, was now hanging in tangled, dull strands. Her perfectly applied makeup was smudged, especially the dark lipstick, which had reached her chin. Her short dress was wrinkled and a bit higher than it should have been.

She closed the door behind her, almost losing her balance in the process. When she turned and her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the living room, she saw him. Her body visibly tensed. He was sitting there motionless as a statue, only the flickering light from the television illuminating his stern, stone-like face and the glass in his hand.

"Dad," she breathed, her voice hoarse and uncertain. She attempted a smile, but it was just a spasmodic movement of her lips. "You... you're still awake?"

She took two unsteady steps toward him, and the room was immediately filled with the smell he hated so much—a mixture of cheap vodka, a sweet energy drink, and strangers' sweat. The smell of a party. Look at yourself. You look like a cheap slut. He thought, but his face remained expressionless.

"I'm sorry," she started to babble, waving her hands as if to support her words. "I know it's late. But you know, Kika... Kika was having problems with her boyfriend, so we had to comfort her, and then we lost track of time, and the taxi... the taxi was late." It was such a transparent, pathetic lie. She didn't even try to make it sound convincing. He stood there, silently, and let her drown in her own words, while the anger inside him slowly cooled and changed into something else. Something much more dangerous.