21-02-2026, 11:03 AM
I am Nasreen, eighteen years old, and this is my story, every shameful, burning second of it, told from inside my own head where no one else can hear the screams and the moans fighting each other.
It started on a Friday evening when Amma and Abdullah left for the big marriage function in Hyderabad. Amma looked so pretty in her new maroon salwar kameez, the one with the tiny gold beads that caught the light when she moved. She kissed my forehead, her soft hand cupping my cheek. “Take care of your Abbu, beta. We’ll be back Sunday night. Don’t stay up too late studying.” Abdullah ruffled my hair like I was still a kid, even though he was twenty and I was already taller than him in heels. “Be good, little sister.” They climbed into the taxi, the engine rumbling away down our quiet street in Coimbatore, leaving the house suddenly too big and too empty.
I was alone with Abbu. Moosa. My father. Forty-eight years old, still strong from years of morning walks and prayers, his beard neatly trimmed, his eyes the same deep brown as mine. We had never been close the way other fathers and daughters were. He worked long hours at the pharmaceutical company, coming home tired, speaking in short sentences. I cooked dinner, we ate in silence, he asked about my college marks, I asked about his day. That was it. But I loved him. He was my Abbu. He had always provided, always prayed for me, always made sure I had the best veil, the best books. I reminded him of Amma when she was young, everyone said so—same long black hair that reached my waist, same hourglass figure that made my college friends jealous, same big brown eyes. Sometimes I caught him staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, then he would look away quickly and clear his throat.
That evening I changed out of my college clothes into a simple cotton nightie, light blue, modest enough to cover everything but thin enough that the fan made it flutter against my skin. I made biryani for us, the smell of spices filling the kitchen. Abbu came home at seven-thirty, earlier than usual. He smiled when he saw the table set. “Smells wonderful, Nasreen.” He sat down, rolled up his sleeves, and we ate together. For once he talked more—about work, about a new project his team was finishing. I listened, happy that he was opening up. After dinner he said, “I brought something special to celebrate the project closing. Sit with me in the living room.”
He poured two glasses of sweet rose milk from the fridge, the one Amma made fresh that morning. I thought nothing of it. Why would I? He was my father. I sipped it slowly, the cool sweetness sliding down my throat. We sat on the sofa, the television murmuring some ---c lecture in the background. I felt warm. Not hot, just… warm. Like the milk was spreading a gentle glow inside me. I smiled at him. “This is nice, Abbu. I’m glad we’re spending time together.”
He nodded, watching me. His eyes looked different tonight, darker. “Me too, beta. You’re growing up so fast. Looking more like your mother every day.”
The warmth kept growing. Slowly at first, like a blush that wouldn’t stop. It started in my belly, then spread lower, between my legs, a soft pulsing that made me shift on the cushion. I crossed my thighs, pressing them together, but that only made it worse. A tiny spark of something I had only felt alone in my bed at night, thinking about boys from college. I finished the milk, set the glass down. “I think I’ll go study now.”
But when I stood up, my knees felt weak. The warmth had turned into heat. Real heat. Like someone had lit a fire inside my private place. My nipples tightened against the thin fabric of my nightie, rubbing with every breath. I could feel myself getting wet down there, slippery and hot, soaking my plain white cotton panties. Oh no. This wasn’t normal. I had never felt anything this strong. My mind flashed to the fantasies I sometimes had—Josh from my old college days, but now it was worse. My own body was betraying me in front of my father.
I tried to walk to my room, but every step made my thighs slide against each other, sending jolts straight to my clit. I bit my lip hard, holding back a whimper. In the hallway I leaned against the wall, one hand pressing between my legs over the nightie, trying to stop the throbbing. It didn’t help. It made it worse. My fingers felt the damp spot growing. I was dripping. Actually dripping. I could smell my own excitement, sweet and musky, filling the air around me.
Abbu’s voice came from behind me, calm, almost gentle. “Nasreen? Are you feeling alright?”
I turned, face burning. He was standing there in his white kurta, watching me. I shook my head, trying to speak normally. “I… I don’t know. I feel strange. Hot. Maybe I’m getting sick.”
He stepped closer. Too close. I could smell his cologne, the same one he’d worn for years, mixed with something masculine and warm. “Come sit down. I’ll explain.”
I wanted to run, but my legs carried me back to the living room like they had a mind of their own. I sank onto the sofa, thighs clenched so tight my muscles trembled. The heat was building higher, radiating out to my breasts, making my nipples ache. I wanted to touch them. I wanted to touch myself so badly it hurt.
Abbu sat beside me. Close. His knee brushed mine. “There is something I need to tell you, beta. At work we developed a new medicine. A special one. For couples who… have problems being close. I put a small amount in your milk tonight. Just a test dose. I wanted to see how it worked.”
My eyes widened. The words didn’t make sense at first. Then they crashed over me like cold water. “You… you drugged me? Abbu, what are you saying?”
He nodded, no shame in his voice. “The drug creates an intense need. A fire that only one thing can put out. A man’s seed, released deep inside a woman’s womb. Only then does the burning stop.”
I stared at him, horror rising in my chest even as my body screamed for something else. “No. No, you’re lying. This is wrong. You’re my father! How could you—”
My voice broke into a sob. Tears spilled down my cheeks. I tried to stand, but the moment I moved, a fresh gush of wetness soaked my panties completely. I gasped, hand flying between my legs again, pressing hard. “Please, Abbu, give me something else. Water. Medicine. Anything. I can’t… I won’t…”
He caught my wrist gently but firmly, pulling my hand away. “Shh. Fighting it only makes it stronger. I know you feel it. Your body is ready, Nasreen. Look at you—already so wet for your Abbu.”
I yanked my hand free, scrambling backward on the sofa until my back hit the armrest. “You’re an animal! My own father! How can you say that? I’m your daughter! This is haram, this is sick!” I was crying hard now, chest heaving, but even through the tears my hips rolled against the cushion, searching for friction. My nightie had ridden up, showing my smooth thighs, the dark wet patch on my panties clearly visible.
Abbu stood up slowly. He looked tall, strong. He pulled his kurta over his head, revealing his chest—hairy, muscled from years of work, a few gray hairs mixed in. Then he unbuckled his pants. They dropped. His underwear followed. And there it was—his cock. Seven inches, thick, veined, standing straight up, the head already glistening with a drop of precum. It looked huge. Too big. My virgin pussy clenched hard at the sight, another flood of wetness leaking out of me.
I covered my eyes with both hands, sobbing. “No, no, no! Put it away! I’m begging you, Abbu, please don’t do this. I’m a good girl. I pray five times a day. I’ve never even kissed a boy properly. Don’t make me… don’t make me your whore!”
But my body wasn’t listening. My legs fell open a little on their own. My nipples were so hard they hurt. The heat was a living thing now, pulsing in my clit, making my empty hole flutter and squeeze around nothing. I could feel my juices trickling down between my ass cheeks, soaking the sofa cushion.
Abbu stepped closer. His voice was low, almost loving. “I know it feels wrong, beta. But your body knows what it needs. Let Abbu help you. Let me put out the fire.”
He reached down and took my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, tears pouring. “Please… I’m your daughter… Amma will never forgive us… Abdullah will hate me…”
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, carrying me to his bedroom. Our footsteps echoed. He laid me on the big bed where he and Amma slept every night. The sheets smelled like them—his cologne, her jasmine oil. I curled into a ball, sobbing. “Don’t… I’m begging you on my knees in my heart… don’t take my virginity like this.”
He climbed onto the bed, his heavy body making the mattress dip. His hands—rough from years of work—gently but firmly rolled me onto my back. I fought, pushing at his chest, slapping weakly at his arms. “Animal! You’re an animal! My own Abbu turning into a beast!” But my legs opened wider when his knee pressed between them. My nightie was pushed up to my waist. He hooked his fingers in my soaked panties and slid them down my smooth legs. Cool air hit my bare pussy and I moaned despite myself, a high, needy sound that shamed me to my core.
“Look at you,” he whispered, voice thick. “So pretty. Pink and wet and ready. Your little clit is swollen, Nasreen. Your hole is opening and closing like it’s calling for me.”
I shook my head violently, tears flying. “Stop looking! Close your eyes! This is wrong! I hate you! I hate this!” But my hips lifted off the bed, offering myself. My body was a traitor. My mind screamed no, but my pussy dripped more, a thin string of my wetness stretching from my lips to the sheet.
He leaned down and kissed my neck, hot breath fanning my skin. His beard tickled. His lips were soft. I whimpered, turning my face away. “No kisses… please… only bad girls kiss their fathers…”
His hand slid down my belly, over my smooth mound, and cupped my soaked pussy. Two thick fingers parted my virgin lips, sliding through the slickness. I cried out, back arching. The pleasure was electric. “Abbu! Don’t touch there! It’s dirty! I’m dirty now!”
But my hips rocked against his hand. My clit throbbed under his thumb as he circled it slowly, so slowly. Every stroke made sparks shoot up my spine. My breasts heaved, nipples begging for attention. He pulled my nightie higher, exposing them—full, round, dark nipples hard as pebbles. He lowered his mouth and sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling.
I screamed, half sob, half moan. “No! Not my breasts! They’re for my future husband! Not you! You’re an animal, Abbu! A disgusting animal!” Tears streamed down my temples into my hair, but my free hand—traitor—came up and held his head to my chest, pressing him harder against my breast.
He sucked harder, teeth grazing. His fingers pushed lower, one thick digit pressing at my virgin entrance. It slid in easily, my wetness making obscene wet sounds. I felt myself stretch around him, my walls fluttering and squeezing. The first orgasm hit me like a truck. I wasn’t ready. My whole body seized, thighs clamping around his wrist, pussy gushing around his finger. I wailed, “Nooo! I’m cumming! Oh god, I’m cumming on my Abbu’s finger! This is so wrong! I’m such a bad daughter!”
He didn’t stop. He added a second finger, pumping slowly while his thumb rubbed my clit in tight circles. My hips bucked wildly, matching every thrust even as I cried, “Stop! Please stop making me feel good! I don’t want this!” Another orgasm crashed over me, smaller but sharper, my pussy squirting a little, wetting his wrist and the sheets. I was shaking, sobbing, but my legs wrapped around his arm, pulling him deeper.
Abbu lifted his head, eyes dark with lust. “See? Your body knows. It wants its Abbu’s cock. It wants to be filled.”
He pulled his fingers out. I whimpered at the emptiness, hating myself. He positioned himself between my spread thighs. His thick seven-inch cock rested on my belly, hot and heavy, the head leaking precum onto my skin. I stared at it through blurry eyes. “It’s too big… it will tear me… please, Abbu, I’m still a virgin… don’t ruin me…”
He rubbed the head up and down my slit, coating himself in my juices. Every pass bumped my clit and I jerked, fresh tears falling. “I hate you… I love you… make it stop… don’t make it stop…” My mind was breaking.
He pressed forward. The head popped inside me, stretching my tight virgin ring. Pain and pleasure exploded together. I screamed, nails digging into his shoulders. “It hurts! Take it out! You’re killing me! Animal! Beast! My own father banging his daughter!”
But my hips lifted, taking another inch. My walls rippled around him, sucking him deeper. He groaned, pushing steadily. Inch by thick inch he sank into me until his heavy balls rested against my ass. I was full. So full. I could feel every vein, every pulse. My pussy clenched hard around the invasion, another orgasm building already.
He started moving. Slow at first, pulling almost all the way out, then sliding back in deep. The wet squelching sounds filled the room—my juices coating his cock, dripping down to my ass. Every thrust made my breasts bounce. I was crying nonstop, but my legs locked around his waist, heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper. “Harder… no, stop… please fuck me… no, don’t!” The words tumbled out mixed with sobs.
He sped up. The bed started creaking. Skin slapped skin. His balls smacked my ass with every deep plunge. I felt another orgasm rising, bigger than the last. My eyes rolled back. “I’m cumming again! On my Abbu’s cock! Oh ,.', forgive me, I’m cumming so hard!” My pussy spasmed violently, milking him, squirting around his thickness. My whole body shook, toes curling, back arching off the bed so hard only my head and heels touched the mattress.
He didn’t slow. He fucked me through it, then through the next one that came only minutes later. I lost count. Four. Five. Each one stronger. My voice grew hoarse from screaming and begging and moaning. “Abbu… Abbu… your daughter is your slut now… I’m sorry… don’t stop… I hate this… I need more…”
He flipped me onto my hands and knees, yanking my hips back. My face pressed into the pillow that smelled like Amma. He slammed back into me from behind, even deeper this way. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me onto his cock. I pushed back to meet every thrust, ass rippling with the impact. “Look at you,” he growled, “taking your Abbu so well. Your pussy was made for this.”
I cried into the pillow, “I’m sorry Amma… I’m sorry Abdullah… your sister and daughter is getting fucked by Abbu… and it feels so good…” Another orgasm ripped through me, my arms giving out, face smashing into the bed as I squirted hard, soaking his balls and thighs.
He fucked me for what felt like hours. Missionary again, then me on top—my traitorous body riding him, bouncing, grinding my clit against his pubic bone while I sobbed and came and came. My hair stuck to my sweaty face. My breasts jiggled wildly. I pinched my own nipples, hating how good it felt.
Finally, when I was a shaking, drooling mess, he rolled us so he was on top again. His thrusts became erratic, deep, punishing. “I’m going to cum, beta. Fill my daughter’s womb. Give you what you need.”
I wrapped my legs around him tight, heels digging in. Despite everything, my pussy clenched greedily. “No… don’t cum inside… I’m not on anything… please… yes, fill me… breed your daughter… oh god I’m cumming again!”
The biggest orgasm yet exploded through me just as he roared and buried himself to the hilt. I felt every pulse, every hot spurt of his thick cum blasting against my cervix. Spurt after spurt, so much it overflowed immediately, leaking out around his cock. The heat inside me finally, finally started to fade. The drug’s fire cooled with every jet of his seed.
He collapsed on top of me, both of us panting, sweating, hearts hammering. His cock still twitched inside me, softening slowly. I lay there, tears still falling silently now. My mind was a storm. Yuck, this is so wrong. He’s my father. I called him an animal. I begged him to stop. But I came so many times. My body matched every thrust. I rode him like a whore. What kind of daughter does that? I felt disgusting. Used. But also… satisfied. Full. The emptiness was gone.
After long minutes he pulled out. A thick flood of his cum poured from my ruined pussy, soaking the sheets. I winced at the soreness, but another tiny aftershock made me shiver. He kissed my forehead, gentle now. “Rest, Nasreen. The fire is gone. I’ll take care of you.”
I turned my face away, curling into a ball. Inside my head the thoughts wouldn’t stop. I’m ruined. My virginity is gone, taken by my own Abbu. But ,.'… why did it feel so good? Why do I already feel the tiniest spark again just thinking about his cock? No. Never again. This was a one-time thing. The drug made me do it. I’m still a good '. girl. I’ll pray extra hard. I’ll forget this.
But even as I thought it, my hand drifted down between my legs, feeling the sticky mess he left inside me. My fingers circled my swollen clit once, and a fresh whimper escaped. The heat was truly gone… but the memory of how full I felt, how many times I came while calling him an animal and begging him to stop, was burned into me forever.
I closed my eyes, tears still leaking. Tomorrow I would face him. Tomorrow I would decide if I hated him or… something worse. For now, I just lay there, pussy throbbing with the aftershocks of countless orgasms, body still trembling, mind shattered between shame and the darkest, most forbidden pleasure I had ever known.
It started on a Friday evening when Amma and Abdullah left for the big marriage function in Hyderabad. Amma looked so pretty in her new maroon salwar kameez, the one with the tiny gold beads that caught the light when she moved. She kissed my forehead, her soft hand cupping my cheek. “Take care of your Abbu, beta. We’ll be back Sunday night. Don’t stay up too late studying.” Abdullah ruffled my hair like I was still a kid, even though he was twenty and I was already taller than him in heels. “Be good, little sister.” They climbed into the taxi, the engine rumbling away down our quiet street in Coimbatore, leaving the house suddenly too big and too empty.
I was alone with Abbu. Moosa. My father. Forty-eight years old, still strong from years of morning walks and prayers, his beard neatly trimmed, his eyes the same deep brown as mine. We had never been close the way other fathers and daughters were. He worked long hours at the pharmaceutical company, coming home tired, speaking in short sentences. I cooked dinner, we ate in silence, he asked about my college marks, I asked about his day. That was it. But I loved him. He was my Abbu. He had always provided, always prayed for me, always made sure I had the best veil, the best books. I reminded him of Amma when she was young, everyone said so—same long black hair that reached my waist, same hourglass figure that made my college friends jealous, same big brown eyes. Sometimes I caught him staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, then he would look away quickly and clear his throat.
That evening I changed out of my college clothes into a simple cotton nightie, light blue, modest enough to cover everything but thin enough that the fan made it flutter against my skin. I made biryani for us, the smell of spices filling the kitchen. Abbu came home at seven-thirty, earlier than usual. He smiled when he saw the table set. “Smells wonderful, Nasreen.” He sat down, rolled up his sleeves, and we ate together. For once he talked more—about work, about a new project his team was finishing. I listened, happy that he was opening up. After dinner he said, “I brought something special to celebrate the project closing. Sit with me in the living room.”
He poured two glasses of sweet rose milk from the fridge, the one Amma made fresh that morning. I thought nothing of it. Why would I? He was my father. I sipped it slowly, the cool sweetness sliding down my throat. We sat on the sofa, the television murmuring some ---c lecture in the background. I felt warm. Not hot, just… warm. Like the milk was spreading a gentle glow inside me. I smiled at him. “This is nice, Abbu. I’m glad we’re spending time together.”
He nodded, watching me. His eyes looked different tonight, darker. “Me too, beta. You’re growing up so fast. Looking more like your mother every day.”
The warmth kept growing. Slowly at first, like a blush that wouldn’t stop. It started in my belly, then spread lower, between my legs, a soft pulsing that made me shift on the cushion. I crossed my thighs, pressing them together, but that only made it worse. A tiny spark of something I had only felt alone in my bed at night, thinking about boys from college. I finished the milk, set the glass down. “I think I’ll go study now.”
But when I stood up, my knees felt weak. The warmth had turned into heat. Real heat. Like someone had lit a fire inside my private place. My nipples tightened against the thin fabric of my nightie, rubbing with every breath. I could feel myself getting wet down there, slippery and hot, soaking my plain white cotton panties. Oh no. This wasn’t normal. I had never felt anything this strong. My mind flashed to the fantasies I sometimes had—Josh from my old college days, but now it was worse. My own body was betraying me in front of my father.
I tried to walk to my room, but every step made my thighs slide against each other, sending jolts straight to my clit. I bit my lip hard, holding back a whimper. In the hallway I leaned against the wall, one hand pressing between my legs over the nightie, trying to stop the throbbing. It didn’t help. It made it worse. My fingers felt the damp spot growing. I was dripping. Actually dripping. I could smell my own excitement, sweet and musky, filling the air around me.
Abbu’s voice came from behind me, calm, almost gentle. “Nasreen? Are you feeling alright?”
I turned, face burning. He was standing there in his white kurta, watching me. I shook my head, trying to speak normally. “I… I don’t know. I feel strange. Hot. Maybe I’m getting sick.”
He stepped closer. Too close. I could smell his cologne, the same one he’d worn for years, mixed with something masculine and warm. “Come sit down. I’ll explain.”
I wanted to run, but my legs carried me back to the living room like they had a mind of their own. I sank onto the sofa, thighs clenched so tight my muscles trembled. The heat was building higher, radiating out to my breasts, making my nipples ache. I wanted to touch them. I wanted to touch myself so badly it hurt.
Abbu sat beside me. Close. His knee brushed mine. “There is something I need to tell you, beta. At work we developed a new medicine. A special one. For couples who… have problems being close. I put a small amount in your milk tonight. Just a test dose. I wanted to see how it worked.”
My eyes widened. The words didn’t make sense at first. Then they crashed over me like cold water. “You… you drugged me? Abbu, what are you saying?”
He nodded, no shame in his voice. “The drug creates an intense need. A fire that only one thing can put out. A man’s seed, released deep inside a woman’s womb. Only then does the burning stop.”
I stared at him, horror rising in my chest even as my body screamed for something else. “No. No, you’re lying. This is wrong. You’re my father! How could you—”
My voice broke into a sob. Tears spilled down my cheeks. I tried to stand, but the moment I moved, a fresh gush of wetness soaked my panties completely. I gasped, hand flying between my legs again, pressing hard. “Please, Abbu, give me something else. Water. Medicine. Anything. I can’t… I won’t…”
He caught my wrist gently but firmly, pulling my hand away. “Shh. Fighting it only makes it stronger. I know you feel it. Your body is ready, Nasreen. Look at you—already so wet for your Abbu.”
I yanked my hand free, scrambling backward on the sofa until my back hit the armrest. “You’re an animal! My own father! How can you say that? I’m your daughter! This is haram, this is sick!” I was crying hard now, chest heaving, but even through the tears my hips rolled against the cushion, searching for friction. My nightie had ridden up, showing my smooth thighs, the dark wet patch on my panties clearly visible.
Abbu stood up slowly. He looked tall, strong. He pulled his kurta over his head, revealing his chest—hairy, muscled from years of work, a few gray hairs mixed in. Then he unbuckled his pants. They dropped. His underwear followed. And there it was—his cock. Seven inches, thick, veined, standing straight up, the head already glistening with a drop of precum. It looked huge. Too big. My virgin pussy clenched hard at the sight, another flood of wetness leaking out of me.
I covered my eyes with both hands, sobbing. “No, no, no! Put it away! I’m begging you, Abbu, please don’t do this. I’m a good girl. I pray five times a day. I’ve never even kissed a boy properly. Don’t make me… don’t make me your whore!”
But my body wasn’t listening. My legs fell open a little on their own. My nipples were so hard they hurt. The heat was a living thing now, pulsing in my clit, making my empty hole flutter and squeeze around nothing. I could feel my juices trickling down between my ass cheeks, soaking the sofa cushion.
Abbu stepped closer. His voice was low, almost loving. “I know it feels wrong, beta. But your body knows what it needs. Let Abbu help you. Let me put out the fire.”
He reached down and took my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, tears pouring. “Please… I’m your daughter… Amma will never forgive us… Abdullah will hate me…”
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, carrying me to his bedroom. Our footsteps echoed. He laid me on the big bed where he and Amma slept every night. The sheets smelled like them—his cologne, her jasmine oil. I curled into a ball, sobbing. “Don’t… I’m begging you on my knees in my heart… don’t take my virginity like this.”
He climbed onto the bed, his heavy body making the mattress dip. His hands—rough from years of work—gently but firmly rolled me onto my back. I fought, pushing at his chest, slapping weakly at his arms. “Animal! You’re an animal! My own Abbu turning into a beast!” But my legs opened wider when his knee pressed between them. My nightie was pushed up to my waist. He hooked his fingers in my soaked panties and slid them down my smooth legs. Cool air hit my bare pussy and I moaned despite myself, a high, needy sound that shamed me to my core.
“Look at you,” he whispered, voice thick. “So pretty. Pink and wet and ready. Your little clit is swollen, Nasreen. Your hole is opening and closing like it’s calling for me.”
I shook my head violently, tears flying. “Stop looking! Close your eyes! This is wrong! I hate you! I hate this!” But my hips lifted off the bed, offering myself. My body was a traitor. My mind screamed no, but my pussy dripped more, a thin string of my wetness stretching from my lips to the sheet.
He leaned down and kissed my neck, hot breath fanning my skin. His beard tickled. His lips were soft. I whimpered, turning my face away. “No kisses… please… only bad girls kiss their fathers…”
His hand slid down my belly, over my smooth mound, and cupped my soaked pussy. Two thick fingers parted my virgin lips, sliding through the slickness. I cried out, back arching. The pleasure was electric. “Abbu! Don’t touch there! It’s dirty! I’m dirty now!”
But my hips rocked against his hand. My clit throbbed under his thumb as he circled it slowly, so slowly. Every stroke made sparks shoot up my spine. My breasts heaved, nipples begging for attention. He pulled my nightie higher, exposing them—full, round, dark nipples hard as pebbles. He lowered his mouth and sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling.
I screamed, half sob, half moan. “No! Not my breasts! They’re for my future husband! Not you! You’re an animal, Abbu! A disgusting animal!” Tears streamed down my temples into my hair, but my free hand—traitor—came up and held his head to my chest, pressing him harder against my breast.
He sucked harder, teeth grazing. His fingers pushed lower, one thick digit pressing at my virgin entrance. It slid in easily, my wetness making obscene wet sounds. I felt myself stretch around him, my walls fluttering and squeezing. The first orgasm hit me like a truck. I wasn’t ready. My whole body seized, thighs clamping around his wrist, pussy gushing around his finger. I wailed, “Nooo! I’m cumming! Oh god, I’m cumming on my Abbu’s finger! This is so wrong! I’m such a bad daughter!”
He didn’t stop. He added a second finger, pumping slowly while his thumb rubbed my clit in tight circles. My hips bucked wildly, matching every thrust even as I cried, “Stop! Please stop making me feel good! I don’t want this!” Another orgasm crashed over me, smaller but sharper, my pussy squirting a little, wetting his wrist and the sheets. I was shaking, sobbing, but my legs wrapped around his arm, pulling him deeper.
Abbu lifted his head, eyes dark with lust. “See? Your body knows. It wants its Abbu’s cock. It wants to be filled.”
He pulled his fingers out. I whimpered at the emptiness, hating myself. He positioned himself between my spread thighs. His thick seven-inch cock rested on my belly, hot and heavy, the head leaking precum onto my skin. I stared at it through blurry eyes. “It’s too big… it will tear me… please, Abbu, I’m still a virgin… don’t ruin me…”
He rubbed the head up and down my slit, coating himself in my juices. Every pass bumped my clit and I jerked, fresh tears falling. “I hate you… I love you… make it stop… don’t make it stop…” My mind was breaking.
He pressed forward. The head popped inside me, stretching my tight virgin ring. Pain and pleasure exploded together. I screamed, nails digging into his shoulders. “It hurts! Take it out! You’re killing me! Animal! Beast! My own father banging his daughter!”
But my hips lifted, taking another inch. My walls rippled around him, sucking him deeper. He groaned, pushing steadily. Inch by thick inch he sank into me until his heavy balls rested against my ass. I was full. So full. I could feel every vein, every pulse. My pussy clenched hard around the invasion, another orgasm building already.
He started moving. Slow at first, pulling almost all the way out, then sliding back in deep. The wet squelching sounds filled the room—my juices coating his cock, dripping down to my ass. Every thrust made my breasts bounce. I was crying nonstop, but my legs locked around his waist, heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper. “Harder… no, stop… please fuck me… no, don’t!” The words tumbled out mixed with sobs.
He sped up. The bed started creaking. Skin slapped skin. His balls smacked my ass with every deep plunge. I felt another orgasm rising, bigger than the last. My eyes rolled back. “I’m cumming again! On my Abbu’s cock! Oh ,.', forgive me, I’m cumming so hard!” My pussy spasmed violently, milking him, squirting around his thickness. My whole body shook, toes curling, back arching off the bed so hard only my head and heels touched the mattress.
He didn’t slow. He fucked me through it, then through the next one that came only minutes later. I lost count. Four. Five. Each one stronger. My voice grew hoarse from screaming and begging and moaning. “Abbu… Abbu… your daughter is your slut now… I’m sorry… don’t stop… I hate this… I need more…”
He flipped me onto my hands and knees, yanking my hips back. My face pressed into the pillow that smelled like Amma. He slammed back into me from behind, even deeper this way. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me onto his cock. I pushed back to meet every thrust, ass rippling with the impact. “Look at you,” he growled, “taking your Abbu so well. Your pussy was made for this.”
I cried into the pillow, “I’m sorry Amma… I’m sorry Abdullah… your sister and daughter is getting fucked by Abbu… and it feels so good…” Another orgasm ripped through me, my arms giving out, face smashing into the bed as I squirted hard, soaking his balls and thighs.
He fucked me for what felt like hours. Missionary again, then me on top—my traitorous body riding him, bouncing, grinding my clit against his pubic bone while I sobbed and came and came. My hair stuck to my sweaty face. My breasts jiggled wildly. I pinched my own nipples, hating how good it felt.
Finally, when I was a shaking, drooling mess, he rolled us so he was on top again. His thrusts became erratic, deep, punishing. “I’m going to cum, beta. Fill my daughter’s womb. Give you what you need.”
I wrapped my legs around him tight, heels digging in. Despite everything, my pussy clenched greedily. “No… don’t cum inside… I’m not on anything… please… yes, fill me… breed your daughter… oh god I’m cumming again!”
The biggest orgasm yet exploded through me just as he roared and buried himself to the hilt. I felt every pulse, every hot spurt of his thick cum blasting against my cervix. Spurt after spurt, so much it overflowed immediately, leaking out around his cock. The heat inside me finally, finally started to fade. The drug’s fire cooled with every jet of his seed.
He collapsed on top of me, both of us panting, sweating, hearts hammering. His cock still twitched inside me, softening slowly. I lay there, tears still falling silently now. My mind was a storm. Yuck, this is so wrong. He’s my father. I called him an animal. I begged him to stop. But I came so many times. My body matched every thrust. I rode him like a whore. What kind of daughter does that? I felt disgusting. Used. But also… satisfied. Full. The emptiness was gone.
After long minutes he pulled out. A thick flood of his cum poured from my ruined pussy, soaking the sheets. I winced at the soreness, but another tiny aftershock made me shiver. He kissed my forehead, gentle now. “Rest, Nasreen. The fire is gone. I’ll take care of you.”
I turned my face away, curling into a ball. Inside my head the thoughts wouldn’t stop. I’m ruined. My virginity is gone, taken by my own Abbu. But ,.'… why did it feel so good? Why do I already feel the tiniest spark again just thinking about his cock? No. Never again. This was a one-time thing. The drug made me do it. I’m still a good '. girl. I’ll pray extra hard. I’ll forget this.
But even as I thought it, my hand drifted down between my legs, feeling the sticky mess he left inside me. My fingers circled my swollen clit once, and a fresh whimper escaped. The heat was truly gone… but the memory of how full I felt, how many times I came while calling him an animal and begging him to stop, was burned into me forever.
I closed my eyes, tears still leaking. Tomorrow I would face him. Tomorrow I would decide if I hated him or… something worse. For now, I just lay there, pussy throbbing with the aftershocks of countless orgasms, body still trembling, mind shattered between shame and the darkest, most forbidden pleasure I had ever known.
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