Bred By My Daddy (Taboo breeding sex)

By: Francis Ashe


“You look just like your mother.”

That right there is something I have gotten used to hearing. I mean, it is true after all, and my mom is seriously hot anyway, so I don’t mind. But like I said, I get it all the time. What I never expected was that those six words would come out of my step-daddy Peter’s lips right before he fucked me and filled me up with that creamy, hot load of his. I also never thought that right now, eight months into carrying my daddy’s baby that he would still be in my bed almost every night. Poor guy just can’t keep his hands off of me.

I’ve never had a man make me feel like Peter does, but I’m getting a little ahead of myself. It’s just that when he runs those fingers over my big, baby-filled belly, looks into my eyes and slips his cock inside me he takes me away to some other place. Some place that I never knew existed.

This might sound very strange for me to say, but I love my step daddy more than anything else in the world. Before I get into all that, let me take you back in time. Back to the first time, actually, that I ever felt a cock inside me which also happens to be when my step daddy gave me this baby boy. I think when you know the whole story everything will start to make a lot more sense.


My real dad left when I was very young. My mom says I was eight sometimes, other times she says seven, but either way, I don’t remember him much. For a few years it was she and I in the house. She was a good mom, but she had her hands full. She worked a lot, never had much time at home, and so I grew up in my own little world. I read a lot, even wrote a bit. One day, she met Peter, and the whole world turned upside down.

My mom’s a nurse, and Peter at the time was a drug company salesman, so they’d seen each other a thousand times before either of them made a move. On my twelfth birthday, on little Liz Branly’s birthday, they got married. I wanted that, by the way. Mom asked what I wanted for my birthday and I told her I wanted her to marry Peter. They both thought that was tremendously sweet, and had been planning a wedding anyway, so it just worked out perfectly.

It was a good way to be brought up. Mom kept working, Peter took over most of the “dad” type things – taking me to practices, going swimming in the summers – and I loved him. I think I didn’t fall in love with him for quite a few years, but I definitely had feelings for him that I couldn’t explain to anyone, especially my mom. He’s a burly guy, kind of a barrel chest with big arms, dark blue eyes and a sweet face that could make the world’s most terrified-of-everything cat feel safe. And that’s just what he did for me. Peter, my daddy, gave me all the safety and security that I’d always wanted.

We grew apart a little as I got older, but nothing out of the ordinary. He was still always around, and he was still the one I went to when some jack-ass boyfriend cheated on me, or dumped me for a bigger-breasted girl or whatever. He’d hug me, tell me I was beautiful and give me a little pep talk. He’s that kind of person – the sort that can always make you feel better, even on the worst days of your life.

Looking back, he was probably terribly lonely. My mom worked all the time, sometimes taking double and triple shifts at the hospital, even though she didn’t really need the money. They both did pretty well, but my mom got away from everything by going to work. In a strange way, that’s how she relaxed – by working. She was increasingly absent from my life and from Peter’s, so even though we weren’t as close as we were when I was smaller, we still held on to one another for company if nothing else.

The other thing I realize when I look back on those days is that I teased him horribly. Even though I went to college late, I grew early. I had full, beautiful tits by the time I was sixteen, and by seventeen, my face had matured. At eighteen I discovered how magically I controlled boys when I wore tight, ass-hugging jeans and thin cotton t-shirts that were too small. Peter was no different. I could tell he wanted me, or at least wanted someone, every time I’d swish around the house in a towel that was rolled up just so that the cleft of my tight little pussy almost showed. I tied them around me like that on purpose, of course, and made sure my tits were pushed up under the towel, almost spilling out. He never did anything but look me in the eyes though.

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