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          I’m Miley, and I’m currently knee-deep in the craziest time in my life, by far. To fully explain the situation I’m in, and to help you find out my perspective better, I should probably begin at the start.

            I had a pretty happy childhood, despite my mother. It was full of happy memories, but those mostly came from my father. He was the only one who actually seemed to give a damn about me. I mean, I knew my mom loved me, but she just never really showed it. She was often cold, overly critical of everything I did, and rarely showed me affection. I understood, to some degree. She had a poor and rough upbringing, and her parents weren’t exactly the lovey-dovey type. It was probably the same reason she drank so often. I’m not talking a couple of glasses a night, either, I’m talking a couple of bottles. As a kid, it didn’t bother me, I didn’t even really notice it, but the older I got, the more I started to dislike how much she drank. I had to stop inviting my friends over, as she’d at all times end up embarrassing me. I hated it so much. I often felt like she was taking benefit of dad, too. She would just sit at home all day, either working out in the home gym or drinking, but often both. dad never seemed bothered by it, though. I don’t know, maybe he was just happy to have a hot, tipsy wife waiting for him when he got home.

            He worked as a management consultant, and I know that he worked damn hard. He wasn’t around as much as I would have liked, but when he was, he made me feel like the most special person in the world. We would do everything together; little trips to the country, where we hiked and camped; he taught me how to shoot, and we would hit the range most weekends; we did all the chores together, too, and we’d put on some music and do stupid dancing while we cleaned. He was just at all times there for me, something my mother utterly failed at. When I wanted to talk about something stupid I’d done, I would go to him, not her. When I needed something, I turned to him, not her. Hell, when I started dating guys, I went to him for advice, and not her. His affection and love sort of made up for what my mother lacked, and our dysfunctional, little family just kind of worked. Until it didn’t.

            A few days after my seventeenth birthday, I was in my room listening to some music and texting my friends, when I heard mom and dad having an argument. It wasn’t especially unusual, so I just did my best to ignore it. The longer it went on, the louder the shouting became. I could hear mom cursing him out and I could tell she was drunk. I knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, he never did. It would have been mom who was to blame, it at all times was. I stepped out of my room slightly and listened in on their argument. I couldn’t tell what it was about, only that they were both angry with each other. As I carried on eavesdropping, mom dropped a bombshell that changed everything forever. In a drunken rage, she screamed that dad wasn’t my real father. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, literally. I just assumed mom was being especially mean, and saying whatever she could to hurt him. He asked what she was talking about, and she went quiet. That was unexpected, she wasn’t one to back down from an argument. I remember feeling my heart begin to race, as dad repeated his question. After a few moments of silence, she again told him that I wasn’t his daughter, this time with more sincerity in her voice.

            In her bitter, drunken rage, she told him that she’d fooled around on him early in their relationship. She hadn’t been sure that he was the father, so she had gotten a DNA test, which confirmed her fears. I wasn’t his. I don’t remember much else about what they said, only that they carried on screaming at each other. I just locked myself away in my room and cried. I was broken. Not only had I discovered that my mother was a liar and a cheat, but I’d also learned that the man I loved so dearly wasn’t my real dad. In my tearful state, I didn’t hear him leave. I had wondered that he would have come to comfort me, but he didn’t. He left me alone to cry my heart out.

            He didn’t bother serving mom with divorce papers, or coming back to collect his stuff, or trying to work things out. He just left, and never came back. I tried calling him hundreds of times, but he never answered. He never responded to any of my messages, either. He had abandoned both of us. I couldn’t believe that he was able to so easily cut me from his life, but he had. And now, I was alone with my mother. As you can imagine, she only got worse. She was forced to get a job, which only served to fuel her bitterness. In turn, she drank even more than she had before. She quickly descended into a complete mess, and all of her anger was directed at me. I didn’t tolerate it for long, though. I was hurting enough as it was. I packed my shit and left while she was at work one day, leaving her a note saying that I still loved her, but I couldn’t be around her anymore. I stayed with a friend for a few weeks, while I got my head together. It wasn’t long before I’d found a job and moved into a shared house with some students. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than being around an angry drunk who blamed me for her misfortunes.

            A couple of years passed, and I had found myself a better-paying job at a bar, and moved into my own small apartment. I still spoke to mom occasionally, but I was doing my best to distance myself from my past. It was just too painful to bare. I was trying to forget about all the pain and bury it as deep as I could. After I’d finished work one evening, I got home to discover a message on my phone from mom. I listened to it and couldn’t believe what I was hearing. dad had come back home and they were a couple again. I immediately called him, imagining that everything would go back to ordinary and we could be a happy family again. He didn’t answer, but it was pretty late, so I decided to try him again in the morning. I was so excited that I could barely sleep. As soon as I woke up, I called him again. It just rang and rang. I called him yet again, but still nothing. Throughout the day, I must have called him dozens of times, but he never picked up. Just before I got to work that evening, mom sent me a message. She told me that dad wasn’t ready to have me back in his life, and asked if I could stop calling him. All the heartache and pain just came flooding back in. It felt as raw as it had when everything had first happened. Once again, I was broken.

            In the months that followed, I started losing myself. I was drinking heavily, having plenty of one-night stands, and generally just not caring for myself. I was a mess. How could I not have been? My dad had somehow forgiven the woman who had betrayed him, but he couldn’t accept his daughter, who’d done nothing wrong, back into his life. Despite rarely having an empty bed, I had never felt more alone. Thankfully, I managed to pull myself back together. One evening, I was drinking at home alone. I was on my third bottle of red when I suddenly realized that I was acting almost exactly like my mother used to. It annoyed me how similar we were. I got up and just stared at myself in the mirror. I may have been pretty drunk, but I could barely tell whether I was looking at my own reflection, or my mother’s. We both had long, dark hair, both shared a similar physique, and we both had pretty big boobs. That was it, I was done. There was no way on Earth that I was gonna end up becoming her. I ditched the drink and the meaningless sex and started focusing on work and my health. After a couple of years, I was the manager of the bar where I worked, and I was fitter than I’d been in my entire life. Most importantly, though, I didn’t feel like I was turning into my mother. Things were looking up for me. Until they weren’t.

            One day, I got a call from a doctor. He explained that a few weeks earlier, my parents had been involved in an accident. They had been eating at a restaurant when the building partially collapsed, crushing both of them underneath the debris. Mom had been in a coma ever since, and dad had some significant brain damage. The hospital couldn’t keep him there any longer and needed to either move him into a medically assisted living facility, or move him in with a family member who could support him. The doctor asked if I would be able to care for him, and I immediately told him no. I said I would come and visit my mother, but I didn’t care what happened to dad. As soon as I’d hung up, I knew I’d made a mistake. I was just angry, understandably. I called the doctor back and said I would be at the hospital soon, and we could talk about dad‘s options when I got there.

            Seeing mum so lifeless and battered and bruised was difficult, but seeing dad was so much worse. He was equally as hurt as she was, but he was lifeless in a different way. The doctor explained that he was suffering from a complicated case of amnesia, and he wasn’t able to recall anything about his life. Even as I stood in front of the man who’d abandoned me years ago, he showed no signs of recognition. He didn’t know who I was. That in itself broke me. Still, it was beyond amazing to see him again. Even after almost five years, I still missed him so much, even if he had brutally cut me out of his life. How could I not care for him? He may have abandoned me, but I wasn’t about to abandon him, even if he wasn’t my real father.

            Over the next couple of weeks, I moved my stuff from my apartment into my old house. It was a really odd experience, seeing my childhood home once more. I’d resigned myself to never seeing it again, but there I was, back where it all began. I’d been attending meetings with physical therapists and doctors, too, who helped me to find out what my dad‘s needs would be, and what I should expect. I quickly realized that caring for him was gonna be a full-time job. He still had some injuries that he was recovering from, but the biggest difficulty was his memory. He was often confused, and only rarely recalled who he was. I was told that he could regain parts of his memory, but it was likely that he was gonna be permanently affected by the amnesia. Even if it meant sacrificing the life I’d built, I was gonna do it. I wasn’t gonna just give up on him. I couldn’t leave him alone in the world like he’d done to me.

            A week later, I was back at home, living with dad again. He spent most of his time in bed, as he was still physically recovering from his injuries. I cooked for him, cleaned the house, and tended to his bandages. Apart from that, there wasn’t much else to do. He wasn’t really speaking, either, apart from the occasional mutterings. A nurse came every other day to check in on us, and to see if we needed any help, but there wasn’t much that could be done. Time was the thing that would heal him, if at all. Mom was a different story. Every day I called the hospital, and every day they told me the same thing. It was clear that she was gonna be in a coma indefinitely. I held out hope, though, I had to. She was my mom.

            Over the next couple of months, dad‘s physical injuries healed well, and he was soon able to walk around the house. He was speaking now, too, but he didn’t know who I was. Every single day, he would ask my name and what I was doing there. I had to develop a lot of patience very quickly, as I continually explained that I was his daughter and I was there to care for him. You can not imagine how painful it is, having a parent not even recognize you. That being said, because he didn’t know who I was, he was pleasant with me. We’d have conversations occasionally, and he’d even make jokes, sometimes. I lived for those moments. It was almost like before, almost. Even though we would talk, the next day he’d have no recollection of our conversations, though. It was like a never-ending loop of pain.

            One evening, after we’d had some dinner, we sat quietly watching a movie together. I excused myself after a little while and snuck outside for a cigarette. I’d only started smoking recently. I didn’t even know why I started, but it helped calm me down. After I’d finished, I went back inside and resumed watching the movie with him. It was at all times a little awkward, as though we were just two strangers with nothing to say to each other. It beat being absent from his life, though. Just as I was starting to get back into the movie, I heard him clear his throat and shuffle in his seat.

            “You look good today, Jodie,” he said.

            I turned to look at him in disbelief. He had sounded cognizant, like he was him again. I couldn’t tell what it was, just that something in his voice was different. Maybe he was remembering things. The only problem was that he called me by mom’s name, and not mine.

        “Umm…thanks,” I replied, unsure what I should say to him. “Are you…”

            He looked me in the eyes, and for a second I wondered he recognized me.

            “Sorry?” he asked.

            “Err…is everything okay, Andrew?” I asked.

            “Yep, thanks,” he said, his gaze returning to the TV.

            He had slipped away again, but this was definitely progress, even if he had wondered that I was mom. The next day, I was in the kitchen preparing some dinner for us both. I often cooked meals he enjoyed, in the hopes that it would trigger some memories for him. Tonight was seared sea bass with asparagus, his absolute favorite. I poured a little oil into a pan, turned on the hob, and waited for it to heat up. dad was on the couch watching TV, as he often was.

            “Be careful, sweetie,” he said. “Don’t burn yourself.”

            I spun around and looked at him, my eyes wide. He sounded different again.

            “dad?” I asked, almost shaking.

            “Yes, Miley?” he said, still facing the TV.

            I ran over to him and crouched down to look him in the eyes.

            “dad? Is that you?” I asked.

            “Of course, sweetie,” he said, chuckling softly.

            “Oh, my God!” I said, lunging forwards and hugging him. “dad!”

            I instantly broke into tears and held him tightly.

            “What’s wrong, sweetie?” he asked, stroking my hair.

            “I…you…” I said, still sobbing into his shirt. “Are you okay?”

            “Of course, I’m okay,” he said. “Are you?”

            “Yes, dad, yes!” I said, breaking our embrace and looking back into his eyes. “Do you…what do you remember?”

            “What do you mean?” he asked.

            I wanted to tell him everything, tell him about the accident and about mom, but I couldn’t. The doctor had instructed me not to break any news to him until he’d regained his memory, in case it worsened his condition.

            “Nothing, dad. Nothing,” I said, hugging him again.

            “Hey, don’t forget the pan,” he said.

            “Shit, yeah,” I said, standing up and running back to the kitchen.

            I carried on silently crying as I finished cooking. I didn’t know how long this would last, but I didn’t care. I was just happy to finally have my dad back. I called him to the dining table, wiped my eyes dry, and served us dinner. Over the course of the meal, I spoke to him as much as efficient, fearful that he’d regress at any second, and forget who I was again. It quickly became apparent that he had no memory of leaving me or mom, or anything that had happened since before he abandoned us. It hurt to know that he was still suffering from the amnesia, but in a way, it was perfect. He still wondered of me as his true daughter, and he still loved me. It was like how it was before this nightmare had begun. I reveled in his affections that evening. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be loved. We spoke for hours and hours about all sorts of things, and I did my best not to let anything slip about what was really going on. As aware as he was, I could still tell that there were gaps in his memory, though. He wasn’t fully there, but it was enough for me. Before we went to bed that night, I hugged him for as long as I could. I didn’t want to lose him again.

            The following morning, I woke up early. All I could think about was whether or not dad still remembered me. I rushed to his room, knocked on his door, and stepped inside. He was already awake, sitting up in bed, seemingly doing nothing. I studied his expression for a few moments, trying to search for any signs of my dad.

         “Da…Andrew?” I asked.

            “Oh, hello,” he said. “Who are you?”

            I sighed, and my excitement immediately deflated.

            “I’m…your carer,” I said, sadness filling me. “I just wanted to see if you’re ready for some breakfast.”

            “Oh, okay,” he said. “I guess, yeah, I could eat. Thank you.”

            “That’s alright, Andrew,” I said, slipping out of the room.

            I hadn’t expected his memory to last, but I was still bitterly disappointed. I shed a few tears while I cooked us some breakfast, eventually steeling myself for the day. We had a busy day ahead, with a physical routine to stick to, which often required a lot of work. He was healing, but the nurse had explained it was good for him to maintain a high level of fitness, even if his injuries were getting better. After breakfast, we spent about three hours in the home gym doing stretches, some lightweight work, and a relatively intense cardio session on the bikes. He’d definitely been getting fitter since I’d moved back in, and I was happy to maintain the physique that I’d cultivated over the last couple of years, too. Our workouts were probably one of the better parts of my day.

            As the weeks rolled by, he’d occasionally have periods where he remembered me, but from before he had originally left. On those magical days, we’d spend all of our time together, usually just talking. They never lasted that long, though, and he’d at all times fall back into his default state of not remembering much of anything. Very occasionally, he would also mistakenly call me by mom’s name, too. I found it all so difficult. I had to change how I acted and who I was, every time he slipped into a different state. There just wasn’t any regularity to it, either, so I wouldn’t know who I had to be every day. I had to manage, though, I had no choice.

            One random day, while I was doing some cleaning in the living room, I heard him walk in. As soon as he saw me, he stopped in his tracks. I looked up at him, giving him my usual pleasant smile, but he didn’t smile back. Something was wrong. I couldn’t tell if he was just confused, or if something else was happening.

            “Andrew…are you-” I began.

            “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

            “I…dad?” I asked.

            “I asked what you’re doing here, Miley,” he said.

            “Are you okay? Is everything alright?” I asked, ignoring his question.

            “What the fuck are you doing here?!” he said again, his voice a little louder now. “Oh, God. Where’s your mother? Is she alright?”

            “Do you…remember?” I asked, nervously.

            He nodded.

            “Don’t ignore my question. Is your mother…she’s not…she’s not dea-” he said.

            “No, dad,” I interrupted. “She’s not dead.”

            “Jesus Christ,” he said, running his hand back through his greying hair. “I…she…we were…”

            “I know, I know,” I said, slowly approaching him. “It’s…everything’s gonna be okay.”

            He held out the palm of his hand and started shaking his head, stepping backward.

            “What the…how long have I…” he trailed off.

            He looked so confused, despite clearly being able to recall what had happened.

            “I can’t…it’s not all…there,” he said, still shaking his head.

            “dad, I-” I started.
 
            “Don’t call me that!” he shouted.

            Before I had a chance to burst into tears, he dashed off to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. I stood there, motionless and panic-stricken, wondering what was gonna happen. As expected, the tears started to fall, and I crouched down. I fell into a pile on the floor and just cried to myself in the fetal position. A tiny part of me was glad that he was finally remembering, but I didn’t know what this would mean, going forwards. Had he permanently regained his memory, now? If he had, was he gonna hate me every day? Could I bare living with a man who didn’t want to be my dad? I had no answers, so I just kept crying and crying. About an hour later, I heard him come out of the bathroom. I quickly looked up at him, terrified that he was gonna continue shouting at me. He looked somewhat aloof.

            “Are you…okay?” I asked, cautiously.

            “Yes, thanks,” he said. “Sorry, who are you?”

            I felt relief and heartbreak and anger, all at the same time. I stood up and straightened myself out a little.

            “I’m Miley, I’m your carer,” I said.

            “Oh, alright,” he said. “I’m gonna hit the gym for a little while, if that’s alright?”

            “Of course, it’s alright,” I replied.

            I watched him as he walked away. He seemed as calm as ever and had clearly slipped back to his previous mental state. It pained my heart, but it was better than him hating me.

            The week carried on pretty much as usual, and we stuck to our ordinary routines. He remained the same, unable to recall almost anything about his life. In a way, it was even more difficult than dealing with him when he was angry with me. I felt like I was just waiting for him to switch at some point, and I didn’t know whether that would be good or bad. By the end of the week, I needed a break. I called in the nurse to look after dad for a couple of hours, while I visited mom in the hospital. She was in the same state, but it didn’t stop me from talking to her anyway. I quickly found myself venting to her about all the shit I was dealing with. I began ranting about how hard it was and how it was all her fault, and I ended up in tears again. She was a better listener now than she had ever been, and I actually found it cathartic to talk to her.

            On the way back home, I picked up several bottles of wine and another pack of cigarettes. I needed some time to myself that evening. I just wanted to get drunk on my own, smoke, and pass out in bed. When I got back, I relieved the nurse and got to work fixing dad and I some dinner. He was the same as when I left, just devoid of who he was. We watched a little bit of TV after dinner, and he soon went to bed. I was happy to be alone, I really needed it. I pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, grabbed a glass, and sat down on the couch. I spent the next hour or so staring at the bottle; I wanted a drink badly, but I didn’t want to resort back to alcohol. I didn’t want to end up like mom, either.

            After getting tired of my indecision, I decided I needed a smoke. I opened a window next to the TV and leaned out, lighting up my cigarette. I took a deep toke and sighed as I exhaled. This had been one hell of a week. I just prayed that the next week was gonna be easier. I didn’t know how much more of this I could take. After a few more tokes, I looked back into the house to make sure that dad wasn’t up. Back in the day, he would have been mad if he’d caught me smoking in the house. He and mom had at all times hated smokers and often told me they wouldn’t tolerate me smoking, so I shouldn’t bother starting. Consequently, I was nervous about being caught, even if dad didn’t know who I was. With no sign of dad about, I turned back to staring off out the window and carried on puffing away.

            Just as I began to consider getting to bed after my cigarette, I heard a noise behind me. Before I could turn around, I felt dad‘s hands wrap around my waist. He squeezed me gently, then pressed his body against mine. I almost jumped out of my skin. I felt like I was 16 again, and I’d been busted for smoking.

            “Having another secret smoke, Jodie?” he asked, in a very different voice than I was used to hearing.

            He sounded playful and seductive. I suddenly felt his cock pressing against my ass, but before I could react to the sensation, he planted several kisses on my neck. I quickly spun around and gently pushed him back. I choked and sputtered out cigarette smoke, as I saw he was completely naked, just standing there with a rock-hard erection and a grin.

            “Wanna fuck?” he asked.

            “What the f-” I began, coughing up more smoke.

            I quickly flicked the cigarette out the window and turned back to him. I knew that he wondered I was mom, but it was too fucking crazy to deal with. I just couldn’t handle it, not after the week I’d had.

           “I…umm…no!” I blurted out. “I’m not in the mood…babe.”

            I obviously had to turn him down, but I hadn’t wanted to be mean about it. I just tried to act like mom, when she hadn’t been in the mood for his affection. He looked disappointed. In my panic, I fled to my bedroom, leaving him naked in the living room. I shut my door but stayed with my ear pressed against it, waiting to hear him go back to his room. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before I heard him wander back to his room. I breathed a massive sigh of relief and threw myself onto the mattress. What the fuck had just happened? I was still in shock. I crawled under the covers and did my best to just leave the last week behind me and try to get some sleep. I couldn’t help but recall the image of him standing there naked, though. I knew he’d gotten much fitter recently, but I hadn’t realized how much fitter. He looked practically like an athlete. He had a dick to match, too. It had been thick, basically the size of my wrist, and long. At least 8 inches. It had been so damn hard, as well, like it was on the verge of bursting. I suddenly realized that I had been thinking about it for longer than I should have been, and shook the image from my mind. What a fucking week.

            Over the course of the next couple of weeks, dad flitted between his numerous different mental states. Sometimes he regained his memory from before he left, acting like my sweet, loving father again; a couple of times he seemed to remember everything, and he would scream at me to leave; and a couple of times he seemed to think he was younger, and I was mom. Mostly, though, he didn’t remember much at all. Whatever the case, it was confusing as fuck, but I just had to do my best to deal with it all. One of my strategies was to just keep myself busy. There was barely a second I wasn’t cleaning, or cooking, or maintaining the household, when I wasn’t looking after him or helping him with his physio. I was becoming exhausted, mentally and physically.

            After dad had gone to bed one night, I sat in the dimly lit living room with a cup of coffee, wishing it was wine. I didn’t even have the mental capacity to put the TV on. I just wanted to be alone and numb. Being alone was easy, but being numb took more effort without any alcohol. It was so hard not to think about the crazy situation I found myself in. I asked myself what the hell I was doing there, and whether I had the strength to endure this for much longer. What if I had to care for dad forever? Could I handle being bombarded by the different versions of himself for another week, let alone for years more? I didn’t fucking know. I felt bound by a sense of duty to my family, even if they showed no such integrity. How could I just leave?

            “Fuck,” I whispered to myself.

            I huffed loudly and got up to have a cigarette. I hung out the window again, breathing in the sweet relief of smoke, when I recalled what had happened a couple of weeks before, when I last had a cigarette. I still hadn’t quite gotten over dad‘s advances or the fact that I saw him stark naked with a raging erection. From either the booze or the absurdity of it all, I let out a little laugh and continued dragging away on my smoke. It was hard to keep the image of him out of my mind. It wasn’t exactly like he was bad to look at, and it had been a long time since I’d seen another guy naked. Just as I was pondering it, I wondered I heard a noise and quickly span around, expecting to see dad naked again. I studied the darkness, but there was nothing there. I slowly turned back, realizing that I was feeling a little disappointed that the noise hadn’t been him. What was I thinking? I finished my cigarette and returned to the couch. I spent the next hour using all of my strength not to just grab the bottles of wine from the fridge, before deciding to have another smoke. As I puffed away, I became aware that I was getting progressively hornier. The feeling didn’t seem to be emanating from anywhere obvious, but I wanted to indulge myself all the same. I flicked the butt out the window, slipped off my leggings, my panties, and my top, and fell back into the couch, naked.

            I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d orgasmed, and I couldn’t believe I’d let it go so long. I just hadn’t been in the right frame of mind lately. I did my best to clear my mind and spread my legs a little. My hand quickly found its way to my crotch, and I began to slowly rub circles around my clit. I closed my eyes and let out a soft moan, relishing the feeling I brought myself. I wasn’t in a rush, and I was gonna take my sweet time. I continued gently rubbing my clit with one hand, while the other squeezed and toyed and pinched one of my nipples. I made sure to be as quiet as I could, despite how good I was making myself feel, though.

            After a little while, I knew I was well on the way to having my first orgasm of the evening. Saying that I could barely wait would be an understatement. I was practically gagging to cum. My hand was in overdrive, and I was grabbing and caressing my breasts like there was no tomorrow. I could tell my breath was heavy and hard, but I wasn’t letting any moans escape my lips. I was an expert stealthy masturbator. I could feel my momentum gaining and gaining, and my body responding to every touch I made. I was close, so close. I picked up my pace, anticipating an imminent orgasm.

            “Can I join the party, Jodie?” I heard a voice say.

            I let out a high-pitched scream, my legs snapped shut, and I wrenched my hand from between them. I opened my eyes and looked in the direction the voice had come from. I hadn’t recognized it, at first. I’d been so wrapped up in pleasure that it just didn’t register, but it was registering now. There was no escaping it. There, standing right beside me, was dad; a smile on his face, and a bulging, thick cock pointing right at my face. It wasn’t just near my face, or close to my face, it was directly in front of my face, level with my mouth. It was one of those moments where it felt like hours could pass in a second and time just slows down. My face didn’t dare move, but I flicked my eyes up to his, then back down at his cock, then back up, then back down. I knew I should be thinking something, be thinking anything just to make myself get up and leave, but I couldn’t. My mind wouldn’t let me think, or at least, my pussy wouldn’t let me think. I just stayed transfixed on what hung in front of my lips.

            Just as suddenly as his cock had appeared from nowhere, it disappeared into my mouth. My body just fell into autopilot; my legs flew open and with one hand I continued vigorously playing with my clit, while I stroked his length with the other. I felt his warm hardness gliding in and out of my mouth, as he gently rocked back and forth. I was like a sex-crazed maniac in comparison, stroking him fast and eagerly slobbering all over his dick. I didn’t care how much noise I made, or what the fuck I was actually doing, or how much spit was dripping from my mouth, I just wanted to get off on the feeling of a big cock. As fast as my pace was, I couldn’t slow down. If anything, I only got faster. I was just consumed by the experience.

            I continued slurping away at his dick, easily taking him down my throat. I’d had big guys before, but none of them were like this. He was so damn thick, and I was absolutely loving how it felt, pumping in and out of me. Almost from nowhere, an orgasm built up and suddenly crashed over me, rippling through my body, and making me shake. I let out a muffled moan, and my eyes momentarily rolled into the back of my head. As I regained my sight, I suddenly found myself looking directly into dad‘s eyes, still riding the gradually fading waves of my orgasm. I felt an overwhelming urge to look away, but I couldn’t. He looked down at me with lust and love in his eyes, and I could see how much he wanted me. Something about that look just drove me wild, and I sucked away at him with a renewed vigor, not breaking our eye contact. I finally embraced the reality of the situation; I was sucking my dad‘s dick, and it was turning me on like nothing had done before. Just as unexpectedly as before, another orgasm crashed through my body, and I felt myself spasming and squirming, as I carried on messily throating him.

            I was done with myself now. I wrapped both hands around his shaft and paid it all of my attention. I just couldn’t get to grips with how incredibly turned on I was, it was just such a wildly new sensation. It probably also had something to do with how big he was; there’s nothing better than the feeling of a great, big cock filling up your mouth. Just as I began to wonder how much he was enjoying my efforts, and whether or not I was pleasing him, I saw his expression change. I’d seen that same look on many guys’ faces before; he was about to cum. With his dick still thrusting in and out of my mouth, I smiled. I hadn’t even wondered about him orgasming, but now I was, I couldn’t fucking wait. I stroked him even faster and swirled my tongue around his head, just waiting for him to explode. It didn’t take long and, fuck, it was an explosion, indeed. He sprayed several thick ropes of his cum straight down my throat, almost making me gag. I took him a little shallower in my mouth, and let his cum start to pool up around my tongue. I took a large gulp, but no sooner than I had swallowed, my mouth was full again. I gulped again, and again, and again. I couldn’t keep up with how much he was flooding into my mouth, so I pulled his dick free from my lips. He continued shooting jets of his thick, creamy spunk all over my boobs. It was like a fucking pressurized fireman’s hose, and it didn’t let up. He just kept raining onto my chest, as I milked him for everything I could get. I looked down at myself, not quite able to process how amazing the sight was.

            His flow eventually let up, and the last few spurts landed across my chest. My heart was absolutely pounding away in my chest, and I could hear almost nothing else in the relative silence of the house. I was certain dad could hear it, too. Like a lightning strike that hit directly into my brain, I suddenly realized the severity of the situation. All at once, every doubt and fear, and negative wondered just overwhelmed me. My eyes must have been as wide as the moon. What in the actual fuck had just happened? I knew I should get up and go. I knew I should probably just leave the house, but I couldn’t. I was frozen, as was my tongue. What would I have said, anyway?

            “You want to fuck?” he said, breaking the silence.

            I was immediately and most definitely not interested in fucking. My head was in far too much of a mess for me to do anything else. I quickly shot up off the couch, narrowly missing dad‘s still-raging erection. I hesitated for a moment, as I became acutely aware that I was naked in front of him.

         “I…umm…I…I’m too tired. Sorry,” I said, before darting off to my bedroom.

            I didn’t even wait for him to respond. I just bolted. I lay back on my bed and just listened to my heavy heartbeat, staring at the ceiling. I shortly heard him head back into his room, the noise of the door shutting making me jump slightly. I looked down at myself, still absolutely covered in cum. I was shocked, appalled, and disgraced at the sight of myself. What sort of freak would do what I just did? What sort of a stupid, depraved bitch was I? I hated myself for doing it, yet…

            I dipped my fingers back into my soaking pussy, and began playing with myself desperately. My boobs looked so good, totally soaked in dad‘s cum. There was so fucking much of it. As I violently rubbed away at my clit, with my spare hand I scooped up some cum onto my fingers. I marveled at it for a second, before spooning it into my mouth. I closed my eyes and moaned, relishing the taste. I quickly went back for seconds, then thirds, then fourths. I carried on eating up all of his cum until there wasn’t a drop left that I could swallow, all the while pleasuring my sensitive pussy. It wasn’t long before I rode another powerful orgasm to its fruition. After, I slumped back into the bed, and felt a heavy fatigue fall over me. I was exhausted. I barely had time to think before I felt myself being pulled to unconsciousness.

NSFW: yes

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