His fuck toy daughter 1

Mark's 16 year old daughter calls him, drunk and stuck in the city. He finds her dressed like a slut and ends up fucking her like one.

Mark’s phone buzzed violently on the coffee table at 1:52 a.m. The house was silent except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old radiators cooling down. He’d fallen asleep in the armchair again, still wearing yesterday’s jeans, the television stuck on a muted sports highlights reel.

The name on the screen made his heart lurch before he even answered.

Sophie calling

He snatched it up.

“Daddy?” Her voice was thick, the words running together. Club music thudded distantly behind her like a second heartbeat. “I’m in trouble. I told you I was staying at Chloe’s tonight… but we snuck out to the Printworks instead. Chloe and the others are gone, I can’t find them, we got seperated. I’ve got no money left for a taxi, my phone’s dying, and I’m outside the big neon sign. It’s freezing. Please come get me. I’m sorry.”

Mark was already on his feet, reaching for his car keys. “Stay exactly where you are, Soph. Under the lights. Don’t move. I’m leaving now.”

He didn’t bother changing. Hoodie, trainers, wallet, phone. The night air bit at his face as he jogged to the car. Sophie had turned 16 three weeks earlier. She’d told him she was having a quiet sleepover at her friend Chloe’s house, pizza, films, girl talk. He’d believed her. Elaine had kissed him goodbye yesterday morning before heading to Birmingham for her weekend training course, trusting him to keep an eye on things at home. Now the lie hit him like cold water: his little girl had snuck out to a night club instead and from her slurred voice, it was clear she was drunk.

The drive in was quicker than it should have been. The Mancunian Way was almost empty; only taxis and the occasional delivery van shared the wet tarmac. Rain had stopped but the roads still glistened under orange streetlights. He kept the heater on full, stomach twisting with worry and the first flickers of anger, but the anger could wait.

When he finally turned onto the narrow street behind the Printworks the scene was exactly what he’d feared: groups of girls in micro-dresses and towering heels, lads in puffer jackets shouting, security in hi-vis moving people along. And there, standing under the pink blue glow of a closed cocktail bar’s sign was his Sophie.

For the first time in his life Mark saw his daughter dressed like that.

Her black satin dress was obscene—spaghetti straps so thin they looked ready to snap, neckline plunging low enough to show the inner curves of her small breasts, hemline barely covering the tops of her thighs. Fishnet tights, one knee already laddered from whatever chaos she’d been in. Platform heels that made her legs look impossibly long. Her blonde hair, normally tied back in a neat ponytail, was a wild, tangled mess of hairspray and sweat. Mascara had run in thin black trails down both cheeks. She clutched her phone like a lifeline, shivering in the cold March air.

She looked every inch the club slut. Not his little girl who still asked for extra cheese on her pizza. Not the girl who’d hugged him goodnight in pyjamas printed with cartoon cats. A stranger in his daughter’s body.

She saw the car and half-stumbled, half-ran toward it, yanking the passenger door open before he’d even stopped properly.

“Thank fuck,” she breathed, collapsing into the seat. The smell hit him instantly: vodka, sweet cocktail syrup, cigarette smoke, warm skin, and the unmistakable musk of hours spent pressed against strangers on a dancefloor. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean for this to happen. ”

He pulled away from the kerb, jaw locked. “You told me you were at Chloe’s.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We just… wanted to go out properly for once. It was meant to be fun.”

“You lied to me. To your mum.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked a little. “Please don’t tell her.”

Mark didn’t answer, he would decide later what action to take, but now thenimportant thing was just to get home.

He focused on the road, trying not to look at her. But it was impossible. The dress had ridden up the second she sat down. White lace knickers barely there, more string than fabric peeked out against the black satin. Her thighs pressed together, then parted slightly as she shifted. Every movement drew his eye.

“Seatbelt,” he said tightly.

She fumbled with it, giggling nervously. “Yes, Daddy.”

The word landed differently tonight, slurred, almost playful.

They left the city behind and joined the dark dual carriageway heading southeast toward the suburbs. Sophie didn’t touch the radio. She sat quietly for once, arms wrapped around herself, shivering despite the heater.

Ten minutes out of the city she spoke again, voice small.

“Daddy?”

“Mmm?”

“I really need to pee.”

“Ten minutes, love. We’re nearly home.”

“I can’t wait.” She pressed her thighs together hard, squirming. “I drank way too much. Please. Just pull over. Anywhere. I can't hold it”

He exhaled sharply, indicated, and took the next lay by, a lonely strip of cracked tarmac bordered by overgrown gorse and a low concrete crash barrier. No lights, no cameras, just the red smear of his tail lights and weak moonlight filtering through thinning clouds.

“Be quick,” he said, killing the engine.

Sophie opened the door and immediately staggered. Her bare feet sank into wet grass when she tried to stand in the heels. “Shit—Dad, I can’t even walk straight. Help me, please.”

Mark got out, walked round, offered his arm. She clung to him, giggling and cursing under her breath as they lurched toward the bushes. Her breast pressed against his bicep through the thin satin. Heat poured off her. When they reached the densest clump of gorse she stopped.

“Hold me up or I’ll fall.”

“I’ll turn round”

“No. Don’t leave me.”

With one hand she rucked the dress up to her waist. With the other she hooked her thumbs into the lace and shoved the knickers down in a clumsy tangle around her ankles. Then she squatted, still clutching his forearm, thighs spread wide.

Mark tried to look away, really tried, but the moonlight caught everything: the pale skin of her inner thighs, the smooth, completely shaved mound, the soft pink lips parting as she relaxed.

The hiss started, hot, steady, splashing onto wet leaves. Sophie let out a long, relieved sigh that edged into a soft moan. The sharp, intimate scent rose in the cold air. She didn’t hurry. She stayed there, head tipped back, eyes half-closed.
When the stream finally tapered she stayed squatting, dress bunched, knickers at her ankles, looking straight up at him.

“You watched,” she whispered.

“I didn’t mean ....”

“You did.” A slow, drunken smile curved her lips. “And you’re hard. I can see it.”

His mouth went dry. “Pull your knickers up Soph, We’re going.”

Instead she rose, still wobbly, kicked her knickers free so it lay abandoned on the grass, and stepped closer. Her bare pussy brushed the rough denim over his erection.

“Fuck me,” she said simply.

“No.” The word cracked. “You’re drunk. You’re my daughter. Let's just get home”

“I’m sixteen, I have done it you know.” She palmed him through the jeans, stroking the full length. “And I’ve wanted this for so long. Every time you looked at me funny when I wore shorts round the house. Don’t lie daddy.”

“Sophie, stop. Now”

She backed up until her arse hit the low concrete barrier, then perched on the edge, legs spreading wide. The dress stayed rucked at her waist. Her cunt was visibly swollen, glistening, lips parted and shining in the faint light.

“Look how wet I am for you,” she breathed. “Please, Daddy, fuck me, nobody will know."

Mark’s pulse roared. His cock throbbed painfully. One step. Then another. “This is wrong.”

“It’s perfect.” She reached for his belt, yanked it open, dragged the zip down. His cock sprang free, heavy, thick and leaking precum.

Sophie wrapped her cool fingers around him and stroked once, slow.

“Bigger than I imagined,” she murmured. “I used to listen at your door. I touched myself thinking about it.”

He groaned, half in protest, half surrender.
She dropped to her knees on the damp grass and took his cock into her mouth, hot, slick, eager, sucking deep until she gagged softly, then pulled back to swirl her tongue around the head.

Mark’s hands found her hair. “Fuck… Soph…”

She hummed, one hand on his balls, the other rubbing her own clit frantically.

After a minute she pulled off. “Fuck me daddy. Please.”

He hauled her up, spun her round, bent her over the barrier. Dress shoved up her back. He grabbed his cock and shoved it in.

Sophie gasped, delighted as he sank his cock into her tight teenage cunt. She rocked back. “Harder. Fuck your little girl.”

He did, with deep, punishing strokes that made her cry out. Her tits bounced free; he squeezed one roughly.

“Am I tighter than Mum?” she panted.

“Yes,” he growled. “Fuck—yes.”

She clenched around him. “Cum in me, Daddy. Fill me up.”

He rubbed her clit hard. She came, her back arching, gushing against his fingers. He flipped her onto her back on the grass, then drove back into her pussy face to face now, kissing her as if she was a girlfriend as he came himself thick jets of spunk flooding her fuck hole.

When it was over he pulled out breating hard, cum was leaking from her swollen hole.

The spell broke.

Mark staggered back, staring at her sprawled there, dress ruined, legs splayed, his cum dripping, and nausea slammed into him.
What the fuck had he done? He couldn't take this back, he fucked his own daughter.

Sophie sat up slowly, smiling lazily. She scooped some cum onto her fingers and licked them clean.

“Tastes like us.”

Mark turned away, zipping up with shaking hands. “Fuuucccck. Get in the car. Now.”

She stood, leaving the knickers behind. “I want to feel you dripping all the way home.”

He didn’t reply. He walked back to the car, got in, started the engine. Sophie climbed in, thighs parted, dress still bunched.
She reached over toward his crotch.
Mark caught her wrist. Hard.

“Don’t.”

She blinked. “Daddy—”

“No.” His voice was low, shaking. “Not one more word. Not one more touch. You’re going straight to bed when we get home. This never happened. Understand?”

Sophie’s smile faded. She pulled her hand back, suddenly looking small and young again. “But—”

“No. Fuck. Im sorry Soph, we will talk about it tomorrow.”

The rest of the drive passed in heavy silence. Sophie stared out the window, mascara-streaked, his cum slowly leaking down her thighs. She didn’t speak. Didn’t try to touch him again.

They pulled onto the quiet cul-de-sac at 3:28 a.m. The house was dark; Elaine was away until Sunday night.

Mark killed the engine. “Go inside. Straight upstairs. Shower if you want. Then go to bed.”

Sophie got out without a word, shoes dangling from one hand, walking barefoot up the path. Mark followed a moment later, locking the door behind them.

She disappeared upstairs without looking back.

Mark stood in the hallway, shaking. Guilt clawed at his chest, sharp, relentless. He pictured Elaine’s trusting smile. Pictured Sophie as a child, safe in his arms. Pictured what would happen if anyone ever found out.

He felt like a monster. He was a monster. What kind of man fucks his drunk 16 year old daughter?

But his cock was already hardening again at the memory of her heat, her moans, the way she’d clenched around him, the way his baby girl behaved like a filthy slag.

He climbed the stairs slowly. Sophie’s door was closed, no light underneath.

In the master bedroom Elaine’s side of the bed was empty, sheets still neat. Mark stripped in the dark clothes reeking of grass, sweat, and her and slid under the covers naked.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
Guilt crashed over him in waves. Regret burned in his throat. He should have stopped it. Should have driven straight home. Should never have looked.

But he had.

And now the images wouldn’t leave: her bent over the barrier, her mouth on him, the filthy way she’d begged.

His cock stood rigid under the sheet, leaking against his stomach.
He didn’t touch it. He wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t go down.

He rolled onto his side, facing Elaine’s empty pillow, squeezed his eyes shut.
Tomorrow he would talk to Sophie, calmly, firmly. Make it clear this was a mistake that ended tonight. He would keep his distance. He would never let it happen again and hope that nobody would ever find out.
But tonight, in the marital bed with his wife gone and his daughter’s scent still on his skin, all he could do was lie there hard, ashamed, and broken.

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