I’ve been reading eFénix for almost as long as the site has existed, but I never thought I’d write anything here myself. But I have to… well, I want to.
My wife and I reconnected after twenty-five years. I’m divorced, and with my new partner came her only daughter. I’d rather not write how old she is. It’s not all that dramatic, but she was already eighteen. I myself have a few more years behind me.
My marriage had its ugly moments, and the last two years were sexless. When “Miška” appeared and bluntly got me into bed, it happened fast. Those who know her consider her a respectable woman in her prime, and those who know her better know what they know. Not that she ever cheated — or at least I’m not aware of it. She simply loves being a homebody (not only in bed) and being a woman, and I genuinely enjoy that. Anyone in the same situation at home knows exactly what I mean.
But Miška isn’t why I’m writing. The problem appeared elsewhere. Well, “problem” is one word for it… Her daughter, Lucka. She’s at that awkward age where she couldn’t care less how she presents herself at home, and I won’t lie — I enjoy the view, naively believing nobody notices. Somehow we clicked, and we can’t go a day without each other (in a perfectly innocent sense). She even wrote her high school thesis about me. She started calling me “Dad” on her own, and I think she was proud to have me. At that time I was running my own business and doing quite well financially, so I could spoil her — whatever she wanted or liked, she got.
She wasn’t seeing anyone then, and she happily spent her free time with me. She liked it when people stared at us and would joke that to outsiders we looked like a man with a young mistress. At home she loved to cuddle — sometimes more undressed than dressed. She had absolutely no problem with that. She was a little flirt, and I don’t think she was even aware of what it did to me.
She takes after her mother — petite, slim, pretty — and with a nice backside she’s already a “grown” woman. Thanks to her mother’s relatively relaxed parenting style, she would wander out of the bathroom casually wrapped in a towel that covered far less than it concealed. But honestly, this is probably nothing unusual. There are plenty of men in the same situation at home.
About a year ago, we agreed to go out for a beer at U Medvídků. Miška had no objections — she was happy that Lucka had a father figure paying attention to her, and she just laughed at Lucka’s flirting and “seducing.” So off we went. The beers were good, a few shots followed, and we still had plenty to talk about. As closing time approached, we decided to move on. I had a studio apartment rented in Pankrác that I used occasionally when I had business meetings in Prague — it was easier than commuting home and back to the office early the next morning. Logically, we decided to sleep there.
During the taxi ride she felt sick and managed to make a mess of the entire car. It cost me a lot of money to calm down the furious driver, and I was understandably quite annoyed. But seeing Lucka standing there in such a sorry state, I felt more sorry for her than angry. She vomited again before I’d even managed to close the apartment door. I steered her into the bathroom to clean herself up and gave her some privacy — I felt awkward hovering over her during that.
She managed the shower on her own, and when she emerged wrapped only in a towel, I guided her to the bedroom, laid her down, and turned off the light, leaving only the small night lamp on so she wouldn’t think I was trying to spy on her. As for any sexual thoughts — they were the furthest thing from my mind. I placed a bucket within reach and sat on the edge of the bed in case she needed help, because she seemed barely aware of her surroundings.
Sitting there, I kept drifting in and out of a light sleep. At some point I suddenly realized Lucka was holding my hand, calling me “Daddy,” and slurring an apology for getting drunk, telling me she loved me very much.
Then she went quiet for a moment, and when she came around again, she was calling me “darling.” She added something about how I was everything to her and that she needed to make amends for some sin. Before I knew what was happening, her hand was in my lap, massaging me through my trousers. I was acutely aware of every touch and movement. I know now that I should have reacted immediately, but… I was fairly drunk myself, and I had been missing sex. The touch of that small hand was so pleasant that I simply couldn’t bring myself to stop it right away. Somehow I crossed that line of “horrified hesitation” and subconsciously kept delaying the moment when I’d have to put an end to it. In the meantime, the blood drained from my head and went considerably lower.
I won’t lie. My stepdaughter was giving me a fairly skilled handjob, and I just sat there like a lamb. It was impossible to call it off. Anyone reading this who has had a similar experience will understand.
Sitting there in the dark room on the edge of the bed while Lucka kept massaging me — I felt… good. I consoled myself with the thought that it didn’t really matter, that she’d simply stop in a moment and everything would be fine. But no. She started murmuring something again — another apology of sorts, saying she needed to try harder to make amends — and before I’d processed it all, her hand was under my clothing and I was in seventh heaven. At that point, I was no longer capable of thinking about anything else, and I let things run their course.
If there’s one thing this girl truly inherited from her mother, it’s precisely this. When she awkwardly began moving her head toward my lap, I simply adjusted to her intention, and when her tongue first circled the tip of my penis, I thought I was losing my mind. From that moment I knew with absolute certainty that my stepdaughter had a God-given gift.
After gently teasing the tip, she moved to running her soft tongue along my entire length. When my clothing started getting in her way, she clumsily tried to remove it. And instead of stopping her firmly, I simply lifted myself up and undressed without a moment’s hesitation. I sat there with my legs apart while my stepdaughter performed extraordinarily beautiful oral sex on me. After a while I gathered the courage to stroke her hair and gently press her head against me to go a little deeper. She didn’t object, and she took me fairly deep. Just as I thought I couldn’t hold back any longer, she let out a small gasp and collapsed back onto the bed.
I know it’s terrible, but I was genuinely disappointed and thought I’d go finish things off in the bathroom. I’m not such an animal that I’d force myself on her — not even with blood rushing where it was.
When I stood up, she grabbed my hips and mumbled something like: “Daddy, come back — I’ll do better.”
So I fell back onto the bed in a daze and waited to see what would happen next. She slowly sat up and pressed herself against me from behind. The towel slipped off, and even through my clothing I could feel her hardened nipples. When she began kissing my neck, I turned slightly and our mouths found each other. I leaned into it and we both enjoyed a proper kiss, tongues moving between her lips and mine.
When she began undressing me, I could no longer play the “passive” role and helped her. Perhaps from the sense that we were doing something wrong, I turned off the lamp, so the only light came from the hallway — and there wasn’t much of it. I couldn’t say I saw everything; I sensed more than I saw, but even so — it was divine.
Miška is still a beautiful woman with a firm body. But this was a young creature without an ounce of fat, with small breasts that were impossible to say no to — especially when they were pressing toward you, inviting touch and kisses. A stomach as flat as a cutting board, and between her slender legs, a mound without a single hair — moist to the touch, as if drenched in morning dew, tasting like blended strawberries and orange.
When she pulled me on top of her, she spread her legs beneath me, her hips rising to meet mine. I gave in, and with one last flicker of “reason,” I directed myself only between her thighs. That way both Lucka and I enjoyed the pleasure of mutual friction and pressure, our bodies pressing together in a futile attempt to merge.
I vaguely remember — or perhaps I want to remember it this way — that I didn’t intend to go any further. But she reached between us, and her small hand guided the next movement. I couldn’t refuse. She was clearly not a virgin, and though she was tight, she was not inaccessible, and I entered her without the slightest force. She arched beneath my weight and I took advantage of her with an indescribable sense of pleasure. Her loving declarations to “Daddy” I accepted without a trace of shame. When she cried out in my ear “Now” and thrust herself against me with the force of a runaway locomotive, I climaxed inside her and genuinely didn’t care what would come next.
It ended rather unceremoniously. She finished, fell asleep almost immediately. I arranged her on the bed, cleaned her up, and with some relief realized she was on birth control. I covered her, put on a bathrobe, and went to wash up. My brain was functioning online again, but refused to deal with what would come next. I eventually lay down as well and fell asleep quickly.
In the morning, she acted as though nothing had happened. Or at least she gave nothing away, though she must have sensed something. It had happened, and I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. I didn’t feel any shame or guilt either.
And now I’m sitting here writing these lines. Some people may judge me, but perhaps some have experienced something similar. I didn’t break the law, I didn’t cause anyone psychological or any other harm — I simply behaved like an animal and slept with my partner’s daughter. If it had ended there, I wouldn’t be writing this confession and looking for some kind of absolution.
But…
A few months have passed, and Lucka hasn’t changed her behavior at all. She still cuddled, flirted, provoked, and was driving me crazy. One day she suggested we play strip poker. Within minutes she was sitting across from me completely naked, and I didn’t know where to look. And those provocative remarks of hers! None of it really unsettled me, though — we’d been teasing each other like that for a long time.
Then, when she developed some kind of eczema on her hand, I told her that semen was good for that. To which she provocatively replied that I was too soft and all talk. Since she was just changing into her swimsuit to go sunbathe by the pool, I let myself be baited and provided the described treatment. We both laughed about it, and nothing more happened. There was no time, nor any opportunity.
Well, nothing happened immediately — but something started happening a few days later. We had a family celebration, and I suddenly noticed a sharp change in her behavior. All at once, it was as if she didn’t know me. She became distant, snapped at me, and barely spoke to me. I responded in kind and stopped talking to her as well, because I felt awkward forcing myself on her or making an issue of it. My wounded “male ego” also played a part.
It only dawned on me later that Lucka had a new boyfriend. It wasn’t some great love affair seen through rose-tinted glasses, but it was a relationship that changed something. Suddenly “Daddy” was no longer the center of attention. In the language of the young, I had been dumped. And then, when I was refusing to speak to her in my wounded state, she did something that brought me to my knees. With typically female logic and cunning, she told her boyfriend about our strip poker game — and who knows what else. She probably didn’t tell him everything, and not entirely truthfully, but it was enough to make me look like a sexual deviant in the eyes of the tipsy family gathering. And that was the end… of everything.
Well, “the end” — it does have a small continuation. After months of not speaking and ignoring each other, we met for coffee and talked everything through. I didn’t want an apology or to revisit any of it, but I did want some kind of explanation or closure, and I got it.
And so we’re writing the next chapter of our friendship, and time will tell. But the desire to go out for a beer together again and somehow — I don’t know how — try to recreate that night, to feel once more beneath me that young, supple body…
Being able to sit at a keyboard and write all of this out is a tremendous relief. Thank you for websites like this, and if I’ve offended anyone, I apologize. I know it shouldn’t have happened. But it did, and… I don’t regret it. And that frightens me most of all.
