Daughter’s Slut Training 3: Daughter Trains with Daddy

Daughter’s Slut Training
(An Incestuous Harem Story)
Chapter Three: Daughter Trains with Daddy
By mypenname3000
Copyright 2017

Note: Thanks to wrc264 for beta reading this!

Leyla Umayyah

My pussy boiled beneath my dress, juices dribbling out of my shaved snatch and down my thighs. I felt Daddy’s eyes on my ass as I led him up the stairs, the steps creaking beneath my bare feet. Nervousness twisted about my stomach.

It was time to put all I learned from Mom with my younger brother Jalal to the test. Time for my nineteen-year-old body to please my father. I wasn’t a good, pure Muslim girl. I was a slut. A depraved whore. Mom was so right about me. I was so turned on right now to seduce my father. To satiate him with my body.

To feel his cum fire into my pussy like my younger brother’s did.

“Did you have a nice day at work, Daddy?” I asked, feeling his rough hands on mine.

“Long day,” he grunted, hand squeezing mine.

He worked as a construction foreman. His success combined with mom’s professor salary, provided the life for me and my two brothers. He raised me, clothed me, and though my sluttiness would shame him, I would repay that debt by giving him so much pleasure.

My pussy clenched again, the heat growing, swelling. Such a wanton longing filled me. I threw a coquettish look over my shoulder, smiling at him before purring, “Then let’s relax all that stress away.”

His dark eyes fixed on me, his emotions impossible to read with his thick, black beard, lips tight. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, muscled. The opposite of Jalal’s slender frame and almost delicate features. My younger brother had the tendencies of a scholar not a laborer.

But he learned quickly how to handle a slut. He’d fucked me so hard under Mom’s instruction, fucking me from behind as I devoured Mom’s pussy. I hoped Daddy would fuck me just as hard.

“You’re not wearing your hijab,” Daddy said, noticing the first of my slutty behavior.

I felt so exposed without the headscarf covering my hair and framing my dusky face. I’d worn it for five years since I started menstruating. I felt so wanton to show off my luxurious, black hair to a man who wasn’t my husband.

I’d never have a husband. What man would marry a slut? But I would have so much fun.

“I guess I forgot,” I giggled, reaching the bathroom. I opened the door, the air steamy with the bathwater. My parents installed a large, deep tub years ago. It was like a hot tub, letting you relax in it, soaking up to your shoulders. Daddy needed it to help with aches from working hard all day. I could smell the slight tang of the Epsom salts. “Now lets get you in the tub and soaking.”

“Leyla?” he frowned as I led him into the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you take a bath, Daddy,” I purred.

“This isn’t—”

Feeling bold, I put a shushing finger on his lips, feeling the wiry thickness of his beard. I peered up at him, a coquettish smile on my lips. “You heard Mom. Just relax and let me take care of you.”

Confusion robbed him of his normal dominance. He stood rigid, like he didn’t know what to do as I led him deeper into the bathroom towards the hot water. Then I moved around him, reveling in the power I had over him. My body enticed him, my feminine features arousing him to sin.

Sin I’d have to satiate. It was my fault, so I had to relieve him.

“Just strip, Daddy, and enjoy,” I purred behind him, my fingers attacking my bodice. I worked fast, exposing my naked, round tits beneath. I let the dress fall off my body, exposing my barely legal curves as he stared at the water, unaware that I’d disrobed. “Come on, Daddy. Don’t just stand there. I need to take care of you.”

I untucked his shirt from his blue jeans from behind, pulling it up his body. He had darker-brown skin than me, rippling with sexy muscles. My pussy clenched, fresh juices running down my whorish thighs. He turned as I pulled his shirt up his hard body.

His eyes landed on my naked breasts.

He froze, eyes widening, mouth opening wide. My nipples ached beneath his gaze. So hard, thrusting from my round, dusky breasts. I struck a pose for him, looking as wanton and slutty, arousing him further, aching to feel his cock in me.

But fear swelled through me. What if he disowned me? What if he despised me? I was his daughter. I should be pure. I shouldn’t be a slut. But I was. I didn’t want my daddy to hate me. I wanted him to love me. To fuck me.

To use me like a whore.

His hands clenched. I whimpered, my heart exploding in terror as something crossed his bearded face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Umayyah

I hoped my daughter was taking care of my husband. Karim deserved her young cunt wrapped about his dick for being such a good provider. He had every right to use the little slut. It was a shame she wasn’t pure like me. Wasn’t a good, Muslim woman. But I would make use of her. She was the key to making back the money I lost to my online poker addiction.

And to satiate the lusts sparked by watching Clint fuck his sisters, half-sisters, aunt, and others in the classroom next door to mine. Vicky Stevens, his aunt, was also his slut. Like so many other women. By watching them through the peephole I drilled, I learned how to handle my daughter. How to mold her.

How to turn her into a slut that would please the men I’d sell her body to.

My pussy grew so hot just thinking about it. My little Leyla, only nineteen, spreading her thighs for her customers. Letting them fuck her for money. And at home, she’d satiate her father and her brothers. She would make sure my sons were pleasured, that my husband received the comfort he needed.
Men had broad appetites. And Karim only had me until now.

Footsteps creaked behind me. I felt eyes on me as I stirred the fish stew I made. It needed another hour of simmering. I gripped the stove, keeping on eye on dinner instead of masturbating to my fantasy of Karim fucking our daughter like the little whore she was.

“Looking for a snack, son?” I asked. It had to be Jalal crossing the room. His older brother, my firstborn Faizel, wouldn’t be home until later. At twenty, he came and went as he pleased. Perhaps he was with one of the American girls he liked to date, sluts like my daughter who took care of his needs until he found a proper Muslim woman to marry.

“I am,” Jalal said from right behind me.

Then his hands slid around my waist, up to cup my large tits through the conservative dress I wore. I let out a sinful moan, my body responding to his touch as he pressed against me. I felt his hard cock against my ass through our clothing. He nuzzled into my neck, covered by my hijab.

“Mmm, I am so in need of a snack, Mom,” he groaned, my nipples hardening beneath his massaging hands.

“You naughty boy,” I groaned. “But Mommy isn’t a slut like Leyla. You can’t just walk up to her and grab her like this.”

“I know you’re not a slut, Mom,” he groaned, his hands squeezing again.

“And yet you’re fondling my tits like you own them. They’re your father’s tits.”

“You let me play with them earlier.”

I shivered, his cock grinding harder into my ass. “That was to help Leyla with her training. It wasn’t for our pleasure.”

“I’m just so horny, Mom. And you’re so sexy.”

I shivered, my pussy clenching hard. Juices trickled out, soaking into my panties. “That’s sweet of you to say, but you have to stop.” I grabbed his hands over my breasts, squeezing them tighter into my tits. “Right now.”

“I need Leyla’s cunt. Do you feel how hard I am?”

“I do,” I panted, his hands squeezing and kneading my tits beneath my grip. I swayed, rubbing my ass into his cock. “But I’m not a slut.”

“I know that,” he groaned. “But I need to cum so badly, Mom. And Leyla’s with Dad. They’re busy right now. He won’t know that you helped out your son with his needs.”

I trembled, biting my lip, my pussy so on fire. I wasn’t a slut. I had to remember that. But his hands felt so good on my tits. His cock felt so hard on me. I let out another wanton moan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leyla Umayyah

I could see the condemnation building in him. I needed to show him just who I was. I had to arouse him to such passion that he needed me to satiate him. That he couldn’t afford to be angry at me for being a slut. Instead, he’d need my whorish body to pleasure him, to give him the delights of my barely legal cunt.

I pounced at him, throwing my arms around his neck, being bold like those whores on TV. So wanton, taking what they wanted from men. I kissed him hard, shuddering at the wiry feel of his beard on my face, scratching in such a masculine way at my chin and cheeks. I pressed against his strong body, feeling his muscles through his t-shirt. My nipples rasped and throbbed.

Pleasure shot down to my pussy.

I kissed him hard as he froze again. His domination lost to confusion. I shivered, feeling so wanton. I undulated my hips, grinding my crotch into him. His cock grew harder and harder in his jeans, needing me to pleasure him.

I pulled my right arm from his neck, grabbing his left hand. He didn’t fight me as I brought it to my youthful breast. His rough callouses felt so amazing on my silky flesh. My nipple tingled as I pressed his hand hard against me.

He squeezed.

His lips moved against mine.

His right arm wrapped about me, strong hand seizing my ass. He pulled me tight, fingers so rough on my butt-cheek. I moaned into the kiss, letting him grope my body, feel my slutty delights. His cock throbbed in his jeans.

I had him.

Such triumph surged through me. It was so heady to seduce my father into such perversity. I swayed, our tongues dueling, my body shuddering. I wanted him so badly.