It was all a dream I used to read words up magazine

Reality's Cruel Jest: A Father's Humiliation

The Morning After

Antonio jolted awake with a gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs as the last remnants of his dream—that dream—dissipated like smoke. His boxers clung to him, damp and sticky, the evidence of his shame cooling against his skin. The sheets beneath him were rumpled, the scent of sex lingering in the air, though he had been alone all night.

"Pathetic," came Maria's voice from the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, her lips curled in a smirk. She tossed a pair of fresh boxers onto the bed, her eyes flicking down to the mess between his legs. "Wash your own laundry this time. I’m not your maid."

Antonio’s face burned as she turned on her heel, leaving him alone with his humiliation. He peeled off the soiled fabric, his cock twitching weakly at the memory of Miranda’s body beneath him—her screams, her submission, the way her ass had clenched around him—but now, in the cold light of morning, it was just another limp, spent thing.

He pulled on the fresh boxers and shuffled into the hallway, the weight of his failure heavy in his chest.

Then he saw her.

"Morning dad! Hope you had... Sweet dreams!"

FUCK!!

The Tease

Miranda stood at the end of the hall, her back to him, bending slightly as she rifled through a drawer. She wore nothing but a pair of sheer panties, the fabric doing nothing to hide the swell of her ass, the dimpled curves of her thighs, the shadow between them.

Antonio’s breath hitched.

She knew he was there.

She had to.

Because as she straightened, she swayed, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate circle, the globes of her ass jiggling with each exaggerated movement.

"Looking for something, Papà?" she purred, glancing over her shoulder, her dark eyes alight with mischief.

Antonio’s cock stirred, betraying him again.

"N-no," he stammered, his voice rough.

Miranda grinned, turning fully to face him now, her fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties, tugging them down just enough to reveal the neatly trimmed strip of dark curls beneath.

"Liar."

The Handjob of Shame

Before Antonio could retreat, Miranda closed the distance between them, the pale vixen's hand snaking into his boxers, her fingers wrapping around her dad's half-hard cock with practiced ease.

"O-Ohmygod, you’re so small , daddy" she murmured, her thumb rubbing over his tip, smearing the bead of precum that had already gathered there. "Stefano’s twice this size."

Antonio groaned, the middle-aged man's hips jerking forward despite himself, his pride warring with the filthy pleasure of her touch.

"S-stop—"

"You don’t mean that," Miranda chuckled, his daughter's grip tightening like a vice, her strokes quickened to a maddening rhythm. "Look at you—pathetic. Cumming in your sleep like a teenager... Did you dream about me, daddy?"

Antonio’s balls drew up, his orgasm building too fast, too damn soon—

"F-fuck—!"

His release spurted over her fingers, the sinful father's weak load dribbling pathetically down her wrist, his body shaking with the **** of it.

Miranda laughed, holding up her glistening hand.

"That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?"

Then, before he could react, she smeared his cum across his lips, her fingers prying his mouth open, forcing him to taste himself.

"Clean me up, Papà," she ordered, her voice dark with promise.

And, shamefully, he obeyed.

The Bedsheet Swap

Days passed in a haze of tension, of stolen glances, of Antonio’s cock aching every time Miranda brushed past him in those damn panties.

Then, one afternoon, Maria left on an unexpected errand, forgetting to cancel her usual appointment with Stefano.

Miranda seized her chance.

She stripped naked, her body pale and perfect in the dim light of her parents’ bedroom, before sliding beneath the sheets, her face hidden by pillows, her ass raised in invitation.

Stefano arrived right on time.

"Maria?" he called, his voice rough with anticipation as he stepped into the room.

Miranda whimpered in response, her fingers clutching the sheets.

Stefano didn’t question it.

He shucked his pants, his thick cock slapping against Miranda’s pink, shaved pussy, the sound wet and filthy in the quiet room.

"Fuck, you’re dripping," he groaned, his hands gripping her hips, his thumbs spreading her wider.

Miranda moaned, her body arching as he pushed inside, her cunt clenching around him, her identity still hidden.

For now.