Tales from the Sexpocalypse: Daddy’s Girls

Demi knocked on her younger sister's bedroom door, then waited, listening.

“Okay, guys. That’s all we have time for. Don’t forget to hit that donate button to send me some love. Byyyeee~!”

A minute passed before the lock clicked, and Gracie stuck her head out. A pair of neon pink cat-eared headphones hung around her neck. 

“This better be good. It’s four o’clock. I was pulling in decent numbers.”

Two-thirty to four-thirty were Gracie’s ‘Working Hours.’ Part of a scheme to fleece Continental weebs of their Euros while keeping her burgeoning streamer career on the down-low from Dad.

She had the looks and the confidence for the so-called job, Demi had to admit. Her barely eighteen-year-old sister was almost as brash as she was stunning. Only a year apart in age, they shared their wayward mother’s inherent beauty: wavy chestnut tresses, effortlessly slim figures, perfect Slavic bone structure and full, perky breasts.

But where Gracie flaunted her jaw-dropping body in outlandishly scanty outfits that had the male population sweating bullets, Demi was more conservative in every regard. 

She’d received a letter of acceptance from Dartmouth, didn’t own a skirt that ended above the knee, and would never ever consider working as a… camgirl.

“Dad called; he’s left the office early. Sounded upset.” Demi glanced meaningfully at her younger sister's rainbow cami top and tiny booty shorts. “Thought you’d want to, I dunno, put some clothes on?”

The outfit looked like lingerie a unicorn farted out.

“We’re not having this argument again, sis.” Gracie sighed, exasperated. “Wearing whatever I want and findomming incel cash piggies is pure female empowerment. Protecting your modesty is an outdated notion. We live in the twenty-first century, not a convent.”   

“You look like a sex worker.” Demi avoided more damning terms. She wouldn’t demean herself with base language. 

“I’m flirting and flashing a little skin, not jamming a dildo up my ass. There’s a major difference.”  

“Dad called from the car. He’ll be home in home in ten.” Demi shrugged innocently. 

She smirked when Gracie swore and shut the door in her face. 

As the older sibling, Demi shouldered a lot of responsibility after their mother left. 

There’d been no preamble to her abrupt departure. No fights or accusations of infidelity. Demi supposed two people had to be awake in the same room for any of that. Her Dad; Jack, put in long hours at the legal firm trying to make junior partner, while Mom was the quintessential social butterfly.

They’d seemed like the model family until the day she dropped them at high school, then kept driving. She’d emptied the savings account before sending Dad a goodbye message that he refused to talk about.

“She didn’t want this life. Never wanted the responsibility,” was the most he ever said on the matter. Tears were in his eyes and a pint of bourbon in his stomach that night.     

Their mother was gorgeous, reportedly a party girl in her youth, but nothing excused abandoning Jack and her children. 

Those days had been dark, but they pulled through as a family. Jack cut back his work hours, and Demi donned the mantle of the dutiful daughter. She learned to cook, kept house, and studied hard.   

Demi was proud of all they accomplished. 

Which was why she fretted about the trajectory Gracie was on. 

Their father was a good man, and the foolish girl was lying to him.

She broke from her musing when Jack’s Lincoln town car screeched into the driveway of their modest suburban home, nearly swiping the letterbox.

She watched from the kitchen window as he practically fell out the driver's door. Her father was usually a calm, unflappable rock of a man. After the near meltdown, he quit drinking and joined a gym, lost weight, and earned that promotion through merit.   

The person hauling shopping bags out of the trunk looked disheveled–on the verge of panic. Demi’s stomach dropped.

She reached the front entrance just as it burst open. Jack stumbled in, scattering boxes of cereal and tinned goods over the threshold.

“Lock the doors, close the windows!” He gasped, breathless. “Shit, shit, shit! I can’t believe we’re doing this again!”   

He looked ready to collapse, brown hair tangled and suit rumpled. His ragged appearance and foul language rang alarm bells for Demi who hurried to his side.

“No, get back! Don’t touch me.” Jack recoiled from her outstretched hand. “Need to bathe in sanitizer first. Don’t know if it’s airborne yet. Gotta keep you girls safe.”

“Dad, you’re scaring me.” Demi whimpered, “What’s going on?”

“We’re going into lockdown… again. Fuck!”

“The CDC has announced the detection of a new strain of H5N1, better known as bird flu, in human population centers. These developments happened against a background of an ongoing avian influenza A epizootic.” 

Seated on the couch, Demi watched the news with rising dread. The anchor duo wore face shields and rubber gloves, and perspex dividers separated them. 

It was happening again. She gripped Gracie’s hand. The reporters looked tired, as though the ill news sapped their spirit. Her sister vibrated in excitement, though, sporting a toothy grin.   

“These outbreaks in poultry, dairy cows, and other animals have caused sporadic human infections–”   

“Turn that off,” Jack said, entering the living room wearing a towel. He’d showered and scrubbed himself raw. “We've done this before and don’t need the added stress.”

The television winked off at the press of a button. Both girls shifted to face their father. His muscular chest and stomach were tomato-red from the hot water. He’d clearly put in the hard yards at the gym. 

Some of the soccer moms back in high school had noticed. 

Their predatory stares and appreciative comments would make a snowman blush.

“Alright, let’s check in. How are we feeling, gang?” He asked, expression rich with concern.

He was such a great Dad. Dropping everything to rush home. Always sensitive and supportive of the family. 

“This is AWESOME!!” Gracie cheered, appalling Demi. “The last epidemic pushed streamer popularity through the roof. Dragged it into the spotlight. This is my big chance!”       

“It also killed people and hamstrung the economy.” Demi glared at her in disbelief. “Have a heart, sis.” 

“Are you talking about the yoga videos you post online?” Jack asked, confused. “I’m glad you're not upset, sweetie, but we need to focus on the larger picture.”

Yoga videos. 

The lie Gracie had fed their father when purchasing the filming setup. She even dressed the part at home. Shamelessly parading about in skin-tight leggings and mid-riff baring sports bras.     

“Sorry, Daddy.” She replied sweetly. “I’m listening.”

“How about you, honey?” Jack looked at Demi. “Holding up okay?”

“Fine, I guess.” She actually felt a tad warm, as though the lack of fresh air was stifling. Her gaze kept drifting to his naked chest and broad shoulders. “Not thrilled about the next couple of weeks.”

“None of us are.” Jack fanned himself. Perspiration beaded on his skin. “Phew! Let’s stow away the supplies and prepare to hunker down. We will get through this together, gang.” 

He was such a good and caring man.

“Why did he buy so much bog roll? Is diarrhea a symptom, you think?” Gracie asked, hoisting her third twenty-four-pack of toilet paper. 

“Panic buying, most likely.” Demi answered. “It’s a control thing and probably why we have all these dry goods.”

She gestured at bulk packages of instant noodles, pasta and rice piled on the kitchen counter. 

Non-perishables were fine, but once they ran out of fresh ingredients and seasonings, their diet would be decidedly bland. 

Demi considered the tinned fruit and vegetables. There was some potential there if she got creative.

A droplet of sweat ran down her cheek.

“Man, would it kill us to crack a window?” Gracie asked. Her gray tank top was blotted with damp spots. She scoffed at Demi’s stricken expression. “Joking. I’m joking, jeez. But seriously, it’s humid in here. I’m sweating like a hooker in church.”     

“You’ve never been to church.” Demi sniffed. “But yeah, I’ll ask Dad to lower the thermostat. We should get comfortable if we’re going to ride out this storm.”

They were both shiny. Their pale flesh slick with moisture. Gracie seemed to tolerate the warmth better in her skimpy activewear. It doubtlessly wicked away sweat and shed heat by design. 

Demi’s long-sleeved smock and capri pants did the opposite. She was practically marinating in a soup of her own juices.   

“Cool, he’s in his room. Isolating or whatever.” Her sister’s phone beeped. “Heyo, gotta go! Got a whale on the hook. Big spender from Prague. Laters!”

Then she was gone, flouncing up the stairs, her chestnut hair and pert rear swaying.

“Dad, are you in there?” Demi knocked on Jack’s door. “I wanted to ask…”

The door creaked open a crack, the latch hadn’t caught. Strange noises bled through the gap.

Shlick, shlick, shlick.

Cracking the door, she found the room unoccupied.

The master bedroom was the most well-appointed room in the house. A king-sized bed dominated the space, covered in a cloud-like comforter and neatly arranged pillows that carried the faint scent of cologne.

The nightstand was sparse, holding little more than a book, a phone charger, and a watch, as if its owner were ready to leave at a moment’s notice. 

The adjoining ensuite was pure luxury: double sinks—though only one was ever used—a walk-in shower with a rainfall showerhead and stacks of soft towels. Everything about the space was designed for comfort and order, creating a retreat that felt intentional and quietly empty, except for the sound of running water and…

Shlick, shlick, shlick.

Tip-toeing into the bedroom, Demi was struck by a barrage of scents, dense and musky. Notes of pipe smoke and leather and something salty pervaded her olfactory carried on clouds of steam.

“Goddammit, why won’t you go away?” 

For a heart-stopping second, Demi thought Jack had heard her. When he didn’t emerge from the bathroom, she crept forward again, sniffing the foggy air like a bloodhound. Peeking in, she had to stifle a gasp.

Her father had a hand planted on the shower wall, buck naked, shoulders bunched as he… he pleasured himself. 

From her side-on view, Demi witnessed Jack’s fist clenched around his very stiff, very large member, pumping furiously. The nineteen-year-old coed was not intimately acquainted with the male anatomy. Home, family, and schooling took priority over dating boys. 

She’d kissed one Tommy Drowly on prom night, but that felt like an obligation, part of the experience. There’d been no sparks or butterflies, and she’d summarily slapped the creep after he’d tried copping a feel.    

Now she was watching a man–her father… masturbating as if he’d keel over dead if he didn’t… didn’t…

“Come on. Cum already.” Jack snarled, veins prominent on his arms and neck, lathered in soap. “This is fucking ridiculous. Just cum!”

Cum.

He needed to cum. Demi’s father–her dad needed to cum. His whole body bulged and flexed—every lean, sudsy muscle straining for release. Splotches of gooey white oozed down the shower wall in front of him—proof of several recent ejaculations washing down the drain.

Dad’s cum.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Like a deer stuck in the headlights, Demi stared as her father let out a guttural groan, then slumped as pearly jets of seed ejected from his… his dick.

Another wave of that captivating scent washed over her. Smoke, leather, soap, and… cum. 

He continued to erupt for nearly a minute, heaving and gasping, basting the tiles. There was so much of it. Sex Ed class hadn’t prepared Demi for the unbelievable volume a boy–no, a man could produce.

A good and handsome man. 

Her own father…

Her Daddy.

Suddenly, the ensuite felt even steamier. Her young, virgin body was on fire. She shouldn’t be here. Blood pooled between her trembling thighs. 

“Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me?” Jack muttered. Incredibly, he was still rock hard. Shampoo dripped from his nose. “Control yourself, man. The girls are relying on you.”

Then his fist began pumping again, and Demi silently fled the scene.

“C’mon boys, five more diamond tier donations, then maybe we’ll see what I can do with this–” Gracie giggled, toying with something when Demi burst into her bedroom. She yelped and spun in terror at the unexpected intrusion. “What the hell, sis? Ever heard of knocking? I’m kinda busy right now.”

Pastel pink hues dominate the space, bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights draped along the walls. Hints of vanilla wafted from a small candle flickering on the nightstand, casting tiny dancing shadows across a plush-covered bed littered with stuffed animals. 

Gracie’s custom-built PC glowed with soft pink LED accents. A dual-monitor display showed her camgirl page and a live view of the back of her head. A custom mechanical keyboard with pastel keycaps sat neatly on a steel and glass desk lined with anime figurines. 

Two photographer lights stood on tripods behind the camera, illuminating her outrageous attire and the rubbery purple object she was attempting to hide.

“The door wasn’t locked. Is–is that a dildo?” Demi stopped short, her skin burning and mind buzzing with thoughts of Daddy. “And what are you wearing?”

Gracie blushed like a sunrise, spinning in her gamer chair to kill the feed. Demi Jealously eyed her negligible white lace and mesh lingerie set. They looked light, breezy, far from the sweat-sodden rags baking her like a campfire potato.     

She’d always envied her sister’s confidence, hadn’t she? The way Gracie could sashay through life in racy minidresses, teensy crop tops, frippy tennis skirts, and tight baby tees, utterly assured and armored in sex appeal.

They were the same size; perhaps she could borrow an outfit or two.

“That’s not the point! This is my room—my space. You can’t just barge in when I’m streaming!” Gracie was livid, yet shame also rouged her cheeks. “You’re messing with my shit.” 

“I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency!” Demi blurted, dropping to her knees. “Daddy’s not well. I-I went to check on him, and… he needs our help.”

“Huh? You haven’t called Jack Daddy in years.” Gracie sounded dubious. “He can’t be that sick. We spoke less than an hour ago. He seemed fine.”

Daddy… oh, Daddy.

“He isn’t fine, and we’re all he has right now.” Demi shuffled forward to grasp her sister's hands. They were clammy, and perspiration glittered on her skin. She was so beautiful. “I’ve got a plan, but you need to trust me on this, okay?”

Gracie’s nostrils flared, her stick-on lashes fluttering as though she’d smelled a favorite meal. Demi knew that feeling. Daddy’s uber-manly scent clung to her like a blanket.    

Like a warm, cozy snuggle-fuck blanket in winter.

“Alright, sis. What can I do?”

Demi hugged her, desperately thankful. Relishing the press of their firm, youthful bodies. Sweat mingled. Her gaze fell on the purple sex toy hurriedly tucked behind the keyboard; flames kindled down below. 

“Oh, Gracie, thank you!” She wept, tightening their embrace–pulling Gracie even closer. Rubbing off on her. “I want you to teach me, dear sister.”      

“This is essentially workout gear. Nothing too improper. It shows off our legs, accentuates our butts, and gives the simps a glimpse of our taut tummies. The basics.”

They were posing before Gracie’s wardrobe mirror. Demi was wrapped in ivory yoga pants plus a matching long-sleeved top that left a lot of midriff and cleavage on display. Her sister wore a similar outfit in black but with high-waisted briefs that sank into her ass crack and white stripes along the arms.

They looked sizzling hot—almost like twins. 

The same shade of chestnut hair tumbled across their slender shoulders. Identically razor-sharp cheekbones were dusted with make-up. Golden hoop earrings similarly graced their lobes, and their breasts–dear god, their sumptuous breasts–appeared fuller than ever in the skin-tight ensembles.      

Demi could have sworn they felt bigger and heavier. Her sports bra painfully pinched the swollen flesh. Gracie looked equally uncomfortable, constantly readjusting her sparse top. 

Speaking of hot, both of them were running a temperature. Moisture dappled their exposed flesh, giving their dark hair a lustrous sheen and making the room feel humid and muggy. Mascara dribbled in charcoal rivulets from the corners of their eyes. 

That was fine; it added a sultry element to their appearance.

Sultry for Daddy.

“What for Daddy?” Gracie asked. Demi hadn’t realized she whispered the thought aloud. “This is great, seeing you let loose, sis. But how does this help him get better?”

“It’s vitally important.” Demi insisted, retaking her sister’s hands. “He has to know we’re happy and healthy to recover. We need to show Daddy we’re here for him. That we love him.” 

“Uh, okay…” Gracie’s pupils dilated as she dragged in his clingy masculine musk by the lungful. Her nipples were diamonds drilling through the stretchy sports top. “I-I guess… I love Daddy.”

“I do, too,” Demi agreed, kissing her cheek, leaving a smear of saliva and lipstick. “He’s the greatest, most supportive Daddy a girl could wish for. We need to be good girls for Daddy.”

Good girls for Daddy.

The words sound so right, so irrefutable correct; they resonated through Demi in a pulse of panty-dampening pleasure.

“Good girls for Daddy.” Gracie repeated, then frowned. “Wait… wh-what do you mean? I’m a good girl, aren’t I?” 

“Good girls don’t deceive their Daddy. They don’t hide slutty secrets from him.” Demi admonished, retrieving the purple dildo. “Good girls don’t flirt or expose themselves to strange men online. Good girls are Daddy’s girls.”

Daddy’s girls. 

“I… um, I-I wasn’t actually going to use that.” Gracie babbled. The lie was evident in how she recoiled from the sex toy as though it would bite her. “I was only playing…”

Demi considered the dildo. It was small, made for teasing. No more than four inches of cylindrical rubber designed to stimulate a girl's clit and outer folds. Nothing compared to Daddy’s glorious dick. 

Daddy’s glorious dick.

The heat and pressure in her center was growing unbearable. The memory of that meaty shaft spewing baby-making semen onto the tiles played on repeat. The loss of that miracle juice down the drain shamed Demi almost as much as it excited her.  

“Daddy’s… what?” Gracie panted, her face a hair's breadth from Demi’s, their lips nearly brushing. “You haven’t… we can’t…”

“Hush, baby sister. I know what you need. What we have do to,” She murmured, lowering the pleasure-aid until it slid into Gracie’s dewy thigh gap. “For us be the good girls Daddy deserves.” 

Good girls for Daddy.

Gracie jerked at the contact; the soaked outline of her lower lips parted around the toy, and then suddenly, they were kissing. Sweltering lips met, tongues shyly touched, before the dam broke in a crash of incestuous passion.

Fingers tangled in Demi’s chestnut tresses as her sister tried to vacuum the spit out of her mouth. She stroked the dildo along Gracie’s puffy mound, swirling the tip over her concealed clit, coaxing out muffled mewls.

Their sweaty, feverish bodies swayed. Humping and grinding in a taboo dance. They made out like horny teenagers. Heck, they were horny teenagers–barely-legal good, good girls blazing with the hormonal impulses of youth. Lusting for one another and…

Lusting for Daddy.

“Lusting for… oh, oh god!” Gracie’s slender thighs clamped vise-like around Demi’s hand. Head flung back, every brilliant muscle seized as she quaked through a monumental orgasm. “Oh, fuck… Ooooh, DAAAADDY!!”

Demi joined her howling sister in worshipful climax; they were basically twins, after all. Naturally, they’d cum together for Daddy. The rapturous release of their pent-up desire seared through them like lightning, delivering three hundred million volts of Daddy-focused bliss to every cell, nerve and neuron in their supple young bodies.

“What’s he doing? I wanna see.” 

“Shhhh! He’s sitting on his bed watching the news.” Demi whispered, shooing Gracie back. 

That was only true in the strictest sense. Jack–Daddy was indeed seated on the edge of his bed watching a news channel, but the quality of reporting had drastically changed. 

On the screen, the male anchor plowed his co-host from behind while the huge-titted bimbo screamed for more. That was odd. Demi remembered the blonde as a pretty but petite professional who downplayed her attractiveness behind conservative business attire. 

The whore bent naked over the news desk had the inflated chest and vulgar vocabulary of a Las Vegas stripper. 

“Harder! Fuck me harder, Richard! Pull my hair and pound me deep, big guy. Cream my dirty cunt!” 

Worse, Daddy was fixated on the filthy slut. Pumping his perfect, magnificent dick to her obscene display, wasting that precious baby batter as it spurted onto the bedding and carpet. 

Pints of the stuff had to be soaking into the furniture and fixtures. The room reeked of his manly funk; an almost visible miasma choking the air.  

“Give it to her. Nail that noisy bitch.” Daddy growled. “Hhhurgh~!” 

A healthy wad of spunk sailed across the room to splatter the television, obscuring the reporter's gaping mouth. 

Demi shuddered in envy. 

“Remember the plan and follow my lead.” She instructed, raising a finger to her lips.

“I’ll remember.” Her sister chirped, nodding eagerly. “Gracie is a good girl. A good girl for Daddy.”      

They’d cleaned up after their sapphic interlude. Their workout attire had been ruined by perspiration and girly nectar. However, Gracie’s closet contained a surprising abundance of alternative options. 

Sexier options. Some downright scandalous options.   

The old Demi would’ve been repulsed, but now…

It was all for Daddy.

Sky-high slingback heels adorned their feet while identical string bikinis struggled to contain the twins' overflowing boobage. Tiny white triangles of whisper-thin fabric covered their puckered nipples, digging into the pliant tit-flesh and smooshing them together.  

Gracie opted for a simple thong that rode high over her round hips, flossing her shapely rear. Demi found cute stockings and boy shorts in vertical blue and white strips that drew the eye to her immaculately long legs. 

They perused several jewelry options but settled on a simple choker each, in addition to their dangly hoop earrings.

They looked like a pair of thirsty skanks, Demi knew.

Good girls didn't dress like bimbo fuck dolls, not unless they did so deliberately and after much consideration for their Daddy.

Their greatest-ever, mega-hunk superstud Daddy needed their help with his hyper-virile uber-dick.

“Hiiii, Daddy!” Demi sing-songed, strutting into his bedroom, heels crossing effortlessly as though she’d worn them for years rather than hours. “Watcha doing?”

“Shit, Demi… stay back!” Daddy reacted quickly, averting his eyes and whipping a pillow over his lap. “Dammit, I thought that door was locked…”

“Yeah, there's a lot of that going around.” Gracie tittered, gliding in after her twin before covering her mouth in a theatrical gasp. “Goodness, Daddy. What have you been doing up here all alone in your room?”

“I’ve been protecting you girls.” Their father stared forlornly at the seed-sodden carpet. “...from myself.”

His muscular back hunched, turning away. Demi’s pussy melted for the darling man, a gentleman to the last, despite his obvious, powerful urges. 

She yearned to drop to hands and knees to praise him and his all-mighty meat stick. 

“You have?” Tears gathered in her eyes, “Oh, Daddy… you’ve been suffering in solitude for us?”

He seemed to spasm at Demi’s lilting voice, shoulders twitching when she called him “Daddy” as though striking a discordant nerve.

A wicked thrill sizzled through her to affect a man such as him on a primal level. Gracie picked up on it, too.

“Daddy, you shouldn't hide from us.” The twitch became more pronounced, rippling along cords of tough sinew. “We’re a team. Family, Daddy. As your loving daughters, we’ll be here to tend to your every need… Daaaddy.”

Gracie's voice was low and husky when she drew out the final endearment—laden with truckloads of illicit promise.

“You don't understand–” Their father spun, the pillow flying, and froze when his gaze settled on them. A tempest of confusion, anger, and raw lust darkened his visage. “What. The fuck. Are. You girls. Wearing?”

The words were uttered from between clenched teeth. A vein pulsed on his temple, fit to hemorrhage. His giant Daddy dick spat sticky outrage. 

He rose to his feet, slow and menacing. 

Demi and Gracie swooned when he loomed over them–paternal fury personified. Immense and indomitable. They fell into each other's arms, quaking in mutual arousal as their knees found the soggy carpet..

They’d craved his attention and poked a bear.

Oh, Daddy…

“Oooh, Daddy!” The sisters squealed in unison when he seized fistfuls of their chestnut tresses. 

That mouth-watering Daddy meat towered above them, drizzling baby-making blessings onto their upturned faces. It showered their flushed cheeks, glossed plump lips and hung from their chins in gooey tapers. 

Daddy was anointing them in his holy juices! 

Demi's spiraling core finally shattered at the merest taste of him. An earth-shaking orgasm curled her fingers, toes and hair. Gracie quailed in similar throes. Her sister’s eyes rolled like lost marbles. 

Decades of serving and worshipping Daddy flashed through their combined psyche. 

Waking him every day with languid, loving double blowjobs. Kissing each other around his throbbing immensity and swapping his thick morning load…

Cooking him meals in nothing but frilly maid aprons. Sitting on his knees, wiggling their pert asses, spoon feeding him tasty morsels until he threw them both over the table and hammered their fertile teen wombs again and again…

Getting knocked up and growing gravid with his offspring. Daddy's good girl baby momma's sporting huge bellies and fat titties leaking milk for him to feast on… 

Raising his heirs, keeping house, and adoring him more every day. They'd maintain perfect ten figures, of course. Good girls kept fit and toned physiques for their strong, handsome Daddy. Cardio, Pilates, yoga, whatever it took. Simply so he’d keep impregnating them…

Pregnant for Daddy!

Demi's belly felt suddenly hollow and empty. A vacuous void that demanded to be crammed full… full of Daddy's hot, potent semen. 

Instead, it was her mouth that got a stuffing when his ginormous, girthy length pried her jaw apart and ravaged her tonsils.

Demi gushed upon sampling his divine flavor, climaxing again with a gurgling cry.

“Unruly brats,” Daddy growled, pulling out to jam himself between Gracie's drooling lips. “I’ve been too lenient. Need to take a firmer hand. Gotta punish you girls for acting up!”

“You're so right, Daddy. We need you to keep us in check.” Demi crooned, extending her tongue to lap the underside of his pistoning fuckpole. “We’re just naughty little girls who can't function without strict discipline. Gracie’s been live streaming her sexy, barely-legal body online–”

“She… WHAT!?” 

Knuckles popped as the grip on their hair grew painful. Such delicious agony. Gracie burbled as Daddy skull-fucked her harder. 

“Gluuumph~!”

“Exposed herself to strange men for money.” Demi explained matter of factly, “But the blame isn't entirely hers, Daddy. I knew what she was doing and kept it from you. I'm also at fault.”

“Pair of faithless sluts,” Their father snarled, exiting from Gracie's slobbering maw to slam back into Demi’s.  “Just like your bitch mother!”

She gagged on his rage-boner, utterly unprepared for Daddy's ruthless brutality but reveling in it. 

They were weak, helpless creatures, dwarfed by his domineering strength. Feisty fuck dolls who yearned to be broken and trained on Daddy's relentless rigidity.

Fuck dolls for Daddy!

“No.. no fair,” Gracie croaked, foamy precum flecked her bruised lips. “I wasn't done…”

“You're both done! Grounded forever!” Their father bellowed, swapping again to muzzle her bratty mouth. “The world's gone batshit crazy outside. People are acting like goddamn animals! But not here. Not in my house! You're my daughters. My girls. I’ll protect you. You're mine!”

“We're yours, Daddy!” Demi squealed, clapping excitedly. “Your good girls forever and ever!”

“You aren't good girls yet, but you will be.” 

With that oath, he began trading their slender young throats like interchangeable cock-sleeves. Jacking into one then the other, guiding them by his death grip on their chestnut curls.

Sometime in the lust-driven haze, Gracie's hand slid into Demi's drenched boy shorts and she returned the kindness.

They moaned and gurgled together in sisterly sympathy, fingering each other through Daddy-induced orgasms that left them squirming. 

His scorching precum blistered their tonsils, leaving both girls delirious with desire. They couldn't think through the blitzkrieg attack on their senses until he finally came…

“FAAAARK!! Take it, sluts! Take your punishment!”

Gracie was a lucky slut. She choked down the initial burst with a gleeful glurk! Her neck bulged with the effort of swallowing such a dense load.

However, their Daddy wasn't some one-pump-chump; he was a super-duper mega-stud. 

No sooner had Gracie guzzled her intoxicating fill; he switched in a face-painting spray of white to bury himself in Demi’s eager esophagus. 

Her vision tunneled, mind blank. Overwhelmed by the heat and heft of Daddy's voluminous seed bloating her trim tummy. 

“Hmmmnnff~!”

She sucked and slurped, desperately gulping every sacred spurt, even as heavenly rapture carried her away on seraphim wings. 

Demi drifted through clouds of soulful fulfillment, her purpose for being unveiled in a stroke of divine inspiration. The petty existence she’d endured previously had been suffering and deprivation—an empty husk, enduring but never truly living.

A single mouthful of Daddy's divine essence had changed her–changed everything. Like a blind woman gifted sight, color bled into Demi's world. Bright and beautiful and life-affirming.

Daddy was her savior, her hero, and she would spend eternity showing him how grateful a good girl could be.

“Mmmm… thank you, Daddy.” She mumbled sleepily.

Demi floated weightlessly in the air, alighting on something warm and soft. She drowsed contentedly until a sharp smack stung her rear.

“Wakey wakey, girls. I don't fuck snoozy whores.” 

Another swat made Demi squawk, eyes shooting open to find Gracie blinking owlishly up at her.

Daddy had stacked them atop each other, their cushiony tits mashed together, face to face. Demi smiled affectionately at her twin. 

This was it. Their expressions radiated mutual joy and anticipation as he positioned himself behind them. 

The initial thrust split the sister's sandwiched snatches, shredding their soaked underwear as he dredged between their outer folds.

“Aaah, Daddy!” They cried when his adamantine immensity pulverized their budding pearls. “Please… please… Nyaa~!”

Every slippery bump and ridge felt amplified, sending shockwaves of euphoria through Demi's lithe, virginal body. Daddy's massive cock branded her flesh, leaving a slug trail of masculine juices across her bald mound and cum-pooched belly. 

Gracie tremored beneath her in a similar state. Pearly jizz sparkled on her flushed cheeks, which Demi began to dutifully lick clean. 

She’d never let a drop of Daddy's treasured spunk go to waste again. 

“Who's first?” He asked, rigorously humping their mashed slits. “Don't bother answering. The question was rhetorical. You both need to be taken down a few pegs and learn your place. There's no room in this house for disobedient brats.”

The twins wailed in incoherent agreement–unable to formulate words. Daddy's plunging enormity had them on the brink of madness.

Abruptly, he withdrew, Demi whimpering at the loss, and Gracie groaned as though stabbed in the gut. 

“Fuck! That's tight, little girl.” Daddy rumbled, and Demi could feel him penetrating her sister. 

The prominent bulge of his baby-making uber-dick distending Gracie’s flat abdomen pressed against her in a cruel mimicry of taboo consummation.

“Da-Daddy, you're so big… too big… Haaah!”

It was pure edging torture. Demi’s cunt dripped nectar over their fated union.

She loved them so much!

“Don't worry, sweetie. I’ll make it fit. Trust Daddy to stretch you into shape.”

Then he started pounding Gracie mercilessly, heedlessly, deaf to her orgasmic cries, using her like an A-grade chunk of fuckmeat to chase carnal culmination.

Daddy’s unstoppable momentum drove them across the carpet. Demi experienced every jerk and lurch of his majestic magnitude within Gracie. Her negligible weight hardly impeded their progress.

“Yes! Please Daddy, cum me! Cum in meeeee~!!” 

The would-be camgirl’s keening reached earsplitting decibels. Demi locked lips with her to silence the ceaseless caterwauling. She could smell Gracie’s fragrant release as their tongues tangoed in a chorus of moans, tasting of Daddy.    

“Christ, you girls are so fucking hot… and so goddamn tight!” He roared, always the flatterer. Demi mewled happily, pussy squirting in delight. “Gonna plant my flag in your wombs. Gonna breed you so the whole world can see you’re mine!”

“Breed us, Daddy!” She begged, cumming explosively at the magic word. “Give us every drop of your precious seed. We yearn to be yours!”

“Your pr-property… Aaah~!” Gracie stammered, soaring to fresh heights of ecstasy. “Br-breed me… make me a Mommy!”

Daddy could have fucked them for hours, Demi knew, tying their post-adolescent brains up in blissed-out knots. He could have rutted them into drooling semi-conscious cum-dumps, happy receptacles for his tireless turgidity. 

They would’ve thanked him 0h-so-prettily and pleaded for more…

Instead, he tensed, muscles seizing and joints locking, packing Gracie completely full of his thick, steamy baby-batter in a blindingly brilliant moment.  

“MINE! MINE!!” He bellowed, slamming into her with bruising force as he erupted.

“We’re yours, Daddy!”

“We’re yours, Daddy!”

They cried their love for him in perfect orgasmic harmony–Gracie undoubtedly pregnant already and Demi beyond ready to join her twin sister in illicit motherhood. 

They would raise Daddy’s beautiful children together, like in a fairytale. Demi’s heart wanted to explode with joy. Her pussy ached for him. 

“Your turn, honey.” He grunted.

Seconds later, her deepest fantasy was made a reality when he pulled that incessantly spurting fuckrod from Gracie’s double-stuffed cunt and rammed it between Demi’s slickened thighs—her flimsy boyshorts dissolved under the savage assault, shredding like wet tissue paper.   

High voltage arced through Demi, sparking every pleasure center in her entirety. Gracie hadn’t lied; their ultra-stud Daddy was huge!

“Oh fuck, Daddy!” 

Hymen disintegrating, her pristine insides stretched painfully from his initial brutal thrust. Demi was so delicate and thin that only her superfluous lubrication saved her from injury. She whimpered as he claimed her virginity, drowning in a whirlpool of exquisite excruciation and dreamy desire. 

Her legs parted instinctually, inviting Daddy to delve deeper, to fuck her harder. His second thrust was pure pleasure–the agony gone, replaced with mind-blowing gratification. 

“Yes, yes! Breed her, Daddy!” Gracie cheered, hugging her fiercely. “Plant a baby in both your little girls. Mark us as yours!”

Demi could feel his heat pouring into her. Warm and sticky, it coated her insides with gooey happiness. Every mad plunge delivered another load of liquid rapture to her vacant center, spilling life into her virgin womb.

Screaming triumphantly, she unraveled in her sister's arms. 

“Thaaaank yoooouu, Daaaaddy!”

He was unstoppable. Insatiable. A pussy-punching machine. Daddy’s strong hands locked onto Demi’s narrow waist, pinning her on his hyperactive bitch-splitter as he ravaged her like a chew toy.

Gracied stiff nipples rubbed against hers with every vicious thrust, shooting delicious thrills through Demi’s most sensitive flesh. Their glossy chestnut tresses formed tangled halos around their gorgeous faces as they cried out in torrid passion.    

“Fuck, fuck! Here it comes.” Daddy rumbled, impossibly deep and manly. The timbre of his voice reverberated in Demi’s bones. “Take it, honey. Take it and become Daddy’s good girl!”

Daddy’s good girl!

Demi’s worldview shrank to that core precept as she crested a physical and spiritual mountaintop. All she desired, her earthly wants and needs, boiled down to a singularly simple state of being: to serve and honor the most important man in her life.

To fuck and suck and please her hunky Daddy however he wished. To grow fat with his offspring and cater to his idlest whims. To be obedient and devoted and always available…  

To be Daddy’s good girl in every way imaginable.

She stared into Gracie’s eyes, seeing her adoration and purpose reflected there as they rocketed into the stratosphere together. After all, good girls came when Daddy did.

“YEEEEEEESSSSSSS!!” They howled, voices raised as one in ecstatic veneration. 

Then he was doing it. Daddy unleashed a torrent of his magical, yum-yum seed directly into Demi’s fertile young womb. If she weren’t already pregnant (which she almost certainly was), the obscene volume he released would’ve banished any lingering doubts.

Hot, potent Daddy juice pumped her belly full to bursting, packed in by his slab-like manmeat. He kept cumming, until Demi feared she might pop, letting out a quiet burp when her diaphragm pressed upwards from the internal pressure.  

Her mild discomfort was nothing compared to the soaring elation.

She was pregnant with Daddy’s baby–they both were! Demi and Gracie were thoroughly fucked and bred by the strongest, kindest, most handsomest man who ever existed.  

Their stalwart supporter.

Their valiant protector.

Their DADDY.

Powerful arms scooped up the exhausted sisters, tenderly cradling them against his broad, muscular chest as though they were children again. The sisters snuggled into Daddy’s comforting warmth, receiving fatherly kisses on their sweaty brows. Gracie dozed off, her head resting on his mighty shoulder.

”Thanks, honey. Guess I needed from the beginning.” Daddy sighed, then shrugged. “Just couldn't admit it to myself.” 

“You're welcome,” Demi giggled, caressing her swollen tummy. “Good girls know when to be naughty for their big, strong Daddies.”

He snorted, then laughed, groping her tight rear. Demi gasped, feeling his stubborn stiffness slide against her thigh as Daddy carried them out of the bedroom.

Behind them, the news report on the television played clips of major cities in chaos. Populations rioted, fighting and fucking in the streets. Men and women clashed. Their extreme physicality shredded clothing to tatters, exposing swelling masculine muscles and prodigious feminine curves. 

Smoke blotted the sky in the background, sirens blared, yet nobody cared. 

The world as they knew it was coming to an end. Not with a bang but guttural grunts and lust-fueled moans.

The End