Step-Daddy Issues

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Incest, daddy daughter, step dad, anal, no protection

Author’s Note.

Again, huge thanks to AwkwardMD for all of her support and editing on this story. Without her, none of this would have been possible.

Also, please, creating in a vacuum is hard. If you like (Or hate 🙂 ) anything in this story then please let me know. I would love to hear from you and hear your thoughts. Emails or comments are very welcome.

Maria, November 2020.

He arrived early, that on its own was super triggering. He’d always been early for everything and I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to forget that.

Forgotten memories came flooding back as I remembered how it had felt suddenly being the first to leave school after so many years being the last one to be collected. Or, more than once, totally forgotten about.

I shook my head to make sure the neglected child didn’t take over and destroy my carefully constructed new persona. I focused on pouring out the pint of lager for the waiting tray in front of me. The Kronenberg lager was misbehaving and coming out frothy, making my work harder. Truthfully, I was kind of grateful for the distraction.

I set the pint down, leaving it to settle whilst I prepared the other part of the order, a vodka and cranberry juice.

As I scooped out ice from the well under the bar I took the opportunity to look at him properly. He had provided his track and trace details and was led to the socially-distanced-table-for-two by our host, right in front of the window. He chose the seat facing the door.

He was in as good shape, perhaps better than I remembered. I wondered if he still went running three times, and to the gym twice, each week. It looked like he still did.

His clothes, however, were different than I’d expected. He was wearing a pair of jeans, torn but clearly new. He had an old band t-shirt on, I couldn’t see the name but I vaguely recognised the logo as being something from the early eighties that he’d tried to get me interested in. Over the t-shirt was a suit jacket, which was the only item of clothing that had matched my expectations.

I wiped my hands, finished the vodka, put it on the tray, then poured the rest of the lager to complete the order.

I glanced at my half-covered face in the mirror, checked that my eye make up was on point, and made sure my plain black mask was sitting just right. Satisfied, I then pulled up my leggings, making them stretch so there were no wrinkles at the knee and no bagging under my ass. The shiny leather-look leggings, a new purchase from Boohoo, were hardly my usual work attire and I’d been self-conscious about them initially. Apart from a few admiring looks from my male manager, no one had commented.

Probably because I’d paired them with my vans rather than anything slutty.

I’d known I’d be nervous, but I hadn’t expected to be sweating through my work shirt. There was a lot of pressure for his first look at me to be special. I took a couple of deep calming breaths, straightened my apron, made sure my shirt was neat and picked up the tray. After two more deep breaths, I set off to the elderly couple sitting close to him.

I didn’t take the direct route, I chose instead a sauntering route which took my past his table. I did my best not to look at him and it was torture. I aimed for sexy and alluring, but couldn’t be sure if I came close. Still, I didn’t spill the drinks.

The couple thanked me—they were nice—so I smiled. I’d forgotten again that people can’t see you smile under a mask. I wondered if I’d ever remember that.

I risked a look at him. He wasn’t looking at me, and there was no sign that he had. His eyes were on the door. I was disappointed, I had hoped the leggings would have had his eyes glued to me. But then… he wasn’t here to eye up slutty bartenders, he was here to meet me. It was also just like him to stay focused on the door, where I ought to have been coming from. After all, I hadn’t told him I was working here: just that I’d meet him.

I took a very deep breath, pulled my notepad from my apron and my pen from my ear, and I approached him.

“Hi there, are you ready to order?” I asked, in my politest, most professional voice.

He glanced up at me, his eyes widened as they scanned me, they seemed alive in a way I’d never seen before. Then, disappointingly he looked down at the menu. When his eyes returned to mine, their fire had gone.

“Sorry… I’m meeting someone,” he said, looking behind me as if to make his point.

“I know you are,” I said, and then I pulled my mask down. “Hi, Dad.”

My stepdad’s jaw dropped in surprise. The shock passed quickly, replaced by a brief look of guilt. I grinned as I watched him; I’d always enjoyed reading his emotions and reactions.

“What? What are you doing here?” he asked, though from the way his eyes lingered on my leggings I could guess his question was meant to be, ‘why are you wearing those?’

Attention-grabbing goal achieved.

“I thought you were supposed to be super smart?” I said, canlı bahis one hand on my hip with the order pad, and the empty tray in the other.

“Oh right, okay sure. You work here,” he said, flustered.

“I’m just winding you up, Dad.” I gave him a wink and watched to see how he reacted to the word Dad. Nothing yet. “So, a bottle of beer or a coffee? I was trying to work out which you’d choose.”

His eyes glanced down to my leggings, then back up. “I’m gonna need wine or something. Red. Strong.”

I laughed. “Sure thing, coming right up, I’ll be finishing my shift in five minutes, so I’ll come and join you. If my boss asks, we live together okay,” I said with a wink.

“But… we haven’t lived together for what, five years?”

“Shhh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “The one household rule, remember that and the new restrictions? Unless of course, you are living on your own, in which case you can form a bubble with another household… are you living on your own now?”

“These new rules are all so confusing,” he said, sighing, “but, Yes I am living on my own.” He gave an amused smile that filled my heart with hope and my stomach with butterflies. “But this… This is all too much… Slow it down, finish your shift and then come back and see me.”

There it was, there was my Step-Dad. Everything I had missed since my mum had fucked up everything. Calm, decisive, and in control.


“So you’re a supervisor?” he asked, as he leaned toward me. He was making no effort to hide how impressed he was.

“Well yeah. Remember, I have been here for two years, if I hadn’t made bar supervisor by now then… well..” I paused, noticing he was smiling at me. “What?”

“Just you.”

“Me what?” I asked, before taking a sip of my vodka and coke.

“You. This,” he said sweeping his hand from me, to the bar, then down to my leggings, “Those.”

I smiled, my gamble having paid off. Those leggings were the best twenty-five pounds I had ever spent.

“What about me, this, and these?” I asked, turning slightly and stretching one long leg out from the table. I, then, twisted my leg so that the light shimmered off it.

“Just, none of this is what I expected. Like at all. Your message the other day was a total surprise.”

“Had you forgotten about me?” I asked, quickly, in a voice that didn’t hide the hurt.

“No, god. No. Abigail,” he reached out and took my hand. “No Abigail, I… It’s hard for me to put into words. I… you were so special to me. It broke my heart leaving you. I think it’s one of the reasons I stayed as long as I did. I still remember seeing your face in that upstairs window as I drove away. That image still haunts me, you know.”

“I didn’t know you’d seen me. I didn’t think you’d looked back at all,” I said, quietly, staring down into my drink. There were no answers in the dark liquid. I looked at his hand on mine. “You have no idea how much I wanted you to take me with you. She… she said she wished you’d taken me. She took it all out on me. She blamed me.”

“Of course she did.” he said, in a low voice, as he processed the information, “I am so, so sorry.” Then he gave my hand a squeeze.

“I didn’t blame you for going.”

“I… you know, I did think about asking you to come with me,” he admitted, in a very quiet voice.

“Why didn’t you?”

“You were fifteen, I wasn’t really your dad. And, I knew your mum. She might say it was okay to take you, then the next day she would call the police on me or something.” he said sadly. “But I mean, I needn’t have worried. Look at you. I’m impressed.”

“At my bar job?”

“No,” he laughed, “At everything, you are here, at University. Sorry, I should add, at my old university, studying hard, working, supporting yourself. You are all grown up.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely not the little shy, awkward fifteen-year-old I used to be.”

“I never thought you were shy or awkward.” He took a sip of his wine. “That sounds like your mother talking.”

“Oh stop, I know what I was. I’ve seen the pictures. There’s evidence.”

“Well, I always thought you were fun. I remember when your mum introduced us. You were what? Nine?”

“Eight and a half,” I corrected. I remember everything clearly. He was wearing smart jeans, a suit jacket and a crisp purple shirt. I was wearing my favourite party dress. Well, it wasn’t my favourite at the time but it became my favourite. I could even recall that Olly Murrs’ Dance With Me Tonight had been playing on the radio.

“Right, sure, eight and a half. So yeah, I was so nervous. I was wondering if you’d like me, wondering what I was getting myself into. I mean your mum and I hadn’t been dating that long and there I was meeting this troublesome daughter of hers.”

“She’d already said I was trouble? Before you even met me?”

“I’m sure it’s a jealousy thing, you were always so pretty, I think she felt that you took attention away from her,” he said, trying to meditate as always.

“You thought I was pretty?”

He smiled a half-smile bahis siteleri as if to say nice try smart ass and took a sip from his wine.

“Yes, Abigail, you were a very pretty child,” he smiled, then leaned back, settling into his story, “So anyway, then I met you, and you were really friendly, from day one. I remember thinking that it wouldn’t last and that when you hit your teens you’d make my life hell, but it never happened. You were always so well behaved. At least for me.”

He was lost in thought for a moment. When I didn’t say anything, he continued.

“We even managed to get your English and Maths grades up, Got you into the second set for Maths, didn’t we?”

I winced. “That didn’t last.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter now. it was enough for you to get here.”

“A bar job?”

“No, university! My old university,” he said with a frown.

“You know I’m at the UWE, not Bristol Uni right?”

“My university town then! It still counts! it’s still a university, you’ll still get a degree, and life experience.”

“Why do you seem so surprised? Did you not think I could make it here?”

He smiled, that same nice try smart ass look. “I always knew you were capable of it. You were always a smart kid, you just needed someone to make you work, and to keep your interest. After I left, I thought maybe you might get distracted.”


“You know, boys, parties, the park, whatever. You were growing up, no longer a little girl.”

“I wasn’t sure you ever noticed that,” I said, and instantly regretted it. I knew there were times he’d noticed. Three times, in fact. I was deliberately putting my hand into the fire and it felt too obvious.

He didn’t react.

“So did coming to Bristol have anything to do with all the stories I told you?”

“Maybe a little,” I conceded. “But it was also the course, and I loved the campus when I looked around it.”

“What are you studying?”

“Business Studies. I’ve been thinking a lot about starting my own business maybe, at the end.”

“What sort of business?” he asked.

“Not sure yet,” I admitted.

He smiled and took a sip of wine. He didn’t push, which was so typically him. I knew his playbook; he’d change direction and come at it again. “So have you gotten involved in the Students Union?”

“Well I’m on the women’s football team, and I went on the national demo back in November. It was fun.”

“Excellent! Putting yourself in a great position there.”

“Position to get elected as a Sabbatical Officer you mean?” I said, raising my eyebrow at him.

“Yeah,” he said with a huge excited grin, leaning forward instinctively.

I leaned back and smiled, and stretched.

“We’ll see, Dad.” It was hard hiding the smirk upon finding a perfect place to drop Dad in deliberately, but organically.

“You don’t have to call me Dad anymore,” he said. “Freddie is just fine.”

“Freddie has always been fine, but after that first Christmas, you’ve always been my dad. Just cause you aren’t seeing my mum anymore, it doesn’t mean you aren’t my dad.”

He smiled, “Thank you, that means so much, but….” There was a conflict there behind his eyes. “What kind of dad doesn’t see his daughter for five years?”

“Four and a half,” I corrected.

He paused. “So, how is your mother with all of this? The job, the degree?”

I looked down. “We haven’t spoken since I left.” It was a hard thing to admit, but at least I could tell him the truth rather than pretending as I did with all my new friends.

“Since last September?” he said, taking another sip of wine.


He looked shocked and took my hand, full of compassion as always. “What happened?”

I looked at his hand and then at him. He was so kind and those eyes of his. I knew I could tell those eyes anything. I’d always completely trusted him.

“Well, she hated the idea of me going to Uni, especially to the same city as you’d gone to. She just got worse and worse until she had a major freak out with me the day before. She said some bad stuff.”

“I can imagine.” His words were thoughtful but he looked upset.

“So I came away and then when I unpacked I found she’d hidden a letter in my bag. It was long, rambling, accusing me of all sorts of things. Stuff I hadn’t done.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“It was bad. Stuff like I’d ruined her life, I’d stolen her money, her looks. That I’d pushed you away from her. That I was never gonna make anything of my life and I’d end up crawling back to her a total failure.”

I’d not told anyone about the letter, and now I’d started letting it out I couldn’t stop.

“There was bad stuff about you too, saying you were a dirty pervert, like you watched porn, and liked really rough sex, and that you only helped me so much cause you wanted to fuck me.”

He blushed bright red and glanced around. Looking to see if anyone had heard. “Oh god, you-y… You know that’s not true, don’t you?”

“Which bit?” I asked, tilting my head.

“The bahis şirketleri bit about me, wanting to… You know… With… I didn’t… I mean you were only fifteen when I left.”

I reached out, touched his hand and gave him a reassuring smile. “I know… It’s fine. I was a terrible fifteen-year-old and I went out of my way to tease you. You were such a gentleman. I only saw you even looking at me like that once or twice.”

I paused for effect and delivered the line I knew I’d be proud of forever.

“Until today, of course.”


“Alright, little Miss Daddy Issues!”

Two weeks earlier I was carrying a handful of mugs into the kitchen of my student flat when I heard the utterance that changed everything.

I turned to see my two housemates, Fiona and Vicky sitting either side of the table. Vicky and Fiona were both blondes, both slightly overweight, both always wearing too much makeup and tarty clothes. They were also tight, very much the best of friends. I, as their tiny brunette housemate, was the outsider.

They each had an open bottle of WKD blue in front of them. Which was surprising as it was only one in the afternoon.

“Hey I can’t help what I like,” Vicky said with a laugh as she looked at her friend. “Anyway, it’s more Step Daddy issues.” Capital S. Capital D.

“Oh my god, I know right? Hot as fuck.” Fiona was saying just as I got to the sink and put my mugs into wash.

“What a fantasy!” Vicky laughed before taking another huge gulp from the bottle. “I don’t have a stepdad, but if I did, I’d fuck the hell out of him.”

“Starting early aren’t you, girls?” I asked with a grin at the both of them.

“No, not with this new ten O’Clock curfew, even now we only have like, nine hours.”

“Oh no… nine hours,” I said with a smile, playfully mocking them.

“Any chance you can get us a table in your place tonight?” Fiona asked.

“Sure, what time?” I asked.

I didn’t even hear their answer. This was the first time I’d heard anyone admit that it was okay to have fantasies about your stepfather. Well, a theoretical step-father. A flood gate opened inside me, with all sorts of long-suppressed and forgotten thoughts pouring out faster than I could process them.

“See you later then,” I said, putting my clean cups on the sideboard and then I slid back into my room.

I remembered my stepdad, and how I felt about him, how he was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I was aware I’d had feelings for him, but it had always been complicated.

He’d never even asked me to call him Dad, it was something I’d started doing when he was there for me. He’d been more of a parent than anyone else in my life. He’d earned the name.

My early teens had been so messed up, my life and emotions were so up and down, I’d raged at my school and my mother. They had all responded as I expected, but my dad never did. He was always calm, he always listened. Treated my feelings as real.

I picked up my phone and called up a number without thinking about it.

“Hi Nanna,” I said as soon as my Nanna answered, she was my mum’s mother, and she’d always been good to me, though according to my mother she’d been a terrible mum herself. More lies probably. “Do you still have Freddie’s number?”


“So yeah, these are my digs,” I said looking over my shoulder at him as I pushed open the door.

His eyes flicked up, and he looked guilty.

“Were you just looking at my ass?” I said with a happy, caught you look.

“It’s kinda hard not to,” he said with an apologetic smile. His eyes narrowed, and he added, “And the more I think about it, the more I think that’s how you intended it.”

“Tut-tut,” I said with a laugh, “You shouldn’t be looking at your step-daughter’s ass like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you were doing. No matter how much I tease you, you should be a good Dad and not look. You used to be so good at not looking too.”

“Thank you, but back then you weren’t even sixteen.”

“So it’s okay to look at your daughter’s ass now she’s legal? Good to know.”

“Stepdaughter at best,” he said with a frown, “And I mean, I was never officially your father, or guardian, or anything.”

“You’ve always been Dad to me. Always have, and always will,” I said and I grabbed him by his arm. “Come on, meet my housemates. I wanna show off my handsome Dad.”

I pulled him down the dark narrow hall and into the kitchen. The girls were where they always were, around the kitchen table. This time they had cups of tea and biscuits in place of the WKDs.

“This is Fiona, and this is Vicky. Girls, this is my Dad, Freddie,” I said, introducing him to the two of them.

Their reaction couldn’t have been more perfect. Their jaws dropped and they gaped at my Dad, both of them checking him out and then blushing.

Vicky was the first to find her voice, “Hey, a pleasure to meet you.” She then moved around the table to sit next to Fiona, freeing up two chairs, “Did you want a seat, the kettle hasn’t long boiled if you want a coffee?”

The question was directed at me, but Dad spoke before I could reply, “No thank you, I’m good, and it’s lovely to meet the two girls who’ve kept Abigail on the straight and narrow.”

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