Dominating Daughter


(written in 2021, during Covid lockdown)

“Enjoying yourself?”

Daisy had seen me sniffing her panties as I dropped them into the laundry basket.

“Sick fuck”, she said, without averting her gaze from the big wall TV, where a bloodbath was about to ensue in a mansion somewhere in the Carpathian Mountains, the climactic final level of Hitman 3. At least while she was playing the game, I was getting some respite. But soon she’d finish it, and then she’d resume her real-life game of “Manipulate Daddy” again.

I resumed my chore hastily, picking her clothes from the floor. I found a sock, one of mine, which I surreptitiously mixed in with the batch, even though she didn’t allow it. I made a mental note to hide it on the lowest rung of the drying rack later, out of her sight.

I watched her, slouched on the black leather sofa, wearing nothing but my big black tee-shirt, her long legs stretched straight across the coffee table. Her quick strong fingers clutched a game controller. I stared longingly at the dusty soles of her feet. How I yearned to kiss them, to smell their faint cheesy scent, to lick them clean and gently dab them dry with the corner of my tee-shirt.

She paused the game. Lazily she shuffled her buttocks alternately and worked the tee shirt up to her waist.

She patted her thick black pubes. “Come and get a sniff of the real thing,” she said. I looked at her to see if the “offer” was genuine. It was. My cock sprung to attention. She bent her knees, pressing her feet on the edge of the coffee table. Then she pushed her legs straight again, shoving the table two feet away from her, tipping over a wineglass. A stream of wine raced across the table and spilled onto the wine-stained rug. “Leave it,” she said.

Still on my hands and knees, I crawled to her and put my nose to her groin, inhaling her scent. My tongue probed her loins until it found her labia hidden in the dense black undergrowth. I licked slowly, from the bottom to the top, the way she liked it. Her lips swelled and became slimy with my saliva. I continued to lick in slow upward strokes, my tongue-tip lingering on her clitoris, for a little longer each time. After many minutes of silent attention I ceased, and held my tongue against her, breathing slowly in anticipation of her orgasm. Her legs closed around my ears. She squeezed tight with her strong thighs, and through muffled ears I heard her little cry of “ahh”. Her intoxicating scent became more intense, and I felt her convulse. I pulled back, and gently dabbed her pussy dry with the corner of my tee-shirt.

“Thank you. Daisy. Thank you.”

“I’m hungry. I want sushi.”

“Okay, Daisy. Please can I have the card?”

“Here:” Daisy leaned forward and rummaged among the clutter on the coffee table and handed me her credit card. It had my name on it, but it was her card now.


“My daughter is driving me crazy.”

All over the country, all over the world, parents are saying that now, more than ever, forced by the pandemic to have their kids home with them instead of at school or Uni.

I too said it, just this morning, to a dog in the park that had run over to sniff me while I was doing my exercises. I was struggling on my fifth push-up when his cold wet nose touched mine, which was enough of an excuse for me to fail to reach my target and just collapse on the cold wet grass. I’m seriously out of shape.

I don’t mind complaining about my daughter to dogs. They don’t ask awkward follow-up questions.

Daisy lives with me in my two-bedroom flat. When lockdown started and she came back from Uni, she stayed with my ex-wife Julia and her husband. But she drove them crazy. I thought they were just being selfish assholes and foisting her onto me because I’m a soft touch. They have big house, with plenty of room to accommodate her. But now that Daisy lives with me, I get why they couldn’t stand her living there. She’s what you might call “difficult”. But I know how to keep her sweet. I give her anything she wants and do whatever she tells me to do.

When I say I have a two-bedroom flat, I mean that’s what estate agents would call it. It has a large room with a kitchen area and a living/dining area with a big leather sofa, a bathroom, a large bedroom, and a smaller box room. I sleep on the leather sofa. It’s comfortable enough, but I don’t sleep that well because I can smell Daisy’s scent all over it and I get too horny. Daisy sleeps in my bedroom. The box room used to be my office. It’s now the storage room for Daisy’s clothes and junk.

I must stop calling it my flat. Let’s face it, it’s her flat. She can have me evicted. But we just get on so well, I can’t picture it.


Daisy moved in last June. It was a hot day, and the birds were singing. I guess they sing all the time, but with the lockdown, you could hear them clearly. They seemed to be very happy, particularly the blackbirds and thrushes. I certainly was. I really porno videolar enjoyed the first lockdown. I’m not a sociable person. All I need is a friendly daily chat with shop-people and streetcleaners and my socially-distancing neighbours, and my porn, Literotica and video games at night. I’m a lawyer, specializing in patents. I can do that from home.

She appeared with three large suitcases, two cardboard packing boxes, and a pink backpack. She was wearing tight jeans, and a short white top with thin shoulder straps. I saw Julia’s husband speed off down the road, clearly thrilled to be shot of my daughter. She smiled at me, that dazzling wide smile, and tears welled up in my eye. I saw her then as a little sweet girl, my beautiful child, my princess.

I held her, there on the doorstep, and kissed her hair. She remained rigid and muttered “Dad… people will think I’m your girlfriend.”

“No they won’t. They’ll think, what a nice father.”

My flat at the time was a newly furnished bachelor pad, all black and silver and household gadgets. It was, truth be told, sad, empty and sterile. I’d cleared out the office room and put a small but comfortable single bed in there, emptied the cupboard and moved out my books and desk into a corner of the living room. I’d put a vase of night-scented stock on a table in there in an attempt to make it more feminine.

“Okay, this is your room,” I told her, as I set to work fetching her cases and boxes from the doorway and dumping them on the bed and the boxes on the floor. “I’ll need it pretty quiet during the day when I’m working, but I’m cool with music and video games in the evening. I’ll do the laundry, but we’ll share the cooking, cleaning and other chores. And I’ll pay the bills, so it’s rent free. Daisy, did you hear? Daisy. Daisy!!”

But Daisy was seated on the sofa, tapping furiously into her phone. I sat down next to her. I glanced down at her bare legs. “Daisy, could you stop that please.” In reply, she lay down along the sofa with her legs across my lap and buried her face deeper in her phone. Involuntarily I stroked her leg. She ignored me. I sighed. “Daisy. Ok. You’re tired. We’ll talk later.” I sat back, feeling the weight of her legs on my lap. I inhaled her perfume. It was nice to have a feminine scent in the house. It had been over a year since the last time I’d had a woman in my flat.

“Dad,” she asked, “can you make me some tea?”

I rose, reluctantly. “Sure.” I busied myself in the kitchen. “Oat milk,” she called.

“Soya okay?” I asked, retrieving a carton from the fridge.


“I don’t have any oat milk.”

“They sell it everywhere.”

I felt my pockets for change and went to the local store to buy her some. It didn’t even occur to me to tell her to buy it herself. She was already running my life, after just a few minutes.

I plonked a mug of tea down beside her.

“There you are. Tea with oat milk,” I said sarcastically. When she didn’t respond, I grew angry. “Daisy. Fuck’s sake, say ‘thank you’ at least.”

Daisy put the phone down on the coffee table and stood up quickly. Then to my surprise and delight she hugged me tight. She held me for longer than I expected. I kissed the crown of her head, and gently but firmly released myself from her hug.

“Dad, you got fit!”


“Your muscles, you got fit.” She looked up at me appreciatively. “You’re hot, you know, Dad.”

“Thank you. So are you.”

“No, really, you got really good looking and muscly.”

“No really, so have you,” I teased.

“Dad, I- I’m a sick fuck. I like older guys.”

“Well, I’m old enough to be your father.” I still didn’t get it.

Daisy stood back and stared at me. “Take your tee shirt off. I want to take an Insta of my hot Dad.”

“Sorry, I don’t do Insta.”

“Take it off.”

“Daisy, no. Okay?”

She grabbed my tee shirt and tried to take it off. I grabbed her wrists and we tussled. We fell back on her sofa, with me on top of her. She wrapped her legs around me and squeezed. I laughed. She kept trying to grab my tee shirt and pull it.

“Okay, okay. Stop. You’ll stretch it. This is my favourite tee shirt.” I sat up next to her on the sofa and pulled the tee shirt over my head. Daisy stood and held out her camera.

“Can I see?” I asked after she took the picture, but Daisy ignored the question, and said, “You should get a tat. Here:” She indicated her neck.

“Bit old for that, no?”


“Anyway I hate tats. I’m glad you never got one.” Daisy sat down next to me and sipped her tea.

“You didn’t get one, did you?”

Daisy cupped her hands around the mug and nodded. Before I could continue, she stood and pushed down her jeans to her ankles. She was wearing tiny crimson panties which clove her smooth buttocks. On the left buttock was a tattoo of a bee.

“Like it?”

“Daisy, for fuck’s sake.” I pushed her away – feebly, because my desire to sink my face between those porno video izle cheeks weakened my resolve.

“Smack it.”

“Daisy. No.”

“Smack my ass.”

Involuntarily I stood and smacked her bare ass.

“Ow. More.”

I smacked, hard. My hand stung, and her ass had a pink handprint on it.


“Daisy no.”

“Smack my ass.”

I smacked her, three times, knocking her a step forward each time with the force. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Daisy.” I held her tight again. “I’m sorry. Daisy. This is crazy.” She looked up at me, then closed her eyes in a swoon and clamped her lips over mine. Our tongues rolled and wrestled. Then suddenly, she said “Stop.”

I stopped. “Daisy, oh my God, I’m sorry, what’s happening? You’re right, we have to stop. Oh my God Daisy…”

“It’s not that. It’s just that I need to pee. Stay there.” She kicked off her jeans and stepped out of them and ran to the bathroom. She didn’t shut the door. I could hear the tinkle of her peeing. I lay back and became aware of my raging hard-on under my jeans. “No. No. No…”

Daisy walked back in quickly.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She unbuttoned my fly and grabbed my dick.

I writhed on the sofa. “No. Daisy. Please.”

“Yes, yes, yes…” she crooned in time to the strokes of her fist.

I came. I felt hot spurts of semen on my cheek and neck. Daisy lay down on me, her head on my heaving chest.

“I can feel your heart.”

“No, no…” I muttered.

She kissed my chest. “How do you feel?”

“Completely guilty, completely confused. And I hate myself.”

“I don’t hate you. I love you.”

“Mmm. And I love you too.” I fell asleep. I slept till the morning on the sofa, where I’ve slept every night since then.

Daisy just received her university results. I don’t know what they are yet. The unopened envelope from the university is sitting on the kitchen counter, along with bills and junk mail, which are all mine. I don’t dare open it. The last time I opened her mail without asking her (a bank overdraft notice), she punished me for it. Her punishment was to tear up and set fire to three of my vintage comic books, which I’d kept in perfect condition since I was ten years old. Thirty-six years of my life in flames. She knew how much they meant to me. But she hadn’t known that they were worth about five hundred pounds. If she had known, she would have sold them and pocketed the money instead.

I pop some bread into the toaster and glance at the envelope thoughtfully, wondering what her results are. I’m guessing that she barely passed, or maybe even failed. She’s too lazy to study. But she’s smart — she was born with my brains. I had hopes for her to become a lawyer like me.


I heard her running out of her bedroom into the bathroom. “Daisy, you’ve got a letter,” I called out, but she slammed the bathroom door shut. She never shut the bathroom door except when she was really pissed off with me. What had I done now?

Hurriedly I took the sheets from my sofa and removed my spunk-encrusted tissues from the coffee-table, before she had a chance to humiliate me, and ask me if I’d had “more nice dreams” about her.

I brewed coffee and chopped up fruit salad for her breakfast. She emerged from the bathroom, naked. Although she’d done the same thing nearly every day for a year now, my heart leapt and I got hard at the sight of her smooth, wet body, and the scent of her shower gel.

She sat down on the bar stool next to me at the breakfast counter. Her arm brushed mine, sending tingles down it.

“You’ve got a letter,” I repeated, sliding the envelope closer to her. She ignored it and set to work on her breakfast in surly silence.

“Is it your exam results?” I asked innocently. She glared at me angrily.

I stroked her thigh soothingly. “Daisy, what’s the matter? Are you worried about-“

She shoved my hand away from her leg. “-Fuck off, pervert.”

Maybe she was pre-menstrual, I decided. She’s moody at the best of times. I jumped off the bar stool and turned my attention to the dishes in the sink.

“You open it,” she instructed me. So, I’d guessed right: she was nervous about her results. I picked up the envelope and started to open it.


“Ok, Daisy. Here.” I handed her the envelope, but she didn’t want it.

“What do you think I got?” She asked me.

“I think you did well,” I lied.

“Liar,” she said, scornfully. “You said I was too lazy to study.”

“I never said that.”

“Yes you did. When you were making breakfast.”

Shit, I’d been talking to myself, and she’d heard. No wonder she was angry at me.

“Oh Daisy, sorry, I didn’t mean it,” I said. “…and I also said you were smart,” I added.

“I’m way smarter than you. I could beat you at chess when I was ten.”

It was true, she would beat me every time; except once. And after that one time, she threw such a tantrum porno video that I’ve been letting her win ever since.

“Look, let’s just kill the suspense, and open it,” I said.

She snatched the envelope from me and tore it open. “If I’ve passed, you owe me a thousand pounds,” she said, as she unfolded the letter.

“Ok,” I said, although we’d never made any bet.

I watched her eyes scan the letter. She folded it and carefully replaced it in the envelope.

“Well?” I asked.

Daisy looked at me coldly. “F.”

I sighed and tears welled up in eyes. “Oh, darling…”

“F for ‘Fuck you.'” She screwed up her face with rage, tore the envelope into shreds and threw the pieces at me. A few minutes later she stormed out of the flat.

I picked the scraps of paper up, pieced them together and read the letter. She hadn’t failed: She’d got a first, with distinction! For a moment I was completely confused by her reaction — at the very least I’d have expected her to gloat and make me apologize for doubting her.

And then I realized: All she really cares about is what I think of her. I’m so used to thinking of her as completely dominating me I sometimes forget how much she still needs my praise. I promised myself I’d make it up to her when she was ready to forgive me. I picked up my battered iPhone 4. The glass was shattered, and sometimes little shards would cut my fingertips when I used it. It used to be her phone, but she’d swapped it with my new one a few days after she’d moved in with me and taken over my life. I transferred £5,000 into her account. I knew she’d immediately get a notification on her phone, and that would soften her up a little.


Daisy takes after me in another way: She doesn’t bear a grudge for long. She came back a few hours later, looking cheerful. She dumped a huge pile of shopping bags on the floor.

“Retail therapy?” I said.

“Yeah. Thanks.” She tossed my credit card on the table. I wasn’t sure whether she was thanking me for the £5,000 or, more likely, just being sarcastic for my “letting her” use my card for the shopping.

“Did you go to Westfield?”

“Yup. Wanna see what I got?”

She started unwrapping boxes, scattering them all over the floor. To my surprise, the bags were filled with office attire — or rather, her idea of it: High-heeled pumps, short-skirted two-pieces, Sheer tights. A cross between eighties’ high-powered power-dress and Mayfair hooker. I burst out laughing, then stopped, worried she’d get pissed off again. But then I started up again.

“Ok, fine. I won’t show you then. Your loss.”

“No, Daisy, I’m sorry. It’s just, they’re just… so different from what you usually wear.”

“That’s the idea: Daisy Beecham two point oh.”

“I didn’t think there was anything wrong with one point oh.”

“Yes you did.” She pushed me onto the sofa. She undressed rapidly, down to a pair of tiny, black-laced knickers. She flicked the elastic on them, saying, “I nicked these”.

She pushed them down to her ankles, picked them up with her toes, and flung them into my lap. “Here you go. For you. Have a sniff.”

I crumpled them up to my nose and inhaled her scent, moaning, “Oh, my God, Daisy…”

“Wear them on your head, fucking pervert.”

I pulled the knickers over my head. I watched her through the lacy material, while she quickly donned her power-suit: A white cashmere rollneck, grey pin-striped short-skirted two-piece, patent pumps and sheer black tights.

She placed the glossy heel of a shoe on the sofa close to my groin and rhythmically raised and lowered the tip of its sole onto my bursting cock. “They’re Louboutin’s. Five hundred and fifty quid.”

“Oh Daisy…”

“‘Oh, Daisy,'” she mimicked. “‘Oh Daisy, you’re so hot, I want to fuck you, even though you’re my daughter… Oh Daisy…'”

I ran my hands up and down the calf of her leg feeling her young firm flesh through her silky sheer tights. My eyes fluttered closed.

“Careful, they’re Wolford’s. Hair up, or down?”

I opened my eyes to look at her.

“Up. Down…”

“You’re gone,” she laughed. “Fucking hell, I’m going to have no problem getting a job with this outfit. I have got the job, haven’t I, sir?”

“Yes. Yes. Daisy…”

“Good. But I’m still not sure about it. What would my job entail, sir? Would I have to suck the boss off?”

“Mmm… Please, Daisy…”

“Oh, dear… Well, let’s get on with it. Stand up, sir.”

I stood, too quickly, and felt giddy. Daisy got down on her knees. I closed my eyes. I felt her wet tongue running up and down my shaft, then her cool fingers wrapping around on it and pulling it down. I was so hard that it hurt me. Her lips clamped gently over the tip of my dick, and she pushed and flicked it with her tongue.

I looked down at her gently bobbing head. She looked up at me… I felt her gaze, a direct and intense signal, sending me tumbling over the edge of orgasm… but she pulled away suddenly.

She stood up.

“Dad, I’ve been thinking…”

I don’t know if she’d been intending all along to ruin my orgasm, but in any case she’d succeeded in doing so.

“Oh Jesus, Daisy.”

“Oh, were you about to cum? Sorry. Anyway I’ve been thinking, about what you said, about me working at Lambert.”

(written in 2021, during Covid lockdown) “Enjoying yourself?” Daisy had seen me sniffing her panties as I dropped them into the laundry basket. “Sick fuck”, she said, without averting her gaze from the big wall TV, where a bloodbath was about to ensue in a mansion somewhere in the Carpathian Mountains, the climactic final level…

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