FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Author: Tobias Foxx

Title: Fatherly Love

Part: Chapter 2

Summary: A father is presented with the chance to be everything his daughter wants.

Keywords: furry, Mf, inc, bond, preg, knot

Fatherly Love

My name is David Michael Deverough, father of Deborah Diangelo Deverough

and widower of the late Jeanette Leslie Deverough. I'm a forty-four year old lupine

male. I stand six feet and two inches tall, with brownish black fur coating my body. My

wife used to say it looked as though I had been dipped in chocolate syrup when I was

born and never washed it off. It lightens only slightly across my stomach and chest,

giving the fur there a silvered look, though there are decidedly tannish speckles that dot

my coat here and there like freckles. Also, I've begun to notice a few gray furs amidst

my coat, mostly around the muzzle and temple, though I found a few in my tail the other

day. It makes me feel like I'm getting old, though no one else seems to think so. I've

been told that I have strong facial features, though I never really stopped to analyze

myself and tell for certain. I do know I was handsome enough in my youth to snare the

most delicious female I'd ever laid eyes on and kept enough of my looks that she never

lost interest in me. I'm well proportioned for my size, though my paws are a bit big. I

was teased for it as a child, until the old adage proved true. I keep myself in good shape,

half out of habit and half because my wife loved the smell of me after a good workout.

My wife died six years, five months, and... seventeen? Seventeen days ago. Two

weeks ago, I could have told you down to the minute. Not now. I've always defined

myself by what I was. When I was a child, I was my parents' son. I joined the Army

after high school and became a soldier. I met Jeanie and became a husband. Then came

fatherhood with the birth of my darling Debbie. I defined myself, my purpose in the

world, by caring for my daughter and wife. Jeanie was the breadwinner and I was the

homemaker. I cared for Debbie during the day while my wife was working, and when

she got home I made dinner and gave her a massage. Together we would tuck Debbie in

and read her a story, and then we would make love and lay in each other's arms until the

morning. Every year we would hop in the old station wagon and tour around to visit our

families for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Every year on our anniversary, we'd go back

to the restaurant where I proposed and fall in love all over again. Admittedly, things

were tough at the start of our marriage, but over the course of ten years we forged a

marriage and a family that was destined to last until the stars fell from the sky. It was a

dream, a beautiful, glorious dream. But all dreams must end.

My Jeanie was killed, stolen from me by cruel fate and fickle chance. It tore me

apart, broke me in ways I never knew I could be broken. Half my world was ripped

away. All I had left was Debbie. I had to be strong for her, I had to be there for her, be

the father she knew so that she could grow past the sorrow. I put on a strong face, but... I

never got over it really myself. I've tried dating over the years since, but it hasn't worked

out very well. None of them measure up, none of them are Jeanie. I know no one can be,

but knowing that doesn't do anything to change my expectations. Mostly, I've devoted

myself to my daughter, to my Debbie. She's the main reason I'm still alive. Even she

couldn't take the place of her mother, but she certainly filled in a large portion of the hole

in my heart. Late at night, sometimes, when I'm alone and she's asleep, I just get so...

lonely. I remember what it was like when Jeanie was alive and how happy we were, how

beautiful everything was, how beautiful she was, how perfect, how wondrous... I cry

then, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I think my crying days are done, though. Last

night, my darling Debbie gave me her virginity, her heart, and her soul.

Debbie could be Jeanie's identical twin. Last night, I had been dreaming of my

wife. When I woke up... I wasn't sure that I was awake at all. I'm almost positive I

called Jeanie's name before the pervasive scent of my daughter filtered into my sleep-

addled mind. There was my little angel, my darling Debbie, straddling my waist with my

achingly hard shaft plunged into her virgin love tunnel. I was shocked to say the least.

Confused, angry, surprised, hurt. I was bound hand and paw to my own bed while my

daughter fucked herself on my cock. How was I to respond to this situation? I've tried to

be more to Debbie than just a father. I've done my best to keep involved in her life, to

keep up with her habits and trends. I've tried to be there for her as a friend as well as a

parent. I love her more than life itself. It pains me, almost physically, to see her sad or

hurt or depressed. And I understand that she deals with most of her emotions by having

sex. I know it's not the healthiest outlet, but it's one she enjoys and hurts no one. She's

always been very careful about her partners, made sure they understood her limits and

respected them. The few times she made mistakes, they weren't major and were easily

corrected thanks to the self-defense classes I sent her to after Jeanie died.

What then was I to think of my Debbie slamming herself down onto me like there

was no tomorrow? I was particularly concerned by the fact that she wasn't taking me

anally. That was one of the few things that had been consistent in her sexual career. She

told me once, when I asked, that she wanted to save something for the right male when

she finally found him. What disaster could possibly have possessed her to do this? To

mate me, of all people, in the first place, and to give me her virginity, in the second? I

could barely think straight enough to ask, barely form words through the haze of

pleasure. She may have been taking me in a virgin hole, but she was by no means

inexperienced. I knew they called her a slut and worse behind her back, but every male

in the county knew her name and was clamoring to get into her pants. Now I was being

treated to a very personal demonstration of why. I hadn't had sex in... years at that point.

It was excruciatingly pleasurable, painfully pleasant. There's no word in the English

language to describe it properly. Pleasure is so weak a word and so oft used, it has lost

its power. Ecstasy seems a more mental than physical descriptor, as does bliss. To put it

simply, it was like being tortured by the most skilled interrogator ever, only I didn't even

know the question much less the answer.

Her response to my inquiry was equally befuddling. Loving me, she said. Loving

me. What was I to make of that? I lost the question in a haze of passion as she rode me

to orgasm, tied with me, took my seed deep within her womb. It wasn't until afterwards

as she lay sobbing on my chest that it dawned on me what she meant. She was giving

herself to me. To -me-. Of all the males she had been with, of all the males in the free

states of the union, she was giving herself to -me-. She loved me, loved me as I loved

her, and was expressing it in the only way she knew how, telling me with word and

action how deeply she cared. And I had said nothing, given her no clue that I understood,

letting her fall broken across me. I could see the sorrow, hear it in her racking sobs. She

thought she had done something horrendous, that I didn't understand or wouldn't

understand or couldn't understand. That I didn't love her. I held her tight and stroked

her hair as I had when she was a child with a scraped knee and soothed her worries. She

kissed me with a fierce passion I had so loved in her mother. The fire of it burned clear

through to my soul. Then she lay her head on my chest once more and fell asleep as I

stroked her.

I lay awake for a long time. There was nothing in my mind but a sense of

contentment. I felt... complete in a way that I hadn't since Jeanie was stolen from us. I

felt whole again. There was nothing else in the world I wanted at that moment than to lay

there with her forever. And, I realized, I could. Never again would she need seek out

others to use her body for the paltry pleasure it would provide her. Never again would I

need to lay alone in my bed pining over lost love. We could provide for each other, care

for each other, love each other. I could complete her as she had completed me. I had

never before thought of such a thing. Never had I lusted for my daughter. I helped her to

masturbate once or twice, when she was so depressed over one thing or another that I

could think of nothing else to do, but I had never found physical attraction with her. Nor,

I felt, had it been pure physical attraction for her either. She had a deep-seated need

within her that she had found no other means to fill than mindless sex. I cried, quietly,

silently, and held her tight as I realized how selfish I had been. I had spent so long being

lonely. I hadn't noticed how lonely she was, how she missed her mother perhaps even

more than I did. I had failed her in the very manner I had sought to succeed. But no

longer. No more loneliness, for either of us, ever again.

It was an overwhelming flood that swept over me. It was like my first night with

Jeanie. It was a confirmation and consummation of the love we felt for each other. I

looked with new eyes upon my daughter, my love, my life. It dawned on me then that I

could be a husband once more. Incest, while not wholly condoned within our society,

does not retain the stigma our human creators put upon it, mostly because our genomes

are almost wholly without defect. When brother and sister may breed and produce

completely healthy offspring, there's little other than propriety stopping them from doing

so. Unions such as our own were less heard of but would be accepted. With our

cumulative population so small, some species being comprised of less than one hundred

individuals, it was even encouraged in some cases.

I nuzzled against my daughter's head, inhaling deeply of her scent as I

contemplated our future. We could marry, have children and raise them together. We

could live the life I had dreamed of for Jeanie and I. Of course, it would have to wait

until she finished school. I wouldn't want to steal her education from her to sate my own

selfish needs. Hopefully, she would go to college as well. She had never expressed

interest in doing so, even though she was a sophomore this year and really needed to start

thinking of such things. Her interests had always lain in more physical things, of course,

but I have always thought it important that she expand her mind as well. She was an

excellent gymnast. Perhaps I should encourage her to pursue that and hopefully get a

scholarship from it. My hands stroked her small, lithe form as I heaved a sigh. Such

concerns could wait for the morning. I let myself drift off into sleep with the scent of my

daughter still heavy upon the air and my shaft still embedded within her.

I awoke nearly an hour ago. The clock read 6:04am. I got maybe five hours of

sleep but I don't feel tired in the slightest. I feel... contented. The warm glow hasn't left

me yet, and I hope it never does. It was kind of like when Debbie was younger and

would crawl into my bed after a nightmare when I opened my eyes to see her sleeping on

my chest. It was also like when Jeanie and I had first been married, finding her sleeping

off our night's exercise, still covered in my scent. It is an odd mingling of emotions that I

feel now. I love my daughter as my daughter, as my child and the fruit of my loins, but I

also love her for the gift of herself, as my mate and future wife, the future mother of our

children. I can't help but smile at that, my sheath beginning to plump as I consider the

fun we'll have making those children, the joy we'll share in so many ways, in so many

places. Never before had such thoughts invaded my mind, but now I can't get rid of

them.

It occurs to me that I had never heard of her practicing bondage before, but the

knots she used last night were more than strong enough to hold me. I glance at the silken

ties holding my paws spread then at those dangling free from the head posts and an idea

occurs to me. Jeanie was always Alpha bitch in the board room, but when she came

home... Perhaps Debbie has the same tendencies. Slowly, I shift my daughter, thankful

that she is a heavy sleeper. One more thing she inherited from me. When she is lying

huddled at my side, I sit up and proceed to release the last of my bonds. That done, I slip

from the bed and give a luxurious stretch, reveling in the creak and pop of my joints. I

didn't used to pop like that. Five years ago it wouldn't have sounded like a machine gun

when I stretched my back. Yet another sign of my aging. This morning, I don't care.

I'm happy to be alive and to be with someone I love so dearly. The insistent pulse of my

bladder urges me to take care of morning business, so I do, keeping an eye on my

slumbering mate through the bathroom door.

What to do with her, what to do. I can think of more than a few things, but one in

particular comes to mind, a favorite of Jeanie's. I shake myself off as I feel myself

beginning to harden at the mere thought. That brings me a moment's pause. I stand by

the foot of the bed, looking down at her, letting my eyes trail over her lithe form. This

cannot be about sex, ever, our relationship. Sex will be part of it; Debbie will see to that,

but sex can never be a top priority for me. I can't allow that. It would make me no better

than those boys she wasted so much time with. Of course, I also can't let her think I'm

uninterested. That would hurt her deeply. She's beautiful, sexy, and she knows it. If she

thought I found her unattractive... I refuse to contemplate that kind of pain for her. No, I

will most certainly mate her, and repeatedly, but I'll show her in more ways than mere

physical release how I care for her. For the moment though, I can't help the smirk from

forming on my lips as I think of all the delicious escapades that are to come. Debbie has

always had a penchant for public display, and I know of a secluded spot in the park where

we could have all the fun we wanted provided she could keep herself quiet.

That will come later, though. This morning, I have four pink ribbons and one

unconscious female in no position to argue with whatever I might do to her. I roll her

onto her stomach, placing her in the center of the bed, and bring her arms behind her,

using two of the ribbons to tie them together, wrist to elbow, then fold her legs and use

the other two to keep them that way. I push her knees beneath her to lift her rump,

setting her into the proper mating position and admire my work, her form, that delectable

rump, toes curling against delicate paws, back arched, tail hanging limp. I give a growl

of need, my hand finding a rock hard shaft between my legs, drooling with preseminal

fluid. I may not allow sex to become a top priority, but I cannot deny that I want her. I

slip onto the bed behind her, leading with my nose as I inhale her delicious scent, nuzzle

at those tender paw pads, hear her giggle drowsily as her toes curl from the cold contact.

I give them a lick before trailing over her rump with light nips and tongue caresses,

slobbering my way to the prize in the center.

I don't even have to nudge aside her tail. It has lifted of its own accord, arching

up over her back, revealing the tender pink of her tailhole and the moist line of her slit. I

lick my lips at the sight, wondering if she tastes as good as her mother did. For a

moment, I pause again, the sheer audacity of such a thought striking me, but I push it

aside. She gave herself to me, and I want her. I close my eyes as I press my nose to that

warm, wet space between her legs, inhaling deeply, my tongue flicking out to lap up a

small taste of her. There is some of myself there, in her scent and taste, left over from

our midnight mating, her fur sticky with dried fluids. There is something else too, subtle,

barely sensed, that makes my blood boil and my hard maleness ache to be inside of her.

The devious little bitch. She's in heat.

I pull back, kneeling behind her, head cocked to the side like a confused dog.

She's in heat. The implications slowly dawn on me. She has never been on any kind of

birth control, never needed it, and I was most certainly not wearing any kind of protection

last night. She's in heat, and she took my seed into her deepest recesses without the

slightest hesitation. My eyes widen as I realize how much she has given me, how great

her need for me must have been. Even had I rejected her, she would have been left with

something of our joining for years to come. She knows my stance on abortion, knows I

would never ask her to give up a litter. And now she will be carrying mine. I can't help

the paternal warmth that suffuses me, making me feel like I must be glowing. I'm so full

of love for my daughter, my mate, my only, I almost wish I could explode and shower the

whole world with it.

That devious bitch. Well, time for some payback then. I press my nose once

more to her feminine sex, inhaling deep of its musky scent, letting the tingle of instinctual

lust spread through me, but holding myself in check. I can barely contain myself from

mounting her right then and there, plunging myself into her until we tie and I can dump

my seed deep inside of her, but I manage. Instead, I play my tongue against those

delicate petals, watching as they moisten with more than my saliva, puff and spread to

reveal the inner leaves, the little nubbin at the head of her cleft, the winking pucker that

leads to her womb. She moans softly under my ministrations, still asleep for the most

part. I wonder what she is dreaming about as I concentrate my efforts on bringing her clit

to full bloom. It doesn't take all that long before it is rock hard against my tongue, hood

fallen away to reveal its swollen redness. Her legs twitch and her entrance clenches

visibly every time I swipe my length across it. I take it between my lips, suckling

tenderly upon it, lashing it with my tongue, her moans quickly increasing their tempo and

pitch. When I sense she is near the edge, I close my teeth upon it, biting hard but not

enough to draw blood.

As with her mother, I am rewarded by a high-pitched squeal, not quite a yelp of

pain, not quite a cry of pleasure, but her juices splash against my muzzle along with a

squirt of sharply acrid urine. As if I needed more proof that she was in heat. I keep my

hold on that tender little bit as she quivers and rocks, grinding against my nose, the scent

of her filling me with more desire than I can bear. When at last she quiets, I slowly move

over her, letting my shaft slip between her folds to stroke its length against her inner

petals, growling with the burning heat of her against my hard flesh. She is awake now,

obviously, looking up at me with a tender smile and soft whimpers as the aftershocks

course through her.

"G'morin, Daddy," she mumbles groggily.

"You're in heat," comes my accusatory response.

That gets her attention, eyes opening wide, mouth caught in a surprised O. "I-I-I

didn't- I mean I wanted to- I... Daddy, please, don't be mad at me, please don't make

me get rid of them, I want them so bad, I want YOU, Daddy! I love you, and I'm sorry,

I'm sorry, please... please..."

She devolves into sobs, and I lean down to nuzzle against her neck and lick the

tears from her cheeks, letting her feel my love through action, and my lack of objection in

the way I grind myself against her. It only takes a minute or two. She has always been a

bright girl.

"You want my puppies, baby, then I'm going to make sure you have a nice big

litter," I whispered into her ear, drawing my hips back until the tip of my shaft pressed

against her entrance. "I love you, too, daughter."

"Oh, Daddy, please... I'm... still a little sore from last night."

"Well, honey, you should have thought of that before you let me wake up with a

hot bitch in my bed."

Further protest is cut off when I take her scruff between my teeth and plunge

myself knot deep inside of her. She gasps, squeezing tight around me, and I growl for my

part, feeling her around me once more, and I can't help but think how right it felt to be

inside of her. Perhaps that is logic trying to reconcile with emotion, reasoning with

romance, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is making my daughter happy. I draw

back slowly, letting her sore, tender walls feel every inch of me, feeling her cervix slip

closed behind my head as I withdraw, feeling the beat of her pulse as she squirms beneath

and around me. When barely my tip remains inside, I slam myself home, drawing

another sharp gasp. I grind my knot against her opening for a moment then pull back

once more, just as slowly. I drive myself inwards just as hard.

It is euphoric, feeling her clench and squeeze, hearing her soft sounds of pleasure

and complaint, knowing that she is helpless to stop my claiming of her body and that she

enjoys that helplessness. That she is sore I have no doubt; she rode me hard and fast last

night. Today, I'll give it to her hard and -slow- and make her all the more sore, but all

the more needful. She is like Janie in so many other things. It is a safe bet that she will

be back for more before the day is over. Of course, I have to finish this round first, and

she is doing her best to make sure I do it quickly. For all her whining, she is milking my

shaft like a hungry infant suckling at teat. Muscular ripples flow along my shaft from

entrance to womb each time I plant myself inside of her. If her mother had possessed as

much talent as my daughter, we may never have left the bedroom.

That thought gives me another moment's pause as I scratch it out, rip it up, light it

on fire, piss on the ashes, and bury the recriminating echoes somewhere dark and deep. I

give my brain a thorough talking to about letting such trash hang around. Of course, I

cannot long be distracted with a willing female writhing so needfully beneath me. She

has talent; I have stamina. I keep dragging it out, slow thrust after slow thrust, until she

is whining and whimpering for it. So, I switch it up: swift retreat followed by long, slow

entry. It is agonizing for both of us. Every inch of me wants nothing more than to pound

her hard and fast, knot her, tie her, breed her. The twitching of her tunnel around me

doesn't help at all. Each time my knot presses against her sopping nethers, I give a few

hard grinds against her clit, eliciting shuddering moans. She is wet as much with my own

pre spilling out as with her delectable juices. It makes her so slick, I slide in and out

easily despite her clenching.

This gives me another idea, something my wife enjoyed every once in a while. I

press myself with painful slowness until my knot rests against her flesh. I wiggle

slightly, spreading her petals with it, baring her entrance to its bulk. It is sizeable, even

without being fully swollen, and I'm not surprised that it made her bleed last night. She

was a virgin after all and took it hard. This time, it will be easier, gentler. I take tight

hold of her hips, pulling back as I press forward, wriggling my hips against her rump,

feeling her beginning to spread, the delicious heat slowly spreading over my flesh to

envelop it fully, then snapping closed behind it. I take a second to savor the feel of her

flesh engulfing mine, then jerk back, a wet slurp sounding as my knot pops free. My

daughter lets out a sharp gasp and I feel her quiver beneath me, her entire body vibrating

for a few seconds as shocks of microgasm flash through her. I grin around my mouthful

of scruff and press myself slowly back in then pull free once more.

"Please!" she whimpers. "P-please, Daddy! D-don't... d-don't..."

She can't get out anything more coherent, but I know what she means. Don't take

it out. Don't stop. Don't do this to me, you bastard. I let out a soft growl and keep it up.

I know I'm stoking her need to bonfire heights. She wants it so bad she can taste it. So

can I for that matter, but I'm in a position to give or withhold as I see fit. I knot her

again, give a few quick thrusts, the bulge of flesh at my base tugging at her entrance,

stretching her before popping free once more to grind against her clit. She is a

shuddering mess in no time, panting out parts of words and drooling oh so adorably

against the sheets. I can barely stand the tension building inside of me. I can feel my

balls tensing, an ache starting to grow inside them as they threaten to release against my

wishes.

I can't hold out any longer. At last, I give in to both our desires. Sliding myself

almost entirely free, I slam into her and drive hard, fast, the wet slap of flesh meeting

flesh filling our bedroom, her scent so heavy in my nose I don't think I'll ever smell

anything else, my laden sack slapping against her clit, her flesh quivering around me as

mine pulses within hers. And then the finale. I plant myself hard and deep, my tip inside

her womb, my balls pressed firmly to her slit, my knot swelling to lock inside of her as I

lift my head to howl. I can feel my hefty orbs pulsing and pulling up as they release spurt

after powerful spurt into her inner sanctum, painting her inner walls with my male

essence. She is mine, irrevocably and entirely. My daughter, my mate, my love.

I lie atop her, licking at her scruff as I pant and she whimpers with aftershocks. It

takes some twenty minutes by the bedside clock before I have the energy to pull away

from her. I slide a pillow under her knees, setting her rump even higher, making sure that

none of my seed can dribble out of her, keeping every last drop in the place it will do the

most good. I leave her like that as I pad across to the bathroom and gingerly urinate for a

second time. My cock is as tender and sensitive as her poor little cunny must be.

"D-daddy?" she pants out as I finish. "Wh-what about me?"

I grin as I return to the bed, settling myself on my knees before her head, my still

hard shaft bobbing above her, dribbles of cum still dripping from the tip to drizzle across

her muzzle. She gets the hint and begins to lap at my balls and knot, all she can reach. I

murr softly, pleasure radiating from my male bits. It always feels good to have a female

tongue, or any tongue for that matter, licking at me. I use a finger to angle the tip down,

letting her take my length in her mouth, slurping at it like a Popsicle, earning herself a

few spurts to swallow. When I pull back she repeats her question, smiling up at me.

"Well, what about you?" I reply. "You wanted to get yourself knocked up, and

I'm going to make sure it happens."

She giggls. "No, I mean I hafta pee!"

I grin down at her. "I know. But you'd leak right now, so I guess you'll have to

hold it."

Her expression is comic. "B-but... But Daddy!"

I chuckle as I gather her into my arms and carry her into the bathroom. I wipe her

after she is done and carry her back to the bed, putting her back into position.

"Are you really gonna make me stay like this all week?"

I rub my shaft against her cheeks and muzzle as I contemplate. "Well, it -is- fall

break. Just be glad you didn't pull this stunt during the school year. So, yes, I'm going

to keep you in my bed and on my cock all week long. You wanted it, you got it."

"Do I hafta stay tied up?"

"Well... if you're a good little bitch, I might let you out for walkies."

She laughs until I get up and go to my closet. I kept some of Janie's things, and I

pull from an old shoe box a collar and leash, both pink leather. I show Debbie the name

tag, Bitch, before putting the collar around her neck.

"You're kinky, Dad," she comments with a grin.

"You okay with this?" I inquire. I have to make sure. I'll play her games no

matter what, bud I'd like t play some of my own.

She answered with a bark and wagged her tail. I could see it was going to be a

fun week.