Goth Baddie Bred By Daddy

299 Refined Crystals

Goth Baddie Bred By Daddy

She left home a bratty little mall goth, all venom eyeliner, leather chokers, and a mouth full of sin—but when she comes back from college for the holidays, she’s not a girl anymore. She’s a woman with curves like a curse and a stare that dares her father to look at her too long. And he does. Again and again.

In their quiet house blanketed in snow, she prances barefoot in panties, calls him “Daddy” with just enough lilt to make his cock twitch, and falls asleep beside him in nothing but a thin t-shirt, ass high, mouth parted, whispering his name in her sleep.

He knows it’s wrong. Knows it’s sick.

But he also knows she’s wet for him. Knows she wants it—has wanted it since before she even knew what it meant.

When his fingers slide between her cheeks in the dark and she moans for more, he gives it to her. Slowly. Deeply. Until she wakes under him with a breathless gasp and begs him to go further, to ruin her completely.

What follows is a slow, savage descent into taboo bliss: her tight little asshole taken first, then her soaked pussy split wide open as he fucks her raw and full, her womb flooded with the seed she’s been dreaming of. She wants to be bred, to be owned, to carry his baby—and Daddy’s going to make sure it happens.

She’s not leaving that house without a belly full of his cum.

Filthy. Tender. Deranged. This is the story of a girl who always wanted her Daddy—and the man who finally gave in.

Do you dare turn the page?

Created by: thezarakane Categories: Breeding, Erotica, Incest Tags: daddy daughter, family sex, incest daddy, incest erotica, sexy teen

Story Excerpt

The room was warm, too warm—soft amber glow spilling from the hallway nightlight through the cracked door. The hum of the heater purred like distant thunder, low and endless. She lay tangled in the sheets, legs sprawled open, shirt rucked halfway up her back, black cotton panties clinging damp against her ass like a second skin. Snow ticked gently against the frosted windowpane, but inside, everything smelled like sweat, skin, and her.
He stood in the doorway for a long time. Watching.
She’d fallen asleep beside him hours ago, bare-legged and reckless, her thigh thrown across his lap for half the night until she’d rolled away in her dreams, murmuring nonsense, lips parted, lashes fluttering. But then she started moaning.
And not just any moaning.
“…d-Daddy…”
Soft, barely a breath. But unmistakable. Again.
“Mmnh… D-daddy… please…”
His cock throbbed instantly. Her voice, thick and needy in sleep, clutched his guts in a vice. He sat down on the edge of the bed, breath shallow, sweat already beading his temples. He reached for her slowly, like she might vanish.
His rough hand skimmed the back of her thigh—hot to the touch—and she stirred, arching ever so slightly, pressing her hips back as if offering herself. The scent of her cunt, musky and wet, was leaking through the cotton. He shuddered. Her ass was round and perfect, inked with a batwing tattoo curving down one cheek.
His fingers slid under the band of her panties, careful, reverent.
She moaned again. “Mmh… yeah…”

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Hey there, I’m Zara Kane, your guide to the deliciously forbidden. I’ve always had a knack for weaving stories that tiptoe along the edge of what’s acceptable, dipping into the shadows where desire whispers its naughtiest secrets. By day, I’m just another face in the crowd—maybe sipping coffee at a corner café, watching the world with a smirk. But by night, my pen dances across pages, crafting tales of taboo passions that’ll make your heart race and your cheeks flush.

I’ve got a thing for the illicit, the kind of cravings you don’t confess over brunch. My stories aren’t for the faint of heart—they’re raw, unapologetic, and dripping with the kind of tension that keeps you up all night. Where did this dark little obsession come from? Let’s just say I’ve lived a life with plenty of… inspiration. A past dotted with hidden encounters and unspoken rules I couldn’t wait to break. I’ll never spill all my secrets, darling, but pick up one of my books, and you might catch a glimpse of the chaos I’ve loved—and lusted—through.

If you would like a custom story or have a nasty idea burning a hole in your brain that you’d like brought to life on the page email her: zarakane@proton.me

Stick around if you’re curious. I promise, my world is a rabbit hole worth falling into. 😉