Daddy's Little Secret

How was your day?” I asked as my husband went to dry his hands after coming through the door. The scent of pine cleaner clung to his clothes, a familiar comfort in our newly formed domestic life. Before he answered, he picked up our son from the bassinet, a tiny, wriggling bundle wrapped in a soft blue blanket. “Good,” he replied, his voice thick with sleep and the undeniable weight of a father’s love. “I wish all days were the same. Some days are harder than others.”

I looked over at my husband and our son, a strange mix of tenderness and longing twisting in my gut. It had been six months since my water broke, six months since the agonizing, beautiful process of giving birth to our little miracle. Now, as I gazed at my son, a miniature version of my husband, I couldn't shake the insistent, almost primal desire that had begun to bubble beneath my skin. It wasn’t just hormones, though those were undoubtedly playing a part. It was something deeper, a yearning for the intense, consuming experience of pregnancy, the feeling of being utterly consumed by the life growing within me. I wondered how long it would take me to get pregnant again. Our first pregnancy had been a chaotic, overwhelming surprise, a chaotic explosion of joy and terror, but it had also filled a void in my soul. Now, staring at our son, I felt the bittersweet ache of wanting more, of wanting to stretch the boundaries of our family.

But every time I looked at our son or thought about my pregnancy, this insistent desire rose up within me, threatening to overwhelm the contentment of being a mother. I didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the physical changes, the lingering sensations of those nine long months, or maybe just a primal instinct kicking in. How could I think about having another baby so soon after birth? My doctor had given me the all-clear to resume intimacy, but it felt like a betrayal, a disregard for the recent trauma and euphoria of bringing our son into the world. We’d tried a few times, clinging to the remnants of our pre-baby lives, but it felt awkward, forced. Now, after a few weeks, it was like a switch had flicked on, igniting a passionate fire within me that I couldn't ignore. I was afraid to ask my husband if we should simply let go, if we should ditch the cautious approach and simply allow the natural process to unfold. Just have sex and hope for the best. He might think I was crazy, completely unhinged.

After a few moments of playing with our son, my husband told me he’d feed and change him. “You should go and relax,” he said, his voice gentle, “because you probably had a long day.”

“No way,” I countered, my voice laced with a desperate urgency. “You had a long day. You changed diapers, you fed him, you held him, you comforted him. You deserve a break.”

“No,” he insisted, his eyes holding a playful challenge. “You still have to cook dinner and pump. You need to stay on top of things.”

“You can pump while you relax, and I can cook dinner,” I said, trying to negotiate a compromise, but I knew I couldn't win this argument. So, I did as he told me. I went over to the couch, propped my legs up, and turned on the television, a mindless distraction from the insistent pull of my desire.

As I watched the flickering images on the screen, I glanced over my shoulder and saw my husband with our son over his shoulder, burping him vigorously. The scent of baby formula hung in the air, a sweet, innocent fragrance that only intensified my longing. After our son burped, he drifted off to sleep, nestled securely in my husband’s arms. My husband gently placed our son back in his bassinet so he could go and cook dinner.

Watching our son sleep, a wave of bittersweet longing washed over me. I loved pregnancy, the feeling of nurturing life within me, the anticipation of holding a tiny human in my arms. It was a powerful, transformative experience, one that I desperately wanted to repeat. I went to the kitchen to help my husband cook dinner, but as we worked side-by-side, my thoughts kept returning to the primal urge that consumed me. I asked him what he thought about another baby.

“I think it’s up to God, not us,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “We can try or not try, but ultimately, God decides. Our son wasn’t planned by us, but by God. He’s a blessing, a miracle, and we should be grateful for what we have.”

Of course, hearing this didn’t make my hormones any less erratic. A slight tremor ran through my body, a physical manifestation of the intense desire that had taken root within me. Why? I wasn’t sure. It was as if my body was sending out a desperate signal, a plea for replenishment. I tried to suppress this feeling, to maintain a semblance of normalcy, but my knees felt weak, my breath shallow.

Maybe we should try and not try, I thought, clinging to the hope that this desire would eventually fade. Just leave it open for pregnancy. Let God plan it. At this point, I felt damp between my legs, a sticky warmth spreading across my thighs. I tried to cover it up, pulling my pants down slightly, but it was no use. My body was screaming for attention, for release. I wanted him inside me, desperately. I wanted him to ejaculate in me, to fill me with his seed, to give me the intense pleasure that I craved. I wanted his babies, his legacy. I didn’t know how to start sex before; usually, my husband initiated, but this time, the feeling was different, a powerful surge of confidence that took over my senses.

As my husband was finishing dinner, I felt an undeniable pull, a need to break free from the confines of our domestic routine. “Let’s go to bed,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“What are you doing?” he asked, turning to face me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Trying to make another baby with you,” I replied, my voice filled with a desperate urgency.

“What?” he questioned, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yes!” I exclaimed, my voice rising in pitch. “I want you inside me. I want you to ejaculate in me. Right now!”

My husband was clearly shocked by my sudden confession. He didn’t know how to respond, his face a mask of disbelief. After a few moments of stunned silence, he finally managed to speak. “I can’t wait that long!” he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

“I pointed to my lady parts, my fingers tracing the sensitive skin. “I’m damp. I feel thumping right now. It can’t wait.”

I took my husband’s hand and pulled him closer, wrapping my legs around his waist. He seemed hesitant at first, but as he felt the heat radiating from my body, his resistance melted away. He leaned down and kissed me deeply, his lips tracing every curve and crevice of my body. My breath caught in my throat as he explored my arousal, his touch sending shivers down my spine. As we began to lose ourselves in the moment, my desire grew even more intense, fueled by the anticipation of the pleasure to come.

After a few minutes of passionate kissing and caressing, my husband finally unzipped his pants, revealing his erect penis. It was a sight to behold, a testament to his arousal. I took my hand and gently stroked him between his pants, deepening his pleasure. My husband quickly realized that I wasn’t interested in a slow, gentle approach. I wanted him to go all out, to unleash the full force of his desire upon me. Without hesitation, he pushed his way through my layers of clothing, exposing his entire body to my touch.

My husband wanted to go slow, so he started kissing me and made it down to my neck. “No!” I said. “I want you inside me now. I’m aching down there.” He unzipped his pants and pulled down his briefs. His penis was rock hard, radiating heat and anticipation. I took off my bottoms and put my finger inside me. I told my husband to lick the juices off. As my husband was finishing dinner, I tried to pull him away to go to the bed. I wanted him to feel my arousal. The feeling was overwhelming. My husband’s eyes met mine, and he seemed to understand the urgency of my desire.

He stood me over the counter on my back. He held both my legs over his shoulders. He felt for my vaginal hole. The anticipation was almost unbearable. Finally, he pushed his way inside, his body fitting perfectly into the space between my legs. The sensation was exquisite, a surge of pleasure that flooded my senses. My muscles clenched involuntarily, as my body responded to the intense stimulation. My husband continued to move rhythmically, his thrusts growing more forceful with each passing moment. My heart pounded in my chest, and my breath came in ragged gasps. I let out a primal scream of pleasure, lost in the ecstasy of the moment. The world narrowed down to just the two of us, locked in a passionate embrace, driven by our shared desire.

As my husband was penetrating me, I felt my vaginal walls expand, stretching to their limits. It was a painful, yet exhilarating sensation, a testament to the power of our lovemaking. My body throbbed with pleasure, and tears streamed down my face. It felt like an eternity, but when my husband finally withdrew, I clung to him, desperate not to let go. The release was intense, a powerful wave of relaxation that washed over me. My body was trembling, exhausted, but completely satisfied. My husband leaned down and kissed my neck, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. "Oh my gosh," I moaned softly. "I love it when you do."

My husband grabbed my hand and pulled me up to the bed. He placed my legs over his shoulders. He kept his pants down so he could get right to business. As he began to kiss me, my arousal increased. Finally, my husband took his penis and pushed it deep inside me. I gasped as he entered, feeling the heat and pressure building within my body. The pleasure was overwhelming, almost unbearable. My muscles clenched involuntarily, and I moaned with delight. It was as if my body was possessed by a force greater than myself, pushing me to the very edge of ecstasy. My husband continued to thrust, his movements becoming more frantic and intense. I felt myself losing control, surrendering completely to the pleasure. The world faded away, replaced by the sensation of being utterly consumed by my desire. My screams of pleasure echoed through the room, a testament to the intensity of our lovemaking. In the end, it was perfect. A perfect union of pleasure and passion, fulfilling my deepest desires and leaving me breathless and wanting more.

Did you like this story? Daddy's Little Secret look, but like these, here Daddy daughter sex stories.