Penis-Feeding Daughters at School

by Lisa Smiles

It's Vanessa's first day at school after turning eighteen and she's about to learn of the secret lounge where girls go for respite from the pressures of being adults now. Craig, her father, is more than excited, having dreamed of penis-feeding a daughter all of his life. How lucky that his daughter's school runs a program and will keep it all hush from his wife and employer.

An 8000 word story.

The fact that breast feeding feels nice for mothers can't be begrudged, not when the life long psychological and nutritional benefits are so profound. The vexing period in young women's lives, from turning eighteen until leaving home—sometimes many years later—presents fathers with their turn to nurture, and of course enjoy some nice feelings as well. By providing them with a penis-feed and a nap through the day loving fathers can set their daughters up for emotional and physical health as they venture into the world as strong women.
But like any seemingly instinctual practice, fathers and daughters do better with help, which is why 18 year old Vanessa and her father Craig are lucky there's support at her school. There's a room with comfortable lounges, free adult diapers and nurses on hand to stop penis-feeding degenerating into incest/sex.
A fully satisfying escape into imaginary bliss.


Right now I would say I’m committed to the program. Vanessa is in my lap gently suckling the head of my penis.

“Oh, I love you so much Vanessa. You’ve grown to be such a lovely young lady. Smart. Friendly. Everyone likes you.”

There’s a tremor in my voice though, knowing what I need to do next.


Opening a few more buttons on her school blouse will let me see something kept from my view for too long. My fingers are trembling as I slide my hand into the darkness for a first feel. I have the nearest one cupped in my hand. There’s some weight there. She was an early developer though, so for a long time I’ve known she is amply endowed. I’ve spent too much time, I am well aware, transfixed by her chest and her bras in the laundry. Now she’s completely exposed, like the daughter on the adjacent lounge, whose father’s lead I am following. Gravity and her sideways position has caused the creamy goodness of both breasts to settle too low for me to admire them. But I can rock her gently to distract her while I roll her over just a little onto her back.

“There’s my good girl. Just you relax. Daddy just wants to tell you how lovely your breasts are Vanessa.”

They feel so firm and fulsome. The good lord has given her the greatest C-cups on earth.

“Vanessa, one day, when you have your own baby, the milk from these nipples will be so sweet and thick.” After this experience I’m confident she’ll let me taste that myself when the time comes.

I’m feeling a jet of pre-cum like electricity along my urethra. It is inspiring Vanessa to tighten her lips over my glans and double the vacuum. Her tongue is drawing love hearts on the nerves just under the head. I gently stroke her cheek. “Oh you sweet girl.”

The father on the sofa beside us has been perfectly silent until now. “O-o-o-w… a-ye-e-eow… oh Jesus!” he says and I look and see the poor guy with his arms out clutching fists full of cushions. His head is arched back and he’s biting his belt. Meanwhile his daughter looks half asleep in his lap, except for slight waves through her neck as she swallows.

After our false start before, I am confident I can get to that stage with Vanessa. I would love this to be a daily part of my life until she leaves home, and wouldn’t care if she stayed living with me forever. Prue is right. I do make beautiful daughters—but then I’ve been told that so many times.

It’s not that her mother isn’t beautiful too, and when we make love she always turns into the girl I first met when she was eighteen. But Vanessa is eighteen now, and there has not been a day in her life that I haven’t witnessed. I just feel so much closer and more attracted, and horny around her.

I’m looking at the fastener on the side of her pleated grey skirt.


About the Author

In their physical details, taboo acts can sometimes be no different from boring old honeymoon love scenes, but that's not my main focus. What fascinates me are relational details, or the way girls do their makeup, or the way incest is bass jumping compared to other sex that's just cricket. Why is that? It's precisely because of the fear. In the arts that fear is called The Sublime. You might feel it in your chest when you read me.

Please, reach out to me however you can. I want to work with you to provide unique reading experiences and valuable products that you will store and return to again and again.

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