My Daughter's Pacifier

Hi, this is a complete brainrot of a story which makes very little sense. If you're here for a quick rub or to read something quite brainrot, be my guest. For some reason I loved the concept, tell me if you find it interesting, I can maybe think of another part to this lol.

Note - all characters are adult and consenting. Enjoy Reading!

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"So you're telling me you'll need something to replace your thumb with for you to finally break this deeply ingrained habit?" I asked my adult daughter, Lana, after she'd returned from her latest consultation with the specialist.

Lana, my vibrant young daughter in her early twenties, had been tethered to a peculiar habit of thumb-sucking for as long as I could remember. It was something my wife and I had found endearing in her younger years, but it had persisted, defying every attempt at intervention. We'd tried everything imaginable to help her shed the compulsion, but it seemed an almost impossible task.

"Yes, Dad," she explained, her voice carrying a hint of resignation. "The doctor says it's deeply psychological now. My mouth just needs constant oral stimulation to feel normal, to prevent that internal itching." The specialist had suggested transitioning to a specialized oral stimulator -- essentially, an adult-sized pacifier -- which was embarrassing enough for a woman her age. Yet, Lana was now often seen around the house with the device in her mouth, a constant, almost unconscious presence.

As her father, I felt a gnawing helplessness. It was unsettling to witness a grown woman so reliant on such a device, and as much as I yearned to help, the path forward felt utterly obscured. Until this one afternoon.

It was a lazy Sunday, and I was home alone. My wife was out with our son, navigating the weekend grocery chaos, leaving just Lana and me in the quiet house. I was settled on the couch, nursing a cold beer, half-watching some forgettable old movie, when Lana drifted into the living room.

"Hey, Dad! What's up?" she asked, her voice light and chirpy as ever.

"All good, sweetheart. How are you?"

"I'm good too," she replied, and I noticed she was without her oral stimulator. She was dressed in her usual relaxed weekend attire: a short, soft pink tee, pulled taut across her perky C-cupped breasts, hinting at their fullness, and exposing a sliver of her navel. Paired with it were pink and black shorts, barely grazing her upper thighs.

"Can I join you? I'm bored," she asked politely, her eyes sparkling with a familiar restlessness.

"Sure, come sit here. Let's watch this masterpiece," I chuckled, patting the cushion beside me.

She settled in immediately, snuggling close against my side. I'm a large man, six-foot-three and two hundred pounds, a solid anchor. My wife always teased that I was like a giant teddy bear, perfect for cuddling, and Lana had always wholeheartedly agreed. My arm instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her in closer. We sat there, her head resting comfortably on my left shoulder, the soft weight of her breasts pressing into my chest through the thin fabric of our clothes.

I was dressed in my own weekend uniform: a worn t-shirt and comfortable track pants, perfect for the summer heat. As we sat there, I noticed the familiar, almost unconscious motion: Lana was sucking on her thumb again.

"Why are you sucking on your thumb, Lana? Where's your oral stimulator?" I asked, a flicker of irritation, quickly masked, in my voice.

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I can't find it. I think Mom took it to clean; it wasn't next to my bed when I woke up."

"Honey, you're going to peel all your skin off. Please, stop sucking on your thumb."

"I can't help it, Dad," she sighed, her voice laced with genuine distress. "I need something. If I don't suck on something, it starts itching inside my mouth, making me incredibly uncomfortable, almost frantic."

I wasn't sure how to respond. A deep worry gnawed at me. Lana's thumbs had indeed started to look raw, almost disfigured from the constant, compulsive sucking. I didn't want my beautiful daughter to harm herself because of this persistent, peculiar need.

"Here," I said, the words surprising even myself as they left my mouth. I offered my hand. "Suck on my thumb instead."

Lana looked genuinely surprised, then a soft, disbelieving chuckle escaped her lips. "Dad, that would be so weird."

"I know it would be," I replied, a strange logic forming in my mind. "And maybe this very weirdness will help you break the habit." There was, indeed, a strange merit to what I was saying, and she seemed to consider it.

Pulling my hand closer, she popped my thumb into her mouth. It was instantly enveloped, warm and wet. Her lips, soft and full, sealed around my skin, and she began to suck slowly, gently. She used no teeth, just the soft, insistent suction of her mouth.

The feeling was... weirdly amazing. Her soft mouth worked ever so delicately on my thumb. As bizarre as it sounds, the beer had started to loosen my inhibitions, and I couldn't stop myself from getting an erection, a sudden, hard throb that accompanied this utterly strange, yet undeniably sensual, sensation. It was getting difficult for her to comfortably suck on my right thumb as she was still nestled on my left side.

Adjusting herself, shifting subtly here and there on the couch, she at last laid her head on my lap, resting my hand there, her lips still wrapped around my thumb, softly sucking. Her face, her mouth, was now alarmingly close to my penis, which was rapidly hardening beneath my track pants. It felt as if she was sucking me down there, drawing the very air from my lungs. No matter how hard I tried to push these thoughts away, to prevent them from corrupting the paternal bond, it was becoming almost impossible. Her face was mere inches from my penis, her lips wet and working around my thumb, making it slick with her saliva.

In no time, I was hard as rock underneath my track pants. The bulge was now undeniably visible, a prominent tenting of the fabric. I had failed to notice it in my dazed state, but Lana, with her head resting on my lap, certainly did. I wondered what precisely crossed her mind, but as she continued to suck on my thumb, her small, soft hand reached out, tentatively, for my penis, resting over my pants.

It took me by surprise, startling me, making me jump slightly in my seat as her soft, small hand made contact with my penis. "Lana! What are you doing?!" I exclaimed, my voice a strangled gasp.

No matter how much I loved that split second of contact, I knew I couldn't let my daughter touch me down there. "I'm sorry, Dad," she said, her voice innocent, almost bewildered. "But it's coming in my way, not letting me enjoy the movie. So I was just moving it away." I wasn't sure how to respond to this utterly disarming explanation. I tried to adjust it myself, to push it down, but her touch had made it impossible for me to bring my penis down. It was rigid, unyielding.

"Don't worry, Dad, I'll hold it down," she said, her voice surprisingly practical. Her hand reached out again, but this time, she didn't stop at a mere touch. Grabbing my penis firmly through the fabric, she pushed it down, pressing it against my thigh, and kept holding it there. "I hope this isn't discomforting," she added, her tone still innocent. My lust had completely taken over, drowning out any coherent response, so I simply managed a guttural, "Hmm, okay."

The movie continued, a blurry backdrop to the unfolding intimacy. Lana sat there on my lap, her head resting on my thigh, sucking on my thumb, and holding my penis down. I wasn't sure if this was actually happening, if I was dreaming, or if the beer had truly warped my reality. The erection was getting harder to control, the pressure of holding it down becoming a dull, aching pain. "Honey, it's painful now," I said, my voice strained. Hearing my words, she instantly moved her hand away. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"It's alright, sweetheart. It's not your fault."

"Can you please adjust it, Daddy?" she said, her voice sweet, as she lifted herself slightly from my lap and turned to face me. "I'm really enjoying laying in your laps," she added, a soft smile playing on her lips. I couldn't think straight, my mind a blank slate of desire and confusion, so I simply nodded. I reached into my pants, straightened my penis up, and carefully snuggled it under the elastic strap of my boxers beneath. Its head was still prominent, pushing against the fabric, so I tucked it further under the elastic strap of my track pants.

"Thanks, Dad!" Lana said, her smile widening as she settled back onto my lap, resuming her thumb-sucking. My thumb, now wrinkled and softened from all the wetness, felt strangely numb. I had, in my attempt to rectify the situation, only managed to make matters worse. My penis head was now barely a few inches away from Lana's mouth, hidden only by the thin fabric of my track pants. I tried hard, but couldn't stop myself from pulsating it a few times, a subtle, involuntary twitch that caused my track pants to shift, pulling down slightly, exposing the very tip of my penis head.

The view of my penis head was blocked by Lana's head, which rested on my belly. I didn't know it was exposed, but Lana, after a few minutes, let go of my thumb and said, "Your thumb is too rough, Dad."

"Obviously it would be, in comparison to yours, sweetheart," I replied, my voice a little husky.

"It's starting to make me uncomfortable. I'll need something else to suck on, Dad," she said, her tone indicating genuine distress.

"Not your thumb again, darling. Should I go look for your oral stimulator then?" I asked, clinging to the last vestiges of normalcy.

"No, Dad! I don't want to ruin your weekend. I'll try sitting here without sucking on anything," she said, a hint of frustration in her voice.

I felt a fleeting sense of pride, thinking that perhaps this small step by me might have subtly shifted her habit. We sat there, my hand now freed. Lana kept adjusting herself on my lap, and I could sense her unease, the internal itchiness she'd described. But little did I know, every adjustment of hers was pulling my track pants down further, slowly, incrementally, exposing more of my penis head.

"Honey, are you okay?" I asked as she adjusted again, a restless shift of her body.

"No, Dad," she sighed, her voice strained. "The itchiness is harsh. I can't control it anymore. I need something."

"Not your thumb, darling. We've been through this."

"But I can't suck on your thumb either. It's too rough," she reiterated, her frustration palpable.

"Should I go look for your oral stimulator then?" I asked, my voice laced with a desperate hope.

"No, Dad, I don't want to ruin your weekend. Will it be okay if..." She took a pause, a breath held in the charged silence.

"If?" I prompted, my heart pounding, a morbid curiosity overriding my common sense.

"If I suck on this?" Before I could fully comprehend, before my mind could process the words, I felt her soft, warm lips envelop my penis head. A shock of pure, unadulterated electricity ran down my spine, a sensation so intense, so overwhelmingly amazing, I felt as if I would blast out strings of semen then and there. I controlled myself, barely. "Lana! Baby, what are you doing!" I exclaimed, pulling myself away with a jolt.

"Sorry, Dad," she said, her voice innocent, almost bewildered. "I just felt that this might help. I'm sorry." She began to lift herself from my lap. "I just ruined your weekend. I should go to my room."

I couldn't bear to see her sad, to let this moment end in shame. "No, baby, it's not that. But this isn't right. You are my daughter. You can suck on my thumb if you want." The words felt hollow, hypocritical even, given the throbbing reality between my legs.

"No, Dad, it's too rough," she countered, her voice firm. "And why is it not okay? I'm your daughter, right? And you want me to help get rid of this weird habit. If I go back to sucking my thumb, how do you expect me to get okay?" She had a point, a disturbingly logical, innocent point that sliced through my moral objections.

I did not know how to respond. My mind was a chaotic blur of desire and paternal responsibility. My daughter was snuggled on me, her perky breasts pressing against my side, her shorts exposing her soft, smooth legs, and my penis head was exposed, slightly wet from her touch, the memory of her lips still searing.

The beer, too, had started to work its insidious magic on my head, blurring the lines of right and wrong. I didn't know how to respond. Cutting through my trail of frantic thoughts, she said, her voice soft, almost pleading, "I know, Dad, you love me, and I love you too. If this doesn't make you uncomfortable, please let me do this. This might help me." I could not respond other than with a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

She wasted not another second. A small, triumphant smile touched her lips, and she laid back on my lap. Her hands, small and delicate, pushed my track pants away, exposing me fully, and then, with a practiced ease that shocked me, she pushed my penis head into her mouth. Her lips enveloped the head, warm and wet, and I could feel her soft, moist mouth around me. It was the most amazing feeling I had ever felt, a sensation that transcended anything I'd experienced before.

She sucked softly and slowly, a gentle, rhythmic pull. Her hands would occasionally, gently, push my penis deeper into her mouth, her tongue rolling around the shaft, teasing, caressing. She would brush the head against the soft, wet ceiling of her mouth, then slowly push the penis out, though never completely, while her tongue tickled the sensitive tip.

I could not believe this was happening. A weird, almost unbearable itchiness, a delicious torment, started rising on my penis head. Her soft tongue brushing over it was sending electric shocks all over my body. My toes had started to curl slowly, involuntarily. I had been in many relationships before my marriage, experienced various forms of oral sex, but no one had ever sucked me the way my daughter was doing it. This was different. This was... everything.

Her mouth would occasionally make a soft, wet sound as she would pop the penis head out to catch her breath, a fleeting moment of cool air against my burning skin. But without wasting more than a second, she would pop it back in, her lips enveloping the head, staying like that while her tongue played with the tip, teasing, tormenting.

I could feel something rising within me, a crescendo building rapidly. The beer had shortened my ability to last, and I was soon approaching the climax, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure threatening to break over me. "Honey, stop, I'm..." Before I could complete the warning, she pushed the penis head deep, a weird, intense sensation of her soft back throat gently rubbing against my penis. It was the last nail in the coffin, the final, exquisite trigger. I came, a torrent of my semen, loads of it, deep in her throat.

Sucking it all in, she gulped it down, a soft, audible swallow. She sucked on my penis for one last time, a final, lingering pull, and then pushed it out. Sitting up straight, she turned towards me, her face serene, almost innocent, a faint, satisfied smile on her lips. "This seems like the best practice," she said, her voice utterly calm. "The thing that came out at the end was gross, Dad. I think I'll lose this habit of sucking soon if I do this a couple of times again. Thank you so much for helping."

I could not respond to her. My mind was a blank canvas of shock and residual pleasure. Before I could even think, she rose gracefully and left for her room, leaving me alone in the living room. I was left there, my penis still exposed, my toes curled, my breath labored, and my thoughts a jumbled, confused mess. I could still feel her soft mouth against the penis head, which would occasionally twitch, a phantom sensation of the most amazing orgasm it had ever had.

I wondered if the "practice of a few more times" was just a joke, a casual comment, or if it would end up a disturbing reality. But I did not want my post-nut clarity to ruin everything, not yet.