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You tugged on the hem of Joel's old flannel on your body, the soft fabric brushing against your plush belly and thick thighs, with nothing underneath to shield the way it clung to your full curves. 

"Dad?" you called out softly at first, your voice sweet as pie with a little whine creeping in. "You reckon this pie's gonna win? I added extra cherries just like you like 'em."

From the garage came that low southern rumble, voice carrying through the open door as he worked on his truck:

"That so, peanut? You better make sure it's perfect, now. Ain't no sense in half doin' things 'round here." 

He sounded stern, like an old man set in his own ways, but there was that underlying sweetness, that always made you feel like his special little dove. 

"I did it all for you, dad. Made it real sweet, just how you taught me. But...you think the neighbors'll like it?"

Joel grunted, the sound of tools clinking echoing out. "Neighbours ain't what matter, kiddo. You focus on makin' ya old man proud. Come on out here when you're done fussin' with that pie. I could use a taste of somethin'  good after sweatin' over this damn engine." 

His drawl thickened already with that pervy edge, the kind that made your cheeks flush. 

You qufkly picked up a warm slice on a plate, padding barefoot across the floor, the flannel riding up to expose the curve of your ass with each step. 

The garage smelled like grease and sweat when you arrived, Joel bent over the hood, his broad shoulders stretching his own flannel tight, sweat glistening on his strong neck and arms. 

"Here, dad," you called, holding out the fork. "Taste it for me? But I can't give ya more...the rest is for the pie contest." 

He straightened up slow, wiping his hands on a rag, those kind but stern eyes raking over your body with hunger. 

"Now hold on there, little dove. You bringin' me a slice and then sayin' that's all? That ain't right, peanut. Your daddy worked hard out here, fixin' this car so it runs smooth for you. Least you can do is let me have my fill." His voice dropped lower, a bit stern as he stepped closer, one big hand settling on your wide hip. "You know what else you can give me, don't ya? That sweet little body of yours, all soft and warm, just beggin' for attention."

You shifted, the flannel parting slightly over your belly, your thighs pressing together as a whine escaped. 

"Dad...that's not fair...the pie's gotta be perfect." 

But Joel's hand only slid lower, squeezing the plush flesh of your ass, pulling you against his sweaty chest. 

"Fair ain't got nothin' to do with it, kiddo. You been dancin' 'round in my shirt, nothin' under it, shakin' those thick hips like you want your old man to notice. And I notice, peanut. Every damn jiggle and curve."

He lifted you easy onto the front of the car, the hood warm from the sun and solid under your soft ass. "Let's see how good I fixed this hood, little dove. Spread them pretty thighs for daddy."

His fingers found your slick heat quick, roughly stroking through your folds with a slowess that drew out every single sensation.  Your body reacted with little, small shivers and gasps as he circled your clit. 

"Daddy...neighbours might see," you whimpered, clinging to his shoulders, your fat belly pressing softly against him. 

Joel didn't falter, didn't stop, didn't care. 

"Let'em look, sweet girl. Ain't no shame in lovin' on my girl like this," he growled. "God damn. Your body’s a masterpiece, all them rolls and that full, beautiful belly I get to hold while I fuck you deep." 

He freed his thick cock with that, pushing inside you in one slow, filthy thrust, stretching your dripping cunt with a steady power that made the car creak under your weight.

He rocked into you, hips rolling in drawn out, slow strokes that met your g-spot with a soft 'tudtudtudtud.' 

In and out, In and out. 

He worshipped every damn curve, hands roaming to your heavy, pretty breasts, squeezing that soft flesh in his big hands and tracing the lines of your waist like they were treasures. 

"That's it, honey, take your dad's cock. That's what ya made for." 

Your whines quickly filled the air, sweet and needy, body jiggling with each thrust as he pounded harder. His thumb found your clit, head bend down to watch how he disappeared in your cunt. 

"Fuck, baby...Look at all that cream coating Daddy's cock every time I pull out. You're makin' such a mess on your old man's dick."

"Dad, please...it's too much," you gasped, but he only chuckled, bending to kiss your neck, his thrusts only speeding up. 

"Shhh, little dove. You can take it. Daddy knows ya can." He nodded his head at you, softly brushing your hair from your face and putting jt behind your ear. 

Then suddenly, he took you into his arms, cock still nestled deep inside you while  he carried you to his workbench, turning you around and bending you over it as gentle as he could, the wood cool against your skin. 

You gasped, looking back at him. 

He started searching through his stuff when he grunted "there we go," and a small, dirty mirror appeared right in front of you. He pulled your hair back just enough to make you meet your own eyes in the reflection. 

"Look at that beautiful body, peanut," he rasped, sliding back into your dripping cunt from behind, his cock stretching you full once agaun. 

Your reflection showed every jiggle, every curve he adored—your thick thighs trembling, belly soft and pressed down, breasts swaying as he thrust deeper. 

"Watch ya self, honey. See what I adore every single day." 

Your cunt clenched around his cock as the words sank in, that pride in his voice making your pussy ache even harder. 

You watched your own face—flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with all that need. 

He leaned over you, his chest pressing into your back, the grit of his skin grinding against your soft flesh. His hand—rough, calloused, black under the nails—slid up your belly, gripping a handful of your breast. His thumb found your nipple, pinching it hard enough to make you gasp, and he chuckled, a wet, rattling sound in your ear.

"Mhm, look at you," he rasped, nodding at the mirror. "My beautiful girl."

He pulled his hips back slowly, letting you feel every ridge of his cock drag along your walls, then slammed forwards with a big grunt. 

In the mirror, your whole body quaked—thighs rippling, ass bouncing, belly slapping against the cool wood of the workbench. The sound was wet, slick, obscene. His balls slapped against your cunt with each thrust, sticky with your own juices and the sweat dripping off of his thighs.

He reached around with his other hand, dirty fingers finding your clit. "Feel that? Feel Daddy's filthy fingers on ya? You like that, don't ya? A dirty girl needs a dirty man."

You whimpered, watching your reflection—your mouth open, drool starting to leak from the corner, your eyes rolling back every time he hit that spot deep inside. 

He noticed, grinning, and pulled your hair harder, forcing your chin up so you had to watch yourself fall apart.

"Don't look away, peanut. See how your tits bounce? See how your pussy grips me? Fuckin' soaked. You're drippin' down my balls, girl. Makin' a mess on my damn workbench."

He spat then—a thick, gooey glob of saliva—right onto your lower back, then used his thumb to rub it into your cunt, mixing with the cream and the grime from his hands. The feel of it, warm and wet and dirty, made your cunt clench so hard he groaned.

"Yeah, that's it. Squeeze me. Come on, let me feel that pussy cream on my cock."

He started pounding faster, less rhythm, more desperation. His grunts were animalistic, his breathing ragged.

He leaned forward, bit your shoulder—hard enough to bruise—then licked the mark, tasting salt and grease. "Keep your eyes on the mirror, little dove."

Then suddenly, two fingers wrapped in your own slick, pushed into your mouth without warning. You tasted yourself—tangy, salty, mixed with the grit of his dirty skin. He pumped his fingers in and out of your mouth, smearing you on your lips.

"Suck 'em clean," he growled. "Suck 'em clean for ya Dad."

You did, obediently, hollowing your cheeks, your eyes locked on the mirror: you looked completely used, fucked, utterly debauched. And you loved it.

He pulled his fingers out with a pop, then wrapped both arms around your hips, lifting you slightly so he could angle deeper. The new position shifted your weight, and in the mirror you saw your cunt stretched around his cock—slick, pink, swollen—and the ring of white cream forming at the base, your body's slick mixed with his pre-cum and the sweat from his groin.

He grunted, his rhythm turning into a hard, punishing series of thrusts. "Gonna fill ya up, peanut. Gonna pump ya full of cum so deep inside this pussy, it'll leak outta ya for days. You want that, don't ya? Want Dad to paint your insides with his cream?"

You nodded, a broken whimper escaping your throat. Your reflection showed tears tracking through the dust on your cheeks, your hair a tangled mess, your lips swollen.

"Yeah, you do. Dad knows, baby."

He slammed home one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and you felt his cock twitch and pulse,  hot cum flooding your womb in thick, ropey spurts. It was so much, so warm and wet, that your own orgasm crashed through you, your body convulsing, your cunt milking him, your moans turning into a guttural, ragged cry.

You watched yourself come undone—face contorted, legs trembling, belly jiggling with aftershocks. He stayed buried, grinding slow, letting every last drop of his cum spill inside you. 

Then he pulled out with a wet schlick, and a trail of his seed dripped from your cunt, sliding down your thigh. 

You saw it: the milky white mixed with your juices, running over your skin, landing on the ground.

He kissed the back of your neck, his lips gritty and chapped. "Look at you, kiddo," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That's my good little dove. Now go and win that contest for yer Dad." 

Guys, i'm going to take a step back from heavy fauxcest and certain icky themes for a bit. I've noticed some of it just doesn't feel right for me personally rn, so I'm sticking to what I'm comfortable with. But i'm gonna keep writing, still unhinged, filthy and sweet but less fauxcest-y for a tiny bit. I hope yall can understand.

Also that damn pie in her hands just vanished into the backrooms. Don't focus on that, focus on the filth😀🙂‍↕️