The world ended on a Tuesday. I remember it so vividly that sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be able to forget. One minute, Dad was at work, and the next, he was rushing home through chaos, sirens wailing in the distance, and the sky turning an ominous shade of orange. That was the day everything changed. That was the day we lost Mum.
“It’s going to be okay, Izzy,” Dad said as we drove away from the city. “We’ll be safe, I promise.”
Two years have passed since that dreadful Tuesday, and life is now a quiet survival hum. We’ve made our home in a bunker on a small, forgotten island in the Pacific. Once a lush paradise, the island is now our solitary refuge in a shattered world. Dad and I have everything we need to survive, but the real challenge is finding a reason to keep going.
“How long do you think we’ll be here, Dad?” I asked one evening, poking at a can of beans with my fork. I wore my usual outfit: a knee-length denim skirt and a worn-out blouse with missing buttons, which showed my cleavage. The blouse I was wearing had seen better days. The fabric was soft from countless washes, and small holes were beginning to appear near the seams. My feet were bare, the only shoes I had left falling apart months ago.
“I don’t know, Izzy,” he replied, his voice weary. “As long as it takes to find out if the mainland is safe again.”
The bunker is an engineering marvel. Dad worked tirelessly, converting an old Cold War relic into a livable space. Inside, it has canned goods, bottled water, and survival essentials. My room is decorated with my old posters and some of my favourite books, making it feel a little like home. We have solar panels for electricity and a water purifier that provides clean water from the island’s streams.
“I’m going out to explore,” I told Dad one morning, grabbing my backpack and slipping on an old, tattered jacket. The jacket used to be Mum’s; it was too big for me, but it smelled like her, and wearing it made me feel close to her.
“Be careful,” he warned, his eyes filled with concern. “And don’t go too far.”
I’ve grown into a young woman at eighteen, and I know Dad has noticed. My brown hair falls in loose waves around my shoulders, and my green eyes, Mum’s eyes, seem to have aged beyond their years. My skirts have gotten shorter, my blouses tighter as I’ve filled them out, and I can’t help but feel nature taking its course, even in this isolated world.
“Dad, do you think we’ll ever find other people?” I asked one evening, my voice tinged with the hope I tried so hard to cling to.
“I don’t know, Izzy. I hope so,” he replied, looking at me with sadness and pride. “You’re growing up into a beautiful woman.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. “But it’s just us. Sometimes, I feel so alone.”
“We have each other,” he said, but I could hear the strain in his voice. “That has to be enough.”
But no matter how hard we try, the loneliness creeps in. I miss my friends, my school, and most of all, I miss Josh, my boyfriend. I often find myself staring at his picture, wondering if he survived, if he’s out there somewhere, thinking about me.
“Izzy, you can’t keep living in the past,” Dad said one day, finding me with Josh’s picture. “We have to move forward.”
“I know, Dad,” I sighed, pulling the picture closer. “But it’s so hard. I miss him so much.”
“I miss your mum every day,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “But we have to stay strong for each other.”
Our conversations became more intense as the days turned weeks and weeks into months. We talked about our fears, our hopes, and our memories. We laughed, we cried, and we held each other up.
One night, as we sat by the fire, I noticed Dad staring into the flames, lost in thought. “Izzy,” he began, his voice soft, “do you ever think about… the future? What will we do if it’s just the two of us?”
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words. “Yeah, Dad. I do. I think about it a lot.”
“I wish there were men around for you, sweetie,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry you have to go through this alone. I wish there were something more I could do.”
“Dad,” I said, touching his arm, “I know you miss Mum. I know it’s hard for you being alone, without any other women. And I feel the same way, missing Josh and everyone else.”
He looked at me, his eyes filled with sorrow. “It’s not fair to you. You’re so young, and you deserve to have a normal life, to have friends, to fall in love.”
“I know, Dad,” I replied, my voice trembling. “But we have to make the best of what we have. We have each other, and that has to be enough.”
He sighed deeply, staring into the fire. “I have needs, too, Izzy. I’m a man, and I miss that intimacy, that connection. I can’t deny that.”
“I understand, Dad,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “I feel the same way. I miss Josh so much it hurts. I wish I could do something to help you, but I can’t.” What hurt mostly is that Josh and I never got to have sex; yes, I am still a virgin.
“It’s not your burden to bear,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle. “I love you, Izzy. You’re my daughter, and that’s what matters most. We’ll get through this together, even if it’s just us.”
We sat there in silence, the fire crackling softly. At that moment, I felt a deep sadness for my dad. He had lost so much, and here we were, just the two of us, trying to make sense of a world that no longer existed. I wished I could do more for him, but I was the only surviving woman, and he was the only surviving man. It was a reality neither of us could change.
“Dad,” I said, breaking the silence, “I was thinking about when you said you have needs too…”
I trailed off, feeling a nervous flutter in my chest. “Maybe there’s something… I could do to help.”
He looked puzzled, “what are you getting at Izzy,” he said.
“Come on, Dad, you know what I mean.” There’s a long pause, and I can see his mind working, trying to process what I’m suggesting. I take a deep breath, feeling exposed and vulnerable. “You know, to help fulfil your needs. I know I’m your daughter, but I’m also a woman. Maybe we could… help each other.”
At first, he looks at me with shock and surprise, but then his face softens, and a sad smile appears on his lips. “Izzy, I appreciate what you’re offering. But I can’t do that. You’re my daughter, my flesh and blood. We can’t cross that line.”
“Well, what else do we do, Dad? We are the only survivors,” I said in a more demanding way. I could see him adjusting his crotch, trying to hide his hardon.
I got closer to him, and I put my hand on his thigh, “Come on, Dad, let’s face it, you are the only man, and I am the only woman.”
“Izzy, this is wrong,” he muttered, but his resolve weakened.
I leaned in closer, our lips inches apart, my hand still on his thigh. “We’re all we have, Dad. I didn’t want to say this, but we seem to be the only ones left. So once we go, the human race will be over. We need to? We need to procreate. We don’t have much of a choice, do we?”
He sighed, “You are right. It’s just going to feel weird doing, you know, with you.”
My heart races with anticipation, but I also feel a deep sadness that it has come to this. We are not just father and daughter anymore; we are the last remnants of humanity tasked with preserving our species.
I lean in closer, our lips brushing softly. His breath hitches as I deepen the kiss, my hand moving up his thigh to rest on his growing arousal. I can feel his hardness through the fabric of his pants, and I long to touch him, to feel his warmth against my skin.
Slowly, I unbutton his pants, my fingers trembling with anticipation. He doesn’t stop me, his breath heavy as I free his cock from its confines. It’s large and thick, precum leaking out the top of the slit of the head of his cock.
I wrap my hand around it, feeling the heat radiate from his body.
“Izzy,” he whispers, his voice strained. “This is wrong.”
“I know, Dad,” I reply, my voice soft. “But it’s also right. We’re the only ones left. We have to do this.”
I let go of his cock and take off my blouse and dirty bra and drop them to the floor. I undo my denim skirt and remove it and my knickers. I take a deep breath and lay on my back; damn, I can’t believe how hairy my pussy is not being able to shave it.
I took a deep breath, “I am ready, Dad.”
He hesitates momentarily, knowing that this is wrong but also realizing that it might be their only chance of preserving the human race. He takes a deep breath and lowers himself onto me, his hard cock pressing against my hairy warm, wet pussy.
He enters my tight pussy slowly, feeling the resistance of my virginity, “Ouch Ah”. I wince at the initial pain; a bit of blood coats his cock, the pain slowly goes, and it quickly dissipates, replaced by a feeling of fullness and pleasure.
“I didn’t know you were a virgin, sweetheart; I…” I cut him off with a kiss, my hands reaching up to him. “It doesn’t matter, Dad. This is what we have to do. Just make love to me,” I plead, my hips writhing beneath him as I adjust to the intrusion.
“Ok, I will go slow to give you a nice first experience,” he said as he started moving slowly in and out of me.
“Dad, it feels good,” I whisper, my voice husky with desire. “Don’t stop.”
He was sliding in and out as he was heavy breathing with his chubby old belly pinning me down.
“Mmm, yes, like that, Dad,” I moan, my fingernails digging into the flesh of his back as he fills me with each slow, measured stroke. I can feel his cock hitting my cervix, the sensation heightening the pleasure coursing through my body.
“Oh, Dad… Mmmm,” I was getting into it.
He picked up the pace, faster, harder, our skin slapping together in a wet rhythm. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him even deeper into me. With each thrust, he sinks further into my aching pussy.
He took my hand and placed it on my clit, “Try rubbing yourself in circles, sweetie, as I fuck you; it will help. Trust me, you will like it.” He said as he started pounding into my pussy.
As I follow his instruction, my fingers begin to work in slow, lazy circles around my swollen clit. The combined sensations of his pounding cock and my gentle self-stimulation create an intense pleasure that begins to build deep within my core. I moan and writhe beneath him, my breath hitching with each rough thrust of his hips.
“Dad, oh God, that feels so good,” I pant, my fingers slick with my arousal.
My walls begin to tighten around his cock, clamping down on his thick length as the familiar flutters of my orgasm begin to grow in intensity.
“Fuck, Izzy, you’re so tight,” he grunts, his hips bucking faster as he senses my impending release. “I’m not going to last much longer, baby.”
“Uh, DAD FUCK ME,” I rubbed my dirty clit faster and faster.
As your fingers move faster and faster, I can feel the pressure building inside me, my body tensing with the impending release. I wrap my legs tighter around you, pulling you deeper into me, wanting to feel every inch of you as I come apart beneath you.
“Dad, oh daddy fuck, OH DAD, I-I feel like I need to pee… Mmmmmm,” I gasp, my voice barely above a whisper.
He went even faster, “No, sweetie… ah, you feel good… no you… you don’t need to… pee. Oh fuck, your orgasms are building. You will squirt soon; let me be a bit more rough. Hold on, sweetheart.”
I clung to him as tight as I could; I took a deep breath, and, omg, he went full-on pounding me so hard.
My back arches off the floor as I surrender to the intense pleasure coursing through my body. I rub my cunt harder and harder. His balls slapped hard against me as he was going to town on my poor pussy, which ached soon gushed.
He fucked me and fucked me; my pussy squirted out like a tidal wave over his cock as he continued to fuck me hard. I struggled to breathe.
My vision goes hazy as the intense wave of pleasure crashes through me, my orgasm pulsing through every fibre of my being. The squirt of liquid pools between us, but Dad doesn’t miss a beat, his cock slamming into me over and over again as the waves of my release consume me.
“Unngh,” his face red, not with anger but trying to hold it in as much as he could. My pussy was just too tight for him. I felt him explode as he came hard inside his princess pussy. Spurt after spurt, and he didn’t stop until he was empty.
The intense pleasure subsides as my breathing returns to normal, and I slowly regain my senses. “Dad,” I whimper, my body feeling boneless and pliant beneath him. “That was… incredible.”
He slows down, his cock still nestled deep inside me as he looks down at me, his face flushed with exertion and desire. “Are you okay, Izzy? I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m fine, Dad,” I reply, a satisfied smile spreading. “That was the best experience of my life. Thank you.”
He pulls out, already semi-hard. There’s a slight mixing of our fluids, with my squirt mixing with his cum leaking out of my hole as I look up at him, feeling a new bond that goes beyond father and daughter.
He stands up, his cum covered cock in his hand. “I’m gonna clean up and get us some water to wash off with,” he said, turning around and grabbing a towel and soap.
He stands over the sink and takes the towel and cleans his cock off as much as he can, and redresses himself, minus his underwear; his old man’s hairy belly is still hanging out, depicting the beast.
He brings two cups of water over; he hands me one to clean myself up as I am still lying on the floor with your juice and my juices on my thighs; my pussy lips look puffy and sensitive with redness.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, smiling softly as I carefully clean myself up, sitting up and taking the cups from him. I inspect my pussy, and indeed, it’s still all red and puffy-looking, but it also contains his cum and my sticky juices leaking out.
Once we’re both clean, we sit, looking at each other, the air tense with the weight of the intimacy we shared.
“This changes things, doesn’t it, Izzy?” he asks, looking at me with a pained expression.
“Yeah, Dad,” I reply, tears stinging my eyes. “But it also… felt right. We had to do it. It felt… good.”
“I know,” he says, his voice rough. “But it goes against everything I ever imagined for us. We crossed a line we can’t uncross. It feels like I… betrayed your mum. And I don’t know how to… how to live with that guilt.”
“You didn’t betray Mum, Dad,” I said, my voice steady, “She’s not here anymore. She died that day. It’s just you and I left. We need to move forward together to survive. I think Mum would understand that, maybe even want us to… continue the human race. Maybe to carry on her legacy by keeping the human race going. She would have probably done the same if roles were reversed. If Dad died, and it was just her and I, as the last two people, she would have wanted the human race to survive… I know she would.”
He nods slowly, tears pooling in his eyes. “I know you’re right. I can’t help but feel guilty.”
“Dad, it’s been two years since she… since she died,” I say, my voice trembling. “You don’t have to punish yourself anymore. Maybe we can… build something new together despite what happened. I can be your partner now; I have to be your lover. We don’t have any other choice.”
He nods, wiping at the tears on his face, “I know. You’re right, sweetie. I need to stop punishing myself… I need to be grateful for what I still have, for you.” He sighed, “Thank you, Izzy, for understanding. I promise… I will try to put this guilt behind me.”
Slowly, our wounds began to heal, forming a new bond between father and daughter, something raw, primal, but also deeply loving and accepting.
Our situation might have been tragic and lonely, but it became something more, something closer to normal. While we both missed our former lives, we learned to appreciate the new connection and intimacy that resulted from our shared solitude.
Days turned into weeks, I fell pregnant, then weeks turned into months, and soon our bunker became our castle, our island our domain, and the world our playground. Dad took on the role of patriarch, and I followed in his footsteps as a protector, giving our small family the unity and love it desperately craved.
1 year later:
Another year had passed, and my belly swelled with new life. When my dad got me pregnant. I cradled my growing bump protectively, feeling the life within me grow stronger each day. Dad had become more comfortable with our new dynamic and cherished me and our unborn child as much as he had cherished Mum.
“You look beautiful, Izzy,” he said one morning, his eyes soft with love. “Pregnancy suits you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I replied, smiling up at him. “I feel beautiful.”
We had adapted to our new life on the island, building a new routine and creating a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos. Dad hunted for food, fished, and maintained our shelter while I cooked, cleaned, and cared for our growing family.
“I have a surprise for you today,” Dad said, his eyes twinkling with excitement.
“What is it?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” he replied, a mysterious smile on his lips.
We spent the day exploring the island, collecting firewood, and enjoying the sunshine. As the day wore on, I could feel my exhaustion growing, and I longed for a hot bath and a warm bed.
As we approached our bunker, I noticed a new structure nearby. “What’s that, Dad?” I asked, my eyes wide with surprise.
“That’s your surprise,” he replied, a proud grin on his face. “I built it for you, for our baby.”
He led me to the structure, a small wooden hut beautifully crafted and intricately designed. “It’s a birthing hut, Izzy,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “I built it for you to give birth in, a place where you can be comfortable and safe.”
Tears filled my eyes as I looked at the hut, my heart swelling with love for my father. “Thank you, Dad,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “It’s beautiful.”
The birthing hut became my sanctuary, where I could retreat from the world and focus on the new life growing within me. As my due date approached, I spent my days in the hut, surrounded by soft blankets, soothing music, and my father’s love.
The day of my labour arrived, and I felt a deep sense of calm as I entered the birthing hut. Dad was by my side, holding my hand and whispering words of encouragement as I laboured to bring our child into the world.
After hours of excruciating pain and intense effort, I finally felt the first push of our baby’s head. “Dad, I can feel it,” I gasped, my voice filled with wonder.
“You’re doing great, Izzy,” he said, his voice soothing and steady. “One more push and our baby will be here.”
With one final, agonizing push, I felt our baby slip from my body, and I heard the first sweet cries of life. “It’s a girl,” Dad whispered, tears filling his eyes. “She’s perfect.”
Holding our newborn daughter in my arms, I felt a deep sense of love and gratitude wash over me. We had survived the world’s end and created a new life amidst the chaos.
Our daughter grew solid and healthy and became the light of our lives, filling our days with laughter, joy, and love. We continued to live on our island, building a new life and a new future together, and we cherished each moment, knowing how precious and fleeting life truly is.
Despite the tragedy and heartbreak we endured, we found love, hope, and healing in each other’s arms. And as we watched our daughter grow, we knew that we had created something beautiful and powerful that would live on long after we were gone.
For now, we lived, we loved, and we thrived, and we knew that we had indeed found our place in the world, even if the world as we knew it had ceased to exist.