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Taboo


Eunice is a beautiful girl who has just blossomed into a lady. She's a lady in love - deeply in love. Now, it is time to show her love to the beloved.

But there's a big snag.

The person she's in love with is her father, Richard. Intrigues follow, and every action has its consequence.

Caution: The story contains sexually explicit contents.







A few minutes before one a.m., I stirred awake, nudged from my dreams by that familiar pressure in my bladder. The house was silent, cloaked in the heavy stillness of deep night, broken only by the soft hum of the ceiling fan spinning above my bed. Still half-asleep, I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress, the cold tile floor chilling my toes as I padded barefoot to the bathroom.

The faint golden light from the corridor guided me there and back like a whisper from the dark. I crawled back into bed, pulling the blanket up over my legs, ready to slip back into sleep.

But something tugged at my thoughts, something quiet and profound, as if the night itself wanted me to remember. I blinked into the shadows. Then it hit me.

Today was my birthday. My eighteenth birthday.

I sat up, fully now. The realization washed over me—not in a loud, celebratory way, but like a gentle wave at dawn, nudging the shore. Eighteen. The number felt heavy, significant, like a key turning in a lock.

Without thinking, I rose from bed again and walked across the room to the full-length mirror leaning against the far wall. My nightlight glowed softly from the corner, throwing shifting shadows across my reflection. I stood there, looking at myself—really looking.

My face was pale in the dim light, framed by loose strands of sleep-tousled hair. My eyes, still heavy-lidded from sleep, seemed darker, more mysterious. But it was my body that held my gaze. It was subtle, but unmistakable—the curves, the posture, the maturity settling into my frame. I was growing into the woman I had only glimpsed in bits and pieces before.

I touched the edge of the mirror lightly, as if to steady myself against the magnitude of the moment. I had never thought of myself as particularly beautiful, but tonight—this quiet, sacred hour—I saw something new. Not just beauty, but presence. A soft kind of power. A silent confidence I hadn’t noticed before.

A smile curled on my lips. This was it. This was the beginning of everything.

I was eighteen.


---

Later that morning, the day unfolded slowly, warmly. The sun filtered through the curtains in golden slats, casting a honeyed glow across my bedroom. The house was quiet, familiar, safe. It had always been that way—our little sanctuary, just the two of us.

Dad had taken the day off. It was Saturday, and he didn’t even pretend to have errands or work calls. He stayed indoors, puttering around in his soft cotton tee and jeans, humming quietly to himself in the kitchen. I could tell he wanted to make the day special—not with noise or guests, but in his own quiet, thoughtful way.

“Happy birthday, Eunice,” he said gently, emerging from the kitchen with a soft smile on his face. “Happy birthday, baby girl. You’re a big girl now.”

His voice carried something more than words—pride, love, and something a little harder to define, something weightier.

“Thank you, Dad,” I replied, my voice warm, steady. Our eyes met, and in that moment I saw everything he felt. Everything he’d held back all these years. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped box, the paper silver and neatly folded.

My heart skipped. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” he said simply.

I tore the paper gently, revealing a brand-new iPhone—sleek, elegant, gleaming like it had been chosen with care. I blinked in disbelief.

“Dad… this is too much.”

He shook his head. “You deserve it, Eunice. You deserve more than I can give. But this… this is just a small piece of what I feel for you.”

I held the phone in my hand, but it wasn’t the device that mattered. It was the gesture, the thought behind it. It was the way he’d watched me grow, shaped me with every act of kindness, every meal cooked, every story told before bed.

He had been my anchor. My only parent since Mum died when I was twelve. From that moment on, it had been just the two of us. No stepmothers, no distractions. He had never remarried, never even brought another woman home.

“I wanted to focus all my love on you,” he once said, and I had believed him. Not because he said it, but because he lived it. Every single day.

And now, here we were—on the cusp of a new chapter. Eighteen.

The day stretched ahead like a promise. My heart felt full, and yet… tinged with something electric. A charge in the air. Like something was changing. Like something was just beginning.

The day stretched ahead like a promise. My heart felt full, and yet… tinged with something electric. A charge in the air. Like something was changing. Like something was just beginning.


---



Alone in my room late that evening, I sat quietly, thinking about life. About how far we’d come—Dad and me. He had been everything. Steady. Strong. Present. I felt an urge to show him just how much I appreciated all of it.

I got up and walked to his room, knocking gently on the door.

“Yes, come in,” he said.

He was sitting on his bed, eyes fixed on his laptop. He looked up and smiled when he saw me.

“Hello, Eunice.”

“Hi, Dad,” I said, walking over and sitting beside him.

“I just... I wanted to say thank you. For today. For everything. For all the years.”

He closed the laptop and gave me his full attention.

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” he said. “You’re my daughter. It’s my joy to be your dad.”

I leaned into his side, resting my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around me gently, and for a moment, we just sat like that—quiet, safe.

Then, I did something he wasn't expecting. I kissed him fully on the month. For some seconds, he was as still as an effigy. Then he quickly pulled away.

Following

For some seconds, he was as still as an effigy. Then he quickly pulled away.

"Eunice! You shouldn't have done that!"

I smiled what looked like an innocent one. "Why not, daddy?"

"Because I'm your father."

"But…"

"No but. It's a taboo."

He could see the hurt on my face. "But we could hug," he added.

I felt warm a bit and spread out my arms to hug him. Feeling his body against mine made warmth radiate all over my body. So, I held him tighter, pressing my boobss against him body.

He slowly pulled away, his expression softening but still distant. “It’s okay, Eunice,” he said quietly, almost as if reassuring himself more than me. “I think that’s alright for now.”

Despite the sting of his words, a small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I didn’t want to show how much it hurt inside. “Alright, daddy,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady.

He returned my smile, a warm but somewhat restrained one, and said gently, “Goodnight, my beautiful girl.”

His words made a small warmth spread across my cheeks, a brief comfort in the coolness of the moment. “Goodnight, Dad,” I replied softly.

I turned and walked out of his room, heading toward my own. But as I closed the door behind me, a swirl of confusion and sadness settled in my chest. Why was Daddy so rigid? Why did he seem so distant and unresponsive to my simple gesture of love? What was this talk about something being “taboo”?

Why was it that someone like me—old enough to understand and express my feelings—was somehow not allowed to show affection in the way I wanted? Why did people insist on putting a stigma on something so natural and heartfelt?

The questions raced through my mind, unanswered, as I lay down in my bed, feeling a little more alone than before.

I had just turned eighteen. Officially an adult now, but somehow I still felt like a kid caught between childhood and the unknown. Dad had always been my rock—steady, reliable, and completely devoted to me. At forty-seven, he worked hard as an engineer, always focused and determined. After Mom died, he never even thought about remarrying. It was like I became his whole world, and he poured every ounce of his love and attention into raising me alone.

We were close, but there were lines we never crossed, invisible walls that kept certain things unspoken. I carried a secret inside me—a desire I barely understood but couldn’t ignore. Whenever I tried to say it out loud, Dad would shut me down, telling me it was “taboo.” That word stuck with me, like a warning sign I wasn’t supposed to ignore.

I thought I loved Dad more than anyone else in the world. At least, that’s what I told myself.

But sometimes, I couldn’t help wondering if what I felt was something different—something deeper and more complicated than just love.

I questioned everything I’d been taught about what’s right and what’s wrong when it comes to feelings. Was it really so wrong to want to express how I felt? Why did people have to put such a heavy stigma on something that felt so natural inside me?