The Daddy/Daughter Omnibus is finally here!
Just arrived on Smashwords!
When there's only room for one man in a girl's life, she can get a little possessive. This erotic bundle collects the first three volumes of Daddy Issues, a taboo series about fathers and their daughters falling helplessly in lust. But don't worry, daddy. Mommy doesn't need to know...
This omnibus edition features all 12 short stories previously published in Daddy Issues Volumes 1-3, complete and unabridged. Stories included from Volume 1: "Daddy, Will You Stretch Me?" "Keep Dreaming, Daddy," "The Taste of a Real Man," "My Father's Whore." Stories included from Volume 2: "Daddy's Milk Maid," "Master of the House," "Sharing Daddy's Fetish," "Unspoken Connection." Stories included from Volume 3: "His Secret Slut," "Conception," "Apocalypse and Eve," and "Harder, Daddy."
This bundle is 100,000 words and for readers 18 and up. Now available on Smashwords at 20% off!
Erin gazed up at her father. The streetlights blinked through the windows in wet streaks, painting his face in alternating stripes of yellow and green. As her hand continued to circle, he slipped his fingers over her own. The hand on her shoulder squeezed reassuringly. They would be home soon.
She didn't want to be home soon.
Joe traced the auburn curls of his daughter's head, and the slope of her ruddy cheeks. As his eyes sank lower, his heart began to race. Had he ever let himself see his daughter before? For the beauty she was? The way that her body was tilted, her breasts looked to be on the verge of spilling out her tight dress. They swayed with the taxi in ripe, mouth-watering motion. The skin gleamed pale in the urban light, her cleavage a deep shadow that threatened to suck him in. She was squeezed into that dress, Joe thought guiltily. She wasn't his little girl anymore. He hated himself for letting his eyes rove lower, to the soft swell of her stomach and below, where her high heels were tucked into her generous thighs. The bottom of the dress rode up and Joe could see that she was pale all over, like most Seattle girls, and deliciously smooth. God, he thought, after a crazy night like this, what man wouldn't want to curl up on those luscious buns?
Joe ripped his gaze away. He was no better than Nathan if he let himself demean her that way. The things Nate said about Caitlyn ("whore," "bitch") and the callous way he dismissed her after being replaced, it was abhorrent. Was there any world in which Joe could compliment his daughter's derriere and not objectify her? He didn't want to objectify her. He wanted to celebrate her beauty alongside her wit.
Well, but he did objectify her a little, didn't he? Hadn't there been times when he'd caught a glimpse of Erin from the corner of his eye, not expecting her, and been awed by the fertile sway of her hips? Hadn't there been times (yes, more than once) when he imagined her beautiful hair spread out below him instead of his wife's? Hadn't there been times when he savored her hugs for a little longer than he should have?
Joe tried not to stare at his daughter's legs. He tried not to stare at her heaving breasts. But his mind, too, was haunted by Nathan's story. The morality of it was not for him to decide--that was washed away by the rain and champagne; instead, he was confounded by his own growing arousal. It was a raw kind of excitement he hadn't felt in years. The naughtiness of what Caitlyn did, Nathan's passive acceptance of it, the fact that it went on for so long and with neither of their partners the wiser... It was a torrid tale, and Joe was usually averse to such torrid tales, but tonight was different. Tonight he was not alone. Erin was beside him the whole time, taking the confession into her ears and her heart. In the end, they were left with only each other, as they so often were, to be the keepers of this weird secret. They had laughed together, hugged, and silently thanked one another that their trust was never so abused.
Trust. Joe trusted his daughter. He loved her so much that it frightened him sometimes. Not helping matters was the alcohol, which made the borders of his love fuzzy. There were different kinds of love, the purely emotional and the purely physical, and he could feel them bleeding together. It will pass, he promised himself--it's late and she's warm and you adore her, but that is not how you show it.
He wanted to show it. He could already feel it, the ball of nervous energy swelling in his gut, the physical response to her beautiful body as it bounced in the cab. If Erin had not felt it, too, that same nervous swell of energy that demanded action, the night would have passed in innocence. But her breaths were sharp and shallow, her heart raced behind her tingling breasts, and when her father met her eyes again she did not hold back.
The hand not on his chest slid into his hair and pulled him to her lips. They kissed for the second time that night, this time softer and even more slowly. Whereas the first kiss was a surprise, a spontaneous tenderness, this was something more profound. This was a beginning.
Erin could feel, in the subtle shifts of his body and the low hum in his throat, how desperately he needed her. The man had not been kissed like this in far too long. She pushed herself harder against him, letting him feel her body through the thin dress. Her mouth opened wider and their tongues caressed each other. His fingers slid from her shoulder to her chest...grazed the neckline of her dress...and peeled it down. Her nipple popped free and her father pressed it to his palm.
The moan that escaped her throat was feral. She rolled deeper into his grasp, skin to skin, and struggled against the odd angle to touch him in turn. The taxi driver kept his eyes forward, seemingly unaware that his fares were groping each other in the darkness behind. No, Erin thought, as she ran her fingers through her father's hair, the cabbie knew. They weren't being quiet and it was unlikely that they were the first drunk couple to fool around in the backseat. But he doesn't know we're related, Erin thought...and that thought made her wet.
The word pulsed in her mind: Strangers. Like when she was mistaken for Joe's sister instead of her daughter. Not his daughter, another woman. For all the cabbie knew, Joe and Erin were one of a hundred couples coming from the Howe wedding.
And they were strangers, of a sort. Strangers to each other's bodies...
Erin kissed her father with renewed ferocity. She cupped the hand that squeezed her breast and invited him to squeeze harder. She wanted him to enjoy the ripeness of her young body--and to persuade him that, yes, everything of hers was for the taking. Would he accept? Could she bear it if he didn't? With her free hand she reached into his lap...and took hold of the stiff shadow in his slacks. Her father groaned into her mouth as her fingers clamped down on his cock. "Ginger," he grunted, "baby..."
Her movements were fervid, rushed, because every moment seemed to drag them closer to the moment when they must stop. Her father had not yet told her to stop, he'd only moaned her nickname in the most delicious way, so she endeavored to touch as much of him as she could, while she could, and damn the morning after.
When she unzipped him and slid her fingers into his slacks, the welcome she received was far from reluctant. Joe was swollen with excitement, and his manhood jerked at the touch of her gentle fingers. She pulled him free of his slacks and began to stroke him in the open air. She did not meet his eyes but glanced from his penis (thick and imposing in her little hand) to the cabbie, whose eyes remained locked on the wet road ahead.
Had Erin dared to meet her father's eyes she would have seen that he had no desire to stop her. She would have been prepared, too, for the sudden tug at her left breast, and the subsequent chill that licked her nipple. She gasped when the chill was replaced by a wet, slithering tongue. She tried to hang onto her father's erection but the sensation of his lips on her tender skin was too much to ignore. He pinned her to the backseat of the cab while his teeth bit into her puffy areola.
With both fat breasts freed from her dress, Erin lost what little restraint she had left. She cried out when her father slid his hand between her thighs, and thrust her hips forward to meet it. She bit into his earlobe as he hiked up her skirt, twisting on the seat to help him push it even higher. When his fingertips brushed her black panties, she grunted encouragement. She wouldn't say, "Don't stop." She could scarcely breathe, let alone speak.
Joe's fingers plunged into his daughter's warm center. Already slippery, she invited him deeper with another buck of her hips. Desperately, she fumbled at his buttons, wondering in her delirium why on Earth he still had his shirt on. She wanted to touch his bare chest. She loved the silver curls on his pectorals. She needed to press her cheek to that beloved skin. Needed to! With a childish cry, she thrust her hand between his legs and grabbed the erection wobbling over her belly. It throbbed in her hand, life itself, and she pulled it down--
The cabbie woke them from their madness with a peremptory cough. They froze in place. "This the one?" he asked.
Joe took a moment to collect his breath and smooth his hair back from his forehead. Erin could not help from gawking at the thick erection that still protruded from his pants. He seemed so unconcerned with that detail that she worried he may have forgotten. She opened her mouth to warn him, but he was already speaking. He leaned into the partition that separated them from the cabbie and said, "Can you circle the block?"
The cabbie didn't bother asking why. "Can't do that," he said.
"Sure you can," Joe said, and his tone was very persuasive. He grabbed his coat from the floor (where it had slid off Erin's shoulders) and pulled his wallet out of the inside pocket. "It's late," he said, "and it's raining. We weren't sure which one was our house..." The shadows of the dreary night revealed only bits and pieces of color, but Erin caught a glimpse of green and heard the shuffle of dry bills. Her father pressed them through the partition.
Judging by the cabbie's expression, it was enough. "Alright," he said quietly.
"You might have to circle it a few times," Joe added.
The cabbie glanced at the cash in his hand again. "Whatever, Mister." He cranked the car into drive and pulled back onto the suburban road.
Erin had only a brief second to share her father's giddy grin before he seized her by the hips and flipped her on her back. She hit the cushions with a yelp of surprise, her heels clattering against the cab's ceiling. The yelp turned into a gasp when her father hiked her dress over her hips. Her gasp became a sigh when his head plunged between her legs...