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Daddy Pounded Into Me Like I Was Mom

Brit Ducane

Daddy Pounded Into Me Like I Was Mom

Brit Ducane

Copyright 2018

Smashwords Edition

Published by E B Books

All rights belong to Brit Ducane

Adult Material

18+ Only

This is a work of fiction.

All characters are 18+ years old.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all products of the author’s deviant and depraved imagination.

Daddy Pounded Into Me Like I Was Mom

My dad has had a drinking problem ever since my mom died a few months back. He would spend all night at the bar and come stumbling home around three every morning, reeking of booze. But he was an adult; he would do whatever he wanted to do. He always told me so, literally.

“Danielle, I’m your father. I’m an adult and I will do whatever I want,” he would tell me whenever I confronted him about boozing every night. “You’re eighteen. You’re an adult now, and you can damn well act like it and take care of yourself.”

My dad was a large, brutish man from a lifetime of working in construction. He had always had a nightly drink or two after work in order to unwind from a hard day’s labor. On or two drinks turned into about ten or twelve. Losing my mom had been hard on us all, but my dad most of all. My brother was off at college and had that to preoccupy his mind. I was still finishing up my last year at high school. But Dad, he had nothing. Once work ended, there was nothing but reminders that he was all alone.

There was another reason, I believed, that Dad stayed at the bar all night, instead of coming home like a normal father. Me. I was a spitting image of my mother. We had the same sparkling green eyes, the same rose-gold hair and the same features, heart-shaped face, short, thin nose and full lips. Even our bodies were nearly the same. At 5’2, I was a half an inch shorter than my mom, with the same thin waist, B-Cup breasts and bubble butt on top of finely toned legs. I was reminded of her every time I looked into the mirror, so I knew how hard it was for Dad to look at me and not think about her. So I tried to be sympathetic and let him slide.

Until I suffered from his drunkenness.

Until he was so blitzed that he mistook me for my mom.

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