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Drugged by My Jailbird Daddy

Trinity McDonnell

Drugged by My Jailbird Daddy

Trinity McDonnell

Copyright 2018

Smashwords Edition

All rights belong to Trinity McDonnell

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.

Drugged by My Jailbird Daddy

I’m nervous as I wait, pacing back and forth by the front door. He should have been here three hours ago. I know that I could utilize my time better than waiting for my father to show up, but the apartment is already clean, I have already showered, and I am just too damn nervous about finally seeing the father that disappeared eighteen years ago.

He hadn’t disappeared exactly. When I was two, my parents had left me with my grandma so they could go have a night on the town. This would prove to be a horrible night. Walking from one bar to another, some teenage delinquent had mugged my parents.

During the struggle for my mother’s purse, the goon shot her right in the chest. My father, outraged, took off after the scumbag, disarmed him, and shot him point blank in the head with his own gun.

The court classified my father’s crime as Third Degree Voluntary Manslaughter. The fact that it hadn’t been premeditated, and he was in shock from losing his wife, made the jury have sympathy for him, which saved him from a life sentence.

Instead, he had been sentenced to twenty-five years. After eighteen of those twenty-five years, my father was released for good behavior. I haven’t seen him the entire time he was incarcerated, which had been his choice. He said he couldn’t stand to have me see him caged like some wild animal.

However, he sent me letters regularly, the last one asking if he could stay with me until he got back on his feet. I immediately said yes. Twenty was not too old for a girl not to want to have a father, and I desperately wanted to get to know mine.

Where in the hell is he? I ask myself.

As an answer to my unspoken question, I hear someone knock on my door. With butterflies attacking my stomach, and goose bumps shooting along the flesh of my arms, I quickly make my way to the door, flinging it open.

Even though I have seen many pictures of my father, seeing him in person is completely different. He looks like a familiar stranger, which is the only way I can describe it. He has short-cropped black hair, piercing green eyes and a square jaw.

Faded, green-tinted tattoos cover his muscular arms, a white t-shirt clings to his broad chest. I take in every inch of him, marveling at how similar we look. Besides my femininity, I received my looks from my old man. I continue to study him as he smiles down at me. My heart flutters, and I realize how much I had missed out on, how many smiles I never got from my father.

My smile.

I have a heart-shaped face, one of the only features my mother passed down to me, but I have my dad’s mouth, save for my lips, which are slightly fuller than my father’s. My green eyes are just as piercing, my hair just as black, although longer and wavier. I have a curvaceous frame, a thin waist in between full D-cup breasts and “child-bearing” hips and a round, voluptuous ass.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, suddenly looking nervous.

“Hi…” I freeze. What do I call him?

“You can call me Rick,” he says, swiping a hand over his hair. “I haven’t done anything to deserve the title of father.”

Except avenge my mother, I think. I never blamed him for doing what he did. If anything, it made me respect him even more. He forfeited his own life to make sure that the monster who murdered my mother paid for what he had done.

“Hi, dad,” I say, smiling at him.

He takes a step into the apartment and, instead of stepping aside, allowing him to enter, I rush at him, throwing my arms around him. I have always wanted to hug him, ever since I was a small child, after my grandma told me why he was no longer around.

He’s hugging me back and it feels great, warm and comforting. I close my eyes and inhale, taking in his scent, trying to memorize it, when I feel something that no daughter should ever feel.

His cock stirs in his pants, coming to life, and pressing against my belly. I stand stock still, my arms frozen around my father’s midsection. The feel of his growing cock sends chills down my spine. My mind wars with itself, half of me wanting to pull away, to get his hard shaft off my belly before it sears my flesh, the other half wanting me to squeeze tighter, if only because I now know how much I missed having my father hug me, making me feel safe.

I keep hugging him. After all, it isn’t his fault that he had that reaction. Daughter or not, I was probably the first woman he had physical contact with in eighteen years. His biological response is perfectly innocent and justifiable. So, I cling to him as if my life depended on it.

“I can’t believe I finally get to see you,” I say, looking up at him, tears stinging my eyes as they threaten to escape.

“It is unbelievably good to finally be here, Blair,” he says, sliding his hands down to the small of my back.

I can feel the tips of his fingers graze over the top of my ass cheeks. The sensation makes me blush, and I quickly release my arms, and take a step back. “Come in,” I say with a creaky voice, trying to hide my discomfort from my father’s accidental groping.

He lets himself in and looks around the small apartment. “You have a nice place.”

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