These quickies are stand alone stories meant to be glimpses into the lives of Daddies who fuck their daughters. I won't be elaborating on, or adding to any of them in the future. You'll surely be left with questions or the desire for more, but I encourage you to use your imagination to fill in the blanks and see where the story takes you.
All characters are 18+
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I slammed the door after I made it into the house. I was angry, frustrated, fed up, but to my surprise, not a bit sad. The divorce was final. After five years of arguing, ultimatums, and I suspected, adultery, I gave up trying to save a dying marriage.
I threw the manila envelope down on the counter and grabbed a beer out of my refrigerator. It was mine now. Entirely. Everything was. Jo hadn't wanted anything, except freedom. The kicker was, she wasn't relieved to be rid of me, but instead the burden of our daughter, Daneesha.
As if I'd conjured her, my 18 year old appeared out of nowhere. "Is it done, Daddy?"
I downed half my beer before answering. "Yes."
A big smile spread across her face. She was happy to have her freedom too.
My wife and I met Danee when she was 10. We were only 25 at the time. When Jo learned she couldn't have kids, she immediately talked about adopting and preferred to help a child unlikely to be taken in by anyone else. We fostered Danee for three years before making it official and overnight, things changed.
Danee started testing us in every way. Her tragic childhood manifested in a lot of self destructive behavior, some of which put all three of us in both legal and physical danger. We moved three times in five years after strangers showed up on our doorstep looking for sex, having seen a general invite, including our home address, on a dating site. We'd spent several nights out looking for our adopted daughter. If we managed to find her, it was always in precarious situations. Several times, she'd reappear on her own. Walking through the door before enough time lapsed that the cops would get involved.
Jo got fed up. She hadn't bonded enough with Daneesha to put up with the bullshit. Her stress at home even forced her out of her career as a social worker. So much for her dedication to at risk youth. I refused to give up though. I loved Danee. It was a big red flag that she took to calling me 'Dad' right away, but only ever referred to my wife as Jo.
When Danee turned 18, Jo wanted her gone. I refused over and over. I knew in my heart I'd never see the girl again even if she managed to survive her own recklessness. She would have stopped speaking to me and cut me out of her life as repayment for my betrayal.
"I'm glad you're happy, sweetheart." And since Jo had moved out, Danee had actually become sweet, reverting to the girl we'd fostered all those years ago.
"Aren't you, Dad?"
I sighed. "I'm mostly relieved, I guess."
"Hmmm. I bet I can make you happy."
Figuring she was in the mood to be playful, I went along. "Oh yeah? How?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she began to cross the room toward me. The way she walked, or rather swayed with each step, whispered a warning to my brain. I was suddenly aware that she was wearing one of my t-shirts, which wasn't unusual, but for some reason, I found myself concerned with what was underneath it.
Her breasts moved in a way that suggested they weren't supported by a bra and as I watched, two hard points appeared, raising the fabric. I'd never seen her nipples do that before. Her legs, bare to mid-thigh, looked smooth, inviting me to feel her dark brown skin.
She didn't stop until she was close enough to touch and the fact that I measured our distance with that thought, shocked me. I didn't want to touch her. Well, maybe I did, but I couldn't touch her. No, shouldn't touch her.
