Daddy's BIG Secret Stash of Taboo Books, Vol. 5 (10 Books TABOO Horny House Series) Read online

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  Copyright 2017 Adrian Amos

  Kindle Edition

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  Daddy Gambles Me Away

  Daddy Takes Me at the Dance

  Daddy Punishes Eve Over an Apple

  Daddy Breaks Me In

  Daddy's Little Angel Gets the Belt

  Daddy Gives Me a Workout

  Daddy Busts Me in His Dungeon

  Daddy, Why Do You Need Gloves?

  Daddy's the King

  Daddy and His Love Potion

  Part of the “Horny House” Series

  By Adrian Amos

  Check out more books at my Author's page.

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  Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

  Table of Contents

  Daddy Gambles Me Away

  Daddy Takes Me at the Dance

  Daddy Punishes Eve Over an Apple

  Daddy Breaks Me In

  Daddy's Little Angel Gets the Belt

  Daddy Gives Me a Workout

  Daddy Busts Me in His Dungeon

  Daddy, Why Do You Need Gloves?

  Daddy's the King

  Daddy and His Love Potion

  Daddy Gambles Me Away

  Right where I thought I'd find him. When the guards and the lookouts let me coast right on in—they recognize me from how many times I've come around—I know my stepfather's inside doing his normal back alley gambling.

  My stepfather does his illicit activities in a dingy shipping container, mired in the middle of a labyrinthine dockyard, most likely spending every last bit of my college savings. If he hasn't already spent it.

  The small card table is a stark image in the vast emptiness of the metal shipping container. A single, swinging light hangs in the middle of the container, lighting only the green felt of the card table. It's almost like they use the darkness to hide themselves from their own shadiness.

  It just makes me think how he's a worthless bum. It's every weekend now I find him down here, gambling obsessively, betting everything within view so he can finally get his lucky streak.

  But he never does.

  My mother couldn't tolerate him anymore. She left a long time ago, but I couldn't bring myself to go with her. Not yet. This is a man on the brink of self destruction, and the part of me that once loved him won't let go. I won't let him gamble himself into poverty.

  But maybe there's nothing I can do. I don't know, but I think I'm at my breaking point. Who am I kidding? I'd do whatever I could to save this man from himself. It's why I keep traveling down to this horrible place, putting myself in danger for him. I'd do anything it took to bring him home safely.

  But that doesn't mean I have to be nice about it.

  “What are the fuck are you doing back here? I told you, you need to stop this and come home.”

  My stepfather spins around in his folding chair. He's a mess, sweaty and disoriented, bags under his eyes, puffy and red as he tries to focus them through a drunken haze.

  “Baby?” he asks, clearly unable to grasp the situation as moonlight pours through the opening of the container.

  “Don't you baby me,” I say, my fists to my hips. “I told you—I goddamn told you—that you can't come back here. You need to get your life back on track.”

  For the first time, I notice the man daddy's playing with: A bulky Russian who smirks as he leans back in his chair, examining me with an attentive eye. It's strange, as every time I've been here, there's usually a bunch of guys at the table, and even some standing around to watch. But for there to be one guy here? Something doesn't add up.

  “Oh, don't be that way,” daddy says, in the laziest, most dismissive way he can muster. He even turns back toward the table and lifts his cards to his face, contemplating his next move.

  Admittedly, I huff, so done with his childish antics. He never takes anything seriously, playing it off like the entire world's just a game. But without my mom and me around to set him right, I know for a fact it won't take long for him to find himself in the gutter. He's a man with no ambition and little moral guidance.

  It scares me, which I hate to admit. I wish I could be as cold toward him as my mom, who put up with him for a long time, but ultimately threw in the towel and cut off all communication. I just... can't do that. I wish I could. God I do! It'd be so easy to just let him go, but maybe because he seems so hopeless, it'd feel like I'm abandoning a puppy in the wild because I'm tired of taking care of it.

  It'd be cruel.

  I sigh, walking over to daddy—or the man who used to be my daddy. I tug on his elbow, tired and barely able to put up a fight, I whisper, “Come on, daddy. We need to leave.”

  But daddy doesn't say anything because the Russian is quick to cut in, a thick Russian accent obscuring his words. “You shouldn't talk to your daddy that way. If the man of the house wants something, the man of the house gets it.”

  I glance at him. There's only a single light hanging over the table, which makes seeing across it especially difficult. The Russian is clouded in darkness, but when my eyes adjust, the look in his eyes sends a shiver down my spine. It's lust, pure and simple, a man coveting me like a piece of meat. I've seen it before—I'm not an ugly girl—but his looks feels much different. I'm not dressed provocatively—just a t-shirt and shorts—but his eyes seem to pierce me, as if I were wearing nothing at all. I unconsciously close my arms a little, squeezing my tits together to cover my perceived nudity.

  He's a big, thick man, occupying his chair as if one of them wasn't enough. He's dark and hairy, more mountain man than city man. I get a sense he's no normal guy, and no normal gambler. He's something wholly different. Something big, something powerful. It's the only way I can explain the effect his machismo seems to have on me.

  It even causes a little heat to rush to my cheeks.

  I give him my best shot back, but I have to look away to do it. “Maybe in your culture, men can do whatever they want. But not here. He needs to get his ass in gear and come home.”

  The Russian's lower jaw shifts side to side, as if he were grinding his teeth. I freeze and swallow, ready for a nasty rebuke, but his tension dissipates as he addresses my stepfather. “Come on, Harold,” he says, his accent making my stepfather's name sound seductive, “we're not going to let a little girl stop us, are we?”

  Daddy shakes his head, paying me no mind as he lays his cards on the table. He's got two of a kind. Why he didn't fold is beyond me—even being the amateur I am—but nothing daddy does when he's gambling ever makes sense. He's as self-destructive as they come.

  Of course, the Russian smirks and lays down is four-of-a-kind. I swear, any time I've seen him play, I've only ever seen him lose every hand. His luck is one for the ages.

  With a smooth motion of his arm, the Russian drags the center pot to his side of the table. In that pot, I notice a gold watch sliding along the felt.

  “My God, daddy! Is that the watch mom gave you?”

  “Yeah,” he says, throwing his hands up in the air, “how else am I going to win if I can't match the pot? You need to take risks sometimes, baby.”

  “You're all about risks, daddy, and they never pan out for you.”

  He turns toward me, sheepishly rolling his eyes upward. “That's not true. Sometimes I just have bad luck. Like, a streak of it.”

  “Well, if it's so bad, then we should get going.”r />
  He shakes his head. “No, no. You gotta fight through it,” he says, like he's some champion boxer. “It's the only way you can turn anything around.”

  “Daddy, enough!” I scream. I pull on his elbow, but a small girl like me can barely even shift him in his seat. It's so ineffectual, they seem to completely ignore me.

  I feel so helpless. I can't stop this man from throwing his life away.

  “What else do you have, Harold?” the Russian asks. “I think you might be running low, and right now, you're in the red.”

  “In the red?”

  “Right, from the last game. You bet with money you didn't have. You still owe the house.”

  Daddy nervously rubs his hands together. “I mean, I can get more money, that's no problem. Listen, we play long enough, I'll start winning and I'll slash that red away.”

  “You say that a lot,” the Russian smirks.

  “Yeah, no shit,” I murmur.

  The Russian studies me, his eyes tracing my figure head to toe. I blush again, feeling the heat of his presence flush through me.

  “You know,” he says, “how about I let you play a game for free. I'll put some money in the pot, and if you win, you keep it.”

  “What?” daddy asks. “That'd be great... wait, what do you want in exchange?”

  “Nothing much. Your daughter's a beautiful girl.” The feeling of goosebumps crawls over me as a shot of adrenaline pumps my heart one furious beat. Oh no, where's he going with this?

  “If she sits on my lap through the hand, then I'll call it a fair exchange.”

  I swallow, a sudden relief washing over me. As degrading as it sounds, it's way better than what I was imagining he'd say. Still...

  “No,” I shake my head, “we should get going, daddy.”

  “I don't think it's much of his call, really. Your daddy's a man in debt. You want him to repay it, don't you?”

  “Yeah, but...”

  He spreads his hands open. “Look, I'm not going to force you, but if you can't do this simple, little thing, I'm going to have to collect from your father.”

  “Collect... what?”

  “He's a good thirty thousand in.”

  My jaw drops. “Thirty...”

  “Yeah, it's a lot. I'm not sure how he'll pay it all.”

  I swallow. I'm completely stunned and have no idea what to do. The Russian makes my choices for me as I struggle to form a coherent thought.

  “Come,” he says, patting his left thigh, inviting me over, “sit. Enjoy. Give your daddy a chance to win back his money.”

  I look over at my father, who's contemplating something as he nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I know I got a lucky streak coming. It'll be great for us if I get a chance to break even at least.”

  I look at both of them. I sigh. It dawns on me I might just have to do this. He's fucking thirty thousand in debt. There's no way in hell he can pay that back, and if he can't, then... then he'll be stuck in this world. He'll either be gambling for the rest of his life trying to win it back, or he'll be forced to work it off for this man, who seems more and more like a mafia henchman every second I look at him.

  So I walk over to the man, hesitate for a moment, and then turn and sit on his leg. It's so high up I have to flex my feet to touch the ground with just my toes. His leg is solid muscle, and I don't even need his whole leg to sit comfortably. I close my legs together, place my hands on my lap, face the table, and remain as still as I can.

  He leans forward a little and says, “Let's go.” He places a wad of money in the center, and daddy deals out a hand. The cards come out and both men look at their hands.

  The Russian is calm. He's not touching me or anything, just leaning back in his chair as he looks at his hand. All I do is stare forward, trying not to provoke a wandering hand. I just try to be invisible.

  Cards are shifting around, each one of them trades a few... I'm not really sure how the rules work. But after a moment, before either of them can raise, the Russian says, “Ah, I've got shit.” He throws his cards down, folding out of the hand.

  “Really?” daddy says. I'm confused as well, because I've seen this game a little bit, and that's never happened. Don't they usually raise and bluff?

  The Russian waves his hand in dismissal, and with hesitation, daddy slowly reaches over and grabs the center wad of money. Daddy looks at it, stunned to see so much money in his possession. For once in his life.

  I can't believe it. He actually won. I guess there's a first time for everything.

  I move to stand, but the Russian's hand lands on my shoulder. “How about another one?”

  Without a moment to think—or even ask me what I want—daddy says, “Hell yeah! Let's do this.”

  The Russian lowers me back to his lap as he places another wad of money on the table. Daddy licks his lips as imagines how much is in it, excited at the prospect of winning.

  I suck in my breath. Okay, I did it once, I can do it again, not a big deal.

  Cards are dealt and exchanged from the deck once again, but this time, the Russian says, “I'll raise you.” He pulls a few bills out and throws them in the center.

  “Raise?” daddy asks. “But I... I don't have any money.”

  “Harold, it's okay. No money's necessary. The arrangement's already made. I'm simply raising because I keep to the spirit of the game.”

  Daddy nods, looking at the added pot, “Of course.” As a matter of routine, he says, “I match your bet.”

  As daddy looks back down at his cards, the Russian's hand slides along my outer thigh. I jolt, shocked by the sudden touch. His fingertips brush against my skin, turning in and hooking under the fabric of my shorts, gripping and pulling on them. All I can do is watch his hand touch me as my heart skips a number of beats.

  They lay out their cards. Daddy has a three of a kind. The Russian has... nothing! How... why did he raise? If he's got nothing, why would he put more money in?

  Daddy doesn't question it, instead hooping and hollering in delight as he adds the new pot to his collection. He's completely absorbed in his win, oblivious to what's going on across the table between his competitor and his daughter.

  Daddy's excitement shines through the awkwardness of the Russian's touch. “Again?”

  The Russian simply nods, throwing a few more bills out on the table. I focus on his hand, watching it slowly and gently slide along my thigh. It's not so much a sense of him feeling me up, but a sense of him owning me, like the motion you'd make over a bag at your side, to make sure it doesn't disappear.

  Again, cards dealt, exchanged, and the Russian raises once more. Daddy doesn't question it, impatiently nodding his head and mumbling an affirmation. As he does, the Russian's hand slides from my outer thigh to my inner thigh, his fingers gliding under the bottom of my shorts as his thumb grazes across the fabric over my slit. The knuckle of his thumb presses into me, and a quick pulse of pleasure passes though my pussy.

  Oh my god, he's using my body as his raise! Every time daddy should be putting money into the pot, the Russian is moving further along my body.

  Yet daddy can't see it because it's so dark in the storage container and my pussy is below the table. So when daddy exchanges a new card, he breaks out in a smile instead of the appropriate look of concern, or even anger, at what's happening. He looks up at the Russian, “I'll raise you this time.”

  His bluff face is horrible, but the Russian doesn't seem to notice, tossing another bill into the pot. I turn my head to look at him, only to realize he did notice, he just doesn't care.

  Instead, he glances at me, and as our eyes meet, his hand slides over my pussy. I gasp as he presses his finger hard against my slit, pushing my shorts and my panties into my slickness. I suppress a moan, swallowing it so I don't alert anyone to my arousal.

  I can't believe this! I can't believe I'm letting some stranger feel me up, and I can't believe it's turning me on so much!

  The Russian exchanges for a new card, and when he looks
at his hand, I can see it for the first time. His hand is a complete mishmash of cards, matching up to absolutely nothing of value.

  “I'll raise you, Harold,” he says, adding more money to the pot.

  Oh no. He's not even playing the game; he's just playing with me!

  His hand moves to the button of my shorts, unlatching it and unzipping me, allowing his fingers to slip under my panties and meet my slit up close and personal. My wetness engages his middle finger, letting it slip easily between my lips.

  I let out a soft moan as he brushes up against my opening, flicking over my entrance and glancing my clit. I want to call out, I want to say something, I want to stop him like any good girl should. But deep down the feeling is so powerful, so gut wrenching, that a big part of me is forcing me to keep my mouth shut.

  At this point, it's probably too late to save my dignity anyway.

  I lean back against him, bracing myself as the intensity in my cunt builds. I bite my lip, focusing on stifling my moans.

  They play out the hand and daddy wins again. The Russian is losing money, but he seems more focused on what's between my legs rather than his own wealth.

  He's probably got more money than he can count.

  But he's only got one girl sitting on his lap at the moment.

  Daddy doesn't even ask to start another game, he just deals another round of cards. I can feel the man's breath on my neck, the heat billowing up the side as his lips come close to my skin. I turn away but stretch my neck out, which gives him an invitation to plant his soft lips on the tendon straining to support my head. I swallow and breathe deep, enjoying the slight tease of his mouth on me.

  Oh, and I relish his finger tempting to break my barrier, the soft tingle as he bounces over my hole.

  The Russian raises immediately, and daddy accepts immediately. His hand pauses over my pussy, and I prepare myself for his finger to push in. I hold my breath and lean back against him, looking down at my glistening pussy, waiting for that glorious moment when he penetrates me.

  But instead he leans forward and whispers in my ear. “On your knees. I raised that pot quite a bit, and you have debts to pay.”