Saint Paddy's Daddy

By S. L. Finlay

Mary and her best friend win the trip of a lifetime – a chance to explore Ireland and be in Dublin for St. Patrick’s Day! – The girls quickly find that the country has more going for it than leprechauns, green beer and funny accents when Mary meets and falls in love with a hot local guy.

But this guy isn’t just the strong silent type he appears to be, he is a kinky man with some interests she never expected. He wants to be her ‘daddy’ and take care of her. Although this sounded strange at the beginning, Mary is warming to the idea.

As Mary slips into a dynamic she doesn’t feel sure she can tell her BFF about, she also wonders if she really wants to be on the plane when her best friend leaves at the end of their holiday.

WARNING: This book contains descriptions of rough sex, spanking, age play, domestic discipline and BDSM. Please do not purchase this book if any of these things offend you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. L. Finlay
• Release date: Jan 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370898510

S. L. Finlay

S. L. Finlay is an Australian author who uses her erotic fiction and romance stories to force questions about human sexuality, to celebrate love, sex and life.

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Saint Paddy’s Daddy

S. L. Finlay

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. All characters portrayed are consenting adults over the age of eighteen and are biologically unrelated.

SAINT PADDY’S DADDY

First edition. March 17, 2017

Second edition. February 17, 2018

Copyright © 2018 S. L. Finlay

All rights reserved.

To my readers, who give me a reason to keep writing every day.

CHAPTER ONE

It was two in the morning and I was walking home from work. I had made enough in tips tonight to get through this week. I could make rent and feed myself that was enough. Just as I pulled out my keys, I felt the inside of my handbag vibrating. It was my cell and I knew who it would be without having a look.

Something about my street makes me not want to linger. There has never been even so much as a robbery that I know of, but the bars on the windows leave me feeling vulnerable. For this reason, I wasn’t going to stand around now, fumbling for my phone.

The key was in the lock and I was in the door quickly, then before I took my shoes off, I had my phone to my ear. Hey Donna, how are you? I chirped into the phone without checking the caller ID.

Girl, you took too long to answer! she told me and I could hear her eyes rolling from here. She knew why I had taken too long, as she called me every morning at this time. We both worked similar hours as waitresses, and being best friends had to talk on a daily basis. It was either before work or after work, and more often than not these days it was after work.

I ignored her comments as I removed my shoes and headed straight for my bedroom. I was sharing my home with a couple of dudes who I never saw (they worked normal-people hours), and I didn’t want to wake them up.

Donna and I kept chatting, about nothing terribly important as I settled into my room. I kicked off my sneakers and sat on the bed, massaging my aching feet. Then I started my nightly ritual of making sandwiches that I would eat half of now, then half of when I woke up later in the morning. Despite this, I am happy to say, I always maintained a wonderful figure. Probably because I never ate more than a few sandwiches a day. My boss was too stingy to give me anything to eat on shift, hell, he barely even paid me.

Our conversation went on for a while until it occurred to Donna to check her email. She fired up her laptop when she was chatting to me and read off a bunch of messages. There was on from her mother, another from the local library. When she would read these emails, she would put on funny voices and try to make me giggle. It was a welcome relief, having her warmth there when I felt like I was always dealing with people’s cool selves, and being looked down upon at work.

The life of a waitress is a difficult one, but what Donna was about to say may just change things for me, if only for a little while. Her reading of emails went on steadily as I ate my sandwich and settled into my warm bed.

All of a sudden though, it seemed, she had gone quiet. I could feel my brow furrowing. What was she doing on the other end of the phone? I could still hear the faint sound of her mouse clicks as she read something. What’s up? I asked, a bit concerned about where the comedy for the evening had gone.

Nothing, it’s just, I got this email… she trailed off and I cleared my throat to prompt her. …Yeah, sorry. I got this email saying I need to call a company, I have won a prize, but I don’t remember entering any competition. Do you think it’s legit?

I scoffed, wriggling my sore little feet. Of course it wasn’t legitimate, I wanted to keep going with our game though. What’s it say?

I’m looking up the competition. She told me, wait a second.

I could hear her clicking around her computer, and decided to leave it be. Sometimes Donna did this, got an idea in her head and started looking it up on the internet. I just hoped whoever had sent the email hadn’t also made a fake website. I had heard of these things before, they’re doing it to get your information, or to get you to give them money. I knew Donna wouldn’t do that, but I didn’t like the thought of someone trying to frisk her anyway.

Donna stopped clicking around then mumbled Fuck… into the phone.

Now I was sitting up, What is it? What happened? could they get at your bank account because you looked at their website? Was that a thing?

The competition is real, and I remember it now. Donna told me, The prize was a trip to Ireland, remember? I told you about this. We laughed about what we would do if we won.

I was staring at a dark spot on my wall now, feeling a little disorientated. This couldn’t be happening. If you won, you mean… I hadn’t entered, this was her prize if she won it.

No, we. I said if I won we would go. We would just take off, maybe not come back… Donna told me.

I sighed, we had had this conversation many times before of course. Whenever life sucked and we were feeling depressed, we would say to one another that we were going to run away together, and never look back. We were going to find new lives somewhere: New York! San Francisco! Alaska! Anywhere! Anywhere but here that is, anywhere different where our lives would not be the same. But we’d never talked about living abroad, we didn’t even have passports.

The thought of passports caught me, But, how can we go? St. Patrick’s Day is only a few months away, and we have not even got passports. Plus we can’t live there, we’re not Irish.

Donna was giggling now, Yes, I know we’re not Irish. We don’t have to move there, we can just go for a visit. Go for fun.

The idea of going to Ireland for fun was one that took me right away. Imagine what it would be like, going to a place so far away from here, just for a holiday! I hadn’t ever had a real holiday before and neither had Donna. I knew she hadn’t as we’d been friends so long and I’d never seen her take one, plus I couldn’t imagine her two very depressed parents taking a holiday in their lives. Most of the people in our lives were deeply unhappy, it came with the territory that no-one had international holidays or did anything fun when no-one had any money.

Okay, we could do that. I said, letting the thought of a far-away holiday settle before I realised, But, how do we know if this is the prize you won? You could have won a drink bottle or something. Shouldn’t they have called you? Not just sent an email.

At my words, I could hear Donna moving about her room. She was looking for her phone, her cell as she was using her landline to talk to me. It didn’t take her long, I’m sure it was just in her handbag. It was a second later that I heard a sharp intake of breath. Oh my! Oh, Mary!

Yes? I prompted her, feeling excited myself now.

They have tried to call, or someone has, a few times. It’s from a funny number… it’s not +1, like yours. It’s +353. Do you think that’s – could it be – an Irish number? Donna was so excited now speaking to me in a voice growing more high pitched with every word. I could almost see her jumping up and down in her bedroom squealing.

Look it up! Look it up! I called into the phone, my own pulse now racing.

Donna was typing something into her computer, then there was silence. The silence was enough of an answer for me even before Donna said anything, but her words were the confirmation I needed before I started squealing too, It is an Irish phone number! Oh my god!

Checking her cell Donna found it had no money on it, so she would need to make an internet call to the company in Ireland. She dialled the number then put her landline phone next to the speaker so I could hear the phone call.

After a few short rings, someone with a very exotic accent answered. I assumed this was the secretary as she sounded bored, but her voice and her accent promised me that there was a world outside of my own and I was ecstatic to hear her monotone.

Introducing herself and letting the woman know