Feature Writer: DarkEmrys
Feature Title: DADDY’S GIRLS 3
Published: 21.10.2011 / Copyright© 2011 by DarkEmrys
Story Codes: Incest, MF, MM, FF, TS, Rape, Blackmail, Slavery, Sadistic, Harem, Anal Violent, Prostitution
Synopsis: George is an interesting man – former government agent, handyman and sports fan, family man and businessman, but most importantly, Daddy. The family is a conglomerate of young prostitutes, by choice, mind you, and a few Brothers as the girls call them, their protectors. This is a stream-of-consciousness autobiography written by Daddy himself delivering the history of his life and the lives of his girls.
Daddy’s Girls 3
You might be asking yourself why. Why did I let the cops arrest them? Why did they live for more than minutes after Ocean’s final words? The answer is simple but complicated. Yes, I was opening myself for investigation, and yes, I knew it would be difficult to exact revenge without legal consequence. But, I’m a government spook, or was. If nothing else, I had connections should my talents fail; furthermore, my rage distorted my thoughts. I promised my girls never to let my anger control me again when they learned my plan weeks later, during the investigation. Then again, I also dismantled the entire gang in a fashion that made it appear to be retaliation from a rival since the kidnapping, rape and murder took place in another gang’s territory.
Psychology plays a role in all things, and in this case, I wanted them to feel as if they got away with it. I once spent seven hours crouched in a mud pit in a jungle I can’t name in a location I can’t disclose in order to study the regimented schedule of the man I planned to kill. I spent as many days studying Ocean’s murderers. The work of only a few precisely calculated hours ended with eleven gangbangers hogtied in the basement of an abandoned hospital miles from the city limits, secluded enough for my tastes.
“Who’s first?” I asked, adjusting leather straps on a table and sorting tools.
“Who the fuck are you, puta?” asked the obvious ringleader.
“You’re last. Shut the fuck up,” I spat. The others produced no sounds.
“Oh, I remember. You know that sweet cunt the homies brought home. She liked it, ese. She even called me papi when I fucked her fat ass until it bled,” he laughed.
His statement didn’t bother me the way you might think. Ocean was dead, so whatever bullshit he felt like spouting, so be it. However, small talk serves no purpose at times like these when concentration is imperative lest I fail to achieve my goals. I afforded no distractions in my plan, so I bodily dragged the ringleader across the room, fingers entwined firmly through his hair, until we reached my work table. Again by the hair I lifted him onto the table and proceeded to secure his limbs, neck and head with leather straps. Whatever words he spoke during those minutes I can’t be sure because they were hissed in Spanish, but I knew they were about Ocean. I didn’t care. Certain that he would not move a millimeter without any adjustments to the harnesses I inserted the tip of a stainless steel speculum in his mouth and began turning the crank screw slowly until I smiled, the sound of his lower mandible snapping free of the joints and his howls of pain thrilling me. I needed more room to work on my first task since this gang captain felt he needed to speak to me before I killed him. I planned on working over the small one against the wall since his cock was the last to disappear that night. He was her last, but he would be my first, or so I planned.
But plans change. Instead I concentrated on the one that spoke to me. First I clamped locking pliers onto his tongue, ignoring his screams, and then I attached a thin Kevlar rope around the screw at the bottom of the larger handle. My next steps were to toss the cord over a pipe above, pull it tight until the muscle stretched taut and tie it off to his testicles. Yes, he was nude. They all were. They deserved no decency of coverings. I can only imagine what that felt like, to have your sack and tongue tugging at each other, both stretched to multiples of their natural length. My first task well under way, it was time to complete it. I retrieved a micro file – the kind you use to shave metal like sandpaper on wood, for detail and precision – from my utensil tray and detached his tongue at the base as slowly as possible. The horror in the eyes of his companions innervated me as did his screams, but I knew he would never speak again, and that’s all I cared about.
I offer you the description of the beginning only to teach you the controlled fury I unleashed upon the monsters that destroyed Ocean. The following forty-eight hours of torture are mostly a blur of bloody haze, but I remember some of my methods because I’ve used them before; I will use them again: a belt sander to remove a knee cap, red-hot sewing needles piercing testicles, ear drums and excavating under toenails, sawing through finger joints with fishing line and sand paper, sulfuric acid in the belly button to digest the stomach from the outside in or maybe a few milliliters scattered across the chest, a handheld butane torch to char digits or cauterize other inflicted wounds. My primary goal, aside from death, was to inflict so much pain that the ferocity of their screams would result in ripped vocal chords. I succeeded with seven of them. Two of them died before I could have my satisfaction, their hearts giving out too soon. Two days later I emerged after fully melting the disfigured corpses in tubs of sulfuric acid, and as my trusted Ford cargo van hauled me away from the scene I clicked the switch on a remote, igniting several incendiary devices throughout the abandoned hospital.
The news that night talked of arson outside of the city. Several weeks later, the police questioned many of us. We were suspects in the disappearance of the same eleven gangbangers that murdered a member of our family, but the sympathetic detectives, the same that asked the typical questions after Ocean’s death, informed us that it was coincidental since pretty much their entire gang was dead; they believed a rival gang avenged Ocean for us. Naturally we knew nothing as we were too busy mourning Ocean’s loss, most of us not leaving the house except to buy groceries.
“Is it done?” Kirin asked as I entered her room upon returning home from my vengeful hiatus of ten days.
“Yes,” I responded, unsure of what to expect.
Typically she avoided me for several days after I committed such a crime which was rare, but she, Jenny and Byte were my oldest girls. They watched me pack my gear more times than any of the others. Her shoulders sagged as she nodded and turned towards the window, staring out into the darkness. Silence filled the room once more, so I left her to mourn, Cadence slinking down the hall in my direction.
“Is she okay, Daddy?” she asked.
“She will be, kitten. Someday,” I replied.
“I’m really worried about her. She hasn’t left her room since the funeral, she won’t eat anything, Daddy, she hasn’t even bathed in a week. I had to beg her to soak in the tub with me last time. I had to guilt her into it,” Cadence whispered, her green eyes filling with moisture as I pulled her to me, embracing her as she wept.
“She’s suffered more loss in her life than most of us can imagine, Cay. It will take her some time to find herself, but I’ll try to lift her spirits tomorrow,” I sighed into her flowing ginger hair. “Don’t let her forget that you lost Ocean, too, sweetheart. You can’t be strong forever, okay? You have to mourn.”
Cadence whispered her love against my cheek before squaring her shoulders to casually stroll, or attempt to casually stroll, into Kirin’s bedroom. I lingered in the dim corridor, instinct rooting my feet, and I understood why I remained as the sounds of Kirin and Cadence sobbing in unison flowed through the door. Cadence explained later that Kirin’s guilt fueled her depression, not her grief. Throughout her mourning, she ignored Cadence’s loss. The shared sobs of that night strengthened their bond, though I knew Cadence forgave Kirin the transgression before it even occurred. On that night, Cadence grieved in Kirin’s arms.
Fury and revenge exhaust the body and mind, so I shuffled through our home towards what I hoped to be the first restful sleep in a month. Upon entering the master bedroom, a hand not my own raised the switch to illuminate my bedroom, revealing to me the worried, tired faces of all my girls, all but Ocean, Kirin, Cadence and Jenny.
I tried to enter the room, but again my feet rooted to the floor. Instead, all I managed was disintegration, mentally and emotionally while physically collapsing. A lap – I don’t know who – cradled my head, fingers combed my bristly short hair, hands caressed, whispers loved and cooed. My girls asked without asking, “Daddy, how are you doing?” If you’ve ever been a caretaker for a dying loved one, you know precisely what that means. If not, you don’t ever want to know.
You might be asking yourself now, “Why is this story so sad? I thought a sex-for-a-price company would be nothing but stories of fucking and money?” My answer is the same, always. I’m Daddy first. You must remember, you met me on the eve of Ocean’s burial at sea. She’s on my mind, on the minds of all of us. I’m not keen on reliving the pain of her loss, but I want you to understand like all my girls that I’m Daddy first.
We’re also a business, though. With Ocean, you saw one of the ways I find my girls. Meeting her was unplanned, accidental maybe, but I don’t believe in coincidence. Most of my girls, nearly one hundred of them, come from broken homes. Kirin and Byte, my hackers, routinely review reports from police departments and CPS. We watch the girls, we learn about them and their families with the intent to help. A drunken father or a trashy, abusive mother cannot be saved. The girls can. Yes, in a way I am preying on some innocent teen’s daddy issues or sexual misguidance, but I hope you see that I’m also setting them free. A broken girl cannot always be repaired or redeemed by a shrink or a dozen; sometimes they remain broken forever, and it’s part of my mission to help them live a damaged life in safety.
I will not adopt a girl before she is mentally, emotionally and physically mature enough to ask for help, nor will I touch a girl that is not a legal adult. These boundaries I will not cross. Kirin begged for help at the tender age of fourteen from a hospital bed while her own wounds healed from that terrible night. Aspen asked me for help when I found her on the street, living in a box under a tarp, more holes than vinyl, for a ceiling, a runaway of only sixteen.
Kylie is an interesting story, a prostitute at the age of thirteen, offering oral services to a doctor that would prescribe her medications. Before you make any assumptions, let me finish. Her parents despised her since early childhood and disowned her completely, shipped off to another state to live with estranged relatives, after a pre-teen love affair with another boy. Kylie is genetically male, indubitably female in every way but that singular, pesky chromosome.
The state healthcare provided to her upon arrival in California would not cover any treatment with regards to gender reassignment from herbal supplements to hormone therapy medications to the actual surgery, the latter having no appeal to a girl in love with her cocklet as she calls it, occasionally her cocky or spitting clitty. Her first foray into achieving a goal via sexual favor can be described as nothing but happenstance though the reality of it amounts to blackmail. A young male doctor, confused about his own sexuality, found her enticing when performing a physical examination. A medically ordinary grasp of her genitalia evolved into fascinated fondling as she responded physically, hardening to her full four inches from two flaccid in his hand.
The young doctor absentmindedly engulfed her delicate cocklet and tiny, hairless balls in his mouth, delighting in the forbidden pleasure of tasting a teen’s treasure. She couldn’t withstand the pleasure for long, this being her first orgasm not given from her hand, and her tiny scrotum contracted to feed the nursing man an inordinate quantity of ejaculate given the size of her testes.
The rest, as they say, is history. The doctor readily prescribed hormone therapy drugs to Kylie, named Sam then, out of fear of legal action. She reluctantly blackmailed the physician in order to obtain her dream, her reality, of being female. Some little boys grow up to be pretty young ladies, and Kylie was beautiful when she didn’t hide her femininity to avoid the inevitable familial conflict. That day came on Sam’s sixteenth birthday when the young doctor insisted on seeing Kylie, arguing with the aunt turned foster mother at the front door of a shabby house. Her secret was out. From that point on, she couldn’t hide anywhere. Students from school, judgmental teachers and sheep-like onlookers harassed her, some not even knowing why they were verbally assaulting a pretty tomboy.
I met Sam at a mall, coming to her aid during an incident that nearly turned violent. Several handsome, muscular young men were spewing the usual insults: fag, homo, cocksucker, among other things. One of them even dry humped the ass of his friend, yelling, “Oh yeah, Sam! You like a big cock in your fag ass, don’t you?” I witnessed the abusive interaction from the opposite end of the food court but ended it from the immediate vicinity of moronic teenagers being, well, moronic teenagers. Of course at that moment I didn’t know if I was protecting a recently de-closeted homosexual boy or a tomboy with a typical teenage secret like getting caught with the campus nerd feeling her up at the movie theater. One of the jackasses grabbed Sam’s arm, to which she fought back by attempting to slap him, and his hand rose. He screeched when I clamped his wrist in my larger, much stronger hand.
“I don’t recommend hitting anyone today,” I growled. The boy scurried away with his entourage.
“Thanks, mister,” she said, avoiding my eyes.
“You’re welcome, son,” I responded, seeming to take the high road by assuming a timid gay boy in a ball cap and gender neutral clothing shuffled nervously beside me.
“I … um … I’m not … nevermind. Thanks again, mister,” she rambled and tried to scurry away.
“Wait, wait. You’re not what?” I asked, gently gripping an elbow to prevent flight. “Come on, let’s get you a snack and you can tell me what that was about. I might be able to help.”
“Ugh, not the shemale again. Sam, what do you want? A hot dog?” a snotty, pimple-faced cashier spat.
“Kid, shut up, get us two number 1s and your manager. Now,” I barked. I sensed countless pairs of eyes drilling into me from the food court, but the cashier rushed off, a twitching ball of embarrassed nerves name Sam cowering beside me, not away from me. “And I know what you little fucks do to food when you don’t like someone. Pull that shit, and we’ll have problems.”
The cashier offered every effort to make visible any contact with our food to prove that he used no condiments such as spit or dirty plates while the manager, a pretty young woman no older than twenty, sashayed towards the counter.
“Hi, I’m Ashley. Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely, smiling brightly at both me and then at Sam, either having no knowledge of the teen beside me or holding no obvious disdain. I softened visibly with no reason to dislike her.
“Hi, Ashley. My name is George, this is Sam. I wanted to let you know that my companion here is going through a transition of sexual identity and that your cashier, the acne-ridden one, just called my friend a shemale and offered her a hot dog, if you catch the meaning,” I stated politely.
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry! Sam, I’m so sorry! Here, this is on me,” a flustered young lady blurted while handing over two trays of corndogs, fries and sodas. “It won’t happen again, I promise. We’ve already had several complaints about the nearly unemployed young man in question. He’s only here because his father owns half the mall, but my district manager already has the paperwork ready to go – just waiting for my call in about two minutes.”
“I’m sorry to see someone get fired over juvenile prejudice, but I appreciate your candor, Ashley,” I responded while handing over a non-descript business card with only a phone number printed. “Please know that my complaint is against only that young idiot, not you or your restaurant. If you get into any trouble with the powers that be over this, feel free to call.”
I should point out that my intention here was not to recruit a twenty year old college student. I’m in the business of helping people, Daddy first. Ashley simply didn’t need to lose her job because of a rich, arrogant son of a bitch’s kid getting fired, and I have an excellent lawyer.
“Thank you, sir. Again, I’m really sorry, Sam,” she apologized again.
“It’s okay. Thanks. Um … see ya,” Sam mumbled. I carried the trays to a table to witness a hungry teenager devour all of her own food and half of mine. I wasn’t terribly hungry, anyway, but I know eating alone is uncomfortable.
“So, Sam, you’re transgendered?” I asked once the majority of two full meals rumbled in her tummy.
“Um … yeah … I guess,” she blushed.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I know a few young ladies like you,” I said.
“You do? Do they get picked on like me?” she asked, her brown eyes sparkling at even the idea of someone like her in the world.
“They did at one time or another just like you,” I responded. I had no intention of steering the conversation.
“It’s really hard … um … sir. I mean, I can’t help that I’m a girl inside, can I?” she asked in a search for validation.
“Call me George, Sam. And no, you can’t. We don’t get to decide who we are, and in your case, what parts we have, but what we do with our lives with what we’re given at the start, that’s what makes us special. Do you parents know?” I said, offering the girl a smile.
“I don’t know. I live with my aunt and uncle. Mom and dad shipped me out here when they caught me kissing a boy a few years ago. That was before I figured out that I’m a girl. They called me a sodomite,” she stated with a frown.
“I see. And your aunt and uncle know, then? It doesn’t seem like much of a secret from what I can tell,” I asked.
“Yeah, they know. My doctor blew it when he showed up to my birthday party a few months ago. They hated me anyway, but now it’s really hard. He really likes me, though,” she said. “He’s the one that gives me the hormones.”
“Why did he show up to your birthday party?” I asked, a house call seeming a bit odd between a physician and a transgendered teen.
“He … um … he just did,” she sputtered.
“Come on, Sam, you can tell me,” I coaxed, my goal only to learn, to know if Sam needed help.
“He uh … well … he missed me. You know?” she blushed.
“Are you saying that you’re lovers, Sam?” I asked. She nodded.
“Are you aware that it’s illegal for an adult to have sexual contact with you?” I prodded.
“Yeah, George. I know. That’s why he gives me … oh, shit,” she said, fidgeting nervously as she revealed her secret blackmail.
“Well, then, I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that,” I said, tipping her ball cap off her head, her long brown tresses hanging free and tangled, cap landing in her lap. “You look much better that way.”
“You think so?” she asked, quickly combing her chestnut locks with her fingers and tucking some of it behind her ears.
“I do, dear. You shouldn’t have to hide who you are because people don’t understand you,” I replied. “Do you have anywhere to be? I think it would do you some good to spend a little time with a couple girls I know.”
“No, just some homework, but that’s way too easy. It’s not like I need all night for it,” she replied, shaking her head.
“Hi, sweetheart. Feel like going to a movie with a new friend?” I asked Aspen after dialing her cell.
“Hi, Daddy! Sure, what movie? Who’s the friend? A new customer?” she asked giddily, peppering me with questions per usual. It’s a game for her to pester me like that since she’s generally a quiet girl.
“No, nothing like that, just a young lady I think you should meet. Bring Jerrica and Byte if they’re not busy,” I said.
“Okay, Daddy. See you in a bit!” she squeaked after I shared the location of the theater housed on the western wing of the mall.
“Byte? That’s a name?” Sam asked.
“Heh, yes, that’s her name, with a ‘Y’. You’ll understand when you see her,” I answered. Sam and I chatted for another fifteen minutes about school, mostly, before strolling in the direction of the theater.
“You’re right. I get it,” Sam whispered to me as the girls approached.
Byte is four feet, eleven inches tall and weighs eighty-three pounds. Buying clothes for her resembles trying to make a toddler look sexy. At the time, she was twenty years old and wearing white shorts probably made for a six year old which gave her beautiful legs the appearance of length and hugged her tiny, firm ass. She also wore a hoodie bearing the Denver Broncos logo, size extra-small for a child. She looked adorable and sexy at the same time, just Byte-sized, with pink plastic flip-flops accentuating her child-like stature.
Byte prefers shorter, spiky hair styles to keep her black hair decorative. Her sky-blue eyes and fashionable eyeglasses only add to her beauty, and her size and almost non-existent breasts are a major selling point for her customers. She specializes in Daddy-daughter brand fantasies, playing the role of a young girl, a seduction tale. She refuses – and I uphold her wishes with customers as I do with all my girls – to dress like a child, but her size is enough to satisfy the desired illusion’s needs. She, like Jerrica, is genetically female, Jerrica being a brown-and-blue girl next door type of beauty with B cups, gently flared hips and a pert little butt on a five-seven frame. Her attitude is hilarious – Southern Belle bitchiness perfected.
Aspen, however, is stunning, and don’t take that to mean any of my girls aren’t beautiful. They are, but we sell sex so even I have to concede on some level that some girls are more attractive than others. As a business man, yes, they need to be attractive; as Daddy, they’re all sexy enough to eat, but I and my customers get the joy of their personalities even if they’re ‘average’ physically which is a powerful tool when you’re selling real-to-life interactions. You don’t buy an actress; you buy your girlfriend for a night, which is precisely why Daddy’s Girls are in demand – quality of service.
At five feet five inches tall and tipping the scales at one hundred twenty pounds, Aspen is pure woman with long, blonde hair, dreamily green eyes, the face of a model and natural breasts mirroring Jerrica’s in size and shape. Add to that picture a bubble butt that makes your mouth water and you’d never know she tucks a healthy six, thick inches of ‘cocky’ and wrinkled, heavy testicles between her legs. Clothed she’s every man’s wet dream, and undressed, every closet homosexual’s. Aspen wore dark jeans so tight they resembled paint, a fluffy yellow sweater with a green plaid scarf and a black knit cap with three-inch heeled boots adoring her feet. Jerrica wore loose jeans, a t-shirt and canvas shoes, whatever they’re called, filling her weekly quota for skater shabby-chic look. Or lazy grunge girl. I’m not sure what she was going for with that type of outfit, but she still managed to look sexy.
“Hi, Daddy!” they beamed upon approach.
“Hi, loves. This is Sam. I thought you should meet her and have a little girl time together,” I said as each girl squeezed me warmly with a peck on the cheek, Byte yanking me down to her level to accomplish the feat of fondness.
“Bullshit,” Jerrica snorted at me. “What’s your real name, sugar?”
“Um … Samuel,” Sam replied.
“Nope, not even close,” Aspen grinned while leaning close to Sam and huskily whispering. “What’s the name you call yourself in the mirror, pretty girl?”
“Kylie … how did you know?” Sam whispered scarlet-faced, the word nothing more than a breathless dream.
“We know more about you than you know about yourself,” Aspen whispered in return.
“Everyone, this is Kylie,” Aspen said while pulling the nervous teen into her arms for an embrace that I believe didn’t end until they dropped Kylie at her family’s house.
“Um … Hi,” Kylie said with a little wave as each girl introduced herself. “Are you all, um, like me?”
“Only one of us. Guess which!” Byte laughed and laughed again when Kylie pointed at Jerrica, who pretended to be furious.
“Why the fuck is it always me? I knew I should have worn ‘fuck me’ boots and a miniskirt. Maybe a picture of my cunt taped to my forehead would help,” Jerrica said, but no one took her seriously and her deep Southern drawl almost instigated laughter from Byte. “The bitch holdin’ you is the one packin’, sugar.”
“No way!” Kylie gasped. “Really? You look amazing! I mean, you all do, but wow!”
“And that’s my queue. Goodnight ladies,” I said, bowing slightly.
“Our Daddy, always the gentleman,” Byte giggled, prodding me in the ribs with her elbow.
“”Cept when he’s got one of us bent over,” Jerrica said with mock seriousness and feigned regret upon seeing yet more blood rush into Kylie’s cheeks, Aspen’s open mouth, Byte’s laughter and my shaking head. “What? Too soon?”
“Okay, I’m off. Behave girls. Kylie, it was great to meet you. Have fun tonight and call us if you ever need anything,” I said, pressing the pad of my thumb to Byte’s nose as I turned toward the nearest exit.
“Bent over? You mean you have sex with your dad?” Kylie asked in a shocked whisper.
“He’s not our real father,” Aspen explained. “He helped all of us when we needed it just like he wants to help you. He loves us the way our fathers never did. It’s why we’re here – to show you there are people in the world that won’t hate you for what you are.”
“Are you abused, sugar? Does anyone hurt you?” Jerrica asked, blunt and direct being her preferred style.
“Well, no. I mean, I hate my family and pretty much everyone I know, but I wouldn’t say anyone hurts me. It’s not like I get beat up every day,” Kylie answered. “It’d be nice to wear a skirt and let my hair down, though.”
“Then let’s give you your first night as a real girl. Just call me Jiminy Cricket,” Byte chirped with a clap.
“You’re such a fuckin’ nerd,” Jerrica hissed.
“Such up slut! I’ll bite your kneecaps off,” Byte spat back.
“Bitch, I will slit your throat. You better sleep with one eye open,” Jerrica growled.
“You better sleep with one hand on my butt or I’ll slit your throat for being a selfish hag,” Byte clipped.
“See what real girls are like?” Aspen chuckled into Kylie’s ear, holding the flustered teen against her chest from behind.
She retrieved a hairbrush and some make-up from her purse, handing all but the brush to Jerrica while Byte tugged at the zipper of Kylie’s hoodie to reveal a navy blue tank-top and the beginnings of braless breasts. Byte tugged the hoodie away from Kylie’s shoulders and arms before giving her a shove to turn her around slowly, admiring her figure.
“You’re beautiful! Look at that cute butt!” Byte squealed while clapping again.
Aspen, a successful beautician aside from her profession as a Daddy’s Girl, scraped the brush through Kylie’s chestnut tresses, tugging at the knots as delicately as possible but refusing to let them see the following day. She made quick work of the teen’s naturally wavy locks while she nibbled at her bottom lip to decide if a pony tail was needed. She decided against it. Jerrica, meanwhile, dabbed an invisible layer of foundation matching Kylie’s skin tone, a stroke of rouge and mascara plus a light sheen of lip gloss. Within minutes Sam officially transformed into Kylie at the hands of my girls.
“What? Never seen a boy turn into a girl before? Go back to your fag husband. He’s sportin’ wood watchin’ this,” Jerrica hissed at a woman gawking. “Better yet, send him over so I can show him what a real woman does with a cock.”
Aspen was stroking Kylie’s hair, soothing the teary-eyed girl who threatened tears upon looking in a compact mirror. The frumpy woman glared at her blushing husband.
“None of that, okay? This is you every day from now on,” Aspen husked.
“I can’t go home like this. They’ll never let me in the door,” Kylie sighed, sniffling and accepting a tissue from Aspen to dry her eyes and blow her nose daintily. “Sorry, that’s probably not ladylike.”
“Sugar, ladylike is blowin’ your nose. Snortin’ it back down your throat is what boys do, and they wonder why some of us hate swallowin’. Same thing, snot and cum,” Jerrica chuckled.
“Ladylike is keeping your foul mouth shut, filthy whore,” Byte spat before yanking Jerrica’s collar to steal a kiss.
“God, you guys are awesome!” Kylie chirped as the quartet strolled purposelessly through the mall, stopping short before a shop window displaying mannequins adorned with various sundresses and two-piece skirt and top combinations.
“See anything you like, angel?” Aspen asked.
“Um … everything,” Kylie replied.
“What better way to spend your first night as a real girl than trying on clothes?” Byte squealed amidst more clapping.
“I can’t afford anything in there,” Kylie sighed.
“That’s all right, sugar. I’m buyin’. I need another reason to suck a cock, anyway, maybe two if you go fallin’ in love with half the store … Let’s go find you somethin’ nice,” Jerrica shrugged.
“You … for money? Really?” Kylie gasped.
“We all do, angel,” Aspen replied. “Even me. That’s what we meant, the world out there where people don’t hate you for what you are. My boys adore me, cock and all.”
“Wow. Isn’t that illegal?” Kylie asked.
“Only if you get caught,” Byte shrugged. “We don’t get caught.”
Kylie mounted the steps to her family’s house – three gorgeous women in tow and all of them hefting bags full of something fashionable – and didn’t even have the opportunity to find her key before the door swung open, a red-faced, angry whale sneering at her.
“Where the hell have you been, boy? And what the hell is all this? Didn’t I tell you not to go around dressing like a girl? Your parents knew what you were and threw your bony ass out on the street. Don’t think I won’t do the same if I ever see you like this again,” the woman roared. Byte squeezed Jerrica’s hand to signal quiet time before she could escalate the situation with her direct manner.
“I was out with friends, Aunt Joan. I didn’t realize how late it was. I’m sorry,” Kylie whispered, sinking back into her shell immediately. Aspen would have none of it.
“Hi, Joan. My name is Aspen, and I’d like you to meet your niece, Kylie. Sam no longer exists,” she said calmly.
“The hell he doesn’t! Boy, you better get these tramps off my porch before I really get mad,” Joan shouted.
“There’s no reason to make a scene, Joan. Kylie’s here to stay. I would greatly appreciate it if you would embrace her as she is. It would make her life a lot easier if she had the support of… ” Aspen explained.
“Girl, I don’t owe you a damn thing. My nephew’s nothing but a gay little boy lover, and I won’t have it in my house! Get out! All of you, and don’t come back!” she howled before crashing her hand across Kylie’s cheek and slamming the door. Kylie fell into Aspen’s arms with a squeal and found a warm embrace and soothing strokes through her hair.
“Please don’t make me go in there. Take me with you,” Kylie sniffed, trembling with fear.
Now it was Jerrica’s turn. She had my reason. She freed her hand of Byte’s grasp and hammered her fist against the door. A similarly red-faced whale of a man appeared when the door swung wide.
“My wife just told you bitches to shove off. Get the fuck, whoah girl, no need for that here,” he said, hands raised as the barrel of a .38 Special kissed his nose.
“I’m not as nice as Aspen here, so you listen good old man. You take this girl in, you help her embrace her sexuality and you love the fuck outta her like you ain’t loved a god damn thing in your life or so help me Lord I’ll show you what I do for my friends,” Jerrica hissed, her hand steady and the barrel unmoving. I taught her well.
“I … we can’t, you see. If his, I mean, her parents find out, well, we don’t get paid, you know? We can’t afford him, I mean her, without their support. We didn’t really want him, I mean her, anyway. We took him, I mean her, in for the money. His, I mean her, parents pay us a lot,” the man said, wondering if his bladder would betray him.
“Then let’s do this my way, old man. You take that business card there, just like that, good boy, and you call that number in the mornin’. Our lawyer will be happy to help us relieve you of your burden so you can get back to your trashy lives in your trashy house. This pretty girl is comin’ home with us,” Jerrica stated, no hint of question in her voice.
“Uh, yes, ma’am. That’d be just fine,” he mumbled, gaze drifting down to spy a puddle at his feet as Jerrica carefully dropped the hammer of her weapon before tucking it back into her purse. Aspen led Kylie by the hand to her car, Byte and Jerrica following cautiously behind, stepping backwards and ready for trouble.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Kylie mumbled repeatedly as she sank into the front passenger seat of Aspen’s 4-Runner.
“It’s okay, angel. You don’t have to go back there ever again,” Aspen cooed from the driver seat as she set the GPS for home.
“I can’t believe you pulled a gun on him. He pissed himself! Am I really free? Where do you live? Can I be a prostitute, too? It sounds so cool. My parents are gonna freak. Oh god, what if they sue you or something? Do you get paid a lot? What if my uncle comes after us?” Kylie stammered, calming immediately into silence as Byte climbed over the seat to curl up in her lap, the closeness helping relieve her of her panic.
“Don’t go worryin’ about tomorrow yet, sugar. Daddy ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen,” Jerrica shrugged. “Besides, the only thing you’re gettin’ outta this is freedom to be a girl and not hide as a boy anymore. You’re still goin’ to school every day, and I’ll shoot you if I catch you doin’ naughty things with boys until after graduation. Or girls for that matter.”
“But what about George, I mean Daddy, George, I mean that nice man? It can’t be cheap paying for all that, and I don’t have a job or anything,” Kylie sighed. “I’ve done a little bit with boys, though. I guess…”
“You guessed wrong, sugar. That ain’t what this is about. Daddy ain’t our pimp, well yeah, I guess he is, but he’s more than that. He’s Daddy, the father figure we didn’t have as babies. If you wanna dive right in to blowin’ for cash, you need to be downtown on a corner. You want an education and a future, you stick with us. Ain’t no one in the house gonna touch you until you’re eighteen,” Jerrica stated clearly.
“You mean I get to live with you guys and just be me?” Kylie asked, wondering if disbelief would insult the girls.
“You get to help clean, cook, help the girls with make-up, whatever you want to do to contribute, but there’s no rent, no midnight visits from anyone to collect payment and most importantly, you keep your nose clean. When you’re eighteen, all bets are off. And you better believe I’ll be your first girl or I’ll slit that bitch’s throat,” Byte explained before sticking her tongue out at Jerrica.
“More importantly, angel, you get to be a teenage girl, assuming we get custody which I don’t think will be a problem. Once you’re an adult, you can go to college or trade school, you can work with us or hitchhike across the country and take your chances. It really doesn’t matter as long as you’re happy, but I don’t recommend the hitchhiking bit,” Aspen said, her right hand shifting from the steering wheel to Kylie’s left, grasping it reassuringly.
“Figures the pint-sized cockhound gets first crack at her,” Jerrica snorted. Kylie blushed furiously. Byte ignored the comment.
“Hi, Daddy,” said Byte into her cell. “Kylie’s suddenly homeless. Aspen’s logic didn’t work, so Jerrica did it her way. Mind if we bring her home?”
“Of course not, sweetheart. Come see me when you get here,” I replied.
“K, Daddy. We’re almost there, actually. See you in five,” Byte chirped.
“Hello, Kylie. I had a feeling I’d see you again. Are you okay?” I asked Kylie as the quartet sauntered into my office, immediately noticing the redness on her cheek and how beautiful she was with just a little make-up and as much female confidence.
“Hi … um … Daddy? Yeah, it hurts a little, but it happens. Aunt Joan says sometimes all you need is a rap on the bean, knock some sense into you,” Kylie explained.
“George is fine. My girls call me Daddy because they love me, not because I require them to,” I said. “Someday you might call me that, maybe not. Doesn’t matter.”
“Okay then, George. You look more like a Wyatt or Virgil, you know, like the Earps – real men,” Kylie said, her cheeks flushing.
“I’ve been called a lot of things, but Virgil Earp is a first,” I chuckled. “Don’t go giving these girls ideas or I’ll have to wear a cowboy hat every day. Anyway, Aspen will get a room set up for you. I doubt you had time to get your medications, so she’ll make sure you have your proper dosages from now on until we can get you in to see the Doc.”
“Um, thank you. Is it really true that they have sex for money? Even Aspen, you know, with her secret?” Kylie asked.
“It’s not really much of a secret since everyone knows, Kylie. There’s no shame in being who you are,” I replied.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. It’s just I think it’s really cool that they get paid for it, especially her,” Kylie said.
“That’s a conversation for a couple years down the road, angel,” Aspen said, arm still locked on Kylie’s as it had been almost every moment that evening.
“Sorry, it’s just been a really long day. I’ll probably wake up tomorrow and freak out, anyway,” Kylie mumbled, but Aspen chuckled and tugged her towards the door.
“I guess it has been an exciting day. It’s been a while since I was in your shoes, so I forgot how trying it can be. Goodnight everyone,” Aspen said as she led Kylie towards a private bedroom with the teenager offering a half-wave over her shoulder at the rest of us. “I hope nudity doesn’t bother you, angel. There are almost a hundred of us in the house, well maybe only thirty or so since I know a lot of us are working tonight, but it’s late enough that everyone’s asleep, so Daddy didn’t have time to tell them we have a guest. He hates to wake us up so you’ll probably get flashed a lot at breakfast if you’re an early riser.”
“I think I’ll be okay. Will you … um … be naked? I mean, I just really want to know what I might look like someday,” Kylie blushed.
“Nope, no peeks at my naughty bits for you,” Aspen chuckled as she playfully shoved Kylie through an open door. “Here we are. Your own hole in the world for as long as you want it.”
“Your way?” I asked Jerrica as she turned back from returning Kylie’s exit wave.
“Daddy, don’t go getting’ mad, now. You know I ain’t got patience for redneck trash, and that aunt thing bitchslapped Kylie right in front of us,” Jerrica explained.
“Okay, okay, baby, I’m not mad. We’ll see if it caused any damage when I talk to Jim tomorrow,” I chuckled. “Pretty soon you’ll want a bigger gun so you can bring them home by the dozen. I hate when you do your own Christmas shopping like that, giving me ideas like you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Mmm, promise? I’ve been eyein’ that twelve gauge you got, the solo barrel break action beauty you keep in the Dodge,” Jerrica mused.
“Betsy? Like hell you’re getting her. I’d sell Byte before I let that girl go,” I laughed.
“Hey! This isn’t a trade agreement, okay? I’m right here!” Byte stomped.
“Shut up, slut. Get movin’ to my room so I can tan that hide o’ yours, causin’ all that trouble at the mall tryin’ to pick fights and teasin’ all the old men with that cute butt and those tiny titties and… ” Jerrica continued as they strolled down the hall with the obvious intention of pretending to make up and leaving me with a grin and a growing erection.
While my office computer shut down I busied myself with tidying up the office, filing a few items and rinsing my Scotch glass before padding down the hallway to my own room to settle in for a bit of rest, but rest evaded me when I spied a nude, slumbering Echo in my bed, clutching my pillow as if it were me.
Echo is an exotic beauty with chestnut hair matching Kylie’s, soft blue eyes set wider than most with an angular facial structure and high cheek bones on a five-ten frame of around one hundred fifty pounds. It’s difficult to describe her allure, a gorgeous face with an average body, conical A cup breasts, tall and fit but not overly toned. She had the appeal of a young, new mother you might see at church teaching Sunday School to youngsters which is exactly where I found her, but her story can wait. My boot heels clacking the floor awoke her.
“Hi, Daddy,” she mewed.
“Hi, baby,” I replied as I shucked off my clothing to join her both in state of dress and on the bed.
She wasted no rolling into my arms and offering tender, passionate kisses. Echo has no interest in gentle lovemaking with anyone but her partner, Daphne. When in my bed, she wants to be ravaged, hammered into submission, but she always allows me a moment of tenderness, for animal I may be, but I have trouble roughing up my girls, even the masochists of our family, though Echo is far from masochistic. She just prefers being fucked into oblivion as barbarically as possible, getting her pleasure from being used as a sex toy rather than accepting mutual enjoyment. Sharing the experience openly is reserved for her life mate and no one else. Grasping the concept of using one of my girls in such a fashion took me quite a while to accept, but some of my pain sluts helped realign my way of thinking, though all my girls indulge me a few moments of tenderness before I give them what they want.
Upon satisfying my need to affectionately squeeze Echo against my chest and nurse on her tongue, satisfied that she knew how much I loved her, I shoved her away from me and half a moment later mounted her. I allowed no time to adjust, preferring to begin the punishment of her body without delay. The rest can only be described as the following:
I hunched my hips forward to bury the full nine erect inches of my cock in her still-lubricating cunt, the friction of dry cock to semi-dry tunnel walls causing her to shriek into my ear, and I immediately began to curl my hips rapidly, draped over her chest, grunting into her neck and knowing an onlooker would see a man fucking into his bitch like a dog. Only the first thrust went without full slickness, her desire to be used in such a way thrilling her into full arousal.
As I lifted my heavy, muscled upper body on strong arms, I dribbled spit from my lips into Echo’s open, gasping mouth and onto her face, her hands lifting to smear it in as if it were a miracle moisturizer. Now settled into the missionary position I was able to utilize the full power of my back, ass and thigh muscles to hammer the poor girl with full, slow, battering thrusts, the spongy head of my cock jabbing her cervix while loud squelching noises radiated from between her legs as each stab of my cock spread her hole wide, forcing air outwards from the gaping, frothy hole.
I dismounted the disoriented girl to tip her onto the floor, chuckling – for her benefit – as she “Oofed” against the carpet, hopping down to lift her and toss her upper body back on the bed, her thighs pinned against the edge of the mattress as I gripped her hips and once again slammed home to another shriek of ecstasy. In her favorite position I’m able to yank her hips backwards as I drive forward, doubling the force of each thrust as I manhandle my girl bodily.
She didn’t take long to screech her orgasm, shaking visibly while her magnificently tight cunt pulsated around my cock shaft which in turn brought my own orgasm. My heavy, swinging balls pulsed in time with Echo’s pussy to deliver several thick gobs of cum into her womb. My orgasm died away, along with the rest of my energy, and I fell backwards onto my ass and panting for breath. I’m not as young as I used to be. Echo, never one to walk away from a dirty cock, quickly mustered enough energy to kneel beside me and adoringly take my cock into mouth, gulping down our sticky juices before licking around the base of my shaft and empty balls.
“You’re going to kill me, Echo,” I panted.
“Impossible. God doesn’t hate us that much,” she giggled. “You’ll live forever or we’ll blow up the universe. Come on, Daddy, back in bed. You need sleep and cuddles.”
THE END OF CHAPTER THREE