How Daddy’s Devil-Boy Became Daddy’s Little Girl
Introduction:
My gf explains exactly what happened to her when she was 11 years old.
How Daddy’s Devil-Boy Became Daddy’s Little Girl
– – 1 – –
Daddy was a rich stockbroker — tall, handsome, with short black hair offsetting his bright blue eyes, sort of skinny-but-fit as some nerds are — but he was a little too nerdy and quiet and not confident enough to pick up women. So when he met Mom, he was grateful just to have a woman who didn’t make demands on him, didn’t get offended when he accidentally misspoke. Mom was a no-drama kind of gal, and she built up his confidence for three months.
They had a ton of sex, and she said she was on the pill, but I guess she wasn’t being very regular about it, ’cause she got knocked up with me. When she found out, they talked it over and decided they’d get married. I sometimes look at her wedding photos: at six months pregnant, she’s got a noticeable bulge, but it’s not the absolute huge tummy that women develop in that last trimester. She still looked good in her beautiful white dress. I’m a redhead, and I definitely got that from Mom, though she was covered in freckles — I never got many, myself.
Mom was in it for the money.
I don’t know how much she got out with, but it was at least hundreds of thousands, when the divorce finally went through. To her, I was just a tool to get married, so she left me behind. Don’t cry for me — I got over it long ago, and she wasn’t all bad. I’ve talked with Daddy a lot about it, and Daddy says that she made him a lot more confident after that — brought out a lot of positive things in him. It’s just that after Mom, Daddy had trouble trusting women, is all. And Daddy had to raise me all by himself. It wasn’t so bad for him — stock trading companies don’t need to deal with customers anymore, so he found a cozy work-at-home job with his firm — figuring out new prediction formulas, scouring the news for possible leads on the Next Big Thing, stuff like that. So he always had time for me. I was very well-loved, and I didn’t really miss Mom much — didn’t really get to know her.
I took my loving father for granted as I got older, though. I was greedy, wanting all of his attention — I must have gotten that from Mom. It wasn’t enough that he always listened, that he took me on hikes to teach me delightful science, that he read me a story every night and kissed my forehead as I drifted to sleep. By the time I was eleven, I was actively trying to anger him, to get even more attention. It wasn’t that I was attention-starved, mind you — just that I was greedy. He was loving, but he wasn’t gentle — he would spank me and send me to my room without dinner, and I still kept trying to irritate him. Originally, it started with small things, to which he just said “Don’t be a bitch,” but the more Daddy punished me, the worse I became. That word — bitch — contained all of Daddy’s bad feelings about Mom. It was someone who was being evil, greedy, demonic. I was a little devil child. I threw food, made messes, screamed, anything.
I still remember that it was the summer of ’96 when it came to a crisis — when one day, Daddy came home from buying groceries, only to find me, with my crayons, scribbling over the entire living room wall — the biggest I had ever gone with my evil things. He grabbed me with one arm — I beat at that big, strong, arm, but there was no escaping its grip — and then he sat down on the couch, pushed me onto my tummy on his knees, and pulled down my pants — a position I was all too familiar with. SLAP! — and tears budded in my eyes, but I kept myself from crying. SLAP! another. And then another, and then another, and then another. Finally, he pulled my pants back up, stood me in front of him, and holding me by the shoulders, stared me straight in the eyes. “How long are you gonna be a bitch for?” he asked.
I spat in his face and, the moment he took his hand off my shoulder to wipe it off, I kicked him in the shins. I ran back over to the wall and started covering it with even more crayon coloring. But before I could do much more damage, I was unexpectedly pushed into the wall — Daddy had thrown a couch cushion at me — and bounced off of it, landing mostly on my ass — though my head was lucky enough to bang against the couch cushion on its way down. Then Daddy rolled me over and pinned me to the ground — he had grabbed the electrical cord from the TV, and was binding my hands behind me with it. It’s hard to describe what happened next, but he picked me up and bent me over the couch — the top of the part where your back rests over it, I mean. My head was pointing down at the hardwood floor, so my legs and waist had to grip the top of it — so that I didn’t fall headfirst onto the floor! Daddy left the room, just then, and I tried to wriggle my way sideways, so that I could straddle the couch and then roll down onto the softer side. I managed to do so just as Daddy came back from the garage.
I kicked at him as he turned me over — I think I even got a solid kick to his balls. He pressed my face into the couch and yelled at me again, “HOW LONG ARE YOU GONNA BE A BITCH FOR?!”
He undid the knot that he’d done with electrical tape, then methodically tied some bandannas around my wrists, to prevent me from chafing. He then bound my hands again behind me, this time with solid rope. I was still kicking him as much as I could, so he bound my ankles too.
“How long are you gonna be a bitch for, huh?” he asked. “How long?” He left me by the wood-fireplace and radiator that we had in the corner of our living room. Tied in the corner, I started screaming and yelling at him, trying to raise absolute hell.
Now, it’s not like we lived in an apartment building — like I said, Daddy was rich, so we had this big beautiful house with lots of space around it. I wasn’t yelling for the neighbors to hear; I was yelling to interrupt Daddy’s calm. But Daddy calmly stuffed a sock in my mouth, then tied it in with a bandanna, and then I couldn’t talk anymore. I had wriggled out of the corner a couple feet away from the radiator, too — so he took another length of rope, ran it from my wrists to my ankles, looped in the middle through the radiator pipe. Now I was absolutely stuck, and gagged, and tied.
– – 2 – –
He drove away, suddenly, and for an hour I was alone. But I was eleven, so even an hour with nothing to do — nothing to look at except for my crayon-defaced wall — was an eternity. I thought he’d abandoned me, just like Mom had. I tried to wriggle out from the corner, but I couldn’t get anywhere — I was tied up and tied up good. So I calmed down and whimpered inside to myself. One hour later, I hear Daddy’s car pull into the garage, and then he walked right past me, into the kitchen, with some big bags under his arms. I heard him shuffle the things in those bags around, and turned around so that I could look at that doorway.
After about five minutes, he comes back from the kitchen, and he’s holding a knife, gleaming in the dim light. As I saw the knife, terror shot through me. “I’m gonna ask you again,” he said as I stared at the knife, “even though you can’t answer. How long are you gonna be a bitch?” I figured I was going to be dead soon! So I flailed around, helplessly, as he bent over me with that knife — but he held me still, belly to the ground, and cut through the rope that bound me to the radiator. As the tension went slack and my legs fell to the ground, I suddenly breathed a sigh of relief into the dirty sock. Blood rushed into my legs, which had long gone asleep — he turned me over and sat me up straight, with my legs straight out, and daggers filled my legs as blood returned from them. He went over to the bathroom to take a piss, returned to find me shaking out my legs, which were just beginning to stop hurting. He still held the knife, but I wasn’t so afraid of it anymore.
He grabbed me by the chin and pointed my gaze straight up into his piercing blue eyes and said, “Are you still gonna be a bitch?” I shook my head “no.” But he slapped me in the face just then and said, “You’re a lying little bitch. You always have been, you always will be.
In that slap, suddenly, I felt the shame of all the bad things I had ever done to this man, and I knew I deserved it. That was something which had never happened to me — not any time I’d been spanked. I felt *ashamed* and *petty* — and I knew that I really *was* a bitch. Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt the cutting edge of the knife against my waist. As I sobbed, the knife tore into the polyester wind-pants I was wearing, slicing down each leg. He didn’t cut me on the left leg, but left a long thin shallow cut on my right thigh. Once those pants were cut off of me, he threw them into the wood fireplace. Then his knife was up against my shirt — my favorite shirt — cutting up towards my throat. I shivered as I realized that he could end me so easily, and I shivered because I wasn’t sure that it was the wrong thing to do. He stripped my T-shirt off of me and tossed that into the fireplace as well. And then he pulled my socks out from under the rope on my ankles, and tossed those into the fireplace, too. And then the knife was at my crotch — I was sure he was going to castrate me — slicing off my tightie-whities.
That slap was my apple, and now here I was, naked and ashamed in the Eden I’d grown up in. Broken.
“Bitch is a female dog, Alex,” he said to me. “You gonna act like a bitch, you gonna dress like a bitch too.” Then he pulled the first thing out of his bag — slightly-frilly white panties, in my size, and a frilly white bra to match. He undid the knot around my ankles to pull on the panties, and then undid all of the straps of the bra, put it around my chest, fastened it all in place. He then slid on some long girly stockings, little girly shoes, and zipped up a knee-length pink skirt around my waist. He undid the ropes around my wrists and put a matching pink blouse on me — it was frilly in all sorts of delightful ways. And some very girly shoes slid on my feet, too.
He undid the gag and handed me a cup of water which he must have poured when he was in the bathroom — but I didn’t remember it — and I drank gleefully. Then my eyes met his, and I stared at him in my pretty dress, and he asked again. “Now, be honest with me. Are you gonna be a bitch?”
Suddenly, as I looked down at the dress, tears came streaming out of my eyes again. I never usually cried, but I felt like in these clothes, I had to. “Answer the question!” he said sternly.
My heart fell as I quietly spoke up. “Yes, daddy. I will always be a bitch.”
He paused for a little while and then said, “Are you gonna be *my* bitch?”
I looked back up at him with tears in my eyes, seeking forgiveness, salvation of some sort or another. I sniffed. “Yes, Daddy. I’ll be your little angel, your little bitch. No more being mean. Promise. I’ll be the sweet little girl you never had.”
Today, I don’t think that was quite what he meant — I think he meant to emasculate me for just the one day as punishment, with no idea that I’d take it on as my internal role, the core of my very being. But he relaxed as he took some logs out and put them with my clothes, opened the chimney, lit some newsprint and twigs under the fire, starting the fire in earnest. I sat on the couch and watched the old clothes burn away, as Daddy got cardboard boxes out from the garage and stood in my room, tossing all of my old clothes and action figures and the like into the boxes — to take them to goodwill, you understand. All of my boyish posters, all of my bed coverings, all of it went into those boxes.
He had bought a can of white paint, and I helped him to paint the wall. To Daddy, there was nothing wrong with his little girl helping to paint, or hiking with his little girl and telling her all sorts of wonderful things about science. Those “bigger issues,” he always said, “are part of who you are.” Femininity was instead about “appearances” and “superficial interests,” which are also quite important, but they’re part of how you look, not who you yearn to be. I’ve never heard anyone else talk that way about feminism: Daddy understood that just because you like wearing a skirt and enjoy wearing nail polish or lipstick, it doesn’t mean you’re any less of a doctor, or less of a chef, or less of an astronomer (which is what I went to college for).
So, that afternoon, I helped him to paint the living-room wall with the can of white paint he’d gotten, and then, when we had some left over, we painted my room as well, mixing the white paint with an old deep red/mahogany color in order to get a beautiful, warm, pink color. We covered up all of my old Batman wallpaper with that beautiful pink color — the sorts of low-odor paints that they have today are very different from the smelly paints from back then, but we set up box fans and it was a warm, dry afternoon for painting. By that night, bedtime, it was all dry and my room was still quite bare, but Daddy still told me a story that night. We didn’t have any books with princesses in them, but when I asked him to tell me a story about a princess, he drew on his imagination and spun a delightful tale which put me right to sleep.
The “intervention,” as I like to think of it now, worked — and it was *not* traumatic. It was the best thing that ever happened to me, as a matter of fact. I saw a psychiatrist about another incident, during college, when I had almost been raped — but luckily, the man who was gonna rape me found my boy parts when he peeled off my panties, and got scared away. Daddy told me to talk to a shrink anyway, to make sure that I was okay. My psychiatrist, however, seemed to have real trouble understanding how *happy* I was that my Daddy had made me his little girl. I know what “traumatic” is, and that Thursday was *not* traumatic. I think I was really a transwoman all along, I just never identified as a girl until that day. I had wanted attention because I felt that there was a part of me which nobody had paid attention to: but once that part of me was out in the open, I was better able to be a reasonable person.
Many of Daddy’s closest friends knew that I was doing the transsexual thing, but we always made it clear to them that it was my preference, not Daddy’s. Also, my pediatrician back then was somewhat concerned, but we kept up the act of Daddy-wants-me-to-be-a-boy-but-I-wanna-be-a-girl. I wanted hormones, so that I could grow breasts like women really do, and so that my boy-parts wouldn’t grow and my voice wouldn’t deepen. The doctor eventually said, “well, I’m willing to give you the hormone-blockers, but only if your Daddy agrees with you,” thinking this was a safe way out. But after about a year of back-and-forth, Daddy acted like he had a sudden change of conscience, and by then my pediatrician had said “yes — but only if your Daddy lets you” so many times, he had no choice but to give me hormone-blockers. It still took several years of my insistence before they let me take cross-hormones so that I could grow real breasts, but at least I didn’t start growing a beard and getting hairy and stuff.
– – 3 – –
Well, a couple months later, I was going to my first classes in middle school. If you don’t live in the US, I should just tell you that over here, in many places you switch schools from 5th grade to 6th grade. And for the record, the social structure for girls is worse by far than the one that exists for boys. But I said that “Alex” was short for “Alexis,” and I turned my back to the other girls when we changed for gym class, and I don’t think anybody ever knew the difference. I was made fun of for being flat-chested, but other than that, I did pretty well for myself.
Middle school was different from elementary school and high school. My friends didn’t talk so much about sex in high school, but we talked about it all the time in middle school — relationships, boys, and one day my friend Alyssa was lecturing me on the best way to perform a blowjob. I hadn’t even heard of a blowjob, but I got the idea really soon: this was something you did to a man you loved, to make him feel *really* good. Well, that gave *me* an idea for the most special person in *my* life.
Daddy was sleeping in his underwear that night, and I tiptoed into his room. God, he was so gorgeous. I peeled back the sheet to expose all of his beautiful body, to see that his cock was standing up straight out of his boxer shorts. The thought of his member still makes me shiver — huge and thick, uncircumcised and natural, a very light curve that started about halfway up it — it was the cock that the girls at school gossiped about, and I was so lucky to see it on my big, handsome Daddy. My hand was between my legs rubbing myself, eyes glued to that big cock as I knelt beside the bed, wide-eyed. I trembled and grabbed hard onto the mattress and stifled a squeal as I drooled on the bed: I was cumming and cumming hard, with wave after wave coming over me, and it was all I could do to be quiet. It was the first time I’d ever came, and it was sooooo gooood. My little panties were soaked, and I stumbled out of the room — as I walked out, I heard Daddy shuffling in bed, but I don’t think he saw me.
I was all giggly and couldn’t sleep, but I tried anyway.
The next day, the same thing happened: I woke up horny at 2am, tiptoed down to see him sleeping, slowly and quietly peeled the bed-sheet off of him. He was laying on his side this time, and he wasn’t wearing undies. I stared at his big, soft cock in front of me. I wanted to suck on it. I needed to suck on it. My eyes traced up his muscular body again, my hand in my panties, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. I couldn’t bring myself to orgasm right there and then, so I kneeled there on his floor, eyes level with his cock, sending spikes of pleasure up through myself as I rubbed myself and thought about how much I wanted to suck it. But I was too nervous.
What if he didn’t like it? I needed to practice.
I snuck out looking for a surrogate cock to suck on, and found a jumbo sharpie. That was relatively straightforward, so I went into the kitchen and tried a banana, too. Alyssa had talked about deep-throating, taking a dick into your throat so that you feel like you’re gonna choke, so I tried. It was a very little banana, not much bigger than Daddy’s cock, and imagining that it was Daddy’s cock, I rubbed myself as I sucked on it, tried to force it down my throat — and as I gagged I got hornier, and hornier. The fifth or sixth time I tried, my throat opened up, I forced myself not to choke on it, and my hand was working furiously at my little mound–my panties were down on my ankles. “Oh DADDY!” I said to myself as I fucked my throat with the banana. And *then* I came all over the kitchen floor. Now, deep-throating isn’t a skill — you always feel like you’re about to throw up, no matter how much you do it — but now I knew what I was in for.
The next night nothing happened, but after that it was Saturday. I sneaked peeks at his crotch whenever I could: I *wanted* my Daddy, and I *needed* that cock. So I planned that that night would be *the* night. But Daddy made it so hard — mowing the lawn with his shirt off — the wait was UNBEARABLE. Somehow, I got through the day, though, but I was cock-crazy that night. Daddy tucked me to bed as always, kissed my forehead, and left to watch TV. My hand sat between my legs as I waited for the TV to turn off, for him to go to sleep.
I fell asleep for a couple hours though, and woke up in the middle of the night, after my nap. The TV was still on though. Worried, I padded over to the living room.
He was asleep in his recliner, a drained beer can at his side table. There he was, and it looked so easy to unzip those jeans and pull his member out. I tiptoed over to the kitchen to get our squeeze bottle of honey. (Another genius idea from Alyssa’s horny talks.) Feeling how cold it was, I quickly tossed it in the microwave, until it was warm to the touch — then I let it cool just a bit, to where it didn’t feel either warm or cold.
And then I unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped them, unbuttoned his boxer shorts, and there was my prize. I dug it out with gentle hands, my first touch of the member, seeing it big and strong. Daddy wasn’t awake yet. Drizzled the long strands of honey down his cock — still not awake. As I started to lick at the honey I felt the dick grow before my eyes, and Daddy seemed to stir. As I looked up and saw his eyes begin to open, I tried to take it down my throat like I took the banana, but I couldn’t get it all the way. Gagging on his cock, my innocent little eyes looked up and met his. I gulped a little with my tongue and he just said “Mmm… Alexis…”
Suddenly, he realized what was happening. “Alexis?! What are you doing?!”
I held up the bottle of honey and said, “licking the honey off your thing, Daddy,” matter-of-factly. But he picked me up and bent me over his knee and pulled my skirt up around my waist. SPANK! went his hand. “Mmm!” I said. SPANK! again — “Yes Daddy!” SPANK! “Make me your little –” SPANK! “– your little bitch, Daddy!” SPANK! “I’m yours Daddy, all yours!”
That big beautiful cock throbbed against my belly button. I encouraged him at every spank — “I’m all yours, I’m *your* little girl.”
His cock took over as he started to rub my red bottom, caressing it up and down, and I relished the feeling so incredibly. My right arm was pinned between his knee and my chest, but with just a little wriggling, it grabbed onto his member, rubbing it up and down and up and down. His back arched as he felt that, so I slid down onto the floor again and stared straight into those eyes — those big beautiful blue eyes that always know exactly how you feel — and ran my tongue up and down his cock. It still tasted sweet from the honey. Not breaking eye contact, I took it into my mouth and then tried to take it down my throat. This time, it went in, and I descended all the way to his balls without choking, staring him right in the face. I slowly drew back up for air, licking along the bottom of my little toy.
He drizzled some honey, I think aiming for my tongue, but it went all over his balls and the chair. I licked the chair clean and then moved up to the gobs on his balls, which I sucked off — some of it had trickled to the underside, so I was licking very close to his ass, too. Sucking his balls clean, I again ran my tongue up and down the cock-of-dreams. I took it all the way down my throat again, carefully, and Daddy held me down by grabbing my head by one of my pigtails. And he asked, “So, you wanna be my whore, do ya? Not just my little girl, you wanna be my little slut?”
He let go of my head and I came up off his cock and answered him, jerking him off with both hands. “Yes, Daddy. I want to be your little whore. I want you to use your little girl in every dirty way. I need you — all of you — every single part.” I ran my fingers up his abs and shivered. They looked perfect, but they felt even *better*. My panties had fallen to my knees. I started to suck on his balls again when he picked me up by the waist and bent me over an armrest, so that my face hung right over his cock. That was just perfect for me: I have never licked a Tootsie-Roll-Pop as lovingly as that member, and I loved the way that I felt it throbbing in my throat. Meanwhile, Daddy was using my newfound position to caress my ass. He then sucked his middle finger until it was very wet, and rubbed it slowly into my asshole. That felt soooo goood, that I went “mmmmmmmmmmm” with his cock in my mouth. But he didn’t continue, instead rubbing my little thing gently with his big powerful hands. The feeling of those strong hands rubbing me off–I almost came right there and then.
He picked me up. “Where are we going, Daddy?”
“To the bathroom. If I’m gonna make love to my little girl, she’d better be perfectly clean.”
– – 4 – –
He sat me on the toilet, and I just naturally started pooping, like I should. I didn’t really understand what he meant until the enema bag was filled with very warm water, and the spout was being put into my ass. But then I understood how Daddy wanted to clean me.
“Oh, Daddy!” I said as the tip violated me. Suddenly I felt the jet of warm stuff coming into me. “Daaaadddyyyyy” I cried as my little prick stood up straight and hard and my belly swelled. “Oh gawd Daddy I feel so fulllll!”
He popped the end out and then stood up and pressed his cock into my mouth. “Let it loose for me,” he said as I sucked on his cock gingerly. The first outrush felt okay, but then there was another, and then another, and then another, as my belly went from feeling pregnant to feeling relaxed again. As he flushed the toilet out from under me, he refilled the bag, not once taking his cock from my mouth, set it back on its hanger, stuck the nozzle back inside me, and filled me again.
It was sooo perfect, to feel full like that, to be humiliated as I let loose all in front of my Daddy. As I was on the third or fourth outspurt, he filled me again — for the third time, and rubbed my little crotch as my little ass sprayed into the toilet. When he took his wonderful cock out of my mouth, I sighed a little “aww,” and he stepped over to the shower and turned it on to a warm temperature. I was playing with myself as another jet of water, now clean, flowed out of me.
“You want one more?” he asked, and I immediately nodded my head vigorously. I *LOVED* the feeling, and still do. He filled the bag again, but now he hung it over the tub, and sat down. As I stood up, dirty butt and all, flushing the toilet behind me, he grabbed me by my hair and bent me over his knees, ass facing into the running shower, of course. He commanded me to beg for it as he spanked my wet bum. “Daddy please, I want you to fill me up again with the water. Please daddy, it felt so good. I need it Daddy. Please Daddy, I’ll do anything you want — I’ll suck your thing, lick your butt again, anything, just fill me up! Please Daddy. I want it soooo bad.”
After seven spanks — I counted — I felt the nozzle coming in, but I kept pleading. Two more spanks, and he began to fill me up. This time I took nearly the whole bag, saying thank yous all the way. Then I sprayed all over the shower wall behind me — each time I did, he said, “You dirty dirty little girl, look what you’ve done” and spanked me. By the time I was drained, my bum was all red. He asked me if I was done, and I said “yeah,” and he soaped my ass up and down, rubbing his finger deep inside to get the soap all the way in me. “There you are, all clean,” Daddy said.
As he stood me up in the shower, and stood up in front of me, that cock was right at eye level. I immediately put it in my mouth and then down my throat, looking up at him, but he pulled me off by my hair and held me a little way away. He said, “now you promised that you’d do anything, whore, so you’re gonna stay right there.” His cock softened a little, but then I felt the golden jet. I rubbed myself as I felt it go all over my face, all over my chest, dripping all the way down to my crotch. It didn’t seem to end, but I had a smile on my face, and in the middle, he opened my mouth and it shot all over my tongue and down my throat. As my mouth filled up with the foul stuff, I instinctively swallowed, and it got all over my face again, but I opened my mouth for him again, and when he was done, I even got closer and closer to his cock, so I wouldn’t miss a drop. Gulping the second time down too and taking him into my mouth, I found it wasn’t so bad.
The shower water ran down my back but my entire front was a mess. He finished up, and I gulped the last of it down, and then took him into my mouth, trying to fit it down my throat — but that wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe it was the smell or the stuff I had just swallowed, but I felt like I was gonna puke it all back up again, so I backed off for a moment and composed myself. But then I tried again, sucking first on the tip of his cock, then deepthroating him again slowly, and that went well. His cock stiffened to its full length as I sucked it clean — he was rubbing shampoo in my hair to get the pee out.
He turned me sideways and knelt down on the bath-mat, and took a bar of soap and rubbed it all over me. I *loved* it when Daddy would wash me. He spent a long time on my own little thing, which was sticking straight out, and I thought I was gonna explode from the pleasure of his warm soapy strong hands on my cock. This was the third time I was feeling them and I was thinking, “oooh, I could get used to this!”
He turned me to face the showerhead to rinse off all the soap, and started soaping up my bottom, cleaning both the outside and fingering soap into the inside. “Ooh DADDY!” I said as his fingers fucked my little ass. I took one, then two fingers, but Daddy couldn’t get three inside me. But it felt soo gooooood with Daddy’s fingers inside me, with my hands rubbing my little hard thing.
Eventually, he got tired of fingering my ass, and picked me up with both arms, so that my crotch was right in line with the showerhead, and I grabbed onto the pipe and propped my legs on the wall. I was all spread open, and the flowing water was falling back all over my belly.
As the soapy water flowed warmly down me, I felt his cock against my buttcrack and I gasped. He rubbed the bar of soap up and down it, and in my crack, and I felt every motion. He moved his cock back and forward between the cheeks and with his hand under my knees, pulled me forward so that my hole was just on top of his cock. “Beg me to fuck your ass” he said. And I did.
“Please, Daddy, do everything you want with me. I’m your little whore, your little little girl whore, and my ass isn’t worthy of that big gorgeous cock inside it. Please, daddy, fuck my ass hard. Please Daddy, use me, use your little whore, fuck her little whore’s ass, fill me up with your cock. That wonderful perfect cock — I need it in me, Daddy, and I’ll cry myself to sleep if you don’t fuck my ass. Fuck my ass daddy, please!”
I was holding the shower head just then, and when you twisted it it went into a “massage” mode, where it started shooting out spurts of water, strobing. As any girl can tell you, yeah — showerheads are a woman’s best friend. Each solid jet blasted my package, sending a new shudder of delight down my spine. Daddy lowered me onto his cock and as it stretched me I cried out, “DADDY! DADDY! IT’S SOOOOO GOOD!”
As more of it descended into me, I encouraged him by saying, “Deeper daddy deeper! Fill my little whore’s ass!” Finally, he was all the way in. He started to fuck me in a rhythm with the massager spurts. I cried out loudly, “YES!” with every thrust “OH YES! YES! YESSS!! FUCK ME!!! FUCK MEEEE!!! OH GOD DADDY I’M GONNA… OOH YES DADDY I’M SO CLOSE! OH FUCK-ME FUCK-ME FUCK-ME FUCK-ME FUCK-ME FUCK-ME!!!!!!!!!”
My arms left the showerhead and reached back onto his tremendous, strong shoulders — my nails dug into them as I reached my climax and cried out, one simple long word: “DAAADDDDDDDDDDDDYYYYYYYYY!!!!” My muscles went wild as they contracted around Daddy’s dreamy dick, shivering with absolute ecstasy.
Since the showerhead was in massage mode, the mess I’d made all over my belly wasn’t getting washed down. So Daddy scooped up some of it in a finger and put it in my mouth, and I licked it all up. Then I did the same with my other hand. Daddy was still fucking me, filling me up like a stallion, but I could tell he was close because he kept saying, “Oh… oh Alexis… oh god you dirty dirty little girl, what have you done to me? ohmigod….”
Finally he dropped me down and shoved his whole length down my throat all of a sudden, and I was too surprised to remember that it had just been buried in my ass, over and over. He fucked my face for a whole minute, not coming out of my throat, and I couldn’t breathe — but as it came out I wrapped both hands around it and jerked back and forth really fast. And THAT’S when Daddy exploded. Oh my gosh, he did — he must have not gotten any in a LONG time. Jet after jet of hot white cream covered my face and my open mouth. As the last spurts settle to a slow dribble out, I leaned forward and took him in my mouth again, sucking every last drop from Daddy’s perfect cock. I felt so proud, and wore the cum like a badge of honor. I swallowed the spunk that had gotten into my throat, and licked my lips clean, though my face was a mess.
He picked me up like when I was a baby, one arm beneath my back, the other beneath my knees, and I leaned up to him and he kissed me — really French-kissed me — for the first time ever. And as our lips broke, I looked up into his eyes, those big blue eyes that always understand everything, with my little whore face covered in cum, and I said, “I’m yours, Daddy. I’m your little bitch, I’m your little whore. All the time, any time.” He cuddled me close and I never felt more proud, more loved.
My butt hurt for a couple of days later, mostly from the spankings, but also from the wild fucking. But it was WORTH it. And we had a long fulfilled history until I went off to college — and we still have an amazing time whenever I come (pun intended) back home. I should tell you about the doggy Daddy bought me some time…
