This is a story I feel compelled to tell. My name is not important, I have a well paid job in an unimportant industry; suffice to say my work compels me to travel. I will not be giving any identifying details; I am not sharing but confessing. Maybe some among you will understand why I did what I did. My story begins much earlier than I initially thought, seven years ago, when my wife walked out on our 11 year old daughter Katie and me.
Her behaviour had been increasingly erratic, even suspicious: unexplained absences, bruises, I even thought I saw the tiny bites of needle on a vein. But work was always calling and I didn't have the opportunity to confront her, my sole attempt met with an astonishing tirade of verbal abuse before she stormed out of the house, returning only after she had confirmed with Katie that I was safely out of the country. I never saw her again.
The day before my return Katie saw her mother climb into a taxi with elaborate hair, heavy make up and two large suitcases. That was it. The police, of course, were uninterested, she had left of her own accord, no crime had been committed and I soon grew tired of their pity and rising irritation. My own subsequent enquiries, with her friends, with Katie, were met with a range of stares, from pitying to accusatory, but only one story; a gradual breakdown, mood swings, increasing detachment, changes in the way she spoke, dressed.
My wife had slowly and systematically broken every friendship, then every relationship she had. Some with neglect, some with dramatic spats or behaviour so unacceptable, so socially humiliating that total ostracism was inevitable. Maybe I will tell some of these later, but they are not my story.
I can't claim that I handled it well, I tried to comfort Katie, but she was distant and defensive, we had never had much of a relationship I had been away so much that I had very little idea of who she was. So I did what men always do; I threw money at the problem. If moral there is to this tale, it is there, in case you missed it. Shopping, shoes, handbags, holidays, spa trips, I simply treated her as I would any other woman in a sulk.
I understand now that an 11 year old girl is not a woman, but at the time I was lost in my own grief and betrayal, lost in my work. But here's the kicker, she lapped it all up, I suppose she responded to feeling like an adult, like someone who could deal with this.
She got everything she asked for, when she wanted a new room, I got the attic converted, when she grew frustrated with her nanny of eight years, I handed the harridan her references. She never asked for my attention or my presence, neither did she receive much of either. At thirteen now, she demanded that the new home-help should be younger, cooler. I duly hired in a stunning 25 year old Lithuanian au pair, Magda, based on largely on the fact I wanted to fuck her, which I did.
Magda left after a two years and recommended a friend, just as hot, and with equally impressive references. This cycle ran through three more times before Katie's 18th birthday and the obsolescence of an au pair. It seemed to work well; Katie was doing fine at school and the house was always immaculate, meanwhile I got to pork my way through a veritable Victoria's Secret catalogue of Eastern European pussy.
I started to take her along on some of my business trips, so we could have 'quality time' which usually amounted to a couple of rushed breakfasts and a whole lot of her shopping on my credit card. Shortly after her 18th birthday, Katie asked if she could come with me to Amsterdam next time work took me there. I had never taken her to the sex capital of Europe for many reasons, I tried to pretend to her it was for her own protection, in truth I didn't want her to know the kind of things I would do there; fatherhood, even my low maintenance version, was not too compatible with whoring the night away with a handful of clients and a pocket full of pharmaceuticals.
Of course my lies caught up with me, I could hardly deny an 18 year old, especially when she became petulant and accused me of not trusting her. I had no real response and had to cave. Three weeks after her cripplingly expensive 18th celebrations we checked in to one of the bland business hotels by the park, I didn't even have time to settle her in before my meetings began for the day, so I just handed her a few hundred Euro with a mumbled 'Happy birthday' then off.
The slightly shocked expression she left me with played on my mind through out the morning and I texted her to meet me at the hotel's (slightly) better restaurant for dinner at eight. Conscience duly salved, I threw myself back into the maelstrom of machismo that these long, grinding meetings usually became.
I was a little late for our meeting, but Katie was nowhere to be seen. I had a brief panic at the thought that she had stormed out in a fit of pique at my tardiness, but that was just my overactive guilt, she was far too laid back for that sort of thing, far too cool. Eight thirty sailed slowly by as I smoked cigarettes and drank whisky, eyeing the few interesting females the low-rent pseudo-chic of our meeting point could attract, while the call to action from my bladder grew more urgent.
I knew that the moment I capitulated that Katie would walk in, see me absent and presumed I had stormed off! Finally I had to give in, reasoning that at least this, if nothing else, would guarantee her arrival.
Sure enough, when I left the toilets my table was occupied, but that was about the only part of the scene which fitted my preconceptions. I know you've all been dying to conjure your own mental picture, you know something of where this is going, you want to meld your fantasy to my reality.
Well, now's your moment, because I remember that moment like it's tattooed inside my eyelids: the instant, fraction of a second when I saw my daughter, truly, for the first time. She was draped over the black leather banquette exactly like the sheer red silk that slid over her fragile little body, in places clinging, in places drifting away as if weightless. Her pale blonde hair tumbled in artful chaos over delicate shoulders, shading the pencil thin curve of her collar bone, its shadow pointing in turn to the precious declivity at the base of her bird like neck.
Her fine boned hand lifted a cigarette to blood red lips, and I watched mesmerized as her cheeks hollowed and she inhaled, strands of smoke spilling from the parted lips.
Her breasts, bobbing gently in the twin triangles of her plunging neckline, were a pointy little A cup, perhaps a B. She laid her arm out over the back of the chair, her cigarette dangling from nonchalantly practiced fingers.
The fine fabric of her dress pulled taught across her right breast and the profile of her fat nipple was visible, covering a full quarter of her chubby little tit. That was when she saw me.
I managed to pull my expression to one of anger, luckily shock was still my main response, but I was fighting a wave of lust as I walked back to the table. She stood up as I neared, giving me a full length view of her perfect legs in black fishnets, the liquid fabric flowing over razor sharp hip bones as she leaned in to kiss me on both cheeks. "Since when did you smoke?" "Since I got one from your packet" Sliding back into her seat she took a long, sensual suck on her cigarette, her chest expanding and giving me a relief of both puffy nipples.
I coughed violently and grabbed one for myself, lighting with a shaky hand. "I suppose you are 18. And you look sensational" She basked in the praise and I had to really pull myself back to the reality of the situation; this was my daughter for fucks sake! "So what did you get up to today?" Her demeanour suddenly morphed to the shy little school girl I remembered, then she smiled mischievously and pulled a bundle of bags from beneath the table. "I mostly got underwear." she laughed "I'll be needing it!" Something about her manner jarred and she must have caught some in my expression: "Well you always need underwear don't you?" I let it pass, but something about the exchange stuck with me.
We passed a perfectly uneventful meal as she recounted her day, seeming almost bored with it herself, and I managed to ascribe my brief rapture to the whisky. When she went to the bathroom, I sneaked a peak in her purse; there was make up and a pack of Marlboros with an ornate lighter, obviously the accessory of a habitual smoker. I couldn't resist a look at her underwear and was not disappointed, the lingerie was tiny and absurdly sexy, but I noticed a large drugstore bag nestled amongst the shreds of fabric.
I looked up just in time and restored her purchases before she got back to the table. Wondering about whom she was buying this fantasy wardrobe for and what she was buying at the drugstore totally screwed my concentration. When I got my senses back I suddenly saw all of the men in the room staring at my daughter's tiny ass as she floated across the floor.
She sat down and took a sip from here double espresso and proceeded to smoke a languorous cigarette as one old guy at the bar laughingly raised a glass. It dawned on me that the onlookers would assume that she was my trophy girlfriend, at best. More likely they thought she was a high class hooker. I rushed through desert and said I needed to get back to the hotel to make a phone call, for work. The rising sense of embarrassment as the whole restaurant was looking at me with my presumed rent- a-pussy and I knew just what they were thinking: You're old enough to be her father!
We rushed back to the hotel, Katie seeming to buy my 'forgotten work thing' pretext; she accepted my hurried goodnight, thanked me for dinner and slinked off to bed like a cat in heels.
Back in my room, I locked the door and booted my laptop. I needed the most degraded porn I could lay my hands on, anything to get Katie's perfect little tits out of my mind. It was 4am before I could sleep. The next day, throbbing from the whisky and my 3 hour nap, cock burning from my diversionary masturbation, I struggled through to seven without a thought to my little darling.
Just as I was ready to leave, my cell vibrated and my heart sank as I feared the worst for my working schedule tonight; I was running on empty by now.
But my phone's display read 'Katie' and my heart and various other parts lurched violently. "Hi dad, are you finished yet?" "Uhh. yeah just leaving." "Cool, come meet me, I'm out shopping.
Just give me a call when you get to the town hall, yeah?" My sleep deprived mind raced with the images of yesterday, Katie's restaurant floor show and the ensuing porn marathon swirling into one erotic whole. "Fine" I choked, I could hear the sound of frenzied sex echoing in my head, and I struggled to get a grip on myself. "See you later. I've got a surprise for you tonight!" She rang off and my composure returned somewhat, the fuck noises gone now. It took a moment for me to register her last words and my imagination kicked into overdrive once more as I imagined her demoing her new lingerie for me.
No! This has to stop. I literally slapped my self round the face, cold water from the bathroom and an espresso, well, two, and I was fit to leave the building.
The biting wind further renewed me and I filled my mind with memories of the young Katie and her mother, happier, simpler times. But the truth is there were no happier times. Well, not many. I had only fucked her mother because she was there and she was fuckable. Pregnancy was a surprise, but family would be good for my career, and she was hot enough to count as a trophy, young enough too.
As for Katie, I'd only really seen her once or twice a week before her mother left, and sometimes less after that. I found her vapid dependence annoying and couldn't keep up with the various bullshit bands and movies she yammered about, I probably hadn't heard a word she'd said in years.
Perversely, my frustration at the expensive burden fatherhood had proved to be drove all lust from my mind. It hadn't even been good for my standing; wife who walks definitely not good for fucking business. When I called Katie, I had to dial back my aggression, but I got voicemail regardless.
She called me back a moment later, breathlessly apologetic. "Sorry, couldn't get to my phone. Hey. I've come a long way from where I started, can you meet me halfway?" "Yeah. sure" She proceeded to direct me as she walked along the canals and through the red light district.
Finally I read my location off the street sign and she told me to wait where I was "You'll see me in a minute" she said.
The street was crowded, the hookers in the windows drawing more spectators than johns, for the most part. My phone vibrated. "Hey silly, I'm right in front of you!" I looked straight ahead, but only saw a throng of strangers and a hooker in a window. A hooker on the phone. She waved with a shy smile as she hung up. I didn't quite fall over.
There she was, resplendent in her whoredom; my little girl. She wore a simple, black thong matched with simple, black stilettos. The bra was also black and sheer, her nipples partly disguised by embroidered red flowers but still forming an amazing, strawberry shaped silhouette when she caught just the right angle with the light. She seemed to catch just the right angle with the light quite a lot, like a real pro; she could really flaunt what she was selling.
Her legs in full length were amazing, a good two inches between her thighs at the top, the back light picking out her puffy lips as the thong pulled in on the more delicate lips within. Her belly and hips were sublime, her stomach soft and unmuscled, yet taut and flat with youth, the traces of puppy fat dying out to reveal smoothly curving hipbones, like handles on her pelvis The whore nodded towards me then beckoned, posing and throwing her body into crude but alluring postures.
She beckoned again then twisted her tiny little ass towards me slapping the exposed cheek with a pantomime bad girl expression on her sweet little face. I became aware of my cock, like an iron bar, sore from restraint. My emotions had totally cancelled out, I could feel no relationship to this sex toy, but the body knows when there is work to do.
I had resolved myself to go to her, I honestly don't know whether to fuck her or kill her, when I realised that I was not, in one way, the audience for this show.
Katie continued to gyrate and beckon, but not to me, to a fat German guy in front of me, who appeared to be arguing with his wife.
The woman was half shouting and gesturing at the meat in the window while the guy just looked put upon. Eventually an agreement seemed to be reached and the guy handed over his wallet. His wife carefully selected a couple of Euro bills, stuffed them in his pocket, then waltzed off with the rest. He looked a little forlorn for a second, then turned round and strode to the window with his fuck budget where my daughter welcomed him, and his money, with cartoonish sexuality.
She walked to the window, looked right at me with a tiny smile, then pulled the curtain shut with a snap. There was a pavement cafe over the canal, and I felt like I needed a drink and a sit down. I slumped into a none too welcoming chair and ordered an espresso and a beer, just to cover all the bases. Three smokes in, I began to get some clarity in my thoughts. This was some kind of wonderful sexual nightmare, one I was half praying I wouldn't wake up from.
The shock was pretty much fifty fifty; one, that my daughter was a hooker, two, that I had had a solid erection for about fifteen minutes at the sight of her. I peeked over to the closed curtain, still no sign of the services on sale within, services I longed to see. With a jolt I remembered the laptop and digital camera in my bag. The camera had a decent zoom and I wasn't far away. I couldn't see her trade, but I could sure as hell look at the advertising!
I set the camera up facing her and zoomed as tight as I could, getting a nice shot of the window and it's imminent contents. It had been fifteen minutes since the lucky tourist made an entrance. I was ready to watch while I worked on my second beer and I'd set it up to record video too, she wanted to put on a show after all. I glanced away from the screen and she was back, stroking the guy like a puppy through the half open door as he trundled away, slipping a bundle of notes in her cleavage with greasy fingers, almost without looking at her.
I caught a glimpse of a dribble of cum on her cheek, then the door was closed, curtain still in place. I timed her and she did her clean up and touch up in under a minute; how much practice had she had? She returned with an open for business smile, but even as she pouted and mimed and licked and bit her lips, the smile returned, briefly, brightly. Genuinely. My daughter loved being a whore, you could see it in her eyes. The bouts of touting were always short lived though, she worked through six guys before nine, a couple obviously losing it against what she had to offer pretty quickly.
I felt pangs of sympathetic embarrassment for them, but Katie looked increasingly delighted as she filled up with cum. Every time she was targeting a guy, right up to the money talk, she would pose and tease and giggle.
But she changed the performance for each person, the German had got full schoolgirl-slut, other guys got shy-but-up-for-it, aggressive, virginal.
Every time she got them, I could tell by their posture, their gestures, my little girl could always find the perfect fantasy for each one. Just after nine, my phone went, it was Katie. I looked round and she was in the window, leaning on a tall stool, her hips rocking it on the back legs like she was riding it.
" Hey handsome, are you just gonna sit there and watch me?" "I.uh, well." "Don't be shy! Come one over and we can talk, OK" ". OK" "Cool!" I heard her giggling "You will still have to pay though, it's the rules" She hung up, and when I looked over she was beckoning violently. Without really thinking I bundled my things together and tossed some Euros to the waiter as I hurried out. The cold wind made me doubt my course, if not my sanity, but I looked up and was lost to lust.
As the angle steepened with nearness, her breasts were lifted above me like objects for worship. I almost fell on my knees when she opened the door for me.
For me the performance was business-like. " Fifty for twenty minutes, a hundred for an hour, one fifty for an hour with anal" She subtly changed her posture, hips tilting forward, breasts rising. She looked straight at me "Most guys want an hour, most don't last twenty minutes" She stood up straight and slowly teased one bra strap over her shoulder then walked around me so the light shone directly on her tits. Under the glare, her bra was all but transparent, her fat pink nipples, like mini breasts in themselves, strained against the fine mesh.
"You'll take an hour" she said. I did. She pulled the curtain and laughed. "God that was weird!" I didn't know quite how to adjust to this, I was confused. "Huh?" "I had to put on a show. Or did you want me to say I took an hour off to see my dad?" She stared at me inquisitively and I withered a little. "I didn't think you'd want people knowing your daughter was a whore" "Do you have anything to say?
She asked. I just mumbled "How?" "Well" she relished the word, drew it out "Let me tell you a story" She took my compliant hand and led me into the back. The little room was tidy but the smell was astounding; complex layers of incense, aftershave, rubber, cum, cunt and shit. It spoke volumes on her labours, clean as she was, pretty as she was, she sold holes.
Every hole. I slumped down seated on the bed while Katie snaked into the tiny wicker char crammed into the corner, taking up a third of the room's usable floor space. Seeing my consternation at the chair Katie said "Sometimes people like to watch." She smiled "Or wait their turn!" and she broke into giggles again.
"I'm sorry, I do feel really bad about this, but I had to show you." My anger flared briefly "You thought this was the best way?" She cowered just a little, but I caught her subtly assessing my response.
She thought I'd get off on hitting her! Maybe she thought I just needed to get it out of my system, but I was spun at her playing me like a john, it knocked this ball right into her court.
I backed off a little and she resumed. " you had to see how good I am at this, how natural. You know that I'm a great whore, it's my purpose and it makes me happy.
' And she did look genuinely satisfied, content even, but I still didn't know what to say. "When we flew in I waited till you left, then ran and bout the underwear.
That only took an hour. Then I came up to the red light district and got chatting to a hooker having a smoke. Over our second cigarette, I asked her if she knew where a girl could get work" She slumped back in the chair, pushing her pelvis toward me as her eyes glazed in recollection. "She took me down to a cramped office down an alley way. I was feeling a little scared, but it was so easy! The guy who hired me was sleazy, groping my tits like meat and slapping my ass, but Lucile, the other girl, she stopped him before he crossed the line." " I was in my little window inside half an hour, it was 11.30 and I still had six and a half hours to whore.
I changed in to my skimpiest lingerie and pulled back the curtain.
It was so exciting! The passers by ogled me, men, women everyone. Women cursed me, men drooled, miserable people condemned me, eyed me with disgust and I lapped it all up. It just felt so right to use my looks like this, to use my body as it was intended before it all gets used up by time. I don't want love, I want to be adored! I fucked twenty guys that day, I kept notes. 8 full sex, two anal, mostly blow-jobs and hand-jobs. I came in today at six and I work till two. Tomorrow, I'm doing a double, then Thursday, I do a day shift and my first live sex show that night.
My goal is to fuck a hundred guys in a week" She looked me in the eye expectantly, but I could still find no words and her face seemed to fall a little, then brightened again with her most mischievous smile. She began to toy with her dangling bra strap, pulling my attention back to her cute little boobs. "Look, I know this isn't really appropriate." she slid her strap down further until the cup of her skimpy bra was held up only by her jutting nips.
".but I know this must be upsetting for you." her fingers slipped round her back as she unclasped, holding the wisp of fabric in place herself now. ".and I know ways to make men happy" she let the straps go and delicately slid her minuscule underwear away from her tits, arching her back so the proud points thrust at the ceiling.
"I want to make you happy, daddy" Inside, I was trying to feel shock, or anger, I swear. But in truth I was leant forward, mouth open, dick like a rabid dog, straining for a taste of sweet, young flesh. "You did pay" she said reasonably, like any father would fuck his little baby under these unfortunate circumstances, and she stood, topless.
"I could just give you a blow-job, you wouldn't see my face. You could pretend I was someone else" she threw her hip out to one side, slipping a thumb under the slender waistband of her thong, tugging it down over the curve of her fragile pelvis.
She bit her lip in a blatant display and again looked me right in the eye: "Or. I could give you a hand job if you'd like. You could see how much I enjoy it, see how my tits jiggle when I'm wanking you hard, watch me lick your cum off my fingers when you're done." She brought one of her hands to her mouth and mimed her semen show. "Whaddya say?" She stood, waiting for her magic to work while I struggled with conscience and a million emotions, struggled to get out so much as one word.
Katie gently took my hand and raised it to one succulent breast, caressing it with my fingers and I finally managed one word. Many times in life all you really need is one word: yes, no, please, sorry, one word can change the direction of your life for good or ill. In my case, the word was 'hand-job'.
Katie smiled broadly and, without a sound, leant forward and tugged at my flies releasing my manhood with nimble, cool fingers.
She stared at it like it was the most miraculous object, the holy fucking grail, and bent her head down to kiss the oozing tip pulling away with a strand of slimy pre-cum hanging from her pouting lips. "This is where I came from" she mumbled with wonder as she tugged roughly at the base of my penis " I really should say thank you" She licked up and down the shaft for lubrication, then lovingly sucked my balls before running her tongue all the way from perineum to my twitching helmet.
She paused for a second, teasing the head with her tongue, then, with a tiny glance into my eyes she methodically swallowed my whole length until I could feel her nose pushed hard against my bladder. She held it there for a long moment, then slipped off smoothly somehow looking classy and graceful, even with great strings of drool and cock juice spilling from her open mouth.
Her face held an expression of empty shock, morphing into a wicked smile as she wiped her mouth with the back of one hand, smearing her lipstick across her face, while the other reached out to do it's work. It was the best hand-job I had ever had, better even than I could do myself, sometimes working the tip with slippy fingers, sometimes a full blooded jerk, her tits, as promised, bouncing with the exertion.
I couldn't last long under her expert ministrations and soon felt a pulsing hardness working it's way from base to tip. Katie felt it too "Cum for me daddy, cum for me please" She was hunched over forward now, hand a blur, face screwed up with furious concentration and desperate need. "Cum for me, cum on my little tits, I want to taste it" When my orgasm came it's intensity was almost painful, my back cracking like a whip as my hips lifted and I shot my first sticky spurt across her open mouthed face.
Her eyes lit up as the hot semen splashed her cheek and her tongue shot out to guide it past her soft lips as my second spurt found her left tit.
I continued to pump sperm out all over her slowly working fingers, watching my cum dribble over her nipple and form a swinging pendulum on her gently swaying breast. After an eternity of pleasure, I sank back to the bed, totally sated. But Katie wasn't finished; she brought her right hand to her lips and hungrily licked of every trace of spunk, sucking each finger clean when she was done. Then she cupped her fat little tit in one hand and delicately lifted away the long strand which hung from the puffy pink tip, carefully keeping it intact so she could dangle it into her mouth like spaghetti When she was satisfied she had my full load, she opened her mouth smiling and bubbled a 'thank you' through the mouth full, choking a little then giggling at the end.
Then she grinned broadly and swallowed, opening her mouth by way of proof when she was done. She grinned bashfully, then bit her lower lip. But she still looked me in the eye "That's all folks" and she stood.
"Normally I would keep up the performance' she glanced at me over her shoulder " but I think you want to see the behind performance don't you?" She opened up a cupboard in the corner to reveal a sink and mirror, cartons of baby wipes with her own make up bag perched on top. She talked through the side of her mouth to me as she wiped her face and did her make up, her breasts, swaying in profile. "It's at these moments I can really feel what I have become, y'know? When I wipe all the filth off me, but know that it I will do this most days for the rest of my life and never be clean.
I will always need cum, adoration, and I will do anything to get it. I'll do all the things the other girls wont, because there is not a man alive who does not worship the cute little girl who indulges his most secret fantasies, the things they would never even ask of their own wives, or girl friends. or daughters" A playful glance my way as she slipped her bra back in place and I almost gasped at the loss.
". Look. I want you to know that you can always come to me." She stood straight on, legs little apart and, right then, I would have given blood to see those sweet little tits again.
She read me beautifully: ". I am fully waxed." as she parted her legs further and my gaze dropped to the other mound. I had been so wrapped up in her tits I had completely forgotten her eighteen year old pussy, and a tiny little ass I knew accepted imports!
". But only on a professional basis, OK?" I was stunned at her coldness, she kicked me out unceremoniously and ignored me as I stood and watch her for the two minutes it took her to hook her next fish, wiggling the bait to entice them to bite.
Well, that isn't exactly the end, frankly I need to go and release some of the pressure these memories bring up. If anyone wants to hear more, let me know. Why did Katie do this? What's her story? And from 100 guys in a week, where would she go?
She had said she would do anything.