Dietrich
I’m sporting a battering ram of a boner when the car stops outside the two stories of crumbling plasterwork and peeling paint a few blocks from the POS Stratosphere Hotel and Casino.
I consider beating off in the back of the car and leaving that fuck Zeneli a little dried-up DNA, but I need to get this shit sorted and buy back my life.
There will be plenty of time for a one-eyed blast off to visions of sexy, barely legal blondes.
I grab the folder with the information I’ve put together on my “daughter” and let myself out of the car.
I’m halfway up the cracked concrete path when Greg bursts out of the front door with his arms as wide as that shit-eating grin on his face.
“Hawk!” He uses my nickname like we pledged Phi Kappa Bullshit together back in the day.
I nod. “Where’s the girl?”
He pats my shoulder, guiding me to the door.
“You’re gonna love her. She’s nineteen, has done some stage work, and is the daughter of a very good friend.
She’ll do whatever because,” He leans into my ear as I push him away and he finishes in some super, double secret code ring voice, “her father owes me.”
“Fine, but no doe eyes or crocodile tears when I don’t massage her ego.”
“She won’t let you down, man. She’s gonna be fucking Meryl Streep for you,” he replies, cocking a brow on a theatrical mafioso sniff.
The toe of my black Santoni loafer barely touches the first step before a flash of brown fur comes balling out the door, ears pinned back at a dead run.
“Oh fuck.” Greg sticks out his foot, trying to block the furry escape artist. “Hannah is going to kill me for letting that dog out…”
Greg’s too fat to make a move so I spin, and in one long stride, I’ve scooped up the little wiener dog by the belly before he gets pancaked by the garbage truck that’s whizzing by.
Lucky for the people that live here, he’s clean, smells good and has a green neon collar embroidered with the house address.
Doesn’t look like I’ll have to dislocate any fingers today.
“Jesus, didn’t think you could move that fast.” Greg scratches his forehead as I step through the door with the dog wiggling in my hand.
I set him down inside and he throws me a lopsided look, wags his tail, then trots across the room and down the hall. “Why’s that?”
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a big guy but you got reflexes like a fucking cat.”
I grit my teeth, moving inside as the pounding in my temples intensifies. I brush a twitching finger over my forehead, scanning, checking corners, hallways, absorbing every detail.
Someone with some talent took hold of the decorating.
The furnishings are thrift and IKEA but it’s got a warmth and quirky sophisticated style like one of those overpriced boutique hotels in Palm Springs.
There’s a bright yellow plastic chair in the corner and a gray mid-century style sofa with cheerful floral pillows against a wall.
The buckled and stained wood floor is partially covered with a vintage looking yellow and brown hooked rug.
It’s all very Salvation Army but someone is trying to make this shit hole a home and it gives me an unusual stab of sadness. There’s also this caramel and sugar scent in the air that has my mouth watering.
I wonder if it’s the girl I’m hiring that put in this effort, and if she knows that if she fucks up this weekend, she might get me killed.
Might get her killed too.
I draw a breath through my tight throat and my spine stiffens as I take in more of that sweet and savory scent, as a guy with dirty blonde hair and a spray tan appears in black polyester golf shorts, a blue polo and fake Gucci slides.
With dirty white socks.
I scoff at the caricature, half expecting his eyes to flash with dollar signs like in those old Looney Tunes cartoons.
“Denny Wesley,” he says, jutting an eager hand in my direction.
“Hawk,” I respond, ignoring his offer to shake.
“Denny is the old friend I told you about,” Greg says with that tweaky, excited tone that tells me they need me way the fuck more than I need them. At least, I’ll let them think that. “His daughters are like family to me.”
Daughters. Plural.
“Good to know.” I nod, listening to my vertebrae pop as I crack my neck. “So, where is this actress?”
“She’s coming,” Denny says with a slap of his hands. “You wanna sit? I can get you a beer–”
I shake my head. “You have thirty seconds to produce this girl. Then, it will take me ten seconds to know if she’s going to work or not.”
“Of course,” the father mutters. “Brigid is perfect. She’s been involved in theater since she was ten—”
I cut him off. “You now have ten seconds.” I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose and growl at the sound of a fly buzzing overhead. I fucking hate flies for more reasons than most.
A fuzzy little black and white dog is snoring under the yellow chair as I scan a smattering of photos on a mantle. To my surprise, I’m drawn to one. It’s clearly the father, with two little girls wearing cowboy hats as they stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon.
Fast, light footsteps come from behind as a charge prickles the air.
“We were supposed to be going on vacation.” There’s a blonde angel nodding toward the picture frame in my hand and her voice is more music than words.
The sight of her nearly buckles my fucking knees.
“Our father forgot to tell us we were on our way to Vegas and to our new home.” She waves a hand toward cracking paint and brown stains on the ceiling above. “To this day I don’t like surprises.”
Tunnel vision takes over. Blood rushes through my ears.
Is it her?
No. Can’t be. There are thousands of blondes in this town, but I’m a man that has an uncanny knack for micro-details and I’d give it hundred to one odds that this girl with that ass is the same one from the shelter.
Her dark-chocolate brown eyes bore into mine. She's smaller than I first assessed, but curvy and soft in all the right places, with those platinum blonde waves falling over her shoulders and around her childlike face, framing the pink magic of her cheeks.
She’s got on this fuck-you sort of gray tank-top with “Nope” written across the swell of her life-giving tits.
Her earlobes are decorated with silver earrings that look like little ninjas.
She’s all business up top, but on her lower level she’s sporting a gauzy white skirt that skims her knees, paired with white Ked’s tennis shoes and no socks.
Her lips are spun sugar and, fuck, her hips are swollen curves of rich softness and I want to cross the room and shove my face into her cleavage and wear her tits like earmuffs.
If I could regress into an infant and feed off those mother earth breasts for the rest of my life, I’d do it.
My mouth waters as I imagine the sweet spray of her milk meeting my greedy tongue.
I wonder for a moment if I’m being punked.
This town is so full of fakes and falsehoods, this could be some kind of set up and the joke’s on me.
I shake my head. My sixth sense tells me there’s no false foreplay going on here.
She’s fucking perfect.
Any audition would be superfluous. This girl is already it. Already mine.
My daughter.
She’s a cock stiffener extraordinaire, and she doesn’t even know it.
My dick throbs down my pant leg, struggling for space as it spurts wet warmth onto my thigh. I’ve never reacted to a woman this way. I’ve had my share of stress relief in the form of pussy, but it was always something I calculated and worked into my schedule when necessary.
Another thing, I’ve never looked into a female’s eyes when I fucked. I’d always turn them away while I did the deed but right now all I’m thinking about is her brown beauties rolling back in her head while I stuff her full of every fucking inch of me.
I never questioned why I fucked in such an impersonal way until now. Now I know.
None of them were her.
Of all the women I’ve seen in this world, none have been close to this extraordinary. She fits my depraved fantasies to a ‘T’.
Fantasies I’ve never acted out or acted upon. But, my darkest secrets spring to life like a field of sweet corn in June. The thick irony dripping over me like cream.
The only thing that’s ever gotten me off is the thought of me as a father getting it on with my daughter. Not as a child, that shit turns my stomach.
But, barely legal, having Daddy teach her all about first times? Sure.
Or, in her twenties, coming home from college after blowing her finals and Daddy comforts her with a nice ass fuck to clear her mind? You bet.
Oh, and one of my favorites…she’s running her ass around the house on her birthday wearing nothing but one of Daddy’s dress shirts unbuttoned down to her navel.
I give her a ripe red ass and a lesson on what happens to a cock tease.
I face fuck her until she’s got a throat full of my cum and her cheeks are wet with tears.
Then to top it off, a good-hard pounding on the hood of the new Mercedes I just bought her as a birthday gift.
But, all of the fantasies end with her in my lap, curled close as I pet her head, kiss her forehead and tell her what a good girl she is.
You make Daddy so proud. Even when you misbehave, you’ll always be my little girl.
I’ve got hundreds of scenarios, some more depraved than others.
I never felt bad about it either. Fantasy is fantasy, right? I never planned to procreate and who the fuck knows why we light up for certain things. I have a flexible moral code so what goes on inside my head is no one’s business.
The cherub that’s going to play my daughter for the next two days stares at me in silence. Hard core images of bending her petite, curvy body over that threadbare couch and plowing deep until my seed is spilling down her thighs makes me groan as my cock shoots out another gob of sticky seed.
Slap, slap, slap. My swollen rhinoceros balls smack against her sloppy pussy as she whines for me to stop as I say, ‘Never. Now, tell Daddy to fuck you harder…’