Bruce Flores - Daddy_s plaything

"She doesn't seem to like your father, does she?" Tony whispered.

Sherry was dumbfounded. She had never beard of ceiling someone vile names while they were making love. She noticed several longstem glasses on the nightstand. "Maybe she just had too much to drink," Sherry said. "I never heard anything like it."

"Bullshit," Tony said. "I've seen chicks like that before. They're a special breed. They like to let out all their hostility toward men when they've got a guy helpless between their legs. Don't talk so loud," Tony cautioned. "Let's just watch and listen. Little Miss Rich Bitch is a real sickee, believe me. I know."

Now Miss Sheila Whitcomb had Victor Redgrave by the hair, her face a hideous grimace as she directed him and abused him. "You can kick better than this, you dumb asshole," she said. "I know you can. Anybody can kick better than this. There, that's better, my nice baby. Keep your hard-on up nice and stiff or I'll rip your balls off, you understand? Like it inside where it's nice and juicy and hot, right? Ummm, so do I like to fuck, baby. Just keep feeding it stiff and straight inside my slit or I'll gouge your kicking eyes out. Right? Right? Answer me you stupid asshole! Answer me or I'll make you take your prick out and you won't be able to come. I'll pretend to give you a blow job and then I'll bite your Goddamn cock off, do you hear? Answer me, you bastard! But keep on kicking while you do…"

"Yes, Sheila," Victor Redgrave whimpered, pumping. "Yes, my precious. It-it feels nice inside you. I like to fuck your cunt."

"Shit!" Sheila ranted. "Any college kid can do better than that. You mean you can't fuck and you can't talk either! That isn't talking."

"I… I want it inside your cunt… I like to stick you, Sheila… I like fucking your ass off, you bitch!" Victor Redgrave said.

"That's better," Sheila said. "Now tell me how you're going to make me a star. Tell me! You're going to see that I sing on the stage just like that asshole daughter of yours, aren't you? Keep fucking my cunt and tell me about it again… kick and talk… stab and tell this innocent little thing you seduced about kicking her cunt and about making me a star!" Sheila raked. Victor Redgrave's back viciously with her long, talon-like nails. "Tell me or I'll make you take it out and I'll kick you right in the balls!"

"You're… you're going to-to be a star, Sheila. I'll make you a big success… I promise… promise… don't make me stop… a star… can't stop now… anything…"

Suddenly Sherry realized that her father seemed, in some strange way, to be deriving pleasure from this sick game Sheila was directing. He must be. He was sensitive, Sherry knew. If he didn't enjoy Sheila's abusive language his erection would have dwindled away to nothing long ago! And yet, there he was, fucking away despite Sheila's unspeakable language and vulgarity and cruelty.

Just then, Sheila's tone of voice changed abruptly, and it was evident, that she was preparing to reach her orgasm. With a few more brief efforts at sadism, she began to moan and pant and plead for Victor Redgrave to "pour it on". Her legs locked tightly around Victor's lower legs and she began pumping rapidly.

"Ohhh… coming… just a few seconds more… coming… wonderful… wonderful… please don't atop… Victor… harder… wonderful lover man… fuck… yes now… now!"

Victor grunted faster too and lifted Sheila's gyrating buttocks high off the mattress, making a kind of platform of her cunt, as he drove hard for his climax and they both reached the heights together.

Sheila's head tossed from side to side as she sobbed now and apologized for the abuse she had subjected Victor to during their sex act.

This post-orgasmic period was in startling contrast to Sheila's early mood. She apologized again and again, explaining that she was "truly sorry" but she could achieve satisfaction only when she belittled and threatened and used the moat vulgar language at her male lovers.

Victor seemed to understand. "Yes, you were getting a little bit out of line there for a while but I assumed you had some hang up you were trying to rid yourself of. You're a most unusual piece of teenage ass, my dear – you can rest assured of that. While I haven't had a great deal of teenage tail I'd say, without any fear of contradiction, that you are indeed an aberrational phenomenon when it comes to kicking. Except when you're performing fellatio and your mouth is full of cock and you can't talk." He tweaked her cheek playful. "You sound like some kind of professor," Sheila said, frowning.

"Really," Victor said, his voice a cultured purr. "Yes, quite possibly I do. Perhaps it's an attempt on my part to counteract your filthy, sadistic language of a while ago. You didn't sound at all like the lady I thought you to be. You sounded more like a common prostitute. No," he said, correcting himself, "on second thought like some perverted freak."

"I'm truly sorry, Victor," Sheila said. Her voice was filled with remorse and she held Victor close begging forgiveness.

Sherry knew her father well. He was not the type to let himself be pushed around. Not in the least docile. Now he was getting even for what he had endured a while ago. She nudged Tony and signaled toward the door. "Let's get out of here before they see us," she whispered.

Tony nodded and they slipped out, quietly closing the door behind them. In the hall, Tony said, "Well, aren't you glad we eavesdropped?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Sherry said indifferently.

Although Sherry's first two shows of the evening brought a good audience response, she knew that she had performed poorly. Deep inside, she feared her father would discover the missing checkbooks and papers and that an ugly confrontation would ensue. Thus far, he hadn't discovered their absence and she and Tony sat in the hotel coffee shop in a large booth with Victor Redgrave and the most proper Miss Sheila Whitcomb. They made small talk, waiting for both Sherry's and Tony's final shows of the night to begin. Sheila was sipping a cup of hot chocolate when a man wearing a tuxedo came over and informed her that there was a long distance telephone call for her. She excused herself, slid out of the booth and followed the man.

"Probably one of her country club chums in Paris got bored and decided to call for a chat," Tony said.

Victor found the remark amusing and laughed as he dabbed his lips with his napkin. Sheila returned a few minutes later looking whit, aced and in a state of shock. She slid into the booth without uttering a word.

"Anything the matter, my dear?" Victor asked.

"Are you all right?" Sherry asked, concerned. The girl did look ghastly and she dabbed tears from her cheeks.

"Yes, I'm all right now," she said, finally. "Thank you." In a matter of seconds she seemed to have completely regained her composure. "It was about mother and father," she said evenly. "The plane they chartered for Las Vegas crashed and there were no survivors. The pilot and mommy and Daddy are dead."

Sherry stared in amazement. She had heard about people being made of steel but she had never actually seen one. Sheila sipped her hot chocolate now almost as though nothing had happened. She was unbelievably calm.

"I don't know what to say," Victor said. "I'm terribly sorry. You're absolutely certain?"

"Oh, Sheila, how terrible, dear. Is there anything we-we can do?"

"No," she replied. "I'm afraid there's nothing anyone can do. There's no question about it. The identification of the bodies was positive."

"Would you like to go to your room?" Victor asked.

"Yes," Sherry agreed. "Why don't you go to your room and – and rest? You can let yourself – well, give vent to the way you feel, dear. Daddy, maybe you ought to call the house physician." If Sherry was correct, Sheila didn't much care that her parents were dead. No, she thought. No, she's simply in a state of shock.