Bruce Flores - Daddy_s plaything

From the backstage wings of the Lucky Nuggett lounge-stage Victor Redgrave studied Sherry Trent (that was her stage name) as she held the boozed and gambling-weary Las Vegas audience spellbound. Even at sixteen, his daughter Sherry had stage presence that some veteran singers might envy. Guitar in hand, her fringed, white western attire so tight-fitting it had the male members of the audience open-mouthed, Sherry held the entire audience in a near-hypnotic trance. Charisma, some critics called it. Victor knew it was sex-appeal. Whatever it was, Sherry had it – in spades – that and an incredible vocal talent that had raised her Nevada price to four-thousand dollars a week.

Sherry possessed a rare if not unique combination of qualities that ensured her success. To wives in the audience she was as naive and wholesome as a TV margarine commercial, while to male viewers she was sex personified. Yes, there probably wasn't a normal male in the audience who secretly didn't want to fuck Sherry Trent, ravage and devour every curve and swell of her ripe, young body. But their chances of realizing this dream were next to impossible, for Victor Redgrave, Sherry's business manager and father, had been taking care of that department for some time now – in fact, ever since Sherry was twelve. With regularity. Their relationship made Lolita look like something out of Alice in Wonderland.

Sherry had just finished a haunting, slow version of the ballad Brown Eyes with the stage dark and a single spotlight on her; now she was finishing her final forty-five minute act of the night with a bright, up-tempo rendition of Wabash Cannon Ball. The audience was clapping its hands in time to the music. After Sherry's soul-rendering Brown Eyes, there probably wasn't a dry female eye in the crowd, nor a dry male crotch either. Sherry pranced about, inviting the audience to join in, her stage-smile fixed but sincere as her rump wagged and her breasts bounced. Happy, fast dosing tunes were common with any act. In Sherry's case they were nearly essential. They gave the hard-ons of the males a chance to fade away.

The black, velvet curtain began descending and Sherry blew kisses to her "wonderful audience" and thanked her accompaniment, The Sunbeams, for a terrific job. The Sunbeams were a semi-competent trio who traveled with Sherry wherever she played and, thanks to Victor's sound business principles, earned the minimum rate of pay. They were Rex, on guitar; Joel, on drums, and Phil, fender bass. Thanking them at the close of the act always drew out the applause, which was a good tactic, but they might as well have been The Moonbeams or any other kind of beams because they didn't matter.

Sherry Trent was the whole show.

The stagehands quickly moved the risers out of the way in preparation for the next act and Victor led his slightly perspiring daughter out the stagedoor and into the coffee shop of the Lucky Nuggett for a snack before retiring for the night. Sherry greeted the small group of fans who had assembled outside the door, signed a few autographs, and then she and her father settled into a booth and ordered the dietetic special which consisted of a hamburger patty and cottage cheese and hardboiled eggs and other high-protein foods calculated to keep an up-and-coming star from getting overweight.

"Good audience," she said to her father as she sipped her nonfat milk. Victor drank Sanka.

"Yes," he agreed, "for a week-night they were nice and responsive. The closing number was a little too fast, though. I'll have to speak to Rex about that tomorrow. Aside from that, every thing went fine." Sherry seemed tired. When their food arrived, they ate in silence. Then Victor paid the check and they went to Sherry's dressing room where she changed into street clothes and went upstairs to Victor's room. They always rented two rooms wherever they went, but Sherry always stayed with her father… Now Sherry watched herself as she shed her clothes until she was completely naked. She liked to view her firm, young body in mirrors wherever they stayed, which was all across the country. She liked to palm her high, full breasts and run her hands over the curve of her hips and thighs. She knew she was sexy and men wanted her and she was pleased that she was a success at the age of sixteen.

"Daddy?" she called to her father in the bathroom who was still humming her closing number, the Wabash Cannon Ball, as he prepared to draw her bath. Never taking her eyes from her reflection in the mirror, she heard him turn on the water faucet and the sound of running water.

"Yes, love?" he said.

"Do you think I should start wearing sexier clothes – I mean, see-through tops and things like that? It might, help the act."

Victor exited the bathroom and stood in the doorway, totally naked himself. For a man of forty, he had a remarkably full scrotum and a long, though slightly narrow penis. "For now," he said, "the act is doing fine as it is. More daring costumes would only remove the air of mystery about you, love. Four-thousand a week is four-thousand a week. I think it best that we maintain your present image for a few more years." He ran his dark blue eyes up and down the length of his delectable daughter's body, pleased with what he saw. "Leave everything to me, sweet. Trust me."

"I always have," she said, smiling at him over her shoulder. "Whatever you say, Daddy."

Already she was beginning what she called "the mushies". The mushies came over her boy, making her feel passive and willing and eager whenever it was almost time to have sex with her father, which was often. Ever since she had been twelve and her father had indoctrinated her young body to the pleasures of sex, she felt this same anticipatory tingle run through her body when she was all alone with her Daddy just prior to bedtime. She listened to the water running in the tub and knew that in a few minutes she would be in the hot water and Daddy would be scrubbing her back, cleansing her carefully from head to toe, and then she would wash him too, everywhere, and then they would laugh and fondle each other's genitals before drying and getting into the king-size bed to make love. Fucking Daddy and doing all the beautiful things they did to each other was even better than getting applause on stage because it was their very special secret.

Actually, it was an extra quantity of applause a long time ago – that had led to her first sexual experience with Daddy. Her mother was a hopeless alcoholic and no longer traveled with them, so after the divorce it was just herself and Daddy. They traveled alone then, making a meager living in the lesser clubs across the country. She and Daddy slept in separate rooms then and money was scarce. She remembered vividly that night Daddy had come into her room wearing a shabby robe and slippers and sat down on the bed beside her. She was just beginning to get breasts then and the critics were beginning to call her things like a "remarkably talented young girl" and a "refreshing novelty on the country-western musical scene".

She had broken in a few numbers that night and the audience had responded particularly well. She had even had a standing ovation which had pleased her and made her cry with joy backstage after. Listening to the water running in the bathroom now, her mind raced back to that momentous night when she was twelve.

She was there again and she could hear her father's words dearly, as though he had spoken them only yesterday.

"Well, my darling," he had said, "you proved that you're star material tonight. I was talking to Gil Turner after the performance and he thinks he can get us considerably more money from now on. That means we'll, be staying in better hotels and not having to skimp any more. I think such applause deserves a reward. After all, you're not just a little girl any more."