Daddys little kitten
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Daddy's Little Prince-cess free porn video
Daddy's Little Prince-cess ? by: Dee Eon
Very sparingly I brushed a pale coral gloss across my lips just the way
Janie Evans next door taught me before we moved away last week because
of Daddy's new job. I already had enough sense to know I really didn't
want to come out looking like some over-painted Bozos like most did
with Barbie makeup kits. Happily, Janie had years of kid pageant
experience behind her and had my undivided attention showing how to
groom and do makeup slow and light and careful, just as we played
dress-up on the sly for over three years after mom died from cancer.
Three years.
It was awesome that dad hadn't caught on for so long that I was really
playing jump rope and hopscotch and pop records with Janie and
Stephanie instead going to the park ball field to play with fictional
teams. If he had, he might've killed me just standing there in a fit of
rage, but since the past year he seemed resigned and exhausted from
berating my mild and gentle demeanor with hurtful terms. He only took a
belt to me a few times more of a punitive strike to try to break my
non-aggressive gentle mien. Now he barely mumbled my name and never
bragged about me like other dads did with their eleven-year-old scions,
even though I skipped two grades and held top marks. In an odd ironic
way I felt sorry that I let him down; that biology made me disappoint
his dreams and anticipation. A father's pride and desires deserved
better than having to adjust and cope with something that was neither
our faults. It wasn't a case of changing his mind and attitude; I had
to re-adjust his disappointment and affections.
Makeup was done and it barely looked like I was wearing any as my lips
and rosy cheeks and lush feathery lashes were subtly enhanced just like
Janie should it should be for our tender ages.
"Hurry up or we'll be late for service!" Dad barked from downstairs in
his weary dispassionate grumble. Startled, I looked up at the gray
double-breasted suit hanging on my closet door, still sheathed in its
dry cleaner's plastic wrap.
There was still time to change into it... No! I have to see this
through.
I drew a fateful breath and rolled ivory tights up my legs and clipped
on the beginner bra which was always a thrill since I envied the oh so
natural way Janie and Stephanie's budding figures flaunted sassy pre-
teen fashion, but this time it was to serve a practical purpose in
filling out a stiff taffeta crinoline slip which I dropped down over my
head, and as I did I again felt the strange tingly breathless brace of
delight that recently enhanced even more my secret pleasure. Preening
tiers of lacy ruffles with giggly anticipation and trepidation, I
lifted Janie's powder blue knit pageant dress with a big blue bow in
back off my bed. It was her tearful going away present for me along
with a few other things and accessories like my favorite teal-blue
jumper and frilly white anklets and penny loafers which I regularly
changed to in Stephanie's finished basement before playing with my real
friends.
I wiggled its downy organza and lace cloud down over my head and
spindly frame and tugged its eyelet-lace hem down till it was just shy
below mid-thigh. I seldom dolled-up this elaborately with my
girlfriends since it took so much time and work, like them preparing
for their pageants, so I resisted the spoiler urge to check the mirror
as I carefully draped Janie's favorite flaxen "flip" Barbie play wig
over my short walnut locks and brushed their wispy end-curls over my
pouf-sleeve shoulders and fixed its big blue anchoring headband. My
ivory-filmed toes worked into a snug pair of shiny patent leather
buckled skimmer pumps then finally I critically checked my door's long
mirror.
A swelling genetic gawk mixed with my giddy peace. Awesome! I looked
just like one of those cute frilly eight or nine year-old contestants
at Stephanie's kiddie pageants--though somewhat precociously matured
thanks to the bra's effect on my mildly mounded ruffled bodice and the
way my high flouncy skirt amply flaunted once spindly legs into sleek
ivory-filmed columns more belonging to a teen.
Though just over eleven, my pale scrawny body was almost petite as an
eight-year-old, and by aping my girlfriends' diets I almost matched
their slim figures. The dress's ruffled bodice nicely mellowed my
slightly more angular frame and the poofed crest of its balloon-like
organdy sleeves tempered my somewhat broader shoulders so despite
my actual naturally stockier stature. The svelte charmer in the mirror
looked indistinguishable from the lissome graceful girls at pageants
where I could only wistfully watch and study from the audience. I
nearly swooned from the fancy and fortune that I could look so
daintily seven all dolled-up like this, but posing my true age in
regular fashions would've totally lacked this magical pixie effect and
charm, and I was going to need a lot of both.
"Damn it, hurry up!" dad yelled. "Doesn't look good being late for our
first church visit here, much less on Easter Sunday!"
A rush of apprehension rippled me as skittishness daunted my resolve,
but some drive, some restless expression far deeper coaxed--no;
compelled me on. I was pretty sure my plan was sound and I was dressed
to kill. Ironically, there was another sublime reassurance lurking in
me that somehow related to that nameless recent fascination welling
from my cells as I gazed the girl in the mirror. Not that I ever
willfully provoked it, but I felt a strange shadow of myself ogling the
mirror in a breathless wistful way apart from my delicate delight and
fem fancy, and in some unfathomable affinity I thought of the way boys
at playgrounds eyed my giggly nervousness as my skirts flounced panty
high while skipping rope and playing hopscotch with Janie and Stephanie
and their unwary friends.
Sometimes I'd overhear a boy whispering to his friend that I was
'pretty,' which rushed me a deliciously smug tingly thrill which also
in some weird juxtapositional way-- like right now looking at the
pageant princess in my mirror-- stirred a funny warm throb inside my
panties that somehow didn't feel as flattering and innocent as the
delight I first long felt around my girlfriends yet was far more
titillating, it was a powerfully rousing excitement which I intuitively
sensed might one day usurp even the joy of being one with my
girlfriends, and might even in its own way somehow might even serve me
today.
"Damn it, do I have to come up there??" dad barked from downstairs. I
gnashed my slick coral-glossed lower lip and steadied my wits and will
and patted my silky coif and held my breath and quietly padded down
stairs.
It was sheer insanity, like walking into the dragon's mouth, but I
deeply felt that if I was nimble enough during its gasp of surprise
I could snuff its flame.
Dad was faced away on the lounger catching a quick smoke, even neat in
his Sunday suit looking haggard in the face. I knew he really loved me,
despite his haunting disappointment. I intuitively sensed it was better
to do this now than later when I wouldn't have the same charming look.
"Finally!" he muttered aloud, still missing me as a slowly advanced. "I
fucking promised your good mother that you'll keep going to church and
you're gonna owe up to that promise at least, damn it! Now where--"
His voice broke like my breath and heartbeat as he glimpsed up at me
with a wild double-take before swinging toward the front door. "What
the--? Who are you??"
"It's me, daddy," I answered with practiced demure softness and
suicidal calm as my measured dainty sashay stopped before his gawk to
fan out my lacy hem as I dipped a slow deep curtsey then without
wasting a second for his shock to dissipate, boldly moved up and
perched his knee like a cowgirl hops side saddle, my lacy gloves
folded in my lap's frothy nest, silken ankles crossed.
Dad was stunned, but I didn't wait for that involuntary pardon to
fade. "Daddy, please don't get mad. I love you so!" my long rehearsed
soft dainty voice soulfully asserted as I gazed back into his wide
incredulous eyes as I hoped and banked that my instincts were right of
how his eyes always wistfully grinned and twinkled at barbecues and
family reunions whenever sweet young things skipped and threw their
arms around their dads' necks and giggled as they kissed their cheeks.
Dad looked just as enchanted at their strapping junior jock sons
strutting home all grimy in their Pee Wee football uniforms, but he
long gave up enjoying both dreams for himself.
Now was the time to bend his disappointment.
Barely recomposed, Dad stammered, "Wh--Wh--Wha--??"
"Please don't be angry, daddy. I love you best this way because this is
the real me deep inside, and I just know you'd like me better this way
too!" I exclaimed with a liquid doe eyes practiced with Janine and her
mom, who said it made me look like a lovely pleading angel. I prayed
she was right.
"Daddy, I know you've been very disappointed how I don't like to be
around boys and playing rough sports and things, but it's not because
I'm any sissy. It's because this is the real me, daddy. I've always
been your secret little princess, daddy, but I don't want to hide it
anymore. I don't want to lie to you anymore, daddy. I want to be my
best for you, daddy, because I love you so!"
I braced to be thrown on the floor.
He shook his head at me. "My--God--!" he exclaimed, staring over me as
though I were as though realizing a long dreaded bad dream and after a
long pause he looked away, and my chest sank but then he looked back at
me as though in suspended dismay taking my weight and look anew. Almost
if reaching in a daze, his fingers haltingly touched my nylon cornsilk
locks while his other hand rested my ivory-filmed knee as though trying
affirm my tangible reality and accept my lying image.
"My God Jesus!" he murmured aloud with a soft choke, coaxing some
expediently apt impulse that made me peck his shaven cheek and prop a
soft coral smile and twinkling gaze at him. "God! You...you're so...so
beautiful!..."
My lacy mildly mounded bosom rose with a swell of giddy flattery that
almost made my haze of happiness swoon.
"Thank you , daddy--and you're so, so handsome!" I added as demurely as
my lowered eyelashes as Janie's mom suggested though I couldn't see how
such minor little gestures might help, so I was surprised and pleased
when he suddenly chuckled and looked at me as though for the first time
since coming downstairs.
"You... you really believe you're -- you're really like this?"
"Yes, daddy. For long as I knew."
He soberly nodded and briefly turned as though musing some long lost
whimsey then faced me with a look. "You...really want to stay like
this?"
I lifted my head and gazed back into his eyes. "For ever and ever,
daddy," I said and he stared at me as though weighing my fact against
enchantment, his deflated expectations against perked fascination.
"Jesus you're--you're so--so beautiful!" he breathed with unabashed
charm, gazing my face with marveling awe, and beneath my relief I once
again felt a funny bump or budge nudging under my lace-sheathed thigh
by his belt buckle. Maybe he read my awareness in my eyes because he
suddenly caught his breath and blushed and suddenly gently lifted me
from his lap to close his knees tight.
"Er...let's--see you better now," he said in a somewhat hurried abashed
way before shifting to unabashed admiration. "My God...I?I always knew
you were--were pretty. Way too pretty and dainty than you're supposed
to be, but I never dreamed that...that..."
He stopped and looked at me, his lingering resignations wafting to the
peace and relief of exhumed truth and contrition. "God. I--I'm sorry I
tried to force you to be what you're not--"
"It's alright, daddy. Everything is new now. Don't look back, please?"
He chuckled and hugged my fluff tight then gently planted me on the
floor. "Looks like I've a lot to learn about treating a little Miss
Princess right, eh?" he quipped, soberly sighing to himself like he
often did over bills, but then smiled at me "Yes...lots of things to
fix...but first, we'd better be getting on to church. Good thing no
one knows us here well yet. I think you're going to wow a lot of
people, Mark."
"O Daddy!" I chaffed to his sheepish blush.
"Damn. Sorry. Of course not. Not anymore."
"Make me your favorite one, daddy!"
"Huh? Oh...well, er...I don't know...I--I always liked-- 'Anna Lynn'
...?"
Face beaming before his beaming enthrall, I curtsied at my christening.
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Dee
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