Daddys little girl
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Daddy's Girl free porn video
Daddy's Girl.
By Tanya H.
My Daddy was the self-made son of a self-made son of a self-made man and
that was my legacy. From a Halifax mill owner, who started making
webbing equipment for the British Army in 1915, the business had grown
until kit from our factories, across three continents, was supporting
police, military and paramilitary organisations the world over. We
didn't produce guns or knives or tear gas, or anything like that, but if
you needed a pouch, holster or carrier for any of that kinetic
equipment, you could be sure to find it in our comprehensive catalogues.
When I was fourteen my Daddy sat me down in his study in the mansion on
the moor overlooking the Halifax mill where it had all started. By then
that mill had contained a gym, art gallery, conference spaces and
meeting rooms, but he still liked to keep an eye on it. He shut the door
and sat me on his side of the desk while he sat on the other. Even in a
middle age he was still tall, graceful and powerful, fair haired and
light skinned - I had inherited my build and eye-catching looks from
him. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin upon them, a sure sign
he was thinking hard on some knotty problem.
"Son," he said. "Men and women, girls and boys fuck, make love, have sex
- whatever you call it - and that's right and proper. Men and men, women
and women - no good will come of that. Do you understand?"
Homophobia was perhaps his only unpleasant character trait. I'd known
the risks when I'd let Carter Broome seduce me in the gym store at the
very expensive, exclusive school Daddy sent me to. However, my biggest
regret was that Mr Higgins had interrupted us before the gorgeous Carter
Broome could cum in my mouth. The next regret was that Daddy's donation
to the school's scholarship fund had outbid Carter's Dad's which meant I
returned next term, with no questions asked and no rumours allowed,
while the lovely Carter did not.
"I'm pleased your own Mother never had to have this conversation with
you, lad. Broken her heart it would."
Daddy stopped short of suggesting my own Mother might have been turning
in her grave at my indiscretion, or was watching from high with shame
colouring her dead cheeks. He had given up on the Methodists after their
God allowed my own Mother and his Wife to quietly bleed to death after
dutifully pushing me into the world. For all the charity work he
supported, for all the foundations he gave money to, he had never
crossed the threshold of a Chirstian church since burying Mother. Nor
had he ever taken another wife - discreet lovers, yes - but no other was
to be allowed the title of Mrs Edward Porter. The next woman to be a Mrs
Porter would be my wife - if he could ever find a way to make me more
interested in women.
When I was sixteen, in possession of exam results that justified the
amount of money spent on my education and the effort I had put into
obtaining them, I found I had an extra tutor for the summer holidays
before my A Levels. Traditionally sons of the family had gone onto the
shop floor during summer holidays, to ensure a grounding in work ethics
and machinery, but none of our factories were UK based by that time. As
well as maths, economics, English and IT tutors that memorable summer I
had Patricia Gregory.
Tall, auburn haired, impeccably turned out and beautifully spoken,
Patricia had been contracted to teach me of women. She specialised in
the curves, joys and warm, wet secrets of womankind and took me to
places I had only ever seen through the lens of pornography. Patricia
was lithe, energetic, exotic and beautiful; she took my virginity and
was my first in so many wonderful ways, but for all she did, and
ultimately dashing all my Daddy's hopes, she was no man. Though I loved
almost every minute with her, she was not what I craved. Though Patricia
was useful for my own development - her expert use of her mouth, lips,
tongue and hands to bring me to shattering orgasms was all noted as I
dearly hoped to be able to replicate her expertise one day when
delivering blow jobs of my own.
Happily my A levels were successful, straight A grades across all
subjects. Coupling them to fresh investments in our North American
factories, and some scholarship funding, secured me a place at the
Harvard Business School. Considering the Atlantic Ocean to be sufficient
distance between me and my Daddy's watchful eye, I allowed myself to
discreetly drift towards an extra curricular activity Daddy would
certainly have hated.
To that end I obtained an invitation to a party organised is a very
upmarket New York hotel suite, complete with rooftop pool and endless
luxury bedrooms. In one of them I found myself in the arms of Ryan
Craig, a scholarship student from rural Pennsylvania. Ryan was something
of an outsider amongst all the super-rich kids from America's most
glittering dynasties - like British me - and we were friends by this
point. Ryan had dark hair, milk-white skin and wide blue eyes I could
have gazed into for hours. He was athletic and lean, tall and capable
and from the moment I closed that hotel room door behind us he was
everything I wanted.
His body under my hands! Firm, athletic, contoured. I was super hard
before the first kiss, pushing him onto the bed, working my hands under
his shirt even as he tugged at my belt and pushed down my trousers. Our
kisses bruised with passion; I bared his chest, bent my lips to his
nipple and gently bit it hard while my fingers got into his trousers and
circled his solid cock.
And drew back with a frown. His pectoral which had been so hard was now
softened. His nipple had grown round and hard, a crinkled aureole
testament to his arousal. He moaned when my hand stopped working him, he
pulled me back for a kiss, but I was too distracted to concentrate as I
watched his chest deform and bloat.
"Don't stop," he pleaded, voice sugar soft. He was playing my cock with
a confident, firm stroke that would normally have driven me wild, but
what had been hard was diminishing fast. I kept my hand down his
trousers out of dread curiosity as his body inverted and breasts rose on
his previously sculptured chest. When I finally pulled my fingers clear
in disgust and amazement they glistened with female arousal.
"Come on, Michael, don't leave me like this. Don't you want me anymore?"
A dreamy expression filled his face, its angles smoothed and gentled.
Longer, curled lashes fluttered, full lips were parted in excitement as
he lifted slender fingers to cup and tease his expanded chest. His hips,
straining at his very smart trousers, rocked erotically. It was Ryan,
but a female Ryan - beautiful if you consider women attractive, though
still short haired.
"Ryan! You're a woman."
"Course I am, silly," she smiled happily. "Come kiss my breasts again."
She tried to pull me down, but I stumbled from the bed as though I'd
been caught there by Daddy. Ryan pouted in a sulky fashion and rolled
towards me, letting her shirt fall open to bare both her full breasts -
she was very well endowed for a 19 year old guy!
"Come on, Michael. I feel so hot, so wet." She slipped a hand where mine
had been just a minute or so before and I stared for a moment at the
rhythmical motions it made.
"Ryan! Get a grip of yourself!" Probably a poor choice of words, but I
wasn't thinking straight. My night of passion with the handsome Ryan
Craig had been spectacularly derailed.
'What's the matter, baby?"
"You've got tits! And a pussy!"
A frown crossed the face that any straight bloke would have been happy
to gaze at. She must have finally realised what had happened for she
jerked her hand from her trousers like it had been bitten.
'What? How? Shit?' Wide eyes turned my way.
I did what any self-respecting rich kid would do in such a situation.
Got her dressed, though her clothes were flapping and loose where they
weren't strained, snuck her away from the revelries and into a cab, took
her to a nearby hotel and phoned Daddy for help.
"Son," he said, next morning. We were at the breakfast table in his
suite in another expensive hotel. If he felt lagged from his flight
across the Atlantic, he didn't show it. "Son, like I said before - men
and women, together in bed, doing what comes naturally; that's what's
natural. I love you, you know that, and I'll protect you from whatever
comes. Even if it's yourself."
"But, Ryan. What happened?"
"Don't you worry about her."
"But she was a man this time yesterday!"
"Yes, she was. And you need to think long and hard about that, lad."
I watched him calmly take a bite of toast and sip some tea, like we were
discussing Yorkshire's cricket season and not the sudden gender
reassignment of a friend of mine.
"Daddy? I just-"
"I know. But to succeed in life, you need discipline. This great company
will be yours one day, lad. You need to be focussed on that. And one
day, you'll be needing to hand it on to your son, and so on. That's the
way of things."
"I watched a man turn into a woman!"
Another bite of toast. He watched me, eyes level and serene. I'd
expected all manner of reaction from him, but not such acceptance.
"Michael. To succeed in this world you need discipline, drive and focus.
Money helps, of course, but the most fickle thing you need is luck.
Can't buy that, can you, lad?"
"I suppose not." I frowned, confused, wondering where he was going.
"But, you can buy something to ease the luck. Smooth its way, encourage
it, if you like. Now, us; we sell equipment to armies and police forces
all over the world. What makes us better than our competitors?"
"Quality? Economy?"
"Aye. All of that, we make the best, we sell it at good prices and we
look after our customers. But there's more. Our ammunition pouches, for
example. You'll never buy one that will snag your magazine when you whip
it out for a reload. Reach for your handcuffs in one of our kit-vests
and they'll come out smooth every time. Our customers appreciate things
like that. Nobody who wasn't supposed to ever snatched a handgun from
one of our holsters, no matter how hard they tried to. That's luck of a
very special, magical kind that I pay for, every year; a pretty penny
too - but every one is well spent."
I shook my head. "I don't understand."
"You will. But to protect you, lad, I've had a little bit of that luck
tied to you. You can kiss as many pretty girls as you like, son; but try
it with another lad... Well, you've seen what'll happen to him."
"What you're talking about is impossible!"
"Course it is, son." He smiled, warmly, speared a fat sausage and cut
through it. "But you saw it happen and I ensured it would, paid good
money for it to happen. And remember this, son; it'll happen again. It's
for your own good; stick to the women, lad - much less complicated."
I ate my breakfast in silence, trying to beat my thoughts into some kind
of rational order. It was only when the poker-faced waiter had cleared
away our plates that I spoke again.
"What will happen to her? Ryan, I mean."
"Well, lad. That will cost us a pretty penny, I can tell you! She won't
want for anything, and her family will be comfortable too. Don't worry
about her: I've a team on it, a very capable and influential team."
He was as good as his word, but my Daddy was always a fair man, if
closed-minded about homosexuality. Ryan Craig left Harvard and dropped
off the grid, but the very next term his graceful, beautiful sister,
Rachel, started on a track and field scholarship; well deserved for her
long legs ate whatever distance she competed in. We spoke many times,
during our shared time there - I'm pleased to say she remained my friend
and once, after a few beers, we even laughed about our night in the
hotel. Whenever I apologised, which was often, she smiled. "Becoming a
girl is great, the best thing that ever happened to me."
I graduated with distinction, but before I could take up a position
within the company formally, Daddy decided I should travel to Europe and
work for a year, to build my experience. I was placed in Berlin working
as an assistant for a highly placed direcktor in a German aerospace
company. I loved Berlin, such a vibrant, focussed, amazing city and I
even fell in love with Germany and its people.
The problem came when the Herr Direktor's youngest son fell in love with
me. You'll understand that since Ryan I had become a sexual recluse. I
dated a couple of girls, but as much as I liked them as people they just
didn't do it for me emotionally, or physically. My release was of the
solitary sort, fuelled by imagination and stimulated by pornography with
sporadic forays into internet chat rooms. Dieter was blonde and blue
eyed, like his father, but came rather short and was a little plump. A
year or two older than me, he was clever lad, with an eye for numbers
and economics, and unfortunately an eye for me.
His gaydar must have been finely tuned, for he locked onto me within
days of me starting work for his daddy. My evasions only made the chase
sweeter for him, for he must have seen through them and recognised my
sexuality without me ever having to come out to him. His least
attractive trait, for he was funny, clever, unassuming and polite, was a
little unconscious arrogance and superiority. Part of that manifested
itself in an often, privately spoken promise that, 'I will have you,
Michael, before your time in Berlin is done.'
His wooing of me was charming, discreet and very persistent.
Six months later, when the European winter was bitter and eye-catching
at the same time, he got me drunk and finally cornered me on a plush
settee in the family's lodge on the banks of the Havelsee. He made his
excuses for both of us when the family was heading for a city centre
meal and theatre trip, then made his decisive move.
As much as I firmly protested, he gently persisted, until his lips were
on mine, his hands were exploring my legs and chest and arousal through
my clothes. I started by telling myself that If I didn't touch him then
whatever impossible intervention Daddy had paid for wouldn't run its
course. However, the more he kissed me, the more his hands played with
my swelling cock and the hotter my skin became, the less I worried about
what had befallen Ryan. Until all I could feel was heat and arousal and
Dieter under my hands.
He had the most beautiful erection; it was a joy to hold it in my hands
and run my fingers along its length. It quite took my breath away to
circle my fingers around it and pleasure him the way I had always
hungered to. Everything closed into him, his erection and the heat in
me. Without consciously moving I found myself kneeling at his feet,
running my hands boldly along his thighs and pushing them apart.
He smelt clean and wonderful, he tasted divine when I finally pressed my
lips to his wet tip. I engulfed him with my mouth, suckled and sucked
him, played him with my hands, teased him with my lips and tongue. His
hands caressed my hair, he softly whispered his encouragement in German
and English, his words and breaths coming harder and faster, until with
a final buck of his hips he filled my my mouth with pulse after glorious
pulse of salt cum.
My body burnt so hot I felt I must be scorching him where I touched. As
I straightened from his gleaming cock, savouring the taste and ache in
my jaw, I saw him with his head thrown back, mouth open and eyes closed.
"Erstaunlich!" he murmured. "God, you're good."
Praise indeed, for my first time. A blush rose in my cheeks, I was
brushing my fingers along his cock again, thinking of how I might
persuade him to mount me, when he looked down and his expression flashed
from dreamy, post-orgasmic contentment to full-on surprise.
"Michael! Sie haben Titten! Br?ste."
He stared with such intensity I looked down too and there they were, my
breasts as full and round and heavy as they had ever been; dark pink
nipples engorged and stiff. With a smile I pushed down my jeans and
boxers, struggling to get them over my hips, and wriggled them clear.
"Don't you like them?" I murmured, looking at him from under my lashes
and using my forearms to push them towards him.
Dieter shook his head. "Wach auf, Michael! Schei?e! Du bist eine Frau!"
I was awake, thank you! A woman? Of course I was! What was he looking so
scared about? He was practically crabbing his way backwards over the
sofa away from me.
"I thought you wanted me..."
"The man, yes; but you are a woman! Look, look between your legs."
So I looked and saw a dark triangle of curls and between my smooth
thighs the full, slick lips of an aroused woman's vulva. Which looked
right, then confusing, then as the mists cleared I stared and realised
with ice-water clarity how I'd been disfigured.
"Michael?"
Deep breath.
I'm a woman.
Think!
You're a bloody woman!
I closed my legs.
I'd have to get to neutral ground. Daddy would know what to do. "I'll
have to get to Berlin. Can you call me a taxi?"
"You've changed into a woman and you sound so calm! How has this
happened?"
I shook my head. "Bad luck, that's all."
When I stood I was acutely aware of the labia, hot, wet and ready
between my thighs. My heavy breasts shifted with the movement and I
thought suddenly of Rachel. I tried to pull on my jeans, but they
wouldn't fit over my wide hips.
"I'm going to phone my Daddy, can you find me something to wear?"
"What?"
"I have to be away from here before your family get back. You'll tell
them I had some family emergency." A hollow laugh. "Okay? But we need to
move!"
"Tell me what's going on!"
"I've turned into a girl! What else does it look like? You want to
explain that to your Father? I'll call you, later on. Okay? Clothes!"
When Daddy and I met next morning, in the Adlon Kampinski Hotel, all I
had to wear was the pair of black leggings and loose top belonging to
Dieter's sister. A PA was out shopping for underwear, having determined
I was an hourglass figured in European size 38 and 75D. Daddy looked a
little more agitated than the morning after Ryan. He'd only been in
Berlin an hour or so after flying in from an Italian ski resort.
"I thought we'd gone through this, lad," he said; disappointment dripped
from every syllable.
"Lass!"
He dismissed my correction irritably. This might have been the closest
to angry I'd ever seen him. "I thought we'd got you over men."
"I'm gay, hello!"
"You'd been warned once! Ryan Craig became a woman because of you. You
should have married her and put all this behind you."
"I was seduced, actively. Did my best, but... You know how it is!"
He tutted, shook his head. Then signed. "It shouldn't have worked out
like this, son. I should be getting ready for a very difficult
conversation with the Herr Direktor and his wife. Instead, somebody
working in one of my teams, who is paid very handsomely for checking
every word in contractual small print, is going to find themselves
working in our Alaskan division tomorrow."
"We haven't got an Alaskan division!"
"Not yet, but it they're able to set one up when they get out there I
may allow them back."
He steepled his fingers and looked at me over the top of them. "What are
we going to do with you?"
"That sounds final."
"I had a number of options looked at last time, in New York. All we
could offer Ryan was a fully funded and supported gender reassignment.
She turned it down. Whatever the mechanics were, that caused her change,
it made her very comfortable with being female. I'll have it looked at
again, but that may be all I can do for you. You'll have to decide."
Rachel always told me that becoming a woman had been the best thing that
ever happened to her. In the next few weeks I tried to find some anger,
disgust, disappointment with the way my body had been changed, I
searched diligently inside myself, but ultimately I accepted being a
woman as passively as I had once accepted I was gay. I even enjoyed it.
Coincidentally, two years later, I met Rachel at a huge, glittering New
York charity event for Save the Children. She was at a table on the
other side of the ballroom and I would have missed her completely had I
not glanced that way when a waiter made a spectacular crash when
dropping a ice filled wine cooler. It took me a few minutes to decide
from where I knew her face and another couple to extract myself from a
banking executive's earnest monologue and make my way to the lady's
room, via a circuitous route through Rachel's view.
I'd only been in there long enough to refresh my lipstick and re-pin
some errant hair when Rachel came in, curiosity shining from her.
'Michael?" she murmured, though we had the room to ourselves at that
moment.
"I haven't been called that for ages now." I offered her my manicured
hand. "Sasha."
Sasha had been Dieter's beloved cat and the name had seemed appropriate,
on many different levels, when we'd discussed a female name for me over
a bottle of wine a couple of weeks after our Havelsee passion.
"Wow!" She used my hand to pull me into an embrace. "You look great,
that dress is gorgeous, the colour brings out your eyes. What happened?"
"The same as you."
"Not quite. As I remember, you caused that in me. How did it happen to
you?"
I made a rueful expression. "Small print. The, ah... powers that had
been contracted, by my Daddy, for the, ah... gay contingency, apparently
decided it was clearly unfair for a string of lads to be changed because
of my lack of control. After one warning, you, I was put beyond gay use!
Here I am - Sasha!"
She seemed delighted to have been, 'my warning' - and was beautifully
over the whole experience.
"I remember reading about it," she said. "In a quiet corner of an
unfashionable business supplement - Edward Porter's son announcing he
was going to live as a woman."
"It seemed easier than creating a sister for me to become. We're a
little too well known for that."
"But you are biologically female, like me?"
I gestured elegantly along my body's curves, outlined as they were by my
shimmering gown.
We found a discreet corner of the venue, picked up flutes of champagne
on the way and toasted each other. It was hard to believe this
beautiful, sparkling woman was the man I had once kissed in that hotel,
or indeed that I, in my dress, heels and finery, had been the other man
on the bed. With a broad, proud smile she showed me first, the wedding
ring she wore, then held the flat of my hand to her tummy. She was warm
through her dress, slightly convex and very happily pregnant.
She introduced me to her husband, working with her for UNICEF in New
York, and I introduced her in turn to my boyfriend, who hadn't yet
plucked up enough courage to ask Daddy if he could marry me. I'd already
said yes, when he'd brought up the subject a week or so earlier, but
while Henry was modern enough to cook in his turn, to be happy that my
salary was greater than his, he still believed Daddy must first approve
my wedding plans.
"So you're still in line to take over your Daddy's firm?" she asked when
the evening was drawing to a close. We'd found a balcony and were alone,
shoulder to shoulder, sipping water, watching the city's lights and
listening to its endless life. The wind stirred my dress against my
legs, teased my hair; I'd slipped off my sandals and was enjoying
having my feet flat again.
"That's the plan. The board were nervous when I made my big
announcement, via email for obvious reasons, but once they'd met Sasha
Alexandra, after my year of transitioning - working in a Toronto
bookshop - and seen the way I get on with the job, they're happy. Oh,
Rachel - you should see them when I attend a meeting in a tailored skirt
suit and heels! They're desperate to look, but they don't want to - for
professionalism and because, to them, I'm trans."
"Your boyfriend must realise you aren't trans though?"
"Intimately!" I laughed. "He knows when he's onto a good thing, and he's
hopelessly in love. We both are."
She embraced me again, woman to woman, and hugged me tight. "I'm happy
for you."
So that was how, with a little slightly skewed luck and a Daddy's old-
fashioned, slightly skewed idea on saving his son from himself, he ended
up with a daughter. I think we all learnt from the experience.
Barbie
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