Daughters Are For Fucking Ch 01

When the title of this story popped into my head I figured I'd unconsciously plagiarized it. It seemed too obvious not to have been used before, but when I ran it through Literotica's story search function I didn't find it. If you, the readers, recognize it, please let me know.

I've been carrying iterations of this tale in my head for years. It's based on a fund-raiser I attended where the fifty-fifty booth was operated by a beautiful young woman whose looks, clothes, and make-up epitomized teen-aged innocence. Of course, a more sexual interpretation took root in my mind.

There are (or will be) two chapters. The daughters are Josephine Robertson and her best friend, Salma Gonzalez. Both lovely young women have a thing for their Daddy's. Josephine, of Scandinavian descent, is tall, thin, lithesome, nicknamed Jo, and the narrator of the first chapter. Salma, of Mexican ancestry, is dark, short, buxom and curvy, and narrates the second chapter.

As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * * *

I was naked, standing before my full-length mahogany dressing mirror, using a curling iron to give my straight light-brown, almost blonde, hair some twists and curves, aiming for a sexier look than the one I'd worn earlier in the evening. Of course, almost any look would have been sexier, for I'd dressed the innocent, an eighteen year old girl with only the lightest touch of make-up, clear lip gloss, manicured nails covered with a clear color, hair long and straight, and wearing a maxi-dress that hung from my shoulders to my ankles. If you saw me in that dress you knew I was slim and attractive, it was the kind of dress only a slim attractive girl looked good in, but what lay beneath was left wholly to the imagination.

I'd been working at a fund-raiser sponsored by Daddy and some of his friends, including Mr. Gonzalez, the father of my best friend Salma. The money would be used for several local charities. Daddy and his friends were still there, shutting down, counting the proceeds, but I could tell it was the best year yet.

My job at the fund-raiser was to sell raffle tickets and this year I'd sold more than ever. Those men couldn't get enough of this beautiful, oh so innocent teen. They bought tickets and flirted with me, then bought more tickets. I'd respond as an innocent, giggling as if I didn't understand what they meant or wanted, supposing that they kept touching me and bumping into me (sometimes with their hard man-things, they were so naughty) by accident, accepting their compliments at face value.

Occasionally Salma, shorter, curvier, and bustier, would take over and I'd wander around, feeling men's eyes on me, making sure Daddy saw it all.

It was a role I loved playing for a lot of reasons, but for one reason most of all. Knowing all these men were lusting for his sweet daughter, fantasizing about her, set Daddy's libido afire. Daddy would come tonight, knowing men throughout the city were fucking balling their wives and girlfriends while imagining it was me, and fuck me til our bed shook and my bones rattled.

And there'd be other man, by themselves, jerking on their jerking on their man-things, spewing man-juice, imagining stripping me, laying me on their bed, entering my innocent tight teen-aged cunt, shredding my hymen, filling me with cum, and turning this wide-eyed child into a cock-hungry, their cock-hungry, whore.

But, of course, that could never happen. Daddy had already done it.

But tonight Daddy wouldn't come home to the innocent girl who'd sold raffle tickets. (Not that I didn't love playing the innocent, we played that game often.) No, he'd come home to the satyress he'd created. Caressing a stiff nipple, feeling it through my body, I walked to the bed I shared with Daddy, ran my hands on the lacy black silk bra and panties, garters and stocking lying there, imagined how I'd look in them with my five inch open-toed stiletto heels.

I put on my choker, then the lingerie, was painting my lips and nails a dark sexy red when my phone pinged. Daddy was bringing Mr. Gonzalez home for a drink.

I thought about Salma, his daughter. I knew most girls would kill for my body: 5 feet 11 inches, 121 toned pounds, dress size 2, 31-23-34, "A" breasts, but for a day or two it would fun to be built like my short, curvaceous, buxom Hispanic friend; it would be fun to give Daddy some variety.

I went to my closet, picked out the form-fitting dress I'd wear over my lingerie, returned to the mirror, put it on. My green eyes sparkled at the result.

When I heard the cars pull up I filled two sifters with the good brandy, placed them on a silver tray, met Daddy and Mr. Gonzalez at the door.

I admired Mr. Gonzalez. Not that his eyes didn't linger on me, all Daddy's friends' eyes did that, but his did for only the briefest second. Daddy's other friends would stare, make some comment, noting, at least obliquely, that the innocent girl of an hour ago was gone, that this girl oozed sex, but Mr. Gonzalez didn't.

Of course, he was used to having a hot teenaged daughter in the house.

I took their coats, hung them up, cuddled up next to Daddy, and listened as they recounted the evening. I'd been right; it was the most successful fund-raiser yet.

* * * * *

The day after I turned eighteen, the morning after I gave Daddy my virginity, I told Salma. Daddy didn't tell me we needed to keep it a secret until that night, after we'd made love again, so that first time I hadn't disobeyed him, but I did when I kept telling Salma. A girl has to tell someone.

So the morning after the fund-raiser, hanging with Salma in her pool, she asked, "So tell me, what happened after my Daddy left last night?"

"Well, my Daddy told me I'd been a bad girl, cock-teasing men all long night just to sell raffle tickets. I told him he was right, I was a bad girl, I wanted to be good but I had all these nasty thoughts, that I liked it when men stared at me, liked it when they pressed their man-things to me, imagined sucking their cocks, letting them fuck me, I needed to be punished."

"What happened?"

"He told me to strip and I did, doing a little dance for him, then dropped to the rug, the big soft rug I like so much, stuck my butt in the air, said he should spank me, spank his naughty little girl. He did, it got me so fricking hot, then he fucked me; I came, over and over, lost track of how many times, and then he came and filling me with Daddy-cum."

"I'm so jealous. I want my Daddy to fuck me."

I glanced over Salma's shoulder, saw Mr. Gonzalez looking at us through a window. All morning we'd been prancing through his house in tiny bikinis that advertised our nubile firm flesh. It was nothing new; for the past months Salma and I'd been presenting ourselves to Mr. Gonzalez as sexual objects and the look in his eyes told me it was working. Still, I'd need Daddy's help to bring my plan to fruition. When I asked him I'd have to confess I was bad, that I'd told Salma. Maybe he would punish me!

* * * * *

That night, my naked body nestled against Daddy's satiated form, I said, "I love it when you come in my ass Daddy."

"It's an amazing ass Pumpkin."

"I feel sorry for girls whose daddies don't fuck them, who waste their time chasing boys who don't love them half as much as their daddies and when they catch one, all they get is an inexperienced boy who doesn't know how to use his boy-thing."

"Well, there are few daughters are as wonderful as you Pumpkin."

"Thank you Daddy. Daddy, Salma and I were talking about Halloween, about the usual parties with the usual people; it sounded pretty boring. We were thinking it would be fun to dress up, go into the city, they close off the park for a party. But it might be dangerous, two innocent teenaged girls all alone. We were hoping you and Mr. Gonzalez could dress up, come look after us."

Daddy smiled and said, "You told Salma about us, didn't you?"

He knew! I stopped, not sure what to say, but I couldn't lie to Daddy.

"Yes Daddy, I was bad. I told her after our first night, I had to tell someone, I was so happy and she's my best friend and she knew how much I wanted you, but then I kept telling her, even after you said I shouldn't."

"Did you tell anyone else?"

"No Daddy."

"Has she?"

"She says no, and I believe her Daddy. She's my best friend forever, she knows lots of stuff about me and never tells anyone. I trust her."

"I do too Pumpkin."

"Still Daddy, I was bad, you should punish me."

"What if some day I punish you by not punishing you?"

"You'd never be that mean Daddy."

He laughed. "No Jo, I'd never be that mean."

"Salma understands, like we do, what daughters are for. She wants her daddy to love her the same way you love me. We've been trying to nudge him along."

He smiled at me with his wise face and I said, "You knew that, didn't you Daddy?"

"Yes Pumpkin. I've seen the way Salma looks at him, it's the way you look at me. I've also noticed how you two have been dressing around Carlos, how affectionate you are towards me when he's around, like you hope he'll get the idea."

"Yes Daddy, I was thinking if he saw us together he'd see what daughters are for."

"Why do you think I brought him home last night, it was a little push in the right direction. Please, tell me your plan."

* * * * *

Daddy pulled some strings, secured two downtown hotel rooms on Halloween night. Now, in the room he shared with Mr. Gonzalez - we girls had our own - he watched his friend put on mirrored sunglasses, study himself in the mirror and then, apparently satisfied, take off the glasses and say, "Bob, are you sure about this?"

"Yes Carlos, I am. Our daughters are good girls, neither's given us any trouble. Most teenaged girls would lie, say they're at a party, then sneak down here knowing their parents would say no. Our daughters told us they wanted to try something new but didn't feel safe and asked us to join them. We should be happy they told us the truth, that they're wise enough to be worry about their safety, and that they trust us to look after them. Imagine all the girls wandering around right now whose parents don't know they're here."

"I see your point. Where are we supposed to meet them?"

"At the statue of Silent Sam at 5:00 sharp."

* * * * *

They were made to order, five boys about our age, insecure, uncomfortable, trying to look tough, drawing strength from each other, the kind of boys you can depend on to say the wrong thing. I gave their leader a look. They headed our way.

The leader said, "Hey ladies, do you work for UPS? I thought I saw you checking out my package."

I'd been right; they were made to order.

I said, "No, we're waiting for our boyfriends."

Embarrassed, the leader racheted it up.

"I don't see no boyfriends and while I may not be the best looking guy here, I'm the only one talking to you."

Salma made a face and one of the guys, staring at her ample chest, said, "Y'now, we've been studying the presidents and I was thinking, your breasts remind me of Mount Rushmore - my face should be among them."

A third voice: "Yeah, you girls look like you've been naughty. Go to my room!"

There they had a point. One of my favorite games was for Daddy to dress as a cop and I a naughty school girl: patent leather Mary Janes, knee high white socks, red plaid pleated skirt, short sleeve white shirt (the kind that showed a couple inches of midriff, not the kind you tie right below your breasts), black glasses, ponytails. A top student with bad things on her mind.

And that was how Salma and I were dressed, although she showed more cleavage.

Daddy and Mr. Gonzalez arrived, right on time. I can always count on Daddy.

"Officers, these boys won't leave us alone, they're being crude"

Although as tall as our Daddy's, none were as wide shouldered, barrel-chested, strong, or as suddenly menacing as our Daddy's.

Daddy said, "You heard the ladies, why don't you boys move along."

There were five of them and they didn't like being called "boys."

Chin out, chest thrust forward, the leader said, "You're not even a real cop old man."

Daddy slipped his night stick out, twirled it effortlessly (as I said, we played this game often), and said, "No I'm not, but this is real, so why not leave these naughty girls to us."

The leader stepped forward.

So did Mr. Gonzalez.

The leader stopped.

I slid my arm onto Daddy's and said, "Officer, I'm feeling wicked, like I want to do bad things. Could you look after me, make sure I don't, or that I'm properly punished if I do."

The leader turned to his comrades, who were already backing away, and said, "Let's go, we can do better than this."

* * * * *

We wandered the park, admired the inventive costumes, the sexy costumes, and cut quite a swath ourselves. Men stared, giving us an excuse to cling to our Daddy's. When a Latin band started playing Daddy asked me to dance. Salma soon convinced her Daddy to join us and while Daddy's a good dancer, I learned that Mr. Gonzalez had been a champion bachata dancer: the two of them set the place afire. When the band took a break I suggested something to eat and, our Daddys' hands in ours, we quickly found what I was looking for, a soft-serve ice cream stand.

"Officers, thank you for taking care of us. Can my friend and I buy you some ice cream?"

Daddy said, "Yes."

And before Mr. Gonzalez could respond Salma and I dashed off, our Daddys' eyes on our firm nubile naughty schoolgirl bodies.

* * * * *

Watching us standing in line Mr. Gonzalez said, "Did you know they'd be wearing those outfits."

Daddy said, "Jo said they were wearing something out there, something sexy, but said she wanted it to be a surprise. It's all three. Aren't you glad we're here to keep any eye on them?"

"Yeah, but still, do you think it's a bit much."

"Even if we don't want to admit it they're not girls any more Carlos, they're women and, their sexuality is in full bloom. They're experimenting. If there mothers were here, they'd share it with them, but their mothers aren't here. So what would you prefer, they share it with us or those boys we just met? Our daughters are exceptionally beautiful and sweet, it's best to keep an eye on them, keep them close."

Mulling over what Daddy had said Mr. Gonzalez watched his daughter. His friend was right, Salma was beautiful and sweet and a woman, an adult with an adult's sexuality that would continue to grow and grow. He thought of her with a man, didn't like the thought at all. There was still an innocence to her. He didn't want to let it, or her, go.

* * * * *

As we stood in line Salma said, "Is it working?"

I glanced over my shoulder. Mr. Gonzalez, not fully realizing it, was staring at his daughter. I looked at Daddy, who nodded his head in affirmation.

"Yeah, it's working. It's time to pick up our game."

We ordered four ice cream cones, one for each of us, licked up the sides of ours as we walked back to our Daddy's.

* * * * *

The four of us sank deep into the roles we'd adopted. Clinging to our fathers, Salma and I told then how safe we naughty girls felt with such big strong men. I jangled my Daddy's handcuffs, asked if he'd lock me up. Salma followed suit and her Daddy, with a couple of beers in him, relaxed and played along. I openly played with the phallic symbol of Daddy's billy club; Salma did the same.

By the time we got back to the hotel I was dripping wet. Happily, Salma and I had a plan. She surveyed the hotel bar and said, "Officer, I've been a good girl, haven't I? Can I have a reward? Would you buy me a coke?"

Mr. Gonzalez said, "Well, they shouldn't let you in a bar little girl, you're only eighteen, but I think we can risk it. You two wanna join us?"

Daddy said, "Love to Carlos, but there are some things I need to attend to."

I said, "Thanks, but my feet are killing me, I'm going to soak them."

Mr. Gonzalez did not look unhappy about having his daughter all to himself.

* * * * *

We only had time for a quickie, a hard fast fuck, but I love a hard fast fuck and so does Daddy. I was naked under my still damp sheet, Daddy's cum oozing from my pussy, when my beautiful best friend got back, crawled into bed with me, and said, "It was amazing, like the whole evening was amazing. We found a cozy booth in the back, just big enough for two, ordered our drinks; I cuddled in his arms and stroked his leg and he stroked my hair and we got out of our roles and I told him how much fun I'd had and thanked him and told him how safe he made me feel, that there was no other man like him, that around him I could be a girl and a woman. He said it was hard to accept that I was becoming a woman, but he knew I was and he'd adjust. And I could feel him against me and he was hard."

"Good, and right now Daddy is with him, helping him along."

"Y'now I love you Josephine, but I can't wait until, on nights like this, when I'm all hot and horny, that Daddy will be the one putting out the fire between my legs."

I said, "Until then, do you mind if I do?"

Smiling, Salma said, "I think you know the answer," and was soon screaming her way through orgasm after orgasm.

* * * * *

Wearing a robe, newly showered, Daddy asked Mr. Gonzalez whether he and Salma had a good time.

"Sure did. Nothing against you and Josephine, but it was nice having Salma to myself for awhile. You're right, she, both our daughters, may still be our little girls, but they're also women. In that outfit, every guy in the place was checking her out."

"Yeah, I know what you mean, guys' eyes follow Josephine wherever we go. Our girls, our young woman, are making their own choices about their sexuality. We need to respect and support their decision."

Mr. Gonzalez looked to the side, processed what Daddy said, knew he was right. All night Salma had showed off her burgeoning sexuality and, to be honest with himself, he'd enjoyed being with her. There was nothing like a beautiful young woman to invigorate a man.

Mr. Gonzalez said, "Yeah, we do, don't we. Well, time for a shower."

Mr. Gonzalez stayed in there more than long enough to masturbate.

* * * * *

If last night had been about presenting ourselves as sexual beings, today would be about our Daddy's seeing us as companions. We had late lunch reservations; there'd be no reason to hurry, no one waiting for our table, the perfect excuse to spend a lazy afternoon in amiable conversation like long-standing lovers.

Salma and I paid careful attention to our hair and make-up, wore loose fitting pastel dresses, the kind young women wear on casual dates with their beaus. We checked out of the hotel, slipped our hands into our Daddy's, walked to the restaurant. Our Daddy's pulled our chairs out for us; we sat and slid close to them.

Our Daddy's ordered Bloody Mary's for us, even though they shouldn't. We ate lunch, dessert, shared a bottle of champagne, laughed, talked. To the world we were happy contented couples.

It was the time for the next step.

"Daddy, one of the men at the fund-raiser said some of the money will be used for a Habitat for Humanity house."

"That's right Pumpkin."

"I think we should volunteer, make sure the money you and Mr. Gonzalez raised is going to good use," then activated my phone, checked it (as if I hadn't memorized the date and time), and said, "The Young Businessmen's Association is organizing a group for next weekend. There's an e-mail address for volunteers. It would be fun. Let's do it."

Salma covered her father's hand and said, "Yeah Daddy, it'd be fun to work together."

* * * * *

A little bit of background: My mother had issues, mental issues. Daddy believed if he just loved her enough she'd get better, but she didn't. When I was twelve she abandoned us for a musician she'd met the week before.