Date: Thu, 28 Mar 2013 03:25:02 -0400 From: James Isaacs <jisaacs1962@gmail.com> Subject: TG Daddy's Little Girl DADDY'S LITTLE GIRL Checked for spelling and grammatical errors: Wednesday, March 27, 2013 LEGAL NOTICE ------------ By accessing this document, the reader assents to read all portions of the LEGAL NOTICE and agrees to the following statements and conditions: This document depicts acts of pre-marital sex, fraternal incest, homosexuality, cross-generational sex, and cross-dressing, as well as under-age drinking and the illicit use of Human Growth Hormone by a competitive athlete while a minor; The author of this document and Nifty.org do not promote or condone any activity depicted in this document; The author of this document and Nifty.org do not promote or condone the use of alcohol by minors; The author of this document and Nifty.org do not promote or condone the use of illicit drugs of any nature for any purpose; If access to, viewing of, or downloading of documents containing these topics are illegal in the city, county, locality, state, or nation-state of the reader, then the reader assumes full responsiblity for use of the content of this work of fiction in defiance of local laws and the reader agrees to indemnify and hold the author and Nifty.org harmless from any liability, loss or damage the reader may suffer as a result of claims, demands, costs or judgments against the reader arising out of the use of this document. This document is a work of fiction based entirely on fiction and in no part on real world events either witnessed or known to the author or Nifty.org. The characters in this document are not representations of any person living or dead, nor are they based on any person living or dead. The sexual unions in this work of fiction are depicted in a consensual manner, after the age of sexual majority, and are given in the body of this work of fiction for illustrative purposes and purposes of entertainment only. The fictional history in this document covers a span of time from the primary fictional characters's twelfth through eighteenth birthdays inclusive. COPYRIGHT NOTICE ---------------- The author of this document has chosen to place this document in the public domain without any legal limitation on its use or reproduction. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ DADDY'S LITTLE GIRL I was twelve the first time I met my brother, well half-brother really. My dad had been married before and had a kid, it had never been a secret, so I'd known that Avery existed some place in the world. You'd think I would've met him before I was twelve, but that never happened because Avery's mom is a bitch of epic proportions. That also plays into why he came to live with us when he was fifteen. Avery has allergies to a few things, ginger, turmeric, and cardamom. We're not talking runny nose and sneezes allergies, his are the break out in hives, can't breathe and fall over dead kind. Anyway, it all starts with his allergies. He was on a class trip to the Smithsonian and the teacher in charge of them decided that they should all try sushi as part of some international day thing. Well, Avery had never had sushi before and had no idea that the pink stuff on his plate was ginger because the teacher called it by its name in Japanese, gari, so he ate it with the raw fish, because that's what the teacher told him to do. About five minutes later, someone explains to Avery that it was ginger he just ate. So he gets kind of in a panic and asks if anyone has Benadryl. One of the kids has some, because he hay fever, and gives two of the pills to Avery. Then some bitch in the class runs to the teacher and says she just saw Avery and this other kid doing drugs. I grows out of control from there. Avery and this other kid end up getting expelled for doing drugs, because no one believes either of them or thinks to check things like medical records. It gets worse. Avery's mom proceeds to go completely psycho and sends Avery to live with his dad, which would also be my dad, because "he's out of control" and "addicted to drugs". She does this after thirteen years of doing everything in her power to keep my dad away from Avery, because according to her my dad is an alcoholic and a wife-beater. My dad says he came home drunk one time and the only beating he did was on the front door because she locked him out. After the way she went psycho on Avery, I think it's a safe bet to believe him. As I think anyone could guess, living in a house with a mother like that left some marks on Avery. He was wound tighter than anyone I ever met in my life. Like, if he got up in the night to take a leak, he'd sit down to do it and then not flush so as not to make any noise. Which is just plain weird considering that we had our own bathroom on the other side of the house from my mom and dad's room and I could sleep through a tornado. I guess I should mention that we were sharing a room since my parents only had me before Avery came to stay with us. I didn't mind, it was a big room and I'd always had two twin sized beds in it, because I'd wanted the extra bed in case Avery ever did come to visit. But after ten years of not visiting, I'd kind of given up on the idea. When I heard he was coming to stay with us permanently, I was a little excited about it. When he showed up, I was mostly confused. First, let me tell you about my dad, so you'll know where I'm coming from. My dad is six feet four inches tall, has sandy blonde hair that he keeps in an Ivy League cut, he runs an hour every morning, works out at the gym three days a week, was captain of his high school wrestling team, spent six years in the Marines, which he says was the second biggest mistake of his life--you can guess what the biggest one was I'm sure--and is now a professional firefighter. He's the best dad a boy could ever have, he gets down in the floor and rough houses, tells dirty jokes, sneaks me a drink of his beer when no one is looking, takes me camping and fishing, built me a tree house with a bed and a TV, and tells the scariest, most hair-raising ghost stories you ever heard. On top of all that, my mom jokes with my dad all the time with him about how big his dick is. So with all that, you kind of have expectations for what an older brother might be like. Avery, however, was almost nothing like I'd expected. True, he was tall, and he had sandy blonde hair, and he had sort of done a sport. I'm not saying I didn't like him, he was my brother and I'd kind of waxed that affection to the point it could withstand just about any shock, but I was having trouble fitting what I was seeing into some kind of understanding of how the world works. Avery's hair was long, longer than my mom's, and he would put it into two braids when he went to bed at night. Avery read men's fitness magazines, but I never saw him exercise. Weirdest of all, he only ever listened to Lady Gaga and boy bands like Mindless Behavior and V Factory on his iPod. I was pretty sure that Avery was gay. When I went to my dad and asked, all he said was, "If he's gay, he's gay. He's still my son and your brother." So, having gone to the mountain for an answer, I had my answer. The kids at school however had a different view on this and that's where Avery's kind of sport comes into play. He did taekwondo and kick boxing, so the first time some bully at the high school decided to make Avery into a punching bag, the bully had a really bad day. I mean, a really, really bad day, bad enough that they called the paramedics because they thought his windpipe was crushed. But it wasn't, it was just going crazy with spasms from some slick move Avery had done to it. After that, I had no doubt that Avery was my father's son and my gay brother became my new hero, second only to my dad. I know I made Avery crazy after that doing my version of martial arts, which was nothing but me jumping around and shouting. After about a week of that, my dad said for me to cool it or he'd take to the vet to be neutered. So I cooled it, but every day I was all big-eyed hoping to hear another story of Avery breaking bad on someone when he came home from school. It happened a few more times, but not often enough to suit me, because I wanted him to be the most bad-ass motherfucker in Clemson High School, a fifteen year old, blond Danny Trejo, kicking ass and taking names. But as so often happened with my runaway fantasies, it didn't happen. I might have been disappointed, if I hadn't woke up a few nights later and saw Avery jacking his enormous wang. It's not like I walked over, knocked his hands away and laid a ruler against it, and my brain may have given him some bonus inches, but it looked a foot long and thick as a pop can to me. I had a whole new reason to be in awe of my brother. Visions of Avery putting the monster dick to every hot girl I could think of danced before my fevered eyes. Then there was a screeching sound of someone hitting the brakes. Avery didn't like girls. Avery liked boys. If those magazines he looked at were any guide, Avery liked men with smooth skin, big muscles, and nice faces. There's no one like that around this part of South Carolina. No one, except my dad. My mind snaps to an image from real life of Avery sitting on the couch next to dad with a dreamy look on his face. Next image, Avery standing in the door watching dad lifting weights in the garage. Next image, Avery looking away and chewing his lip when mom and dad kiss. Mind snaps back to the present, I see Avery jacking, but one hand is not on his dick, it's somewhere else, like he's touching himself on the butt, like he's putting fingers in his butt. My brain sizzles, smokes, coughs, spits out: Avery wants my dad to fuck him. Cue sound of breaking glass. Well, I just can't let that happen. My brain leaps into action again and comes up with this harebrained scheme: I'll have to become just like my dad and fuck Avery. So, starting the very next day, I was running with my dad, lifting weights, asking for every crazy bodybuilder supplement that I saw advertised in Avery's magazines. My mom and dad think I'm nuts, but that's nothing new to them. But this isn't like my plan to put lightning rods in all the trees to get free electricity or my plan of building a circus canon to shoot me to school so I can sleep ten minutes longer, so they don't much hold me back from this one. I think it maybe surprised them that I didn't switch to another idea as soon as I broke a sweat. And it may have shocked that I had a mostly sane idea for a change, even if I did keep the reason for it a secret. Two years later, I'm taller and bigger in every way than all the other fourteen year old boys at Clemson Middle School. Tommy Neimeier and Marc Edmond start calling me the Hulk, but I'm no where as big as the Hulk except in their imaginations. I don't know why, but I look the same as I always have to myself. You would think I might have noticed myself growing, but I hadn't. The one part of me I hadn't been exercising was the part that grew the most. My cock was easily triple the size it had been when I was twelve and had become something of a whispered legend among the guys at school. Kind of like Blair Witch, if you ever saw it, you would never be seen alive again, they'd find you fucked to death in the woods with a look of complete gayness on your dead face, or something like that. I was kind of disappointed that no one asked to see my legendary big dick, not even Avery and he was getting more gay each week. He had posters of the new Captain Kirk, some blond vampire guy from a TV show, and the wolf guys from those Twilight movies all over his side of the room. My side had posters of guys too, but they're like in football uniforms and stuff. That year I was all about Bryce McNeal, because he was the star player at the university in town. On my side of the room, I had pictures from magazines, newspaper clippings, pretty much anything and everything I could find of him. Avery isn't asking to see my dick, but I could tell he was starting to notice me. My side of the room was the dark side, Avery's was the side where the streetlight hit the wall and ceiling. I could see the covers moving as he jacked off watching me jack off. After I'd noticed that, I started coming out of the shower all dripping wet to dry off in the bedroom in front of him, so he could see it all. Hoping the whole time he'd drop to his knees and slurp my dick down his throat. I hoped my plan was working, but the plan had changed a little. When I was twelve, I'd wanted to save Avery and my dad from doing a terrible thing, not that I think my dad would have had any part of it, but I was twelve. You think and believe all kinds of shit when you're twelve. At fourteen, I'm getting close to just wanting to fuck Avery for no other reason than I want to fuck something. But like all of my plans, it didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Another years rolls past, and, as fifteen year olds go, I'm Conan the fucking Barbarian, baby! Well, kind of, if Conan was a blond, white kid from Pickens County, South Carolina, with braces and a crew cut running around in the backyard in his underwear beating the shit out of the hedges with a broom handle, with his mom looking out the window and asking his dad, "Is he ever going to grow out of doing that?" Then, yeah, I was that guy. I was in high school now and the teachers thought I was in the wrong classes at first, thinking I was a senior. So, yeah, I was something of a brute. The big brother, little brother thing was going all blurry too, because, even if Avery was three years older, I was at least two inches taller than Avery and he was wearing my hand-me-downs now. And, I was starting to get annoyed that Avery still hadn't asked to do anything with me. He'd not even asked to trade hand jobs. It was enough to make a fifteen year old crazy, crazy enough that one warm August night, I went out to sleep in the tree house, something I hadn't done since Avery had moved in. It really was a little house in a tree--tin roof, a door knob on the door, glass in the windows, a little twelve-inch screen TV connected to the house cable, a twin-size bed with drawers built into the base and a little swivel-fan mounted on the ceiling over it. The only thing it lacked was plumbing. I'd forgotten how hard my dad had worked building it for me, so I started feeling bad that I'd spent such little time in it. I started looking around, kind of trying to remember how excited I'd been when it was finished and all the crazy plans I'd made in it. I pulled out one of the drawers under the bed expecting to see my crazy drawings and comic books, but what I saw there was something else. On top of my old drawings and comic books were lotion bottles, most of them empty, and a magazine with my dad on the cover. I knew it was my dad because of the shark tattoo on his arm and the Scorpio tattoo on his chest. I'd never seen Avery go anywhere near the tree house, but I knew the magazine had to be his. It wasn't mine and I'm pretty sure my dad wasn't going out to the tree house to pound his pud to old photos of himself, so it had to be Avery's. I looked at the title, "Cupidity", I'd never heard of it. When I looked inside I figured out why. It was full of young guys with great bodies and giant peckers. Naked of course. My dad was the centrefold for that issue and it was a jaw-dropping, heart-stopping thing to see. I guess he was about twenty years old in that picture, because he looked young, even to me. If I'd been a girl, I'd have wanted the guy in that picture to fuck me. I was a guy and I almost wanted that guy to fuck me. It kind of hurt my brain that I was feeling that way about my dad. It hurt my brain more that I was hard from looking at my dad and thinking about getting a handful of lotion. I had to make myself put the magazine back in the drawer. I'd no more than closed the drawer, than I had pulled it back open to check for the date. There was no month, just a stupid volume and issue number, I flipped until I found the copyright date inside. 1996, the year before I was born. I tried to do the math, but I couldn't remember what year my dad was born. The best I could figure was that my dad was about twenty when the magazine was printed. I looked again at the magazine, looking for the third tattoo, the one of the bulldog on his right arm, he'd gotten that one when he was in the Marines. It was there, so the pictures had been taken after he went into the Marines. I looked to see where the magazine was printed. Los Angeles. My dad had been stationed in San Diego when he was in the Marines, that's in California too. I turned to the photos of my dad. The write up said the pictures had been taken in Santa Barbara. Also in California. There was a bunch of other stuff, but it sounded like nothing my dad would say, so I was pretty sure they'd made those things up. I tried to remember all the things my dad had said about his life. He sure as shit never said anything about posing naked and stroking his dick for a gay magazine. I knew that he'd not finished college, because Avery's mom had gotten pregnant, he'd dropped out, married her and joined the Marines. I thought I might have it figured out, he must have needed money for the hospital when Avery was born, needed it bad enough to pose for the pictures I was seeing. He'd come home drunk once, he'd said that. I looked at the pictures, he didn't look drunk, but maybe the guy taking the photos had offered a little more money for, you know, more than taking pictures. Maybe he did it, he obviously needed the money pretty bad, bad enough to pose for a gay magazine. Maybe he did what the guy asked, then he got drunk to try to forget it. I sat there and thought about it. Maybe he told that crazy woman what he'd done. From what I knew about her, she'd have ripped a whole in the world to tell everyone my dad was a queer. He'd not been in the Marines very long. Maybe they'd thrown him out for being queer, even though he wasn't. Maybe Avery had turned out the way he had because his crazy mom had told him his whole life that his dad was a queer. It kind of made sense, but I was beginning to feel sick at my stomach thinking about it. I put the magazine back in the drawer and lay down on the bed. My dad wasn't gay, I knew that much. Even if he had been, I'd still love him. But that wasn't what ate at me. My dad had done what he had to do to pay for Avery being born or something major like that. Then that crazy bitch mom of Avery had to start fucking things up. So now Avery, for whatever reason, has a thing for my dad, a thing bad enough to go through six bottles of lotion and shove fingers in his butt thinking about my dad fucking him. And now there's me, doing everything I can to be just like my dad so Avery will let me fuck him up the butt. I was suddenly asking myself questions I had never asked before. I mean, there's right, there's wrong, and there's just plain weird. Which one was I? I felt like the floor was moving out from under me. It's just too much, it's just too crazy to believe. I felt kind of dead inside and ashamed of what I'd become. Well, not what I looked like, I'd always wanted to be like my dad, but I'd done it for all the wrong reasons. I felt dirty inside because of it. I felt wrong in a way I'd never felt before. I start to feel like I don't deserve to be in the tree house, that I'm not the son my dad built it for. I choke up some over that. Everything had changed in just a few minutes. It was like all the air went out of me. I gave up and just went back into the house, got into bed and pulled the sheet over my head so no one would see me crying. I couldn't hide that I felt like the middle had been ripped out of me, so I played it off that I didn't feel well, which wasn't exactly a lie. But Avery knew I'd gone out to the tree house, he knew I'd found the magazine. Even without me telling him, he knew it. He asked me to not tell. I told him I didn't care what he did with the magazine, he could jack off and finger himself as much as he wanted. He asked me if I hated him. I told him I didn't hate him. He asked me, "Then what's wrong?" So I told him. All of it, from start to finish. The shocked look on Avery's face told me just how big a freak I had become. I mean, think about it, when you can make a guy who fingers his butt and dreams of his dad fucking him to get a look like that, you know you're a bigger freak than he is. But I got part of it wrong, something I couldn't see from where I was. I still saw myself as a kid and my dad as this perfect man I hadn't caught up to, might never catch up to. What I didn't see was that I was really almost caught up, enough that Avery's fantasy had shifted from my dad to me. He cleared that up for me when we went to bed that night by slipping into my bed and sucking the virginity out of me. He kept sucking me every night until he went off to college in Atlanta, sucking until all the poison was out of me. Him blowing me changed everything again. Although I don't know if it was for better or worse. Because I starting to work even harder to be like my dad, so hard that by seventeen I had started doing massive doses of HGH. By the time I graduated, I'd shot up to six feet six inches and weighed 220 pounds, almost all if it solid muscle. And what it did to my dick just wasn't right. It had pretty much stayed the same length it had been at sixteen, maybe I'd gained a half an inch in length, but now it's thicker than my wrist and a good deal thicker at the base. The guys in the football locker room call it Frankencock, but they all wished they had one like it. Some even get to borrow it, if they asked nice enough. Caleb Stone asked plenty nice, sometimes he asked five times a week. He didn't even pretend to be drunk before he asked. He just jumped in my truck and I knew what he wanted, so I'd drive out toward the dam and pull off at the old logging road, let him open my pants and make me cum. Usually it was just his hand, because he liked to chew on my chest, but sometimes he licked and sucked on the head the whole time, instead of just when I was cumming. I likes it better when he used his mouth the whole time. I like it better when Jimmy Blake pretended to get drunk. He did that every time there was an away game. When we were driving back, he always said we should stop for beer. They never checked for ID at the Bi-Lo, so we always stopped there. Then we'd drive out into the woods behind the water tower. He'd drink a couple of beers and pretend to be so drunk that he'd take off his clothes. That meant he wanted me to fuck his ass. I kept a bottle of lotion behind the seat of the truck for that. He didn't pretend to be drunk while I was fucking him, he'd whimper and whine and beg me to cum inside him. Sometimes I'd kiss him and call him my bitch, he liked it when I did that. I think if asked, he'd still do anything I wanted. I made him lick my asshole once, I thought it felt weird, but he loved it. Sometimes I'd be mean to him and make him do all the work. But it always ended the same, he'd always pretend he was so drunk that he can't remember what happened. I think if you had the Frankencock shoved in your ass, you'd find it pretty hard to forget. But I let him have his lie, I like his ass too much to mess up the deal we've got. Cindy Blake, Jimmy's sister, was twenty-four that year, she didn't know that I played with boys and I wasn't about to tell her. She was the hottest girl in that end of the state. She'd been a runner up for Miss South Carolina a couple of years earlier. Avery called her my beard, but he was wrong, I wanted to suck her twat and make her beg for my cock. That's what got me off more than anything. Didn't matter if it was a guy or a girl, just so long as they begged for my cock. I liked Cindy. I could make her cum ten times before I got off. I guess I was mean to her too, but in a different way, I'd make her cum thirty or forty times before I'd drop her off at her house. Then there was Mrs. Sutton. I'd had a crush on her when I was in first grade, it'd lasted until I was twelve and got distracted by Avery. She made teacher of the year the same year I graduated, I decided to visit her. She wasn't much to look at by then, but she was still my favourite teacher. So I offered to give her an award ceremony in the coat closet, she said I'd turned into a very dirty boy. She liked dirty boys. I filled her full of dirty boy eleven times before I went off to college. I knew it was the shit I was taking to get bigger that was doing it to me, making me want to use and control people. But I didn't care, I liked the feeling of being the guy everyone wanted. Really, the only reason I quit using was because there would be drug testing at University of South Carolina. I'd picked USC because they didn't have the long history of problems that Clemson had. When they lost the 2012 Orange Bowl, Clemson gave up more points in the whole history of bowl games. After that, as much as I wanted a badass tiger tattoo, I couldn't bring myself to play for team that had lost that badly. I had no idea what kind of bullshit I was getting myself into when I signed on to a football program. All I can tell you is that it was like being in a military prison, maybe not as bad as being in Guantanamo Bay, but it had to be as bad as Leavenworth. It was enough to make me not give a shit about football. Five weeks in, even before the first day of actual classes, I called my dad and said I'd made a mistake and I was coming home, then I told the coaches to shove my scholarship up their collective ass. I wasn't suffering from a bloated ego, I knew that I could get a bachelors degree at an on-line college and it would be just as worthless as one from a bricks-and-mortar college, but at least it would cost one fifth as much. No one gives a shit about a bachelors degree any more. They're almost as useless as a high school diploma for getting a job. And I knew another thing that none of those stupid fuckers on the team would ever know. There's more to life than football. Avery was still in Atlanta getting his degree in Nursing at Georgia State. It was only a two hour drive, so he'd come home sometimes to do laundry or get a dose of dick from me. He was there that weekend when I came home from USC. We did what we always do, then we were laying in the bed afterwards and he suggested that I go to Atlanta and stay with him long enough to qualify for in-state tuition. He also hinted that I could find work I might like that would make coming up with the $10,000 a year tuition very easy and a lot of fun. Two weeks later, I was a male stripper at the biggest gay whorehouse in Atlanta. They called it a bar, but you'd have to be some kind of idiot to not know what getting a dance in the private VIP rooms really means. Guys don't give you $500 for an hour of dancing. No, they want cock and they want $500 worth of it. I charged more, I charged $100 to see it soft then $100 an inch to see it hard. No one ever complained about the price after they saw it soft. If they had to borrow money from every guy in the bar, they'd come up with what it took to see it hard. I didn't like working there though. You wouldn't believe some of the things guys would ask me to do to them, so I got a few sick shocks and a quick education. Seven weeks was all I could take of it, but in those seven weeks I'd earned almost enough to pay for all four years at Georgia State. But I was beginning to discover that I wasn't as worldly and wise as I'd believed, so I was ready to go back home and hide, but Avery had one last secret to tell me, or, rather, show me. He'd cut his hair by then, into what I've later heard called a pixie cut, I just thought it was an Ivy League cut that had grown out, but he meant it to be that length. The reason that his hair is important has to do with his secret. He had me sit in the living room of his apartment, then went into the bedroom and closed the door. He was in there a long time. I kept asking what he was doing. He kept telling me to be patient. I was never any good at that. If there was a box for me under the Christmas tree, I'd be out there in the middle of the night with a razor and a roll of table, unwrapping and re-wrapping it. So I'm ready to chew the frame off the door when he opens it and it's him, but it's not him. My brain said it was a girl with a flat chest in a Catholic schoolgirl's uniform, complete with bubble gum-scented lip gloss, tiny diamond post earrings, a butterfly pendant necklace, barrettes in her hair, white hose, and black patent leather shoes. Avery turned around and rubbed his butt up and down on my crotch and looked back with an "oh did I just do that look" and all I knew was I was I wanted to fuck this girl more than anyone I'd ever met. He teased me for over an hour, then he bent over the kitchen table and lifted his skirt. I was so worked up for him that I didn't last ten strokes before I came so hard my legs went weak. I must have shot twelve times into his ass, maybe more, I didn't start counting until I was able to lock my knees so I wouldn't fall out of him, so I can't be sure. Part of my brain knew it was Avery, but most of it didn't care. I loved this girl. The "man" part of my brain wanted to move in, marry her, have kids and all that shit. I was reeling with confusion and Avery could have laughed at me, but he didn't. He'd gotten what he wanted, he'd tamed the bull, he owned my heart. I don't know what there was about seeing him all girled up that made me want him more than I'd wanted any guy or girl I'd ever seen. I just did. So if he wanted to play dress up for me, I more than dug it. So, Avery at school and at our parent's house dressed like a guy, but I knew that under those slacks and blue jeans lay a pair of black hip-hugger panties with "daddy's little girl" written on them. At our apartment, he'd doll up his face, then come to bed in a bra and panties or a torsolette with hose and no panties, and I would go all weak and tremble with desire every time. He wanted to be my little girl, I wanted to be his daddy. That's what worked for us. It's what still works for us.