An Idol is the Devil's Plaything

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Weeks after that incident, we got called into a meeting with the record label. Their aim was to pressure both of us not to testify against her assailant, in order to make the whole problem go away as quickly and quietly as possible.

"Annie's too fresh in the business, and an incident like this could tarnish her image. The last thing we want when people hear her name is to be reminded of this whole affair."

That statement immediately burned my hide. "And what does that mean, exactly? That the bastard gets off scot-free?"

The record exec just calmly folded his hands on the table, like he was discussing which color socks sell the best or something. "Of course not. He'll never work in this studio again, that's for sure. And he'll likely serve jail time."

"How much?" I insisted, slowly rising out of my chair. "We talking years? Months?"

The exec just twiddled his thumbs.

"Oh Christ. Days...?!"

"That's not important. What we need to focus on is—"

"Fuck you, it's not 'important'!" I bellowed, standing fully and banging my fist on the table. "Your star, my daughter, almost got raped by some asshole and you want us to just act like the whole thing never happened!? Fuck you. I'll make sure that asshole gets everything that's coming to him! I—"

"Daddy," Annie said softly. "Please. Sit down."

I was stunned. The one person I was absolutely certain was on my side was telling me to back down? I turned to look at her, and Annie was just staring downward, refusing to meet anyone in the eye. Very much not like the Annie I recognized.

Regardless, all the anger in me deflated. I was still her manager, but Annie was now an adult, and that meant I now worked for her, not the other way around.

Even if it burned me up inside, it was time for me to accept that.

I complied with her and sat back down. I was still boiling on the inside when the exec started prattling on again.

And then, I felt a gentle hand inch its way to mine and give it a tight squeeze. I glanced over to Annie, who was listening -- or at least pretending to listen -- to what the exec was saying. But I could see a fire in her eyes. I fierce look that told me that she was willing to put up with this humiliation only because she wouldn't let that bastard ruin her career.

I felt the squeeze of her hand, and I knew that it was her way of saying 'Thank you for standing up for me'.

And at least to me, it acknowledged that she needed me to stick by her side to give her courage.

They went on for a bit about how "sorry" they were about the incident, and how they'd "make it up to us" and blah blah blah, yadda yadda. Eventually, they started getting back to what they really cared about:

How to use Annie to make them more money.

"—so now, we'd like to decide how you'd like to progress your image", the exec finished saying.

"What do you mean?" I asked, pretending that I'd been listening.

"We went for a more 'conservative' appeal for Annie's first album because she was still underage, but we laid the foundation for veering into any style we like." He tapped some kind of wand against the tablet in his hands and brought up a series of images on a monitor off to his side. "We could go for something more chic and classy, similar to the vein of Beyoncé. Long dresses, full gowns and glittering ensembles that just scream 'regality'."

To emphasize what he was saying, we had a view a several artificial mock-ups of Annie in the sort of outfits he was describing. Long, flowing dresses with her hair pulled up into powerful updos, or fully straightened and lengthened to fall straight down across half her body. Some of the outfits showed off a little more cleavage or leg than I would have liked to see, but I had to admit it wasn't a bad look.

After all, if you wanted to copy a style, Beyoncé wasn't a bad pick.

He tapped the screen again, and again it changed.

"We could go with a more youthful and innocent 'baby doll' aesthetic. Think Ariana Grande for this one."

The next look was basically a slightly more extreme version than what they already had Annie wearing, with short, frilly skirts, camisoles, one-piece dresses, and other pieces that just screamed "vapid valley girl". Over the past year, I'd grown used to seeing Annie in something similar to that look, so even though it wasn't my favorite pick, I didn't think it would be too egregious.

"And...we can also try something more...risqué." He clicked the tablet again.

The outfits that they were displaying now just screamed "attention-craving slut". If you weren't paying close attention, you would almost think that we were talking about modeling sleepwear and lingerie rather than outfits to wear onstage. Sheer see-through tops with barely enough fabric to cover the breasts, fishnet bottoms that I'd expect to see on a girl walking a street corner at 2am, and ridiculously tight rompers that left less to the imagination that if you had just covered the body with paint.

"This style, of course, isn't for everyone, but I'm confident—"

"Let's go with that."

I almost choked on my spit as my head spun to Annie, who was slowly nodding her head at the images on the screen. "I like that style. I wanna go with that, or something like it."

I just stared at my daughter for a while, wondering if she were playing some disturbing type of practical joke on me.

"Well, I want to make it clear that this is your choice. I think you've certainly got the proper poise to keep a more innocent "doll" look, if you want. But we—"

"No, I want to go with that last option," she said. "Or...at least...maybe some kind of hybrid, sorta in-between?"

"Hmmm...that might not be a bad idea." The exec said, tapping his finger to his cheek. "Could be difficult to strike the right balance. If we don't pull it off, it would come across as more inconsistent and unfocused than any true 'style'."

Annie shook her head. "I think I can do it," she said. "No. I know I can do it. I don't want to try and be an imitation of anybody else. I wanna be my own style. Who and what I was always meant to be."

I heard murmuring from the suits, and based on the scraps I could make out, it seemed that they were sold. But for me, my mind was racing. 'Who and what she was always meant to be?' What did that mean to her, exactly?

How far was Annie willing to go to really be famous?

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She got another makeover immediately -- this time, her hair was darkened again slightly so that her hair sported golden-brown roots at the top of her head, before lightening back into the shimmering gold that streamed down her cheeks and shoulders.

Her eyes gained heavier liner, her lipstick got reddened, and they even made her eyebrows slightly thicker.

But the biggest change came to her wardrobe.

"Anniebell" had been known for wearing outfits that created a thin line between "wholesome" and "trashy", but now, "trashy" was winning out completely.

The first order of business was trading out the low-hanging blouses for even an even lower-hanging lacey corset -- like one of those things that you see burlesque girls wear in cowboy movies. The very top of the corset was hanging just at the center of her breasts, low enough that the topmost parts of her round mounds of flesh were perfectly visible, but still strategically placed to prevent see even a hint of the areolae in the center. Down the middle, it was stitched with some sort of wire or thin string that was easy to overlook and simply focus on the view of her cleavage straight down the middle of her youthful body.

Oh, and that wasn't the last or best part. For the bottoms, they chose to go back to a pair of denims, like what Annie used to wear in school. Only this time, they were cut off way, way above her thigh. They may have looked like jeans, but the way they were cut, they were only a tiny strip of denim shaped into a "V" and hanging on her hips like a pair bikini bottoms. If I had held my thumb up to her hip, it probably would have been longer than the strip of cloth that held those things to my daughter's body.

Below that, she was wearing a pair of long knee socks, but made of a threadbare material that was so thin that you could just make out her creamy white legs and thighs underneath. From a distance, you could almost squint and make yourself believe that they looked like the sort of high socks that a schoolgirl might wear, but that was only the faintest of illusions.

Now I understood one of the reasons they had been so eager to sweep what happened under the rug -- it definitely could have been a bad look if word started getting around that a young new idol started drastically changing her image after what happened. People would just start thinking of it as some weird cry for help.

And to be honest, I wasn't so convinced they'd be wrong.

Annie was grown-up, I knew that. But a part of me had to wonder if she weren't trying to prove something -- to herself or whoever -- with all this.

"Okay, I think I'm ready," she said, proudly displaying her new look. She smiled and spun around for me, letting me get a look at every angle. When she turned around, I noticed that the denim bottoms I mentioned before didn't even cover all of her butt cheeks; at a brief glance, the things only seem to cover the top part of it, barely curving over the roundest part of her ass before veering into the center. From the side, or an angle, I could almost think that there was nothing covering the privates between her legs.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. I was already at my breaking point, but now my limits were starting to be stretched thin.

"Annie, honey...can we talk?" I asked. I motioned for the stylists and costumers to leave the room for a bit, and they did so without protest.

Annie's smile sank away, and she waited for the others to leave before speaking to me again. "Look, Daddy, I know what this is about—"

"Then you know why I feel uncomfortable about this, right? That I'm not all that thrilled about seeing my daughter dressing up like a random stripper?"

"It's just clothes," she protested. "It's not like I'm actually gonna start dancing at a bar."

"But you are gonna be on a stage surrounded by thousands of horny dudes, so I don't see much of a difference, Annie."

She folded her arms and pouted. "You know, I was hoping you were gonna say something hilarious like last time."

"Like what?"

"I don't know -- I was expecting you to compare me to a hooker or a stripper, but I thought you'd go somewhere silly with it, like: 'Wow, Annie, if I had a twenty, I'd definitely stick it in those bottoms.'"

She laughed, but I pinched my nose again. "Annie..."

As much as I was trying to stay focused, I was trying equally hard to hide the raging boner pressing against my pants.

I wasn't sure what really made me more upset: the outfit my daughter was wearing, or the fact that my cock was getting rock hard at the sight of her.

Upstairs, my brain could clearly recognize the half-dressed teenager in front of me as my own flesh-and-blood that I'd raised and nurtured for eighteen years. But down below, in my pants, it was a different story. That part of my body hadn't seen any action in seven years, since my wife had first gotten ill, so it didn't give a fuck.

It was clear that my loins were hard up for some action...desperate to point its way to any fine young pussy it could sense within a thousand yards. And right now, Annie was exactly what it was looking for.

I took a deep breath and steeled myself, stiffening my muscles as I looked my daughter in the eye. "Annie," I said, in a slow, low voice. "I don't think I should be your manager anymore if you go through with this."

Her mouth fell and her mood instantly sank. "What? Why not, Daddy?"

"Annie, look..." I paused to think. It wasn't like I could tell my daughter "That outfit makes me wanna do impure things to you", even if that was the long and short of it.

"This is too much for me, honey. I...I only came along because I wanted to keep you safe and make sure you weren't taken advantage of. But now, you're making your own decisions. And if this is what you want for yourself, then...I think I'm at the point where I'll only stand in your way."

I shook my head and shrugged. "So maybe it's time that you let me go and found someone else to --"

In a flash, Annie hopped to me and took both my hands, holding them and squeezing them in her slim fingers.

"No! I don't want you to leave! I don't want anybody else to be my manager! I don't want you to leave my side, Daddy!"

Her voice was cracking, barely capable of holding back her emotions. Over the past year, I hadn't seen Annie cry when in 'costume' -- she had learned to keep control to avoid ruining her makeup. But now...for the first time in what felt like forever...I finally saw her let loose.

"Please, Daddy...I've only gotten where I am because of you! I don't think I can keep going without you!"

She was so weak...so vulnerable. Pressing her body against mine, shivering and sniffling, desperately trying to make me understand how she felt. In that moment, I wrapped my arms around her...and even dressed as she was, I felt no awkwardness. She was my little girl, and she needed me.

I had to swallow my pride, as a man. Even now, I could feel the meat in my pants throbbing, sensing a vulnerable female so close by, but unable to make use of her. It was the ultimate test of my self-control and morals. A million years of a man's natural instinct versus that of a father's.

"Okay, darlin'. You win."

"You mean you'll stay Daddy? Oh, thank you! If...If you want, I'll tell 'em I changed my mind about the outfits..."

I knew that I was about to make a huge mistake for my personal peace and sanity...but...

"No, honey. You do what you want. This is your life. Your career. I'm just here to help out and make sure you get to where you want to be. If you think this is what you want..."

Her eyes lit. "It is, Daddy, it is! I've never felt so confident...so sexy... in my life before! If you let me...I...I want to keep it up for as long as I can."

I nodded again, resigning myself to my decision. "Okay then, honey. Then knock em dead. Make sure you give the public everything you've got!"

She wiped her teary eyes and beamed her brightest smile at me. A smile that I would have taken on an army for.

"You got it, Daddy! From now on, I'm not holding anything back!"

I spent the rest of the day waiting in the next room while she tried on several different outfits. She tried on see-through robes that only had tiny areas to hide her naughty bits. She tried on shamelessly small tube tops that didn't even TRY to hide the top or bottom of her tits. She tried on fishnet nylons on top of stiletto heels, tiptoeing around the room like a 10-dollar whore.

After a while, I just felt drained and numb -- I think most of the blood of my body had drained into my crotch. As I sat and waited, I pretended to be reading the daily paper but was really just using it to make sure nobody else could see the tent bulging from my pants.

When we were done, I was exhausted, so when we pulled into the apartment, I made a beeline for my bedroom and locked the door. All I wanted to do was sleep.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Over the next few months, Annie and I spent more time sleeping in-flight than we did in any familiar bed. So much so that it actually became harder for me to get any shut-eye without the familiar whistle of an airplane engine.

On the surface, Annie seemed to be adjusting well. She was popular, one of the most talented singers of the day and looked damn sexy -- and she knew it. Her confidence was rising through the roof, and she didn't let anybody tell her what to do without getting a say. Any room she walked into was instantly hers, with mouths falling silent and eyes turning to pay attention. She may have been only 18, but she carried herself better than most people thrice her age.

Annie told me that other guys started trying to approach her when I was busy or when my attention was somewhere else, even for a moment. Of course, a lot of them were fanboys or wannabe-casanovas trying to shoot their best shot at her, but Annie always turned them away with a smile. After a few of them refused to take a hint, I sometimes made the call to hire a small security detail to keep an eye on her in public. As much as I tried, I couldn't be everywhere, and though I'd kicked a guy's ass not long ago, I was getting too old to be throwing punches.

Some of her "visitors", however, were reps from competing labels or shifty managers trying to usurp my role. Annie always turned them down even more bluntly -- she had no intention of changing her label at least until her contract was up, and she definitely was not in the market for a new manager.

Some of the guys got a little bolder and tried coming to me, instead, offering me ridiculous sums of money to take my place. My answer was all the same: "There's nothing to discuss."

I continued having mixed feelings -- it felt like more and more, I was watching my beloved little girl slip further and further away. My managerial role was becoming "In Name Only", because most of the final decisions were hers. She had outgrown me. I offered advice whenever I could, but Annie was adapting to showbiz far faster than me, and even when I disagreed with some of her decisions, her reasoning was so smart that I didn't argue.

Or maybe, my will to argue would disappear when she'd turn to me and my eyes would get lost in that round, supple cleavage of hers.

That struggle never went away for me, either. No matter how hard I tried to deny or suppress that side of me, I just couldn't manage it -- Annie was just too damn hot in those trashy outfits of hers. Even worse, it seemed that -- slowly but surely -- "Annie" was slowly losing out to "Anniebell", with her modest everyday and household wear gradually being replaced with clothes that seemed to scream "I wanna be cum on".

I got used to constantly hiding the bulge in my pants, sometimes even ordering a size too big just to make sure it had enough room not to show.

I got used to going to bed with a throbbing case of blue balls -- sometimes, I contemplated trying find some relief -- maybe look at some porn websites or even going out to the red-light district. I even tried the latter, one time...but I didn't make it far. None of the girls there did it for me. I tried finding ones similar to Annie. About the same age and blond.

But I couldn't go through with it. Some of them just weren't pretty enough. Some of them not young enough.

And some of them seemed too young.

Either way, I would wuss out at the idea of paying for companionship and just go home and drink. Sometimes I'd wake up in bed with the same clothes on from the night before.

One day, I was Googling Annie's name and checking the word on social media, and I came across a picture gallery dedicated to nothing but porn of her. Not real porn, mind you. My Annie would never. All of it was CGed or hand-drawn or Photoshopped, kind of like the mock-ups that they'd done to show how she'd look in different outfits. Most of them were shit, but there was a surprising amount that looked pretty goddamned close to how the real Annie looked. I guess with the amount of clothing she wore these days -- or rather, the lack thereof -- the imagination didn't need to do much work.