Baby Doll

She sighed and curled up on her bed, with her pillow. It was late, and she had a long day tomorrow. She had to get up extremely early to make her train.

Sometime later, she thought she heard her door opening, and saw light spilling in from the hallway. She thought she sensed a tall figure, who smelled of grass and aftershave. She might have felt a big warm hand stroke her hair, and touch her cheek, and whisper "Sleep well, Princess." She wasn't sure if she had dreamt it or not, but she murmured, "'Night, Daddy," and smiled, and sunk back into a deep, restful slumber.

+++

The next few days were a grind. Larry and her brothers were away together, up north, and Cassie left early and arrived home late at night, exhausted.

She saw several more photographers, trekking all over the city, and even into Brooklyn.

While not as colorful as her first two appointments, they were all equally disappointing.

She'd arrive, ready and eager to get started. She never met with the photographers—or as they were known, the "artists." She was taken directly into wardrobe and make-up, and she'd be led onto a spotlit stage. Everything would be all set up, and the artist would just magically appear behind the camera. The looks were pretty much standard designer clothes; apparently the latex and bikinis were somewhat unusual—something the more ambitious artists chose to do. Most were simply professional and, she thought, a bit dull. There was no real excitement, no pleasure; she felt like she was on a constantly turning conveyer belt. She passed girls just like her, in and out, running to the subway, clutching their schedules, checking their phones. It wasn't fun, it wasn't sexy, it wasn't anything but work.

And it was frustrating. She felt like they just weren't "getting" her. How could they? It was like a factory. In and out and impersonal.

On a Friday before she had a break for the weekend, she was set to meet with Freya in Manhattan and talk about her work so far. And she had texted Larry and found out he'd be home—alone—that night, so she woke up happy and excited for what the day would bring.

Several hours later, she was in the waiting room of FM Modeling. After a long time, she was finally ushered inside the executive office.

"Cassandra . . ." came the familiar purr. "Sit down. I was just looking at your photos."

Freya had half-glasses on a sparkling gold chain perched on her nose, and was sitting behind a large computer screen clicking her mouse.

Cassie waited, and waited. After 20 minutes, Freya tore off her glasses with a sigh and pinched her nose, as if she had a headache.

She was mumbling to herself. "Maybe I went at it wrong. Maybe I shouldn't have said it was me."

Cassie had no idea what was going on.

"So, um . . . was I not . . . good?" Cassie said, timidly.

"You? No. No. You did well, Cassie. It's these idiots, these artists. How fucking hard can it be? I mean for god's sake, look at you!"

Freya sighed, and said, "Come over here."

Cassie stood up behind her and together they scrolled through the digital photos. All of her. All of her shoots.

Freya was clearly not pleased.

"I mean, what was Joy thinking? She's got you looking like a pole dancer at the Rhinoceros Club. No, no, NO."

Then she brought up "Tex's" pictures, of her in the red bikini. Cassie gasped out loud.

"Tell me, what do you think of that, Cassandra?"

Cassie thought about it a second, and said, honestly, "I look like I'm trying to sell a car. Like, in a mall. In New Jersey."

Freya smiled. "Exactly. The local beauty queen trotting around a Honda showroom. It's Texas pageant. It's cheap Vegas crap. It's not YOU."

One by one, they scrolled through the photos. Cassie saw herself—well, her body, her features—but nothing of her personality, nothing of how she knew she could feel when she dressed up. She looked pretty, but there was nothing sexy, nothing hot, certainly nothing erotic or enticing. She was a pretty girl in pretty clothes, that's all. The best things about the photos, actually, were the settings, the clothes, the quality of the lighting and the photo itself. All, exquisitely crafted, in a technical sense. Masterfully done, but . . . cold.

Freya sighed.

"You know what's happening, what they're doing? They're trying to impress me. They know I sent you, they want to make it 'good,' so they're trying to outdo themselves with their style. I mean, that's what I see. I see gorgeous photos. What I don't see is the beautiful girl I sent to them."

Cassie went and took up her seat, wondering what the next step was. Freya seemed deep in thought.

"So tell me, what did you think of the people you worked with? What about Joy?"

Cassie could not stop the look of horror that came over her face. "Do I have to do that?"

"What?"

"All that . . . bumping and grinding?"

"Yes, if they say so. What else?"

"Hmmm . . . well, it seemed like she wanted to be in front of the camera, not behind it."

Freya smiled. "Yes, she does make all of her models look exactly like herself. When it works, it can be good, but . . . it's limited. What about Tex?"

Freya peered at her in a sidelong glance. She saw Cassie clam up and withdraw, as if protecting herself. "I don't like him."

"Oh?"

"No. And he called you a 'fucking cunt.'"

"Did he, now? That cocksucking prick. Well, it's a lesson learned, Cassandra. In this business, you have to kiss a lot of ass, stroke a lot of egos. You may as well learn that right up front. And Tex Jones has the biggest of them all."

"Alright," she said, as if wrapping things up. "Well, at least it wasn't all a total waste."

"Why?" asked Cassie.

"Because of you. I heard nothing but good things about you, Cassie. And believe it or not, you're doing great work. This isn't your fault. So!"

"Yes?"

"We keep working. Keep looking. You have another round next week, and then we'll see where we stand, alright?"

"Alright."

"Keep your chin up. I've got you lined up with some new folks next week. Maybe they won't be so eager to please." +++

That night, Cassie did a few errands in the city before heading home. She picked up a few special things, for Larry, and arrived home, with nothing to do but relax. She was feeling good. Hopeful. She'd made it through one week. And now she had nothing to do but look forward to being with him. He was due back in a while, so she slept, then spent some time getting ready.

Even though they had the house to themselves, she'd texted him and said to meet her in "their" place. Larry got the text in his truck, on the road, on the way home, and it sent a jolt to his groin, as visions of her waiting for him in the apartment came into his head. He'd missed her terribly this week. But he was also more torn about it than he had ever been.

He was so swept up in it . . . they both were . . . they had not spent any time talking about consequences, the future. . . he just didn't want to look that far, and he had a sense she didn't either. But spending so much time with his boys the past few days had forced him to consider it—he could never tell them. They must never know. And what kind of future was that?

Nothing he could envision, nothing in this world, could ever come close to this kind of love and lust. They both knew it; it's why they could not stay away, and pushed out the real world, and didn't think about the future.

They were in the grip of an incestuous attraction so powerful, so unique, so utterly its own thing. He thought about trying to end it . . . but thinking about losing it, denying it, depriving her of it, too . . . seemed just as equally, horribly wrong as what they were doing, or his sons finding out . . .

He wasn't quite sure what to do. He only knew . . . it was not seeing her, not being around her, that seemed to clear his head. If he saw her, if he touched her, if he held her, he was completely lost.

He got back, and saw the light on at the back of the property.

He considered going inside the house, to resist, for at least as long as it took to change his clothes. But he could not. He headed straight to the back yard, drawn there, his cock swelling, every cell in his body on fire.

The door was unlocked, and he pushed it open.

There was only the dimmest light, and he didn't see her at first.

"Cassie? Baby?" he called out.

He heard a little sound and followed it into the bedroom.

And when he saw her, arranged on the bed, waiting for him, he had his answers. She gave them to him, as surely as he had given them to her when he asked her if she ever thought about "Daddy." It was beyond their control.

She was lying propped up, on some pillows, her legs spread wide. She was wearing silky white thigh highs, and she was posing just as she had before, with her hands on her inner thighs, holding herself splayed open, her adorable silk-clad feet pointed inwards, ready, wet, and aching for him. Between her legs, she had a large pink dildo pushed full inside her.

Her face was expertly done up; he'd never seen her looking more exquisitely gorgeous. She had her thick hair pulled back in a blue headband which matched her powder blue baby doll teddy. A ribbon tied around her bursting tits, waiting for him to just pull them free. Her pink nipples pushed through the filmy, transparent fabric, hard and clearly aroused.

Cassie had planned this. She had been so frustrated all week, forced into those stifling, boring jobs, standing there letting other people dress her up and tell her what to do. All week she had been dreaming of how she would want to Larry to see her.

"Please!" Cassie gasped.

Larry didn't hesitate; he went right to her.

His hand found the silky skin of her trembling inner thigh and traveled slowly upwards, seeking out the dildo, holding it for a minute by the base before pushing, hard, deep inside.

"Shh, shh, . . ." Larry said, trying to calm her intense agitation. "Shh, baby, it's ok . . ."

"Oh!" Cassie gasped, and began to writhe, her hips desperately seeking out the pressure of that fake cock in his hands, now under his control. "Pleeease . . . " she begged and pleaded. "Oh, more, more!"

"Ah, Daddy!" she practically screamed. Larry was now leaning over her, using one arm to gently thrust up into her wet, sopping pussy, already dripping and gushing down her thighs. With the other he caressed her face, pushed back her hair, trying to soothe her and calm her down. He watched her face as he fucked her, watched her eyes widening with shock at the intense sensations spreading out from the dildo.

"Shh, baby, relax . . ."

Cassie's gasps and moans grew more hysterical as he gently fucked her, using his hands to rub her hard clit with each firm, deliberate thrust. She was in a state, gasping with surprise. She'd never felt anything quite like this. Her lips opened, her eyes glazed over, as he began to press into a spot that made her cry out with each gentle push.

"There, baby. Good?" Larry whispered.

"Yes, there, THERE, please oh please don't stop . . .!" Cassie gasped.

He kissed her neck as she twisted and moaned, and thrust her hips up against his hand, bumping her clit and sending wild, escalating waves of pleasure outwards from that spot deep inside. Larry sensed it was her first time coming this way, and only regretted—deeply regretted—that it wasn't his own cock inside her. He was wrong. He'd been so wrong about things. He was wrong to hold off, and tease her, and make them both wait. She was in such a state, and it was all his fault.

"Shh, baby . . . Cassie . . . Daddy's going to fuck you, I promise . . . next weekend . . . We shouldn't have waited. I've been so crazy for my Baby Girl! Mmmm . . . you look so beautiful, honey . . . you needed this, it's ok . . . let yourself come, come for Daddy, Baby Girl, now . . . yes, there you go . . ."

Cassie screamed out loud in release, at the pressure of that dildo and the excitement of his words. She thought of fucking him, of his cock bringing her this pleasure, and she couldn't bear it, it was too much!

"Oh God, Daddy, I want to be your little girl! Oh, make me your sweet little girl, make me come, promise, oh, promise!"

"I promise, baby . . . we won't wait anymore. Shhh. . . "

Cassie's scream trickled off into incoherent cries, whimpers, her eyes leaking tears at the incredible pleasure that rocked her body, knowing it was only a taste.

Minutes later he had her trembling, sweating body in his arms and he was shushing her, and smoothing her hair. Cassie leaned up to hold his face, and kiss him fully and deliberately on the lips.

"You've been very silly, Larry."

"Why's that, Baby Doll?"

"You knew how much your Baby Girl needed this. You worried too much."

"Cassie, baby, I'm only thinking of you . . ."

"And I thought of you, too—all week. I never needed you or loved you or wanted you more, or was more sure of it."

Larry held her eyes, wondering what she meant.

"Why, baby?"

"Because of everything I'm seeing, and learning, and how people are . . . No," she said firmly, "This is not wrong. No one will ever love me as much as you. And I will never trust anyone as much as I trust you. I need you. I need this. It's not wrong. And I know I'll need you even more in the future."

Cassie never even considered telling Larry the whole truth about her life, the people she had seen. She knew if she told him about "Tex" he'd get the gun he kept hidden somewhere in the house and go hunt him down. There were things he did not need to know.

"So we'll go to the shore next weekend?" she said, sweetly cuddling up to him.

"Yes, baby, I promise."

"Oh!"

Cassie felt his big cock swell under her ass. And she didn't shy away from touching it. She ran her fingers up and down the length as she kissed him deeply on the lips.

"And will you teach me . . . everything . . ."

"Yes, Baby Girl."

"Mmmmm . . ."

+++

The next week seemed to pass quickly, in a blur. She—they—were so happy, their secret knowledge made every minute of the day fly by in delicious anticipation.

Larry was extremely busy with work, and some days they only saw each other for a few minutes before bed. But they were secret and special, even if they only held hands, linking their fingers together for a few minutes in the hallway outside the bathroom. They had no extended time to be together, but they wouldn't have wanted it anyway.

Larry was in a semi-perpetual state of arousal, his cock ready to spring up and out from his groin at a moment's notice, thinking about being with her.

Cassie floated through her "go-sees" unfazed, but nevertheless astounded at how utterly clueless they all seemed to be.

She could not have been more primed. More ready to give herself, easily and openly. The hotness and sexuality just oozed out of her, for anyone who cared to look. She'd walk down the city streets and every male eye would go to her, drawn not only by her beauty but the secret smile playing around her mouth, the drowsy look of lust in her eye that any man could read.

And then she'd get to the photo shoot, and she may as well have been covered up with a burlap sack for all they noticed.

Her first assignment that week was undeniably weird.

She was told to show up in Central Park, in a leafy place by a sort of creek trailing off from the reservoir. Trailers and lights and cameras were all set up when she got there, right on time.

A short, mousy woman came up to her, saying "Hiiiiiiii! Cassie—right? Aren't you adorable! Well come on, let's get you all set up!"

Her name was Patti Love, and apparently she was up-and-coming. Cassie was completely new to this, but still she could tell that Patti was, too. She was insecure and worried and fussed about everything.

While Cassie was getting made up, Patti hung out with her in the trailer, which was kind of odd. The artists generally didn't "hang" with the models. But she did. And the whole time, all she did was grill Cassie about Freya Malle.

"Freya's amazing. Incredible. The nicest woman in the business! I mean, I love her! I couldn't believe it when she called me. Tell her I said hello, please? How did you meet her, anyway?"

She went on and on. Pretty soon Cassie figured out all the motherly caring was just a ruse. She just wanted to suck up to her so she would go tell Freya about it. Patti was the first of this type she met, but certainly not the last—the stargazers, hoping for riches and fame, willing to do anything to get it.

The shoot was so weird. Cassie had very tender, delicate skin, so she thought it odd that Patti wanted her outside in the bushes. It was not a very attractive setting. And she had her standing there for so long! It took hours. She obsessed over every shot, kept changing her mind, second-guessing what she was doing, explaining herself, while Cassie stood there itching and getting bitten by little bugs.

Finally, it was over. But Patti just didn't seem to want to let Cassie go. As she was packing her stuff away, she was in the trailer, again, this time trying to find out about her schedule.

"Oh, you are just too cute! How are you? Are you doing ok? So, wait, do you mind if I—"

She yanked the schedule of appointments out of Cassie's hand and poured over it with wide eyes, muttering to herself.

"You're seeing Charlie Wolf? Oh my god, he's a genius! And Tex Jones? Brilliant! So hot! Absolute masters! Oh my god, Freya really thinks I'm good enough to be on the same list?! I mean, they've won every fashion award there is! Who else is there, who else?"

She kept muttering to herself.

"I wonder what Charlie will do with you. Damn it, I knew I should have gone dark. Maybe we should do a re-shoot. I don't know, maybe in the studio. I bet Tex will do something really sexy. His work is so hot. I knew I should have gone for more sex, I knew it!"

Cassie stood up to go, gently tearing her schedule away from Patti's clutching fingers.

She was another one, another artist, so obsessed with her "work" Cassie may as well have been invisible.

Leaving Central Park, she was beginning to think it was all going to fail.

+++

That week she met with the legendary Charlie Wolf.

She had heard so many people whisper about his genius, she was quite surprised when she opened the door to his loft in the Village. She was expecting, she didn't know, a forceful, dominant man, probably gorgeous, confident. She'd heard so much she was a bit excited.

But the guy who opened the door was skinny, and soft-spoken, and her very first thought was, "Oh, he has a halo."

She knew that sounded odd. It would happen every now and then. She'd meet people who had a kind of special glow that she alone recognized, because she had it. Maybe he'd lost his mother, or another parent. She just knew they were "special," in some way.

From the looks of him, she couldn't have guessed what she would find inside.

His place was huge, and he led her through several rooms, including a gallery of portraits, on the way back to the photography studio.

She saw all these artsy photos of models. Models being twisted into weird shapes. Models screaming, with blood streaming out of their eyes and mouth. Models with writing being carved into their bodies, and hands reaching in to tear out their hearts. Close-ups of vicious teeth ripping into sweet flesh. Lots of photos of naked models using strap-ons with each other, or using whips and being whipped. And then lots of ordinary women—mostly photos of aging strippers and pole dancers and prostitutes. Really sad-looking women. Hopeless.

Yeah, he had a halo.

She peered up close to one of the labels and it said they were from his "Deconstructing Beauty" series, now on show at some gallery in SoHo. She had no idea what that meant.