Porn Star's Daughter Ch. 04

Chapter 4 - Ownership

My mouth gaped open in shock. Nothing could have prepared me for this.

Plastered on the side of the box was the life-size image of my father's cock, molded from the real thing. I had seen enough of the video to begin to anticipate its shape, size, and contours without even realizing it. From behind the slightly embossed graphic was my father's headshot, smiling in the smarmy way 90s porn stars smiled, all cheesy and definitely not sexy. What made it all the creepier was that this was my father making that face.

A violent shudder coursed through my entire body.

Sitting atop the box opening was a joyful yellow sticky note. I couldn't make out the writing from where I was sitting, and I didn't want to get closer in order to read it. I knew it wasn't going to make any difference, however, as I'd already gone too far - much too far - and I got on my hands and knees and moved closer to the note.

That was when I knew. If I had had any doubt that Mr. Rawlins was correct, what was written on that little scrap of paper completely destroyed any hope of being able to hold on to my dignity.

Now you can see if you would have won the contest. I wouldn't - at least not with my mouth. -S

My heart leapt into my throat, and I felt my stomach churn in fear and nausea. She knew! She knew I would open it!

There was so much that was stated in that note that my mind couldn't unpack it all fast enough. She knew that I had watched at least some of the video, which meant that she knew that I had watched my father in a porno! How did she know? Did she just guess? Was she just assuming that I had watched it?

The second half of the note was equally as disturbing. She'd used it! She'd tried to deep throat the dildo, but apparently didn't get very far. She implied that she could have taken it all somewhere else, though, but where?

What I did next is something that I will never be able to explain. I have no idea what possessed me. I had a flashback to the girl on the video who looked like Simone who had been spanked by my father before being drilled in the ass, and the same protective, visceral emotion swelled up inside of me in the moment.

Before I realized what I was doing, I opened the box and fished out the dildo, horrified that Simone had defiled it. Holding it in my hands, I realized it was sticky, and a sickening realization washed over me like an ocean wave.

She didn't clean it, a calm, detached voice echoed inside my head.

Of course she didn't clean it. That was all part of the plan. She knew what was going to happen, knew before I did. She knew I was weak, that I was going to open it. She knew that I would be sitting here, right now, with my hands touching her pussy secretions coating my father's lifelike dildo.

Only the head was completely sticky. The rest of the dildo was dry, except for a streak down the underside ridge. Immediately, I realized she had gotten the head in, and then stroked the massive girth up and down her wet slit, leaving a trail in a vertical line across the shaft from tip to balls.

Did she make herself come on it? Did she make herself orgasm knowing exactly how much I would be in the palm of her hand? I suddenly had an image of her rubbing the cock against her cunt, knowing that I would figure it all out, and having her own mind-blowing orgasm. I had heard of people getting off on control, and I was convinced Simone was one of them.

I swallowed, but my throat was dry. Jesus Christ, she was living in my head, rent-free.

Holy fuck, she did own me.

Before I realized it was even happening, I was crying in huge, spiteful sobs. I couldn't see any longer, watery rivulets of tears blinding me. I doubled over, not realizing that I was still clutching the massive sex toy in my arms like a baby doll. I felt surprisingly detached, however, as if my mind was watching my body from the inside, waiting patiently for the stress, tension and anxiety to work its way through my emotional nervous system.

Feeling numb, I lost coherence for a while, floating amidst a bobbing sensation of negative emotions as they flushed through me. I didn't even bother to fight for control, but merely allowed it to run its course. I felt a sense of utter despair, the realization that there was no way to undo any of it. I wanted desperately to go back in time and destroy the box without opening it. My arrogance and teenage defiance only served to spite myself. I couldn't believe that it was possible to hurt this badly, and this lesson was among the harshest. I suddenly felt very young and stupid, nowhere near the woman I had been pretending to be.

There was no way to lie about it, either. Simone obviously could read me like a cheap novel, could anticipate what I would do. This is what Mr. Rawlins had meant, and I saw it now. He had meant that Simone had already known that I would do exactly what I did, and that knowledge of me, that complete understanding of me, that is how she owned me. She knew me better than I knew myself. The only way to prove that she couldn't reach me in that way was to not do what she knew what I would do.

But I had done it. I had proved to myself that she was the stronger person.

Once more I grew angry at Mr. Rawlins. Why couldn't he have just told me this in the first place? Why did he have to play these kinds of games?

Because he didn't know what Simone knew, you idiot.

I began calming down, only to find myself gripping the dildo tightly in my hands. I looked down at it, and realized that neither of my tiny hands could adequately wrap around its girth, and even holding them so that the fingers didn't touch at all there was still room at the top and bottom. I had watched several chapters in the video but had failed to comprehend exactly how huge it was in real life.

There's no way I could -

With a start I recoiled, throwing the toy to the ground, releasing it with my hands thrust outward, fingers splayed just like I had received an unpleasant electric shock. I was holding onto a replica of my father's cock!

It landed on the carpet with a soft thud, bounced once, and rested mere inches away from me. I stared at it, unable to tear my eyes away from its monstrous size. It was hard to imagine something like that could be attached to a real human being, much less my father. My mind began to mull over the implications of everything that had happened, and I began to realize that I couldn't simply leave it lying on the floor. My mother would see it, and - oh god, what would she think?

Don't think about it, don't think, don't think, don't think...

Grimacing, I reached over and picked up the dildo and grabbed it. Standing up quickly I dashed into the bathroom, threw it into the sink (it didn't quite fit), and turned the water on. Soon the hot steam began to rise from the basin and I watched as it showered over the silicone. I screwed up my face in determination, put some soap on my hands, picked up the cock and began to lather it.

I had never used a sex toy before, much less cleaned one, so I did the best I could. Soon it became obvious that the best way to clean it was to, in effect, give it a handjob.

Thing is, it was so big that it was difficult to handle. I found that I couldn't quite get my hand far enough around the girth to clean it properly, and had to turn it over and around several times. More than once I began to wish that I had an additional hand so that I could get a better grip on the damn thing.

As I cleaned it, my hands began to find a natural rhythm, however. Before long, I began to feel the contours of its shape as it crossed over my palms, my fingertips passing over the fake veins in the texturized silicone. Attempting to be thorough, I reached down to the fake balls which were unpleasantly hard, and not what I was expecting at all. I didn't really like them very much. In the video they looked much more pliable -

I swallowed, the realization of where my mind was headed creating confusion and discomfort. I wasn't sure when I had lost myself in the moment so completely, but to my horror I came to realize that I had completely normalized touching my father's likeness without shame or guilt - even if only for a few moments.

Could I... could I have been enjoying it? Even a little? Just... what... was I thinking about, anyway?

Thinking about it made me feel queasy. I tried to imagine I was doing nothing more than washing dishes, with no more emotional attachment than I would to a plate or a drinking glass. I tried humming to myself, wracking my brain for a song - any song - to latch onto and distract me. However, unlike those moments when you get a song in your head that you can't get rid of, this time nothing at all came to mind. Desperate, I droned a tuneless song.

It worked enough to let me get through the job at hand, so to speak. Taking a towel I patted the toy down to dry.

This is no toy, this is serious business! The joke just popped into my head, unbidden.

The absurdity of it all took hold of me. For no reason I could think of I burst out into laughter, even putting my head down on my forearms on the edge of the sink. The laughter came in huge, expulsive guffaws, my eyes squeezing shut so hard that the watery residue from tears mixed in so that I didn't know which was which.

Slowly I started to realize that the laughter wasn't really laughter. The barking guffaws were giant sobs, the tears of laughter were actually tears of pain. I was so upset that I couldn't even tell the difference at first, but now there was no longer any confusion about my true emotional state. After a time my crying went silent, the air in my lungs expelled to the point where I didn't even have enough to make a sound.

Oh god, I thought. I'm losing it!

"Shanny? Are you in there?"

My mother's voice shocked me back into the real world. Thank God I had shut the bathroom door!

"Yes," I croaked. What was she doing home? She wasn't due for hours!

"Can you hurry up in there?"

"I'll be right out," I shouted, perhaps a little too loudly. My heart raced in a panic. How the hell was I going to hide this? I could't just walk out of the bathroom swinging a giant dildo around.

A crazy thought went through my head. Would my mother recognize it?

I didn't have time to contemplate that, or all that it implied. The last thing I wanted to do was answer questions. I needed a place to hide this damn thing. I opened every cabinet in the bathroom, but there was nowhere that a part of this thing wouldn't lewdly stick out in an obvious fashion.

Finally, in a moment of sheer desperation, I took the top off the toilet tank and tried to stuff the penis in and around the plumbing. There wasn't much room, but it seemed to fit. Barely.

Gingerly, I replaced the tank lid, trying not to make any noise that would alert my mother to what I had just done.

I opened the door and my mother waited patiently for me to step out. "Thanks, honey," she said, "I wasn't feeling well so I - Shannon! What's wrong?"

With my pale skin, there was never going to be a way I could hide the red eyes and blush across my nose and cheeks. Thinking quickly, I lied to my mother.

"I stubbed my toe really hard," I said, making a show of stretching out my foot and flexing my toes to show that they weren't broken. If they had been, my mother would have likely panicked as well and insisted that I go to the hospital.

"Oh sweetie," she said, genuinely concerned. "You are such a klutz." I knew that my mother was relieved that I wasn't seriously hurt, but also a bit disappointed that I hadn't inherited any of her gracefulness. Even years of ballet only served to reinforce that I didn't have the talent or coordination that she had in droves.

Her face softened into that pitying look that I had seen so often in my life. Then, she said, "As I was saying, I left work not feeling too well, and I really just want a long, hot bath before going to bed."

I swallowed and nodded. She closed the door, and I went back into my room. Realizing that today's charity loot still littered my floor, I began clearing everything away and throwing everything under my bed, mentally reminding myself to go back and clear it all out later before my mother decided - for whatever reason - to check under there.

Most of the knick-knacks had been successfully hidden when I heard an exasperated scream from the bathroom. My blood froze.

Oh shit!

I peered out of my bedroom, and looked at the bathroom door. "Are you okay?" I called.

The door flew open, and my mother stormed out. "Now the toilet doesn't want to stop flushing. I can't believe how bad today is." She began to walk down the hall.

"Where are you going?" I asked, confused.

She turned back to me and dramatically threw her hands into the air. "I have to call the plumber now, don't I?" she explained.

It would be an understatement to say that my mother is not mechanically inclined. She once referred to a hammer as "that poundy-thingy."

I watched her turn the corner and didn't waste any time. I raced into the bathroom, took off the lid, and extracted the giant dildo from the tank. The one thing I hadn't counted on was that the plunging mechanism would get caught and fail to seal properly when my mother flushed. I replaced the lid and peeked around the doorframe, trying to locate my mother. To my horror I heard my mother on the phone in the other room, but her voice was getting closer.

Without thinking I rubbed the wet dildo across my jeans to get most of the water off, and threw the dildo across the hallway and into my bedroom. I could not have practiced a better shot. The massive penis hit the edge of my bed, bounced upwards, and then landed dead center on the bedspread in plain view. I tried not to think about how I had just dragged my father's fake cock across my thighs.

"Well, I don't know," my mother was saying into her cell phone. "I'm not the plumber, you are!"

She stood in front of me, phone up to her ear. Behind her, in plain view, was the dildo. If my mother even so much as turned around, she would clearly see what was in my room, it's shape and form unmistakeable from this distance. Without realizing it, I held my breath.

Behind me, the toilet stopped, and the bathroom was silent. My mother, confused, looked at me, and then said, "What happened?"

I shrugged, and said, "I jiggled the handle."

A look of utter pride came over my mother's face. "Never mind," she said into the phone. "My daughter can obviously figure it out better than you can."

Normally, I would have been slightly miffed at what my mother said, but at this point it felt like a good idea just to keep my mouth shut.

She hung up the phone, and then gave me a huge hug. "Oh Shannon," she said. "My little genius."

Torn between the mild amusement of my mother's ineptitude over common household problems and the sheer panic of her finding out what was on my bed just behind her, all I could do was stand there with my eyes wide and breath caught in my throat.

She started to turn around, but I caught her by the arm. "Mom," I said, and she looked up at me. "Why don't you run your bath. I'll go make you some hot tea."

She smiled, and nodded. Moving past me, she bent over the tub to turn the faucet handles on. I raced into the bedroom as she began talking about how much she was looking forward to this.

I grabbed the dildo and frantically looked around the room for a place to shove it, but uncertain as to what to do. I only had a few seconds. I yanked the pillow off the bed and stuffed the dong into the pillowcase and placed it back on the bed with the soft side up. It looked only slightly larger than usual, and I doubted my mother would perceive any difference.

I finished not a moment too soon, as it turned out. My mother popped her head into my doorway. "Tension soother," she said.

"Hmm?" I asked, turning around. If I looked half as guilty as I felt, she'd surely have noticed something was up.

"I'd like Tension Soother tea, please," she said.

"Oh, sure," I said, and walked out of my room, past her, and into the kitchen.

The teapot began to boil and I began to mull over the events of the past week. Given the comical and slapstick nature of the day, I began to think about how my mother and my father made such an unlikely couple. Well, at least for the short time they were a couple.

My mother was not the brightest bulb in the box, which is one of the reasons why she needed me so much, and probably why my father never married her. I don't know what it was like back then, back in the last century, but I remember people talking about needing to get married when the girl got pregnant at some point. Whether it was common or not, my parents never married.

Despite her obvious lack of mental achievements, my mother was very sweet. She managed to find that her ditzy persona attracted a certain type of man, but to her credit she realized that none of them would be good father-figures for me growing up. From a young age I became my mother's fact-checker, an easy role for me to play as my bookish, shy nature and natural skepticism led me to keep potential bad elements from taking advantage of an attractive single mother who wasn't all that bright.

By the time I was seven years old I knew my mother was stunningly beautiful and saw that she used it to her full advantage. She had made men her lifetime occupation, managing to attract, keep, and be supported by various men throughout my entire life. We were never rich, but we were never poor, either. I always had a suspicion that she managed, somehow, to get 'donations' from her boyfriends at crucial times, but I never asked her about it.

In a way, she was everything that I wanted to be. She seemed absolutely perfect: graceful, dancer's body, beautiful waspish face, full, natural breasts, and - of course - perfect eyesight. Plus, she had a personality that was friendly and approachable, which made it very hard not to like her. She loved to call herself a 'girly-girl," and thoroughly embraced her femininity, with all the benefits that implied.

You would have thought that after years of watching my mother flirt to get what she needed or wanted - especially from workers who came to fix the house for silly things like a jiggly toilet handle, that some of this would have wore off on me. Nothing could be further from the truth.

My mother, bless her, had tried for years to teach me in the art of flirtation, but it never seemed to work. If I ever got up enough courage to flirt with a cute boy, or was misfortunate enough to have my mother pick one out for me, it always ended up in a complete disaster. All elbows and knees, I felt like I was holding my skinny body together through sheer will as I walked awkwardly over to introduce myself to some boy. I always felt like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, with my obvious joints and stiff limbs.

Worse, I'd fidget. I didn't know what to do with my hands, or how to hold my weight over my hip, which meant that I was constantly moving. I would shift from side to side, brush my thin, stringy hair out of my face, and push my glasses back up my nose. Even at the time I was doing it I knew I was the anti-sexy girl, and nine-times-out-of-ten I aborted the attempt at the last second. I got to be somewhat good trying to make up last-minute request for directions. I don't think I was fooling anyone, really.

I took the tea from the kitchen and brought it back to the bathroom, where my mother was sitting on the side of the tub, swirling the bubbles around. She had removed her clothes, leaving her matching bra and panties on while the bath water climbed to a temperature she liked.