Porn Star's Daughter Ch. 11

Ah, so Frank was Andrew's father's name. That little tidbit of information, though, was completely lost in the total what-the-actual-fuck-was-that shift in Cassandra's behavior.

"Normally we don't allow guests to visit Andrew when we're out," she explained, double-checking her purse for something. "But grades are very important, aren't they, Andrew?"

"Yes, ma'am," Andrew intoned. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

"Cassandra," Frank got her attention. "Are you ready to go?"

"Oh, yes, dear," she said. "Sorry it took me so long." She turned to me and cast a knowing smile. "You know is girls, we like to look just perfect."

I was standing in their foyer in a t-shirt and sweats. I wasn't sure just who "us girls" she was referring to, but I nodded in silence nevertheless.

"Finally," I heard Frank mutter under his breath. Then, so that Cassandra could hear, he added, "We better be going, then."

Cassandra flitted out the door, and turned back to blow Andrew a kiss. "You behave yourself, Andrew!" she called. "Goodnight, Sharon!"

"Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Weyson!" I called after them, ignoring the fact that she called me by the wrong name. In fact, I was ignoring a lot.

Andrew closed the door, and held onto the doorknob for a while, his eyes closed. I thought I had it tough. He looked like he had the weight of the entire world on his shoulders, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Come on," he finally said, and then walked past me to head up stairs. I looked out the front window as his parents were getting into their sedan, their reaction to me showing up on their doorstep making me nervous.

"Should I," I started, and he stopped on the third step. "Should I go?"

He shrugged. "If you want to," he said. He didn't seem concerned at all one way or the other. "I'll finish the report, don't worry about it."

Well, I couldn't do that. I didn't really know Andrew all that well, and didn't know what he would do or how he would do it. Normally, I was the person who had to do all the work in any group project, and I didn't want to do that to him either. Plus, I would simply wind up obsessing about whether or not he would do a good enough job, and would wind up pulling an all nighter anyway writing my own report.

"It's not that," I said. "Just..." I looked back at the door.

"Yeah, well," he said, following my glance. "There's nothing you can do about that now."

He turned and went back up the stairs. I hesitated for a moment, and then followed him.

On the way up, I took a glance at the rest of the house that was viewable from the staircase. The house was absolutely immaculate, with not a single thing out of place. It looked like one of those model houses they have where you can go in and see if you want to buy one in the neighborhood. It looked real, and yet not real, at the same time.

Upstairs, it was the same story. I thought about my own house and how it was clean, but definitely not tidy. My own room left a lot to be desired in the "uncluttered" category, but even if I worked for a month straight, there was no way I would ever get to this level of perfection.

Andrew's room was no different than the rest of the house. Everything had a place, and was in it. Andrew settled himself down at the computer, and pulled up a document on the screen. As I pulled out my laptop, I could see that I needn't have bothered. The document was our report, fully written and completed.

My jaw dropped open. Again, I felt like I was having a what the fuck?! moment.

As I watched, Andrew opened up a second document, which looked suspiciously like the first.

"I'm so confused," I said. "What is this?"

Andrew shrugged. "Our due date is tomorrow," he said. "I couldn't wait any longer to get it done, so I decided to get started last week."

"You didn't have to do that," I started.

Andrew looked at me, and it was the first time since I'd arrived that he'd really looked like he wanted to interact. "It's no big deal," he said. "I'm used to doing group projects by myself."

"Well, so am I," I said, a little irritated. "What I mean is, we could have cranked this out tonight with no problem."

His reaction was indecipherable. "No, we couldn't," he said softly. There was something in his tone that gave me the impression that there was more to what I had witnessed than just a psycho mother and an overbearing father. My irritation dissipated as my reaction softened.

"Andrew," I said, putting my hand on his arm. For some reason, I wasn't surprised when he flinched at the touch. I withdrew my hand, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. "I have no idea what's going on. You invited me over to your house to work on this report, but you've already got it finished."

"It's not finished," he began, but I cut him off.

"And when I get here, I watch The General ream you out -"

"He's a Captain," Andrew corrected me. "In the Navy."

"- and then your mother calls me a slut," I continued, ignoring his interruption. "And now you're telling me that you have done the work already? What. The. Absolute. Fuck?"

Andrew sighed, and looked down at his lap where his fingers were fidgeting. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I had hoped they'd be gone by the time you got here."

"That doesn't answer my questions, Andrew," I said, a little heat coming back into my voice. "What was all that about with your mother? Why did she call me a slut? And why did she suddenly spin on a dime and treat me like a long lost friend?"

He took a deep breath. "My mother is," he said, slowly, "... not well."

There was so much implied in that simple sentence that the weight of it all seemed to compress on my chest. My mind started spinning, imagining all kinds of scenarios. Andrew's mother wasn't just "unwell," she was a psycho. I couldn't even begin to think about what it might be like living with such an unpredictable woman.

It reminded me just how much of a bitch I'd been to my mother, and how I'd taken her for granted all of these years. For all of my self-righteous attitude, I had just had a first-hand crash course in "you think you got it bad? You got nothing!"

"As for the reports," he said slowly, "I couldn't risk bringing home a bad grade, but I didn't know what you would want to do, so I decided to give you options."

I had a flash of Andrew bringing home a bad grade to his father, and found myself shuddering at the thought. Andrew hadn't done the reports out of a sense of overachievement, or even out of distrust that I wouldn't help, but rather out of self-preservation.

All of it, though, still left one very important question unanswered.

"Okay," I said, thoughtfully. "But why am I here? I mean, we could have done this over Zoom, or the phone, or something."

He looked up at that. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry. I just..." his voice trailed off.

The silence hung in the air, and I realized he wasn't going to complete his thought without prompting. "You just, what?" I asked, trying to read his expression.

"I don't really have anyone to talk to," he finally confessed, but he looked like he was about to say something and changed his mind at the very last second. "We just moved here, and I don't know anyone here. It's so late in the school year that everyone's got their friends. It's hard to break into that."

I swallowed. I hadn't thought of that. "So why me?" I asked, not sure that I wanted to know the answer to the question.

"Well, you seemed nice, but you didn't look like you belonged to any one clique or another," he said. "I thought maybe you were in the same situation, a new kid maybe."

All of this made sense. I was something of a lone wolf in the school - I really didn't like anybody. I kept to myself, not wanting to run afoul of the bullies like Simone (yeah, like that was working for me) and not fitting into any other group. I often found myself with more in common with the teachers than the students.

"Actually," I said, "I've lived here my whole life."

"Really?" he asked. "I thought you might be a military brat like me."

I shook my head. "No," I said. "I just don't like anyone at school."

That caused him to smile. "What, not even Simone?" he teased.

I frowned. "What did you hear?" I asked.

A big grin broke out on his face, despite himself. "Well, not much," he admitted. "But anyone who can get the entire school to believe in something as ridiculous as a 'vaginal placebo' has got to be your absolute BFF!"

I punched him in the arm, my frown deepening, but it was playful. "Ow, hey!" he said, laughing.

Just like that, the ice had broken. When he smiled, his face completely changed. In school, and when we were in front of his parents, the guarded expression made him unapproachable, a stoic figure who was struggling with his situation. When he smiled, and then laughed, he seemed to brighten up the room a little. I couldn't help but wonder if he might be able to break the ice with some other people if he smiled while in school, too.

Then I realized that it wouldn't work. Andrew's parents were invasive. He couldn't safely bring people back to his house - oh god, what would his mother do? - and he couldn't very well go out on his own for fear of the Spanish Inquisition from his father upon his return.

It was at that moment that it dawned on me just how much of a risk he had taken by inviting me over to his house. He was trapped, and he was desperately trying to reach out, even going so far as to be willing to risk me seeing his parents. Of course, everything had gone wrong. Both of them were an embarrassment, and there was nothing that he could do about it. He had gambled, and lost.

I tried to think of anyone else I knew at school and how they would have reacted. Some probably would have run crying, most would have likely gotten into a shouting match. Some, like me, may have actually made it past the gauntlet, but then reamed Andrew out about it. He certainly seemed prepared to hear that from me. I realized that had it been anyone else, he would not have gotten as understanding a visitor.

I began to think about what would happen when they returned. I wanted to ask him, but I didn't dare. He was in a good mood now, and had opened up to me a little. I was afraid that if I asked, he would close up again.

"Okay," I said. "So tell me about these reports. You know we only have to do one report, right?"

"Yeah, but like I said, I wasn't sure which direction you'd like to go," he said. "I'd narrowed it down to two people, but couldn't decide. Plus, I thought you might like to have a say in the matter."

I looked at the screen. At the top of the page were the words, "Women Who Changed The World" and underneath there was a name: Messalina. On the other page, there was the same title, but with a different name: Catherine The Great.

"What, no 'Kim Kardashian?'" I joked.

He laughed, remembering how Heather - one of Simone's harpies - had tried to persuade Mrs. Villanova to break the rule of "no one who has died after 1900" didn't apply, because the celebrity hadn't died yet.

"I'm just glad she's not a nerd," he said. "Otherwise she'd probably pick Amanda from Highlander. Who knows what she'd think of doing an immortal."

I stared at him open-mouthed. "You know Highlander?" I squeaked.

He nodded. "There can.."

"...be only one!" I finished with him.

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he intoned, with an affected seriousness.

"Oh, Duncan!" I stood up and swooned, and fell into his lap. "You know it's just one little job!"

"Amanda," he warned, but the goofy grin on his face told me he was loving playing along.

I wiggled. "All we have to do is steal one, teeny-tiny diamond," I said in my best Elizabeth Gracen impression. "Then I'm out. I promise."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and tried my best to be as flirtatious as my fictional counterpart. To my surprise, I felt a slight movement under my butt.

Before I could stop myself, I brought my hand to my mouth in mock surprise. "Why Duncan! Is that a katana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"Um," Andrew stammered. It took a moment for it to dawn on me that Andrew really was "happy" to see me. I realized that I had probably just embarrassed him even more. "I, um..."

"Oh, uh, sorry," I said, my playfulness returning down to earth. I got off him, but realized that I didn't really want to get off him.

Yeah, you want to get him off, Team Shutupandfuckme piped up.

Oh for fuck's sake, Team Morality despaired.

I decided to change the subject. "So, um, who are these people?" I asked, looking at the screen.

Andrew bent forwards, trying to nonchalantly hide an erection that must have been forming in his shorts. "So, you've heard of Catherine the Great, right?" he asked.

"Yeah. She fucked a horse and died," I said.

"Well, that's the rumor, yeah," he said. "But that's not what exactly happened. She had a lot of enemies, and they started spreading that rumor after she died. So, it's really just an urban legend. In fact, there were a lot of urban legends spread about her, like having a room where all the furniture was shaped like penises."

I giggled, imagining my own desire for penis-shaped inanimate objects. Could I fuck a table leg? After what I did this past week, I probably could.

"But she did like sex. A lot," he said. "She apparently had sex tasters. Just like when you had food tasters to see if food was poisoned, she had "sex tasters" where she had women have sex with men to make sure they were good enough lovers for her.

"But the really cool thing about her was that she used that sexuality to become Empress, even overthrowing her husband, making him sign over his throne to her, and having him killed," he said, starting to get into the story.

"Wow," I said. "I had no idea. She sounds like an amazing person to do for the report. So who's this other chick?"

A broad grin stretched out his face. He looked so cute.

"Oh, if you think she is badass, just wait until you hear about Messalina," he said. "She makes Catherine 'the Great' look like "Catherine The Just Mildly Ok.'"

Andrew began to tell me about Messalina, about how she was related to Caligula in Rome, and was married to the Emperor Claudius until she was executed for trying to kill him.

"Here, why don't you read what I've got, and tell me what you think," he said, indicating the screen. I did, and he re-read his words next to me as I saw them for the first time.

Messalina was absolutely fascinating. Andrew wrote in lurid detail about how she used her beauty to gain political favors, along with her sexuality. A true nymphomaniac, she had sex with multiple men while married to the Emperor Claudius, even going so far as to have a competition with the best Roman prostitute, Scylla, as to who could please the most men in a 24-hour period. During the competition, she beat out Scylla by sleeping with 25 men, where Scylla could only do 24.

"Is this true?" I asked, incredulous. I wondered how I would fare in such a competition. I looked over at him, and saw that he was hunched over again. Before I could stop myself, I accidentally licked my lips.

"Oh, yeah," he said, trying to drape his t-shirt over his lap. "Keep reading."

I did, and got to the point where she had her own brothel, formed under an assumed name, and forced many upper-class women to work as prostitutes whom she blackmailed. She would use the brothel to gain even more political clout when prominent Romans would reveal their secrets.

Ultimately, Messalina's undoing was to go so far as to marry a lover while Claudius left Rome to oversee a construction project. Even that brazen behavior, completely with a lavish and expensive wedding party, didn't push Claudius over the brink. But, in order for him to save face, his advisors ordered Messalina to commit suicide.

I had to admit, Andrew was a decent writer. He had described Messalina's activities in just enough detail to border on inappropriateness, while still taking on a somewhat academic tone. It was a great balancing act, but with the sexual high I'd been on for the past week or so, it was also quite arousing.

After reading the report, I sat back and looked at Andrew. His face was a little flush too, and he was breathing in long, slow, ragged breaths.

"Wow," I said again. "That was hot."

He turned to look at me. "Not too much, you think?"

I couldn't help myself, I stared down at his lap, which he covered with his hands. I looked at his face, and licked my lips again. "Just right," I said.

My body moved on autopilot, and I swung my leg over his lap and sat down, feeling his erection come into direct contact with my crotch. There were four layers of clothing between us, assuming he was wearing underwear, but the rounded form of hiscompressed cock pressed up against my pussy through my sweats.

"Shannon?" he said, out of surprise.

"Shut up," I said, and he did.

Yes! Finally! Fuck him! Team Shutupandfuckme shouted in my brain. Go for the real thing!

I kissed him, and felt his mouth open to receive my tongue. In my head, I replayed Punk Girl attacking my father in the video, and realized that I was going to have to be the one to take the lead here. I couldn't be as aggressive as she was, or else I would scare him off. After all, she would probably had scared the living hell out of most people, and my father had been expecting to have sex with her at the time.

Instinctively, I began to grind against him, feeling that beautiful stick between my legs. Of course, I had no idea how beautiful it was, yet, but it certainly felt good against my pussy.

Poor Andrew had no idea what to do. I could tell he was inexperienced, and wasn't sure where to put his hands. Thinking back to what happened with Tracy, I felt I could relate. Once again, I knew I had to channel my inner Punk Girl and be a force of nature.

For some reason, my dream about walking through the halls wearing nothing but a leather vest flickered back into life. I thought about how everyone wanted me, how they would do what I say just because I said so.

"Take off my shirt," I commanded, and he blinked.

It took him a moment to register what I had said, but then he finally searched for the hem of my shirt and started to pull upwards. I raised my arms up, and it came off in a flutter.

He stared at my chest and stomach, and I felt a quick rush of fear that he would find my tiny breasts unappealing. I almost asked for my t-shirt back, but I knew I had to break through my own personal barriers.

Just wait, Team SUAFM cautioned. You'll see.

"Now my bra," I said, pressing onward. There was no room for discussion. He reached behind me and tried to undo the clasp, but was failing miserably. I could feel his fingers flailing about my back, trying to gain purchase on the hooks.

I held his face in my hands. "Have you ever done this before?" I asked.

He looked at me in shame, and slowly shook his head. I leaned forward, and put my lips right next to his ear. "Don't worry," I whispered. "Me neither."

I reached down between us, and took ahold of his dick through his shorts. He gasped, and froze.

"Don't stop," I encouraged him. "Take your time. I'll just do this while I wait."

I started stroking his cock through the fabric, and he returned to trying to undo my bra. He certainly didn't improve his dexterity while I did it, but it was certainly much more fun while I waited.