Rent-A-Daughter

I had this idea kicking around for a while, so I finally wrote it. I hope you enjoy.

This story contains Incest. If that is something you do not appreciate, please feel free to leave and find something else more to your liking.

And, yet another special thanks to Skye4Life for editing, and @Insert25¢ for beta reading for me.

Rent-A-Daughter

"But Daddy!" I pleaded twisting the toe of my shiny silver high heel. "I really need the car tonight! It's the Taylor Swift Charity Show. All of my friends will be there. I'm all dressed up. I can't just show up in a Lexus, what would everyone think? I need the Porsche."

I looked incredible in my green and white mini skirt and my tight white top that showed off my belly and a generous amount of cleavage supplied directly from Victoria Secret herself. Bright green argyle socks stretched from my cute heels all the way up to my knees and a silver Tiffany's bracelet dangled on my wrist while diamond studs sparkled on my ears.

"You don't need a damn thing, Jessica." My dad shook his head, barely pausing to look over the rims of his glasses as he scrolled through work emails on his phone in the middle of the kitchen. "I just got the Porsche fixed from the last time you drove it."

"That wasn't my fault!" I argued, circling around him as he turned so I could stay in front of him. "That tree was way too close to the curb. It scared me."

"And the time before that?" he asked, looking up for a moment. "You spilled your coffee on my leather seats. It's been detailed four times since then, and it still smells like pumpkin spice in there. No," he said, shaking his head firmly. "There is no way you're taking the car out."

"Daddy?" I pouted, "but I love you!"

"I said no," he breathed, doing his best to ignore me.

There was no way I was leaving without those keys. Slowly, I slid to my knees in front of him, clasping my hands up in front of me.

"Please Daddy, I promise to let nothing happen to it!" I tried.

"Princess, there is nothing you could do to change my mind." He said looking down at me.

He was wrong. I knew of one thing.

"Are you sure, Daddy?" I asked, placing my hands on his thighs and sliding them up towards his crotch.

"Honey?" he said warningly, taking a step back and bumping into the refrigerator. I only bit my lip and persisted, scooting forward on my knees to block him in. "Stop!" he said, quickly reaching for my wrists, but I was faster. "What are you doing?" he asked nervously as my fingers deftly unfastened his belt and pants "You promised me that you wouldn't do that ever again!"

"I just want to show you how much I love you," I pouted, fishing his cock from his boxers. "You're the best Daddy in the whole world. I promise you'll like it."

"Oh God baby, we shouldn't," he protested weakly. "Not again!"

I didn't even need to wait for him to get hard, he was already steel in my hands. A drip of precum had formed on his tip like morning dew, and I could feel him throb in my hands with excitement. As much as he protested that he didn't want this, his cock told the true story.

"It's okay, Daddy," I giggled, seeing him so flustered. "I'm really good at this."

Leaning forward, I flicked my tongue across his tip, eliciting a groan from him. I felt like such a dirty slut, I could feel myself dripping into my panties as I kneeled there on the hard floor getting ready to suck my daddy's cock. Some people might have taken in that thought, and done a bit of reevaluating, but I wasn't going to stop now. If I had him wrapped around my finger before, this was only going to make him putty in my hands. Besides, Daddy was hot. All my friends thought so, and I wouldn't lie and say that he hadn't been at the forefront of my mind on more than one occasion when I touched myself. Before he could come to his senses, I opened wide, and sucked his cock all the way down to the base. I wasn't lying, I was good at this. Fifteen minutes later, I walked out of there with the taste of Daddy's cum on my lips, and a set of Porsche keys.

Outside in the driveway was a pristine white 911 Turbo. I hit the button on my key fob, and there was a chirp before the engine roared to life. I took my time getting in, being careful not to flash my panties to the entire neighborhood due to my excessively short skirt, and high heels.

Once I had my seat belt in place, I backed down the drive, and then let the tires chirp as I pulled away from the house. I drove for fifteen minutes to an apartment complex on the other side of town and turned into the parking structure. I went up to the second level and pulled into the space next to an old mint green Geo Metro that was missing the rear bumper.

Getting out, I moved around to the front of the car and popped the hood. Inside there was a Pink gym bag sitting there. Peering around to make sure nobody was in sight; I opened the bag and immediately began kicking off my high heels. I pulled at the two buttons holding my stripper skirt together, and as it fell away, exposing my green and white panties, I grabbed a pair of faded blue jeans and began quickly tugging them up over my argyle socks.

I left my belly shirt in place and pulled a sensible yellow polo over it and ran my fingers through my hair to make it look less glamorous. After quickly adjusting myself, I kneeled down and picked up my heels and skirt, tossing them into the gym bag before closing the hood.

The change was drastic as I walked around the beat-up Geo Metro and opened the unlocked driver door. Compared to the whorish trust fund brat I'd been a moment ago, I looked downright normal, like I belonged in and advanced economics class at the local university or something. Kicking the pair of shoes on the floorboard aside, I slid into the stained driver's seat. Part of me wasn't surprised that the car was still here. Every day I hoped that I would show up, and it would just be gone, but who the hell would steal a Geo Metro?

I turned the key and waited as the engine struggled and coughed to life. An incessant wining sound echoed through the concrete structure for a few moments, like the wails of a dying animal waiting to be shot, before dissipating. This car was a serious shit box.

Wondering if today was going to be the day that this old girl finally gave up, I backed out of my parking spot, careful not to touch the Porsche, and wound my way back down to the ground floor. Just as I was pulling onto the street, my phone began to ring.

"Hey Dad," I said after swiping my screen. "I know I'm running late. My Chem Lab went over. I'm in my car right now though, and I should be there in ten," I assured him.

"Alright," he said. "I'll let your mother know that dinner will be in ten minutes then."

"See you soon," I called, before hanging up.

You're probably wondering, if this man on the phone was my father, then who's dick did I just suck for those car keys? Well, he wasn't my father. Charlie was a man of...very specific desires. Believe it or not, there are a lot of men like him. Men who have thoughts, and feelings, but know that they should never pursue them. I like to think of myself as a Role Play Therapist, helping grown men work through difficult feelings. Others would call me a hooker, or a prostitute. The truth is, I'm just another entrepreneur. I found a niche that needed filling and stepped right into it.

I never planned on doing any of this, it all just sort of happened. I had been in school for almost two years, working on my business degree, taking out student loans like every other kid. Well, I failed a class, and what most people fail to read in the fine print is that, if you fail a class, you have to pay for it before they will start doling out money for your tuition again. I was broke and screwed.

It all actually happened with Charlie, the guys whose cock was just in my mouth. He is a great guy. I had met him at a gym a few miles from my dorm. I'd been getting skeeved out by the guys that would just sit there and watch the coeds, so I needed something a little out of the way. I ran into Charlie there several times, and he was a gentleman. He was old enough to be my father, and he kind of acted like one, come to think of it.

He had seen me when I was freaking out about coming up with that kind of money. The last thing I'd wanted was to ask my parents for help. Charlie was in his own predicament. He was trying to make partner at his law firm, and one of the senior partners had suggested they talk about his future at the company, and invited him to a father daughter retreat that was for an organization that his own daughter attended.

The man had made a mistake. Charlie didn't have a daughter, not even a wife. Still, Charlie wanted to get an in with his boss, and screwed himself by not coming clean. Seeing that we could potentially help each other, he offered to give me a thousand dollars to be his daughter for the retreat. The money would have been just enough to cover the class I'd failed, so I jumped on it.

We came up with a story and a name, Jessica Slate, after Charlie Slate. I lived with my mother on the other side of the country, and I hardly ever got to see my dad. It was simple, with just enough of a vague relationship that it would be easy for there to be any gaps in our knowledge of each other.

The retreat went perfectly. We had a blast and won a bunch of the contests. Unlike the other teenage girls forced to attend with their dads, I was actually glad to be there. It was a five-star vacation. Charlie's boss was so impressed with our chemistry, and how great of a father he seemed, they bonded, and Charlie was promoted within the month.

The whole sex thing just sort of happened later. It was all over, and we were both excited to have pulled it off and done so well for that matter. We celebrated with some champagne, and one thing led to another and I was kissing him.

I have always had a little bit of a daddy complex. I don't know how, or why, but my father is probably the most attractive man that I know. It's not the kind of thing a girl admits, even to herself normally, but I was drunk, and I had just spent the last four days pretending to be his little girl. I kissed him, and things snowballed. My hand was down the front of his slacks, and my fingers were wrapped around his warm pulsing shaft when I called him Daddy.

"Please fuck me Daddy," I whispered into his lips. "Fuck your little girl!"

He literally ripped the clothes from my body, snapping buttons off to skid across the tiles. When I was left only in my panties, he shoved me to my knees, and bent me over his couch. He fucked me so hard, and so good, that I swear I must have lost consciousness for a moment, but I never stopped calling him Daddy as he fucked me, and he loved it.

In the morning we went our separate ways, both a little embarrassed by how we had acted the night before. I deposited the thousand dollars into my account and paid for my failed class. And that was the end of it...until I ran into Charlie a couple months later.

Charlie had gotten his job and made sure to thank me again for helping him out. He even offered to take me to dinner as an extra thank you. I wanted to say yes, but I felt like we had already strained the bonds of our relationship, it was better to remember it for what it had been, and not test it any further. In the end, I declined. It wasn't until the next week that I received a surprise call from him. He just came out and offered me five grand to be his daughter again, just me and him, at his place.

He was so nervous when he asked me, I thought it was kind of cute. Knowing that he wanted me that way, it made it easier to admit to myself that I wanted him in that way as well. And that was how Rent-A-Daughter was born.

Every so often Charlie would request my services. Sometimes it was just for a night, and other times it was for the whole weekend. You try to keep things pretty hush hush, but someone still found out, and one client became two, and then after that, I decided to expand my operation.

Online, Rent-A-Daughter is a top tier experience service catering to a wealthy clientele looking for a very select, and very discrete service. For the agreed upon price, I will become whoever you need me to be. Do you have a real daughter you want me to double? I can do that. I buy wigs to match, if needed, and for those who want the most authentic experience, I even go as far as dying and styling my hair to the client's needs. I also take requests for your dream daughter, should you want something specific. I'm not limited to playing just your daughter either. Did you want to seduce the mean boss's innocent little girl? I got you covered. Is your best friends' daughter just too much to resist? You can do that too. The only rule I had for our role play was, your daughter could be bribed, blackmailed, coerced, or enticed, but she could not be forced. There were just some fantasies I would not fuel.

With a business model like mine, you would be surprised how busy a girl can get. With my premium price point, I could even afford to be picky. I vet all my clientele beforehand, so I only do who, and what I'm comfortable with, and I take about one job a week, and always with advanced notice. In the beginning I took jobs as they came, but it quickly began effecting my classes. But, by limiting my availability, demand jumped through the roof allowing me to virtually set my own price.

In just under a year, I have moved out of the cramped dorms, and into a 1500 square foot apartment downtown. My bank account has slipped into the six figures, and that fancy white Porsche I just got done sucking dick for...that's actually mine. My parents can never know about how I got any of it, hence the need to drive my shit box Metro whenever I came over. The last thing I needed was for them to discover that their daughter was getting paid thousands of dollars to embrace some severe daddy issues. There might not be enough family therapy on the entire east coast to unravel that one.

My brakes squealed as I pulled to a stop out front of my parents' house. Letting the car idle for a moment while the lukewarm ac continued blowing, I reached down to the floormat and slipped on my tennis shoes before finally killing the engine and climbing out.

It was the same house I'd grown up in, the waist high chain link gating in the small front yard. The front steps were more worn, and the whole thing could have used a fresh coat of paint, but it was just as I remembered it growing up, right down to the notches our father had carved into the post every year, measuring how much we had grown. It all felt so small now though.

Not bothering to knock, I walked right on into the sounds of a ball game on the TV, and the delicious smells of roast wafting in from the kitchen. As soon as my dad saw me, he hopped to his feet and came over to give me a hug.

"Hey Sam! It's good to see you, Kiddo," my dad said, pulling me in for a hug. With his big arms around me, I breathed deep from his chest, filling my head with the smell of his old spice and manly musk, suppressing the pleasurable tremble that wanted to unfurl inside of me.

"It's great to see you, Dad, and Happy Anniversary," I said, forcing myself to pull away before things got weird. "Where's Mom?"

"Where do you think?" he asked, nodding to the kitchen. "Honey!" he called out over my head. "Your good for nothing daughter is here!"

"Tell her she's late!" my mother yelled back from the kitchen.

I followed the sound of my mom's voice to find her folding her apron and hanging it over the back of one of the dining chairs. She was wearing a yellow dress that went well with her tanned skin. Her long athletic legs stretched on forever, all the way down to her black high heels. She had turned forty the year before, and after a spell of depression from realizing she was getting older, she channeled her energies into gaining back some of her youth. Before, my mother had nothing to be ashamed about, but now if felt as if she were competing with me for who could have the best body. That last part probably wasn't true, but it felt like it some days. No, none of my clients would have objected to seeing me with my mother's figure, and if that was the body I had to look forward to in twenty years, I was both relieved and excited.

"As soon as your brother gets back with the ice, we'll be ready to eat," she said, scrutinizing the table one last time.

From the center of the table, steam rose from a dark glass baking dish containing a large hunk of meat that was so tender, it was literally falling apart, surrounded by potatoes and carrots and all the other delicious things that made pot roast so good.

"So, I'm not late then?" I asked, giving her a quick hug. "If Jarod isn't back?"

"No, it just means that you are both late." She smiled to take the sting from her words. "And my god, you couldn't dress up a little?" she asked, taking in my jeans and polo combo.

"I just got out of class," I lied, briefly imagining what her reaction might have been had I not taken the time to change before coming. "I came right over."

"I'll let it slide this time!" she said with mock severity.

After a few minutes my brother returned with the ice, dressed in a pair of khakis and a button up shirt.

"Glad to see you dressed up," he smirked as we sat down at the table, waiting for our parents to join us.

"I was running late," I said. "I didn't have time to change."

"It's six-thirty. What could you have been doing?" he asked.

"I killed a guy," I said, as if it were the most normal thing I could say. "He kept asking me all these questions like, 'where were you?', and 'what were you doing?'" I gave him a conspicuous look. "It took a really long time to get rid of the body."

"No, really," he asked, not buying into it for a second.

"Seriously," I said. "you wouldn't believe how much work goes into dismembering a corpse. Next time I'm just going to burn it."

"Plan on killing someone else then?" he asked, playing into it finally.

"Nothing planned," I shrugged, making sure our parents weren't looking as I reached for the roast and pulled off a steaming hot piece of meat, quickly popping it into my mouth. "but I am keeping my options open," I said between chews.

Our parents joined us with full glasses of wine, leaving the grape juice for the children. I listened to Jared try and convince them that eighteen was close enough for a glass of wine with dinner, but I was more than okay with waiting.

About halfway into our meal, I took a moment to acknowledge why we were all there, to celebrate my parents and their lasting marriage in a world filled with mail-order brides and drive-thru divorces.

"Congratulations Mom and Dad! Happy Twentieth Anniversary!" I said, raising my glass of grape juice.

"Thank you, guys!" They both smiled.

"So, what is it this year?" I asked. Every year, instead of getting each other gifts, they got one thing and shared it. Vacations, cars, whatever it was, they picked it together.

"We're finally going to Paris!" my mom said with a giant smile. My father looked a little nervous, but it was most likely his aversion to objects weighing hundreds of thousands of tons in metal, soaring through the sky like they were propelled by magic.

My parents had been talking about Paris for years. I was actually excited for them. The Eiffel Tower, The Louvre, the Notre Dame Cathedral, not to mention French accents and French men. So much of Paris is going to be wasted on them, I sighed to myself.

*** *** ***

I felt a little worn out when I finally made it back to my own apartment. I loved my parents, and I was happy for them, but sometimes when I was over there, they would forget that I would have to go home eventually.