Baby Doll 1

AN: For my incest readers, this is an entry into Literotica's National Nude Day Contest. So please show some love for our favorite genre and remember to vote! Votes, comments and feedback of all kinds are always appreciated. - Carnal

NB: There's a lot of Daddy/Baby Girl role play in this, so if that's not your thing...

"Hey, Baby Doll!"

"Aw, gorgeous, show us that beautiful smile!"

"Come on, Cassie, look sexy for the camera!"

The flashbulbs and light meters go off like a thousand stars, all around me, nearly blinding me but I'm used to it by now. I know how to work a crowd. I toss them a dazzling smile, flinging my long hair, pushing out my breasts—not too much, not too far, just enough to be enticing. I know my best angles. I know how to pose, how to gaze in just the right way. I know my own power and I turn it on with skill and ease.

I hold still, and smile; my blue eyes innocent and wide. Time stops. Sounds fade away.

All the flashing lights suddenly merge into one bright space where I am silent and alone and thinking of you.

No one knows my secret. The cameras cannot penetrate my heart.

I feel closest to you in moments like this, when I'm giving my body to the world. We both know there is only one man I'm thinking of. Only one man making my heart beat faster and my nipples harden under my dress.

Just you.

If they only knew. If anyone knew. The thought brings a new sparkle to my eyes. I wet my lips and flash an even more dazzling smile, only this time it's just for you.

Daddy.

I know you'll see me. I know what you'll be thinking.

I can't wait to get home to you.

I will see you soon.

Xoxoxo,

Baby Doll

+++

Cassie Stevens grew up the only girl in a house full of men—her dad Larry, and three older brothers Jake, Joe and Josh.

People always thought she should be a Jennifer or a Julie, but she was Cassie, short for Cassandra. Her mother picked this name out of a baby book in the waiting room of her gynecologist because she "thought it was pretty." She didn't tell Cassie this; she died in a car accident when her daughter was a year old. Cassie was with her at the time, but her baby seat saved her. When they found her, she was hanging upside down and screaming, hurt, but alive.

Naturally she was too young to remember. This all came to her by way of family legend, through "the story" whispered at dinners and reunions, and the way she was treated just a bit differently than everyone else.

She was the one who survived and she was the only girl. Somehow, these two things became linked, for her and everyone else. The shadow of tragedy followed her around, the ghost of her mother somehow always there and part of who she was. Being a girl felt like she always had a fragile halo around her head. She may as well have had angels' wings.

She looked the part. She was a gorgeous child, as perfect and exquisite as a porcelain doll. She had her mother's looks—her lustrous red hair, creamy complexion, blue eyes, and adorable pink lips.

So to say she was spoiled and coddled and fawned over is an understatement. She was the pet of three brothers who absolutely adored her. Her dad was less demonstrative, but she knew she was his everything. No one would ever mess with a hair on his precious angel's head. She never knew anything but love and kindness from them, and she grew up, happy and content, into a beautiful girl.

They lived in a small town in New Jersey sandwiched between two larger, wealthier ones, about 20 miles from Manhattan. By the time she graduated from high school she was a Jersey girl, through and through. Her dad, Larry, owned a landscaping business. Years ago, when her mother died, he was just an employee, but now, 18 years later, he was doing quite well. He had over 100 employees of his own, mostly day laborers, and managing them and the business side of things now took up most of his time. Their part of New Jersey was not exactly lacking in huge mansions with extensive grounds—they didn't call it the "Garden State" for nothing.

Larry did well enough that they had a summer home on the shore, in addition to the old rambling house in the sort-of country, at least as far as Jersey goes. It was a big place, faux-Victorian, with a widow's walk and a few turrets, and many additions built on over the years. At the back of the property he'd built an entire one-bedroom apartment atop an old stone garage. Usually it was rented out, but not this summer.

Everyone said Larry Stevens was a great guy. A hard worker. A self-made man, always had your back. Reliable, dependable, and smart. But he was quiet, and kept to himself.

Cassie couldn't remember quite when it happened, exactly, but at some point she got in the habit of just calling him Larry. One day she woke up and thought "I'm too old to keep calling him Daddy." She would have called him "dad," but that was her brothers' name for him, and she wanted to be different. So "Larry" it was.

He had the landscaping business, but he also had a gardening store right next door to their house. There was a greenhouse and an attached shop, where Cassie worked. Half the time she was weeding, potting, trimming and watering; the other half she was at the front register.

And that's where this story really starts.

It was the end of June. Cassie was 18, and about to turn one year older. She had graduated from high school, a year later than most, and was due to start college in the fall. She wasn't looking forward to it. She had no freakin' clue what to do with her life.

Two of her brothers were living at home and working for her dad; the oldest, Jake, was in business school, getting an MBA. Josh and Joe were outside late in the day on a Friday, and she was hoping to close up soon.

She was just sitting at the counter, twirling her hair, absorbed in a magazine. She was looking at

Vogue.

God she loved it.

It wasn't exactly true that Cassie didn't know what to do with her life. She had an idea, but it seemed too ridiculous to even consider. She looked at

Vogue

because she liked looking at the models. It was kind of a secret thing. She'd look at them and study them

knowing

"I could do that." It was the single thing she could think of doing with her life at the moment. But it seemed like such a pipe dream, and so dumb, so mindless. Who becomes a model—stupid girls. Yet she couldn't stop looking and wondering.

She knew she was pretty. She knew she had the body for it. Her girlfriends were always telling her she should try it. She knew she could make money at it, too, if she was good. And the thought of using her own money to not know what to do with her life was a hell of a lot better than wasting Larry's.

It was such a silly idea.

Yet she looked. She looked and looked. She couldn't stop looking.

And there she was, looking, imagining herself in those pages, sitting at the counter twirling her hair, when she heard a soft "tap, tap, tap."

She thought she might have imagined it, but then she heard it again, closer this time. "Tap, tap, tap."

She tore her eyes away from the glossy pages a few inches, and her gaze fell on a woman's hand tapping her fingernails on the counter. The nails were filed into sharp points, and painted a startling blood red.

Her eyes traveled upwards and she found herself looking into one of the strangest faces she'd ever seen.

She thought, "It's Rita Skeeter."

The woman was older, probably in her 50's, and extremely well-dressed. She wore a Chanel suit, pearls and earrings. Her face was immaculately made up, her thin black hair in a precision bob, with unnaturally straight bangs. She had a huge, hooked nose, like a giant beak, and tiny, beady black eyes. Her mouth was a crimson slash.

But it was her expression that made Cassie think of Rita. The woman was looking at her like a spider who had just trapped the most succulent fly, the way Rita had slobbered over Harry. Her black eyes were hooked into Cassie's; she could not look away for a second.

Cassie stammered, "Can I help you?"

The lady murmured, in a deep, scratchy voice, "Oh, I think you can."

What a freak!

But Cassie couldn't break her stare. It was like she was being hypnotized.

Cassie watched, disbelieving, as her taloned hand reached up to hold her chin. She grasped her jaw, and slowly turned her head to the left and right, like she was looking at a diamond or a ruby.

"Pretty girl. Pretty, pretty girl."

Ok, freak, now you're really creeping me out.

Cassie tried to jerk her head away, but "Rita" held it and continued to peruse her.

"Exquisite. Just exquisite. I've never seen that shade of blue, like the summer sky. Pink lips, sensuous but sweet. The skin . . . " she murmured as she ran her hand over Cassie's cheek. "Ivory silk. And the hair . . ." Her leering gaze caressed Cassie's mane of russet waves. "Not too red. A true copper."

"Amazing. Astounding."

Finally Cassie jerked away from her. "What do you want?!"

At that the woman seemed to snap out of it. She glanced down and took in the magazine, which was spread open on the counter like some embarrassing sexual thing Cassie been caught doing. She hastily closed it.

Cassie saw her eyes take in her name tag.

"So tell me,

Cassandra,

have you ever had your picture taken?"

"Yes," Cassie stammered. "Of course."

The woman waved her claw in the air. "I don't mean for the high school yearbook, little girl. I mean, by a professional, someone who knows what they're doing."

Cassie stared at her. She had just spent the last hour at the counter fantasizing about that very thing. "No," she whispered.

The woman glanced down at the magazine. "But you want to, don't you? You know you could do it. You know you could be like those girls."

"I don't know . . ." Cassie lied.

"Hmmm," the lady said, suddenly switching to business mode. She pushed her only purchase, a can of Diet Coke, towards her. "Ring me up, cashier girl."

Cassie took in her designer bag and shoes, the whole thing, and wondered how in the world such an obvious New Yorker had stumbled into their store.

She rang her up, saying, "Who . . . I mean, why are you here?"

The woman slapped a business card down on the counter. "Visiting my son. Trust me, it's the only thing that could ever get me to come to New Jersey. But now . . . hmmm . . . well, stranger things have happened."

She got ready to go, but clutched Cassie's hand with hers before she left.

"If you don't want to be waiting on people like me the rest of your life, give me a call. Think about it. And Cassandra—" she glanced down at the business card. "I don't give those out very often. There are millions of girls who would scratch your eyes out to get that number."

She turned to go, and Cassie just stared after her in disbelief, holding the card in her hand.

She looked at it.

Freya Malle, CEO FM Modeling Agency, New York, NY

That was it, plus an address and a phone number

She was still gazing at it when she heard one of her brothers yelling for her, so she quickly stuck it in the pocket of her jeans and got ready to go. +++

"Stop it!"

Joe was tickling Cassie on the way back to the house, trying hard to make her laugh, which she was.

"'Stop it!'" he joked, mimicking her. "'Stop it, oooh stop it!'"

"Don't you have anything better to do than pick on me?"

"No, it's my favorite thing in the world," he said, as his hands found her rib cage, making Cassie double over away from him. Before long she was giggling hysterically and begging him to stop.

"So what are your plans for the summer, baby sis? You still seeing that idiot?"

"He's not an idiot, and no, I'm not. I keep telling you! Sean and I broke up."

"Good. He was a wuss."

"He played football, jerk. He could take you in a second."

"He's got shit for brains then. Nothing going on upstairs."

"You always hate my boyfriends!"

"That's right," said Josh, coming up on the other side. "No one's good enough for you."

"Oh, shoot. If it was up to you two I'd never date."

"Not any of the lunkheads around here! Come on, Cassie, you're never going to meet Prince Charming in Bumfuck, NJ. You should get away, go to the city."

She glared at them, thinking about the card in her pocket.

Cassie turned to head into the house, glancing to make sure they were gone.

She stuck her hand into her pocket as she headed inside, touching that card, knowing it wasn't the only secret she was keeping from them.

She knew Larry was inside. That was the other secret, and the last thing she wanted was for them to suspect it. +++

He was in the kitchen, reading his mail, when she walked in.

She flashed a happy smile when she saw him, melting with pleasure.

Larry was quite the business owner nowadays, but had never lost his blue collar roots. He preferred to be outside working whenever he could, and he was standing there now in grass-stained jeans and an old t-shirt with sweat blooming around the neck and back. Cassie simply adored the sight of him. She took in his barrel-chested, bulky body, his massive hands and sighed . . . . He was big and strong and muscly and warm and just so thoroughly, mysteriously masculine.

He heard her come in and glanced up. He didn't say anything as she headed to the fridge, saying "Hi," as she got a bottle of Snapple. "Everything going ok at work?"

"Yes. Everything's good. Oh here, baby, let me help you with that."

At the sound of his voice, Cassie felt her stomach muscles clench and her nipples harden under her blouse and she flushed a deep red, which was very noticeable with her pale skin. She was so flustered she couldn't open her drink.

He came over, and took the bottle from her hands. Cassie watched him twist the top off as if in slow motion, her gaze lingering on the way the hairs on his skin had become almost bleached blond in the sun, and stood out so softly against his flexed muscle. It lasted probably 5 seconds, but it seemed to take an hour before she heard the "pop."

She laughed awkwardly when he handed her the bottle, making her feel silly. It was only a bottle of Snapple for god's sake. But she was so self-conscious as she raised it to her mouth. Larry stood there, motionless, never losing eye contact, clenching and unclenching his hands, as he watched her chug down the iced tea.

"Thanks," she said, exhaling.

"Oh, wait just a sec . . ."

He wet his thumb with his tongue and gently wiped it across the dripping tea on her chin, his gaze lingering on her lips as he did it. Cassie laughed again from the nervous shivers running up and down her spine when he touched her. It was such a "Larry" thing to do.

"Gotcha. All cleaned up," he murmured, his voice trailing away into a whisper, as his hand stayed there, framing her beautiful face, his thumb tracing her full pink lips.

Both of them glanced nervously towards the door.

Cassie simply couldn't help the way her blue eyes latched onto his, or the way she leaned into his caress. She couldn't stop her hand from reaching up and pressing the tip of his thumb to her lips. She felt like she was in a dream as she wrapped her wet lips around it and sucked half deep into her mouth. She saw him glance down to her breasts. She knew her nipples were hard and pressing through her thin blouse.

Larry felt powerless to stop it—to stop her. He could not breathe or move.

He murmured, "What are you doing Baby Doll . . .?" and tried to tug his hand away from her mouth. But she only made a little moan, and sucked harder.

"Fuck . . ."

Larry hissed, unable to look away from her liquid blue eyes. He could not help himself. He saw his other hand reaching up to her breasts, desperate to touch those jutting nipples, as if it was someone else doing it. Cassie groaned sharply when his fingertips just barely grazed her left nipple, and he watched it swell into a sharp, hard point. He whispered, "Shhh!" while glancing to the door.

He stared, mesmerized, as he played with her nipples, watching them harden, hearing her breath become deeper and slower.

"What are you doing tonight?" he said.

"Mmmm . . ." she could only moan.

"Will you be home . . . late?" he said, while glancing out the window.

She shook her head, while holding his eyes.

Larry could not stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

"Come see Daddy, later . . . when you get back . . ."

She made a happy moan, and nodded, then made a disappointed sound when he pulled away from her. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and whisper in her ear. "See you then."

+++

Larry headed to the apartment, his head full of the image of Cassie opening her mouth, holding that glass bottle to her lips, her sky blue eyes latched onto his. He was hard and throbbing, and hurried to get inside.

He immediately got to work, needing to get his mind on other things. He was re-doing the kitchen and bathroom in this place and still in the middle of scraping off wallpaper and chipping off the plaster walls. It was slow work, and he was glad he had something to occupy him.

Larry could trace the exact moment when things had changed—well, for him at least. It was nearly a year ago, not soon after Cassie turned 18.

Of course he'd seen that she had blossomed into a gorgeous young woman—you'd have to be blind not to see that. Since the moment he'd allowed her to date at 16 she'd had boys beating down their door. It wasn't exactly a secret.

But that hadn't prepared him for the moment he'd walked into the living room as she was waiting for a date one night, yawning and stretching and unaware that he'd come in the room. She'd been wearing a dress—a short, frilly, silly little thing that rode up her slim thighs as she reached up and flexed her arms and shook out her hair.

He felt like he'd been hit by a truck. He caught a glimpse of her pale body, her long legs and large breasts. She was slightly turned so her perfect, tight, cheeks could be seen curving deliciously out from the sway of her lower back, covered only with the tiniest of panties. Her red hair flowed in small waves down past her shoulders, framing her beautiful face.

Until that moment, he'd always considered himself an "ordinary" guy. There was nothing special about him. He worked, he did right by his family, he took care of a lot of people. He prided himself on being reliable and honest. He'd built most of this house, he'd raised four kids by himself. But he didn't pat himself on the back for that. It was just what a real man and a real father was supposed to do.

He had relationships, occasionally. He knew he could have female company, sex, whenever he wanted it.

He'd thought his life was perfectly fine, until that moment.

He scraped hard at the sticky wallpaper which simply didn't want to come off, working up a sweat. But the frustration he felt wasn't only from this mindless task.

For the first time in his life, he regretted never going to college, or—reading more books, or something, because he found himself searching constantly for words to express the feelings he had for her. He couldn't.

In the beginning, he found himself just thinking of things he wanted to tell her, say to her, or dreaming of places he wanted to take her. He wanted to please her, make her laugh, make her feel treasured and protected and loved. It wasn't just about fucking a gorgeous girl. He loved her.

Eventually it changed . . . and he'd stroke his cock through his boxers, thinking of erotic scenarios. He thought of . . . scenes. Things they could act out and play. How she would dress for him. What he would tell her to get her aroused. How he would be the gentlest, sweetest, most tender lover she could ever imagine. How he would teach her and guide her. He spun these images and stories out from his mind, one after the other, and they surprised him as much as the sudden attraction to her.