Daddy's Clients

Daddy's Clients: A Twisted Modern Fairytale

----- Part I -----

Clara, 22, and right out of college - sat on the deck of her daddy's new mansion, soaking up the view of the smallish - but well manicured and landscaped lawn...She was bored - she was always bored, ever since she finished college with her major in Social Engineering and The History of Independent Film - a self-designed major, of course. Liberal arts. She sighed, stretching herself out on the lawn chair like a cat with a slow full-bodied yawn to go with it. Liberal arts and self-designed major were a one-way street to No Job, she though to herself with some disgust. And momentarily she drowned in a feeling of having no clue what to do next. It was becoming her best friend, this feeling.

Her thesis had been brilliant - well written and thoroughly researched and it even looked and felt good in her hands when she had picked it up from the copyshop. But now - it sat gathering dust somewhere amidst all of her boxes in the attic. Her father was a hot-shot attorney and had reluctantly agreed to letting her stay with him until "such time as she found respectable employment or an opportunity in his firm opened up for her to be a paralegal until law school." Law school. That was the last thing on her mind naturally. She couldn't think of anything more disgusting - other than perhaps Daddy's clients. They were all sleazy perverts that had tried desperately - in all their very sneaky and innuendo-laden ways, to get her father to let them "play" with her since she was 14 and it was no small wonder, as she looked nothing like most 14 year olds back then. She had hair down to the small of her back, just above a tight perky ass matched by tight perky breasts with nipples that defied all clothing and hardened at the slightest touch. She knew why the clients were always so much more agreeable anytime she was around. She knew then and she couldn't help remembering when her father had suggested she move back in with him. If it weren't for the clients and the late night "business sessions", she wouldn't have hesitated nearly as much.

And yet she had moved in with her father, and his newest trophy wife, Cynthia, in their new mansion right along with her boxes, her suitcases, her wardrobe and plenty of young adult reluctance as well. But Cynthia very quickly made it clear that she would keep to herself and barely seemed to notice Clara's presence at all. And Daddy Esquire, as Clara liked to think of him, was rarely seen with a few notable exceptions when he threw his infamous parties and expected both his trophies to be present and pretty. Clara had been delighted to discover that the latest "trophy"-wife was holding back her intelligence as a kind of secret weapon to be brought out and sharpened from time to time when Daddy got out of line or...better yet, when one of the clients got out of line. But still Cynthia never spoke a word, beyond the usual pleasantries, to Clara - they were like two ships in the night. So even this small discovery was of no use to Clara.

Clara would spend her days touring the city - they lived in Maryland just outside of DC in Bethesda. A lot of Daddy's clients had something to do with some part of government. But Clara was not interested in politics or power or anything like that. She wanted to change the world. But like most visionaries with the unfortunate anchor of a solid pedigree and "good upbringing", i.e. money, she was conflicted. To do what she truly wanted to do, she'd be going up against people she'd been around her whole childhood; she had grown up practically bouncing up and down on their knees. Everyone was some kind of Uncle this or Grandpa that. Her mother had died in childbirth so it was natural for her governess to assume that the girl needed as many other honorary family members as she could get. But now that Clara was older, she wished Lucille had been a little less starry-eyed about Daddy and his clients.

Wistfully remembering the lovely Lucille, Clara came out of her reverie with a start. In a sudden flash of retrospective insight, Clara realized she had wanted Lucille to have been starry-eyed over her. Standing up, the towel draped over her lap fell to the floor of the deck and she bent over to pick it up, her long shapely legs glistening in the sun and her ass pointed directly at her father's face as he had come looking for her in one of his unusual visits to his home.

"Clara." His voice was stern and sharp.

Sighing, Clara grabbed the towel from the deck and slowly turned around, adjusting her shorts slightly as they had ridden up slightly. She knew full well that her father had seen a bit more than could be considered decent, but she wasn't exactly sweating over it. Her father had seen her naked plenty of times - that was just the way it was in his house when she was growing up. If he was home, and Clara was fussy about taking a bath and Lucille was getting frustrated, he would run in and take care of things instead. That was back before he was a big-shot in his own right, and they lived off of his own father's generosity. But when Big Daddy died, Clara was about 14 then also, everything changed. The timing was awkward for many reasons but that was when Daddy stopped hanging around at home so much and worked longer and harder. It wasn't much longer after that that Daddy was able to prove to the other senior partners that the son was indeed much like the father - and they promoted him to full partner.

From then on until now, Daddy was no longer Daddy...he was Daddy Esquire. And Daddy Esquire was not interested in playing games with his little girl - nor was he interested in the fact that she had turned into a full grown woman. In fact, given how grumpy Cynthia seemed to be, Clara wasn't so sure he had figured that out about his new wife either.

"Yes, Daddy?" She slung the towel over her shoulder and brushed past him and down the long hallway toward her room, her flip-flops making their characteristic sound on the hardwood flooring.

"Tonight is a big night and I need you to stick around. Help me entertain the clients."

"Daddy. You don't need your good-for-nothing daughter to entertain clients." The sarcasm dripped out of her mouth laced with a bit of venom - she was tired of these conversations. Then again...

She spun around, peering at her father with a look of suspicion. He never asked her to stick around in person, he usually called her on the cell, sent her an email or a text message, all business.

He looked tired too. "Daddy - what's this all about?" Her voice betrayed only a slight change in attitude.

Sighing heavily, he sat down in the large pappasan chair in Clara's spacious room. Paul Everson knew full well that he'd been a horrible parent since his father, who ironically he also thought of as 'Daddy Esquire', had died, leaving strict instructions in his will regarding what he was to do in order to advance at the firm, and in order to maintain any legal right to the inheritance. The will even went so far as to dictate that if these conditions weren't met that certain "loans" would go into immediate repayment status. In other words, all the money he had lavished on Paul and his family was just a hook that dug deeper and deeper into him until the point of his father's death, when that hook was tugged on pretty hard. If he hadn't done what his father dictated, they would have been destitute. And without a mother around to take care of Clara - Paul didn't see that he had any choice other than to "make his father proud" as the old boys at Winkle, Everson, and Rotham were wont to say from time to time. It made him sick to his stomach at first, but now he was sort of hardened to it all.

But now things were looking iffy once again, as a particular client seemed hell-bent on bankrupting him with impossible demands. And he had the clout to make good on his threats. And a dangerous enough background that not only necessitated Paul's assistance but ensured it as well. And so he had, in desperation, returned home to think and gather his strength. It was an unusual move for him – but he was drained today and didn't think he could be around the usual crowd at the moment. He didn't have the strength to play their games anymore...at least not until later that evening. Somehow he would do it. But he needed his strength, his daughter, who was so distant from him thanks to all of this. But how could he explain all that to her now? She hated him enough as it was. He buried his head in his hands in a shockingly uncharacteristic gesture.

Clara blinked hard. She hadn't seen her father look so haggard and ... maybe even scared...in many years, since Grandpa Everson had passed. She paused, not sure what to do but something told her to go to him. She knelt on the floor by his feet and held his hands in hers softly, gently prying them off his face which she was horrified to discovered was covered with the moisture of tears.

"Daddy! What's wrong?? I've never seen you like this before..."

At first he said nothing, only clinched his eyes closed and tried to pull his hands back but Clara held them tight. She was angry with her father for many things, it was true. But she wouldn't have returned home, and she wouldn't have noticed his anguish just now if she didn't still, in her heart of hearts, think of him as her daddy – the one who made her feel safe and made her laugh and taught her how to see the good in people always.

"Daddy...please tell me what's wrong." Her voice was a whisper and she regretted her anger from before.

Paul looked up finally, into his daughter's eyes and fresh tears welled up. He told her everything all at once in a quiet whisper, barely audible.

She sat there and listened to her father, her eyes fixed on his and when he finished, she released his hands and stood up slowly, walking away from him.

Paul's heart leapt into his throat at the sight of his daughter walking away from him. He had kept all of it from her for fear of losing her and to now see it all unfold before him, was more than he could bear.

But Clara grabbed a hand towel from out of her bathroom, moistened it, looked in the mirror at her own image and saw the little girl that was turning 14 and was the object of desire of nearly every client that showed up at their house, then she saw the image of her father and the looks that she had interpreted as disgust with her...disgust because she was causing all of those men to behave in such lecherous manners. She was sure that this was what had changed her father. In her childish way, she had assumed that when her mother had died, that it was her duty to take care of her father and make him smile and laugh. And that had been just how it was with them until she turned 14 and Daddy Everson died. And it wasn't her own metamorphosis and subsequent effect on the visitors to the Everson household that had changed her father after all. He wasn't disgusted with her, and never was! She hurried back into the room but her father was nowhere to be seen.

"Daddy?!" she screamed, hearing her voice bounce off of the mostly sound-proof walls of her room. She ran out into the hallway and yelled again. She turned around and was about to yell out again when she collided with Cynthia.

"And what are you screaming about, young lady?" Cynthia looked truly angry and had clearly just returned home from her session with the physical trainer...if one could call him that. Clara was no birdbrain, it was quite clear that Cynthia had resorted to external means of satisfying her carnal desires. But she doubted that her father even bothered to think about it, all things considered. And whereas she used to consider Cynthia's behavior to be appropriate and fitting in some respects before, she now found it repulsive.

"It's none of your business." Clara unleashed all the venom she once hurled at her father at the woman. Cynthia glared at Clara's retreating form, speechless from the turn of character. Normally she paid the girl no mind and they were on pleasant enough terms. She did her thing and Clara did hers. Now – Cynthia stormed off to her room in a fouler mood than before, her long blonde hair swinging angrily behind her bare-back halter top and tennis skirt, both in matching fuschia with white stripes. It was bad enough that Pablo, the trainer, had decided to break off things with her – apparently he had decided to find Jesus and be faithful to his wife and kids from now on. She scoffed and slammed her door, only to find Paul sprawled out on her bed.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" Cynthia hurled the words at him but he didn't respond. She threw up her hands in disgust and grabbed a different outfit from her closet, changing mechanically without a second's thought to her husband only few feet away. With a new bag and new shoes, and everything about her other than the glare in her eyes and the dangerous display of cleavage having changed drastically, she slammed her way out of the house once again and passing Clara on the way to her car, she stopped briefly while pulling her keys out of the purse, "I want your father out of my room by the time I get back. You're both insane!" And she slammed the door of her blue convertible and revved up the engine and was gone in a flash. Clara sighed and ran upstairs to Cynthia's room. Her father lay there, unmoving even at her calls, until she touched him gently on the back. He rolled over and into a fetal position, whimpering.

Clara decided it was time to just forget old times and rotten memories and grabbed her father around his shoulders and pulled him up.

"Daddy. Listen to me – I forgive you, ok? I...I love you, Daddy. I always have."

Paul had hurried out of Clara's room before, not wanting to hear his daughter's words of hatred that he knew would come...and he'd become so ill, he hurried off toward the nearest bathroom...Cynthia's. The irony did manage to strike him somewhere underneath his state of panic as he flopped his weakened body onto his cold, distant, materialistic wife's brand new bed. She got a new bed ever other year, and he let her – anything to keep her smiling at the clients and more importantly, at the other partners. He was barely able to see, and he hung his head despite Clara's attempts to raise it towards her. She was speaking and he wasn't sure if he was hearing right. He wasn't sure if he was even seeing right. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Daddy. Drink this." She had poured a tall glass of cool water and was offering it to him. Then she said it again and his heart skipped a beat. Maybe it was real. "I love you, Daddy, now please – drink this. And look at me. Please."

Paul looked up, into Clara's eyes as if for the first time in a long time. "Clara, " was all he could muster for the time being.

Clara wrapped her arms around him tightly and rocked him like he was a baby, holding his head close to her chest, "It's ok, Daddy. Really. It's ok. You're going to be ok. We are going to be ok." Stopping, she held up his face towards hers, "I'm not sure how yet – but we will be...got it?" She smiled at him with all the love she had kept in reserve somewhere for her long-lost father.

Paul smiled back weakly, "Baby – I don't know either. But I love you more than anything and I haven't been there for you...I... I've missed so much. And you must hate me...You have every right to hate me." He started to hang his head again, pushing backwards against her arms and flopping back onto the bed, his arms sprawled out.

Clara shook her head, and climbed over and on top of her father, straddling him and leaning into his face. She leaned over and kissed him full on the lips, feeling mild resistance at first. As he must have become aware that there was something a little bit over-the-top with this gesture, he started to push Clara away slightly but it was clear that his efforts were half-hearted at best. After a few long seconds, Clara let go and looked lovingly into her father's eyes, "Now do you believe that I forgive you?"

Paul laughed nervously, embarassed that the kiss with his daughter had aroused him and afraid that she might notice. Might...he laughed to himself, there was no might – this was his full-grown daughter who had had a number of boyfriends...there was no way she couldn't have noticed, kneeling over and atop him as she was.

Clara stood up, lightly brushing against her father's erection partly by accident. She was amazed at how aroused she herself had become from kissing her father, her shorts would surely betray the evidence if she sat there much longer, suddenly hungry for more. Looking over at the clock, she shifted tactics as she insisted, "We need to get you ready! Come on." And she tugged at her father's arm, leading him to his room and dressing him as he had once dressed her. Once he was stripped down to his underwear, she had smiled up at him and gathered all this clothes to take to the laundry chute. She affectionately patted his behind on the way out, whispering in his ear, "Take care of that first. I'll be back with some food." Mentally she regretted not being there while he did but knowing that regardless of anything else, there wasn't time to explore these emerging desires/opportunities. The client, Gustav "Gus" Lemelson, would arrive with a bevy of his "friends" in about an hour and Clara intended for things to go well for all involved no matter what.

After changing her own clothes into an alluring silk turquoise strappy gown with matching heels and a simple gold choker, and fixing her hair up into a loose bun with plenty of stray curls of her mousy brown hair, she then went downstairs to fix Daddy's snack. After about 20 minutes had passed, she headed up the stairs only to find her father standing on the landing, dressed for success and smiling broadly. This was a new improved Paul Everson, Esq. – and Clara beamed up at him, watching him descend the stairs made her heart jump a little and she grinned as he offered her his arm.

"Well, my darling daughter, let me see that sandwich and I think our little transformation might be just about complete..." They walked into the main living room of the house and lounged for a bit – discussing nothing but business on the surface, but enjoying each other's company very much the way new lovers would underneath it all.

----- Part II -----

The clients had arrived and Gus Lemelson was front and center of every conversation no matter where he was in the room. The friends he had brought along were 1 part bodyguards, 1 part underling associates and 2 parts blonde bimbo. So obviously Clara was also at the center of everyone's attention in one way or the other. A few times, in the beginning, Clara had had to walk over surreptitiously and whisper some word of encouragement into her father's ear as he gave little signs of his mind getting the better of him. But this quickly become unnecessary as he launched full-fledged into his much-practised self. This meant mostly ignoring Clara but she was fine with that, knowing her daddy was back and not caring about his "game face" persona anymore.

At one point in the evening, Clara was leaning against one of the high-backed plush velvet upholstered chairs, a drink in one hand and the other idly tracing the outline of the choker along the front of her neck. She was thinking of the kiss before with her father and enjoying the sensation of warmth between her legs – she had worn no panties as the dress she had chosen was far too tight and truthfully she was far too aroused to suffer the confinement of underwear.

She felt a hand at her back suddenly, which quickly slid around her waist and with a skilled move, managed to hike up the already rather immodest length of her dress up over her bare ass before she attempted to spin around and confront her assailant. Gus's voice was the deepest in the room, "Now now – princessa...it wouldn't do to upset Daddy's favorite client now would it?" And he pushed up her dress a little farther, rubbing his large hands all over her bottom, roughly investigating between her legs with his fingers. He cooed gruffly having discovered her wetness.