Porn Star's Daughter

Chapter 5 - Visitation

I'd had sex dreams before, but they had never been overly explicit. Since I'd never had sex, it probably meant that my brain couldn't quite fabricate the mechanics necessary to build a dream orgy.

In less than a week, though, I'd had two extremely vivid dreams. This time, the dream was both explicit and surreal. I found myself occupying the role of the observer, as well as different people. It started, in fact, with me walking down a corridor that looked unfinished, bare walls held up by wooden planks. People were milling about, working. When they saw me, they stopped what they were doing and stared.

I looked down, and saw that my entire chest was naked, except for a leather vest that was open in the front. The leather hid my nipples, but my bare, pale flesh was open for the world to see. Below that, I simply wore a leather thong and combat boots. The thong, though, had a split in the front, revealing my distended pussy lips for the world to see.

I wanted to instantly cover myself, hide my body, and snapped my head up to look at everyone in the room. I expected them to mock me, to torment me, to point and laugh.

Who does she think she is

? I could almost hear them say.

As I moved my head, though, it felt... weird. As if the weight was all in the wrong place. Instead of covering my crotch, which was my gut instinct, I raised my hand to my head. I was

bald!

No, wait. I had a mohawk!

Looking around the room, I started to see the expression on people's faces. There was lust, arousal, and wanton thirst for me.

They think I'm Punk Girl

, I thought to myself.

Wait... I

am

Punk Girl!

A strange confidence ran through me. I wasn't

me

, so I could be just like Punk Girl. She could do anything, so

I

could do anything. My gait turned into a strut. As I walked through the building, I began to get turned on knowing that I could go up to anyone,

anyone

, and do whatever I wanted to them.

I felt drunk with power.

Turning into the nearest doorway, I found myself in the very room where they had been filming my father's porno. He wasn't there, but that cute redhead, Redd, was and she was on her knees giving a crew member a blowjob, right in the middle of the set!

I wanted what she had, so without thinking about it, I just walked over to them to take what I wanted. I knew what I was going to do, and nothing was going to stop me.

Abruptly, my point of view shifted to the side, to the same perspective where the camera had been placed for the movie. Now a voyeur instead of a participant, I could now see the set as I had while watching the video.

Punk Girl strode up to the Redhead and the crew member (who had no face, for some reason). She pulled Redd off his dick, swung her leg around her head as if she were straddling a horse, and then crawled up his body just like she had done with my father. Redd, completely unfazed, put the guy's dick up Punk Girl's pussy, and began licking her ass. She bounced a little as she got fucked and licked, but then his cock slipped out.

Suddenly my perspective changed again, and I was Punk Girl once more. This time the crew member was holding

me

up, but for some reason his cock wouldn't go back inside me. I squeezed my legs to give me just enough leverage to keep myself latched to his waist, but enough space to get his dick inside of me. I wanted to feel what Punk Girl had been feeling. I could feel his cockhead bumping into me, but it just wouldn't go in.

Meanwhile, I could feel Redd's tongue licking my ass (no, I've never done that before either, but I swear I could feel it in the dream). I imagined his cock jabbing into me, missing, and poking her in the throat. Every time it pushed against my opening, though, I thought it would finally go in, but it didn't.

I was confused, because he was a normal, average-sized guy. He should have been able to enter me with no problem. After all, he had no problem sliding into Punk Girl. I was getting frustrated. I

saw

it. Now it was my turn!

"Come on, stud," I growled at him. "You can do it. Stick it in me!"

I don't know where the assertiveness came from, perhaps some channeling of Punk Girl from the video. In any case, it must have had some impression on him because he kept bumping his head against my sex, but it just wouldn't go any further.

I tried grinding myself down on him, but it didn't work. I began to thrash, trying to find purchase onto his cock by trying to spread my lips around it. "Redd," I called. "Stick him inside me! I wanna fuck,

now

!"

Once more I felt the

bump, bump, bump

of his cock against me, but no joy. Instead of helping, though, Redd stood up behind me, and started tapping me on the shoulder.

"Shannon," she said.

Oh God, what now? Can you see I'm trying to get fucked, here?

"Shannon," she said again. I felt the tapping on my shoulder become more insistent. "Your father will be here at any moment."

The cock stopped moving against my pussy and realization started to dawn on me.

Wait,

I thought, dimly.

How does Redd know my real name?

I was gripping onto the crewman tightly, frustrated. My father would be showing up in his robe, ready to fuck Punk Girl again. Punk Girl was me. Did he want to fuck me? Would he know it was me, and not Punk Girl? I needed to stop what I was doing and get out of there, but

oh-dear-lord-that-cock-needs-to-be-inside-me-first

.

"Shannon!" The aggressive push on my shoulder finally brought me awake. "You need to get ready."

Confusion reigned in my sex-starved head. Redd's voice was definitely my mother's, and the crew member I was latched onto dissolved into ether. I felt my legs wrapped around the sheets and my arms gripping the pillow in a tight embrace. Suddenly I understood why the crew member felt somewhat squishy.

Fuck

,

what a waste of a promising sex dream

.

"I'm up, I'm up," I groaned.

I opened one eye and watched as my mother looked at me funny, then said, "You're not going to have time to shower. Get dressed." She didn't sound pleased.

She turned on her heels and walk out of the room.

Jesus, even barefoot and wearing sweats she's so sexy!

I stretched, my face buried into the pillow as I yawned awake. I felt something touch my inner thigh, and then my pussy. I bolted straight up into the air, and scrambled off the bed. Raising a hand to my mouth to stifle a scream, I felt my heart suddenly jump to a frantic pace.

Evidently I had tossed a bit in my sleep, scrambling my sheets. I had fallen asleep where I passed out, my cotton panties ripped apart, and the dildo still on the bed. Somehow in my sleep I had turned over and caught the obscene toy in between my thighs, and soon the head of the giant cock had "found" its way to my pussy. I struggled to grasp the concept that the dream had been, in fact, the copy of my father's cock pressing against my vagina.

As if that wasn't shocking enough, I wondered if my mother had seen it. I was stricken with horror - what if she

had

seen it, and seen me humping my father's fake cock in my sleep? In a manner of a few seconds, I had gone from a deep (if not restful) sleep to complete, wide-awake panic.

I checked the sheets. They were tossed about the bed haphazardly. What did I remember? Was I covered? I think I was covered.

Yes, but are you

sure

?

Oh god, please let me be covered when she walked in. Please, please,

please

don't let her know.

Oh God, I don't know how I could face her!

I paced back and forth in the room, trying to figure out how to do damage control.

What am I going to do?

"Shannon!" she called. "Your father's here!"

Ohgodohgodohgod...

Another panic arose, right next to the first one. This was the first time I would be seeing my father since Simone tried to entrap me with that damn video. I suddenly didn't know if I could face him. Could I fake being sick again?

"Shannon?" she called again.

"Coming!" I shouted. "I'm just... getting dressed."

I grabbed the fake cock off the bed, pulling it free from the tangled sheets. I raced around the room, the silicone dong flopping in my hand like some cartoon character trying to get rid of a bomb with a lit fuse. Where to hide it? If my mother

had

seen it, she would likely come in and try to find it. My mother was sweet, but she was also known to allow her "curiosity" to invade my privacy from time to time.

Every place I could find was too small or too obvious. I thought about stuffing it in between the mattresses, but then remembered that she had found an abandoned attempt at a diary a couple of years before, under the guise of needing to strip the bed for laundry.

Finally, I gave up. I pulled out my overnight bag and stuffed the dildo inside. I pulled out some t-shirts and a pair of jeans, and threw them on top, and then opened my underwear drawer to get some panties and bras.

As the drawer opened I was confronted with a wide assortment of cotton garments, all cut from the same cloth (so to speak) as the shredded ones I was still wearing. Unicorns. Faeries. Strawberries. Birds. One by one, I glanced over my collection of underwear that reinforced my immature status in life.

Glancing up, I happened across the matching lacy bra and panty set that I had draped over my mirror the night before. I grabbed them and threw them on the bed. I ripped off my t-shirt and peeled my ripped panties off. I wasn't sure what to do with them either. It was the same problem as with the dildo; my mother would surely wonder why a pair of perfectly good panties were suddenly ripped in the crotch.

The only place I could think to stash them where my mother wouldn't ever look was in the garbage pail in the garage, but there was no way to slip past them in the time that I had. Desperate, I chucked them into my bag as well, figuring I'd dispose of them in some other way.

I turned to the unmentionables on the bed, and reached for the panties but stopped short just before picking them up. I don't know why I hesitated, but I did know that it felt wrong, somehow. It was as if simply touching them meant I was a poser, a fraud of some kind. Just the thought of trying them on was an alien concept.

What would Punk Girl think of this?

I thought.

You know what she would think.

I chastised myself.

She wouldn't even think about it for a second. She wouldn't care what anyone thought!

I recalled my dream where I, as Punk Girl, had worn crotchless panties around the set and didn't think twice.

Resolved, I grabbed the panties and pulled them on. The thong nestled comfortably in-between my ass cheeks, a striking difference from the cotton panties that I usually wore that completely covered my ass. I snapped the delicate waistband against my skinny hips, and looked at my nearly naked frame in the mirror for the first time.

I looked...

not bad

. I turned my hips so that I could see the thong's thin fabric disappear between two soft white globes of flesh, my ass protruding ever so slightly into an appealing curve. I... I had a bubble butt?

How did I not know this?

I wondered.

My ever-increasing anarchic voice came back at me with irritation.

Probably because you were too chicken shit to ever look, dumbass.

I was still too skinny. I had no hips, no curves in my thighs. My waist was laughable. But there it was. A cute little bubble butt holding that thong in place.

The fabric felt strange, but not unpleasant. It didn't cradle my pussy or my butt the way that the normal underwear did, and like everyone else I had heard the jokes about "flossing your ass." In this case it wasn't entirely unpleasant, though, even if the jokes were accurate.

The strange sensations weren't just physical, though. I

felt

strange, too. I had overslept - had completely forgotten that my father was coming to pick me up, in fact - and I hadn't showered. Putting these gorgeous panties on without having showered made me feel...

dirty

. Rebellious. Subversive.

I

liked

it.

I hitched the waistband a little higher - a little

too

high - and felt the string fabric pull into my cleft and my ass.

"Oh!" I said out loud. This was new!

I reached for the matching bra and put it on, and instantly realized my mistake. My normal, boring bras were bras in little more than "bra" in name, only. They were, effectively, padded fabric that strapped across my chest to keep my nipples from showing to the world.

This

bra was made of fine lace silk, and my nipples suddenly woke up to full attention.

Hell-LO!

they practically screamed.

What the hell is this!? Me

likey!

Just like that, my pump was primed once again. I pulled a simple t-shirt on and the movement set my chest abuzz with delightful sensations. I wanted to play with them

so badly

, but couldn't.

Oh, come on

, they protested

. Just one little squeeze. Or maybe one giant, extremely tight squeeze...

Succumbing to the temptation, I pressed my hands against my chest and rolled my nipples in between my thumbs and forefingers. The jolt was immediate.

Do I have time...?

"Shannon!"

my mother shouted. She was in a mood.

"Coming!" I responded, with more irritation than I actually felt.

I threw on some jeans, and the denim slid over my newly exposed fleshy ass for the first time in my life. I felt like my entire body was a battery that had suddenly been recharged completely for the first time.

I looked in the mirror and didn't see anything different from any other day, but underneath that typical Shannon exterior I felt like I was alight with arousal. Every movement accentuated these new sensations. For the briefest of moments, I thought about the previous nights masturbation session where I had watched my fingers play underneath those boring unicorn and faeries, and I desperately wanted to do the same with the sheer fabric of these wondrous and magical piece of cloth.

For the most part though, I was struggling with the new sensations on my chest. The bra wasn't as tight as the usual ones I wore, and the silk fabric just caressed and rubbed and teased those sensitive nipples constantly. I couldn't help it. I had to touch them once more. I raised my hands to my chest and found those nipples, those annoying, wonderful, terrible, gloriously obnoxious nipples, now slightly more protruding than normal without the extra padding, and gave them a squeeze through the material.

My knees buckled. I barely caught myself before I fell completely to the floor. Now I knew why they were called

fun bags

. How had I not known this before?

Again! Again!

my nipples scolded me.

From downstairs, my mother had lost all patience. "

Shannon!"

"I know!" I screamed, and scrambled around the room. I went over to the closet and without paying attention, I simply swiped a few hangers off the rod and shoved them into my bag without really looking. I looked around the room, tying to see if there was anything I missed. Seeing nothing, I grabbed my overnight bag and left my room, closing the door behind me.

If I hadn't felt so discombobulated from the mad rush and unexpected arousal sensations from my underwear, I probably would have been more prepared for the shock of seeing my father at the kitchen table. It wasn't odd that he would be sitting there, chatting to my mother over a cup of coffee - he'd done it a million times.

I just wasn't prepared for the tidal wave of

guilt

that washed over me and threatened to take me to the ground in a faint. Looking at him now, seeing him in person,

in my house

, felt too voyeuristic. And this is coming from someone who had spent the past several days watching him in sex films!

He looked up from his cup of coffee. "

Howdy

, cupcake," he smiled, noticing me.

"Howdy,

Doody

," I greeted him in kind. It was our ritual, perfunctory and automatic. When I was a little girl, we had watched a documentary on an ancient kids' television program called

Howdy Doody

. I must have teased him for months, calling him "Doody" instead of "Daddy," and squealing in glee as he chased me around his apartment chanting, "

Howdy... Howdy... Howdy..."

When he caught me, he would tickle me until I couldn't breathe. Over time, the exchange mellowed until it was just part of the normal greeting.

This time, though, the routine felt off, like the pieces didn't quite match up. I felt a wistful nostalgia for that innocence that I had, not knowing what I knew now. I felt something deep inside rip apart, but I didn't exactly know what.

Don't open that box, Shannon. If you do, she will

own

you

.

I swallowed. Now she had stolen decade-old memories, too.

I fucking hate you, Simone

.

My father was far more clued in to my emotions than my mother was - always had been. He read something in my face, and stopped his coffee halfway to his lips. "Shannon?" he asked, suddenly concerned. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, and found my voice. "Mmm-hmm," I responded. "I overslept, and my body hasn't quite caught up yet."

I don't think he bought it, but my mother did. "Well, if you had set your alarm last night like you should have," she chided me, "you would have had plenty of time to get ready this morning."

I was a bit stunned at her tone of voice. It came across as

trying

to be playful, but it had a very distinctive edge. Fear gripped me again. Did she know? What did she see? My throat became dry.

Almost as quickly, the fear was replaced with annoyance. "Yeah, well," I replied, just a little too testily. "Shit happens."

I don't think anyone in the room was more surprised at my retort than I was. The words came out before my brain was fully engaged. Language in my house was always PG-rated, as neither my mother nor I had a tendency to swear out loud, and never

at

each other. My mother recoiled a bit, almost as if I had spat on her.

My father looked from me to my mother and back again. This was definitely something where he didn't want to get in the middle, even if there really wasn't any middle to get into.

"Right, so... thanks for the coffee, Michelle," he said, standing up. Turning to me, he said, "Shall we go?"

Wordlessly, I turned on my heel and walked to the front door. Movement made me feel better, and not just because I could feel every new sensual sensation underneath my clothes. Moving meant that I had

purpose

.

For some reason, my mother's dig really got under my skin. Maybe it was all the stress taking it's toll. Maybe it was the desire to have more control over my life. Hell, maybe it was the goddamn underwear. Whatever it was, I felt my mood souring.

Most of the ride to my father's apartment was done in silence. Then, miraculously, I started to feel more proud for sticking up for myself. My mother wasn't a bully, per se, but her snide little comment was just like something a bully would say, right? And I shut that down

right

quick!

The more I thought about it, the more I started to feel better, even a bit arrogant about it.

Yeah

,

that's right

, I thought to myself.

Just like Punk Girl

would have -

My train of thought cut off immediately, and I was instantly hyper-aware of where I was. I looked over at my father, who was deliberately keeping his eyes on the road. I looked at the bag in my lap, as there was no where else to put it in his little two-seater roadster. I couldn't help it if I tried - my eyes glanced over at his crotch, then snapped back to my bag. It didn't help either, as I knew that on the bottom, separated from my legs only by a thin canvas fabric, was the dildo.