DADDY`s PLAYTHING PART 8

Shortly after noon, Sherry awoke. She stretched long and contentedly, then gazed at Tony sleeping beside her. He was snoring sonorously. God, what a gorgeous, brute of a man! she thought. Careful not to disturb him, she slipped out of bed, quietly dressed and hastily washed in the bathroom. She decided it would be best to let Tony sleep and go to find her father; he might be worried about her. She scrawled a hasty note, telling Tony that she would see him before their first shows, left it on the living room coffee table and left the apartment.
When she spotted her father by the hotel swimming pool, he was with the elderly Whitcombs and their daughter, Sheila.
“Well, hello, my dear,” her father said, as she approached them. “I see you got a good night’s sleep. Good. Good. You remember the Whitcombs?”
Sherry exchanged greeting with the Whitcombs. She did not miss the subtle sarcasm in her father’s voice regarding her getting a good night’s sleep. He had purposely goaded her, she knew, but she pretended as though nothing unusual had happened and smiled amicably.
“Mr. and Mrs. Whitcomb are going to fly over to Las Vegas for a few days for a change of scenery,” Sherry’s father said. “They’ve decided to let Sheila stay on and enjoy the mountain atmosphere in their absence. Incidentally, it’s a pity you slept in so late. Sheila sang for us at the piano bar in the lounge and she has a really remarkable voice. Quite professional I’d say. Very talented indeed. Perhaps you can give her a few pointers during her parents absence.”
“Certainly,” Sherry said. “I’d be delighted to help in any way I can.” Her father was being his super-charming self.
“That would be wonderful,” Mrs. Whitcomb said, bubbling with excitement. “We’ve always thought Sheila’s voice was very good and when your father encouraged her — well, it makes us very happy. Sheila just hasn’t made up her mind what she wants to do with herself as yet. She’ll marry soon, no doubt, but in the meantime it would be nice if she could sing for a while. Mr. Whitcomb and I aren’t trying to make a nightclub singer of Sheila, of course, but for a short while it would keep her out of mischief, wouldn’t it?” Mrs. Whitcomb suddenly realized what she had said about not trying to make a nightclub singer out of her. She was embarrassed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a nightclub singer, but — uh — well, I’m sure you understand,” she said to Sherry. Mrs. Whitcomb muttered something else about work on stage being good for character development, but the more she said, the worse it was. She had obviously implied that there was somehow something cheap about being a performer and didn’t know quite how to extricate herself from her delirium.
Sheila, who was standing unusually close to Sherry’s father, was no help. She stood there with a smug expression on her pretty face as if to say, All right, my dowager, loud-mouthed mother, let’s see you get yourself out of this one.
Whitcomb finally attempted to come to his wife’s rescue. “In any event, we are most pleased that Mr. Redgrave seems to think our Sheila has talent,” he said, “and we would deeply appreciate any help you can give our daughter in our absence. Perhaps you two could even play tennis. Sheila’s backhand is a little weak, I’m afraid, but she’s a scrapper — mmm, yea — a scrapper all right.”
“We’ll do whatever we can to make your daughter’s stay here a pleasant one Mr. Whitcomb,” Sherry said, glancing at her father’s arm which was a bit too tight about young Sheila’s thin waist. “Have a nice stay in Vegas.”
“Thank you,” Whitcomb said. “If I can keep the little missus away from the slot machines we shall — yes indeed, but she’s a terror on those nickel machines! Absolutely loses her head!”
The little missus, who seemed to weigh nearly two-hundred pounds, giggled. It was a wonder she could even get around on a tennis court, Sherry thought.
“Oh, Jerome,” she tittered, “you know I’m not that bad. How about you and your silly keno and dice?”
“Well, we must be getting upstairs to pack,” Whitcomb said, glancing at his watch. “We’re catching an early flight to Vegas and we mustn’t be late. Come on, Lois,” he said to his wife, “and thank you so much for looking after our Sheila.”
“We will,” Victor Redgrave assured the couple as they hurried off. Sherry started after them in amazement. They were like children. Worse!
And they actually seemed ambitious regarding their daughter’s singing career. Mrs. Whitcomb reminded Sherry of mothers who push semi-talented and totally untalented children into show business. What made Mrs. Whitcomb doubly ridiculous was that she and her husband were wealthy and had no economical need to force a stage career on their daughter. Perhaps, though, it was as Mrs. Whitcomb had said. Perhaps they intended singing to be merely an amusement for their bored daughter until she found somebody’s rich son or just killed in Europe for a season or two. There was something else that bothered Sherry. Was her father actually setting Sheila up for the make? He seemed awfully interested in young Sheila. Maybe it was his way of getting even with her for the sexual relationship she was having with Tony.
“Daddy,” Sherry said abruptly, “I feel a little bushed. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll run over to our motel and take a little nap.” She wished she hadn’t even bothered to leave Tony. She could be sleeping in his arms right now, but she had sincerely assumed her father might be worried about her. Now that he seemed to be enjoying himself with Sheila she decided to leave and she didn’t want to wake Tony by knocking on his locked door.
“Very well, dear,” Victor said. “Sheila and I will just look around and I’ll see you there after a while. Ta-ta.”
Wow, Sherry thought. Father has already adopted the speech mannerisms of the rich. Wonder if he might be considering showing Sheila the sex habits of the not-so-rich. She would not be at all surprised judging by the way he was looking at Sheila and holding her waist.
At the motel, Sheila stripped down to her bra and panties and prepared to take a nap in the bedroom. She admired herself in the mirror thinking that what they said about women in love was absolutely true. She did look different. There was a certain flush in her cheeks and glitter in her eyes. Tony had won her heart completely. She could hardly wait to see him tonight. She debated whether to return to the hotel and, despite his still sleeping, climb into bed beside him.
But she decided not to be selfish and demanding. She would let him sleep. She was about to climb into bed when she noticed that the dresser drawer was open. She went over to close it and noticed a check book among her father’s handkerchiefs. She had never pried into her father’s affairs nor had any desire to question his handling of their business affairs, but something made her pick up the check book. She leafed through it until she came to a deposit with today’s date. There was the deposit — undoubtedly the check, less cash, from the Lucky Nuggett in Las Vegas. She continued leafing through the pages, noting the deposits at fairly regular intervals, until she came to the final balance. Actually, she had failed to notice it before, but now she realized that it was quite a lot of money — more than eighty-thousand dollars.
Still, it occurred to her that there was probably much more in the savings accounts she had heard her father refer to. She felt pleased that she was becoming something of a girl of means until she flipped to the front of the book and saw that the account was in the name of Victor Redgrave. That was odd, she thought. Her father had always deposited the money — or at least all except money necessary for day-to-day expenses in her name. And then she sighted a zippered leather folder. She opened it and was astonished to see that there was over one-hundred thousand dollars in savings books and bonds — all in the name of Victor Redgrave. There was nothing with the name Sherry Trent on it. Suddenly it struck her that there was something amiss. She would have to ask Daddy about this. No, she would demand an explanation. There might possibly be some logical explanation for her total assets to be in her father’s name, but she could not understand why he would lie to her about it all these years. Yes, it was his lying to her that convinced her that something was definitely wrong. Sherry dressed quickly, gathered up the checkbook and savings books and bonds and practically ran back to the Alpine Hotel. When the elevator reached the tenth floor, she hurried down the hall to Tony’s room and knocked hard. In a moment, Tony answered the door. He wore his shorts and his huge prick stood out at attention in front of him. He groggily rubbed his eyes and told Sherry to come in.
“Hi, baby,” he muttered, flopped down on the couch and Sherry sat down beside him. “Oh,” he said, glancing down at his hard-on, “pardon my morning erection. I always have one when I first wake up.” Then, squinting, he stared at the big clock across the room. “Morning, hell,” he said. “Jesus, how long did I sleep? It’s almost two o’clock.”
“I’m sorry for waking you, Tony,” Sherry said, “but I had to talk to somebody. I-I didn’t know what else to do.”
Tony seemed wide awake now. “What’s wrong, Sherry? You seem upset.”
“I hate to bother you with my personal problems, Tony, but I am upset and I didn’t know who else to turn to. I think my father is trying to cheat me out of-of everything.” She burst into tears then and stared at the savings books and bonds in her hands. Tony put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. “Don’t cry, honey,” he said. “Sure, you can tell me anything. What’s that you’ve got?”
“These are my father’s savings books, his checkbook, stocks and bonds. I just found them by accident. There’s an awful lot of money here, Tony, and-and it’s all in his name. For years Daddy has told me that he was saving my money and investing it for me — that it was in my name for my future — and my name isn’t on anything. I have an awful feeling that something’s wrong. Do you think I’m crazy?”
Tony’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t put anything past that son of a bitch,” he said. “If he told you he was putting money in your name, he certainly should have done it. At least in joint accounts with both of your names on them. And he never mentioned anything about separate accounts with only his name on them?”
Sherry shook her head.
Tony thought for a minute. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said. “I’d hold on to the things you have and I’d see a lawyer quick. Whenever there’s any problem like this, banks and companies will freeze all withdrawals until matters are settled. I know because it happened to a friend of mine. A lawyer can protect your interests, Sherry.”
“But who shall I see and what will I tell Daddy?”
“Fuck Daddy!” Tony said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “For now, leave these things here with me where they’ll be safe. There is somebody I can call in Los Angeles. My agent’s friend, Bruce Morris. He’s a lawyer.” Tony picked up the phone then and made a long distance all to Los Angeles. A moment later he was talking to Bruce Morris, explaining the situation. “I don’t care how much it costs,” Tony said. “I’ll pay for it. Okay, I’ll tell her. Tomorrow morning here at the Alpine? Fine. Come right to my room. I’ll see you then,” Tony said and hung up. “We’re lucky,” Tony said to Sherry. “He’s not tied up for a few days. He wants to fly up in the morning and see those papers and things you’ve got. Also, he says to keep them from your father — no matter what. If your father asks you where these things are, say you don’t know. Lie to him. Anything. But don’t let him know anything until you’ve talked to Bruce.”
Sherry hugged Tony, throwing her arms gratefully around his neck. “Oh, Tony, you’re wonderful. I-I don’t know what I’d have done without you, darling. Thank you… thank you…”
“That’s all right, baby. There may be some mistake, some explanation, but we’re doing the right thing. Now don’t worry anymore. Promise?”
Sherry nodded. “Promise.”
“Where’s your father now?”
“I don’t know. I left him with a girl named Sheila Whitcomb at the hotel a little while ago. They’re probably still around the hotel.”
“Okay, let’s go over there and pretend that nothing’s happened. Maybe he won’t even notice the missing papers until after Bruce has had a chance to look them over tomorrow. But if he does ask you anything remember to play dumb. Understand?”
Sherry said that she understood. Tony dressed then and they went downstairs to look for Victor Redgrave and Sheila. They didn’t seem to be anywhere and, finally, Sherry inquired at the hotel desk if the clerk had seen her father.
“Yes, Miss Trent,” the young man said. “As a matter of fact I noticed your father with a young lady about ten minutes ago. They took the elevator.” Sherry asked the room number of the Whitcombs and learned that it was 416. “Thank you,” she said.
“Not at all, Miss Trent,” the man said. “Say, I wonder if you would sing My Cheatin’ Heart tonight. It’s my favorite. I hate to ask but…”
“Certainly,” Sherry said. “I’d be delighted to. It’s a promise.”
They left the delighted clerk behind and stood in the casino. “Your father doesn’t waste any time, does he?” Tony said sarcastically. “The dirty ol’ man is probably fucking that girl this minute.”
Sherry just stared straight ahead. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “Well, I don’t suppose we should interrupt them. I don’t really think they’re doing anything, though.”
Tony gave a laugh that wasn’t a laugh. “You want to bet. Come on. We don’t have anything to do anyway. Let’s go up and say hello.”
Sherry hesitated, then remembering all the years that her father had lied to her and his jealousy over Tony, she suddenly said, “Okay, let’s go.”
They took the elevator to the fourth floor and went down to room 416. Tony raised his hand to knock and Sherry stopped him. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said. “I mean, why should we bother them even if they are screwing? To hell with it. Let’s go.”
“You mean you’re not even curious?” Tony reached down and turned the knob and, surprisingly, the door opened. There was no sound coming from inside. “So eager they didn’t even lock it.”
“Tony!” Sherry whispered. “No. We can’t just walk in that girl’s mom.”
But Tony paid no attention and opened the door. Then they were standing in the living room, which was empty. Sherry started to protest again but Tony held his fingers to his lips and pointed toward the bedroom. Sherry heard sounds then, like voices but not like voices. They were more like moaning and there was the sound of bed springs squeaking. Tony caught Sherry by the wrist and led her toward the door. When they reached the doorway, Tony pushed Sherry back slightly and, still with his finger to his lips, shook his head and pointed at the sight before her. Daddy was kicking Sheila Whitcomb! Fucking her with all his might!
Mouth open, Sherry stared at the spectacle on the bed as though hypnotized. The prim and proper Sheila Whitcomb did not look so prim and not proper at all with her legs wide apart and clawing frantically at her father’s buttocks and back as Victor Redgrave’s ass pumped hard, driving his cock into her cunt. The two seemed oblivious to everything but kicking. Tony and Sherry might as well have been a mile away. Sheila’s eyes were shut tight and both of their voices rose now. Apparently instructors taught more than just foreign languages at the finishing schools the highbrow Sheila had at tended, for she seemed most adept at “kick talk”.
“Fuck my cunt off, Victor,” Sheila was saying as she thrust her pelvis like a veteran acrobat at Victor Redgrave’s plunging ass. Sherry was surprised that suddenly her father’s age was more apparent than she had previously noticed. He rode the girl well but the flesh on his legs and rump sagged slightly and quivered as be slammed his meat home. In contrast to the younger, more firm legs that pummeled his backside, he was noticeably an older man. “… Yes, stick it in, you bastard… you dirty cocksucker, mother-fucking son of a bitch, jab… jab… jab… cram it in, up in all the way… yes, yes… kick my ass off… hurt me with your prick… stab my snatch… oh God, yes… that’s the way to screw… you know how to fuck a girl’s twat, don’t you? Nice baby, nice… feels good, huh? You like it between my legs, don’t you, you cunt-lapping fucking degenerate? That’s what you are, you know that? You’re a miserable kicking degenerate! Fuck me harder or I’ll kill you!” she screamed insanely. “You rotten bastard. FUCK!”
“She doesn’t seem to like your father, does she?” Tony whispered.
Sherry was dumbfounded. She had never beard of ceiling someone vile names while they were making love. She noticed several longstem glasses on the nightstand. “Maybe she just had too much to drink,” Sherry said. “I never heard anything like it.”
“Bullshit,” Tony said. “I’ve seen chicks like that before. They’re a special breed. They like to let out all their hostility toward men when they’ve got a guy helpless between their legs. Don’t talk so loud,” Tony cautioned. “Let’s just watch and listen. Little Miss Rich Bitch is a real sickee, believe me. I know.”
Now Miss Sheila Whitcomb had Victor Redgrave by the hair, her face a hideous grimace as she directed him and abused him. “You can kick better than this, you dumb asshole,” she said. “I know you can. Anybody can kick better than this. There, that’s better, my nice baby. Keep your hard-on up nice and stiff or I’ll rip your balls off, you understand? Like it inside where it’s nice and juicy and hot, right? Ummm, so do I like to fuck, baby. Just keep feeding it stiff and straight inside my slit or I’ll gouge your kicking eyes out. Right? Right? Answer me you stupid asshole! Answer me or I’ll make you take your prick out and you won’t be able to come. I’ll pretend to give you a blow job and then I’ll bite your Goddamn cock off, do you hear? Answer me, you bastard! But keep on kicking while you do…”
“Yes, Sheila,” Victor Redgrave whimpered, pumping. “Yes, my precious. It-it feels nice inside you. I like to fuck your cunt.”
“Shit!” Sheila ranted. “Any college kid can do better than that. You mean you can’t fuck and you can’t talk either! That isn’t talking.”
“I… I want it inside your cunt… I like to stick you, Sheila… I like fucking your ass off, you bitch!” Victor Redgrave said.
“That’s better,” Sheila said. “Now tell me how you’re going to make me a star. Tell me! You’re going to see that I sing on the stage just like that asshole daughter of yours, aren’t you? Keep fucking my cunt and tell me about it again… kick and talk… stab and tell this innocent little thing you seduced about kicking her cunt and about making me a star!” Sheila raked. Victor Redgrave’s back viciously with her long, talon-like nails. “Tell me or I’ll make you take it out and I’ll kick you right in the balls!”
“You’re… you’re going to-to be a star, Sheila. I’ll make you a big success… I promise… promise… don’t make me stop… a star… can’t stop now… anything…”
Suddenly Sherry realized that her father seemed, in some strange way, to be deriving pleasure from this sick game Sheila was directing. He must be. He was sensitive, Sherry knew. If he didn’t enjoy Sheila’s abusive language his erection would have dwindled away to nothing long ago! And yet, there he was, fucking away despite Sheila’s unspeakable language and vulgarity and cruelty.
Just then, Sheila’s tone of voice changed abruptly, and it was evident, that she was preparing to reach her orgasm. With a few more brief efforts at sadism, she began to moan and pant and plead for Victor Redgrave to “pour it on”. Her legs locked tightly around Victor’s lower legs and she began pumping rapidly.
“Ohhh… coming… just a few seconds more… coming… wonderful… wonderful… please don’t atop… Victor… harder… wonderful lover man… fuck… yes now… now!”
Victor grunted faster too and lifted Sheila’s gyrating buttocks high off the mattress, making a kind of platform of her cunt, as he drove hard for his climax and they both reached the heights together.
Sheila’s head tossed from side to side as she sobbed now and apologized for the abuse she had subjected Victor to during their sex act.
This post-orgasmic period was in startling contrast to Sheila’s early mood. She apologized again and again, explaining that she was “truly sorry” but she could achieve satisfaction only when she belittled and threatened and used the moat vulgar language at her male lovers.
Victor seemed to understand. “Yes, you were getting a little bit out of line there for a while but I assumed you had some hang up you were trying to rid yourself of. You’re a most unusual piece of teenage ass, my dear — you can rest assured of that. While I haven’t had a great deal of teenage tail I’d say, without any fear of contradiction, that you are indeed an aberrational phenomenon when it comes to kicking. Except when you’re performing fellatio and your mouth is full of cock and you can’t talk.” He tweaked her cheek playful. “You sound like some kind of professor,” Sheila said, frowning.
“Really,” Victor said, his voice a cultured purr. “Yes, quite possibly I do. Perhaps it’s an attempt on my part to counteract your filthy, sadistic language of a while ago. You didn’t sound at all like the lady I thought you to be. You sounded more like a common prostitute. No,” he said, correcting himself, “on second thought like some perverted freak.”
“I’m truly sorry, Victor,” Sheila said. Her voice was filled with remorse and she held Victor close begging forgiveness.
Sherry knew her father well. He was not the type to let himself be pushed around. Not in the least docile. Now he was getting even for what he had endured a while ago. She nudged Tony and signaled toward the door. “Let’s get out of here before they see us,” she whispered.
Tony nodded and they slipped out, quietly closing the door behind them. In the hall, Tony said, “Well, aren’t you glad we eavesdropped?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Sherry said indifferently.