Ping Ch. 01

She was my 'niece' when traveling and my 'personal assistant' when parked at a designated space. I was sort-of listed as an 'author,' writing romance fiction under an assumed female name, when anybody asked. Ping had swimming pools and natural water sites to play with and nobody seemed to care how much skin the 'young Asian girl' was showing, RV folks being very tolerant of differences in ages, ethnicity and background.

Inside our trailer-home, Ping 'dressed' in a crop-top t-shirt, with no bra. Very short-shorts were on display, or a mini-skirt, clearly without panties. Slippers or sandals on her feet. Nothing else. When she said she was a 'slut' or called me 'Daddy,' I knew I was in for a 'ride'. This happened pretty frequently, although, as Ping adjusted herself to me, never quite beyond my manly capacities.

Clearly, though, I never realized that a small, hyper-sexed young woman could extract full, penetrative sex from an older man, 4 times a day, counting evenings and mornings. This was not counting the licking and feelings I could do there so-willing body with my auxiliary sex organs: fingers, lips and tongue.

I'd been careful to have the trailer insulated to withstand a Colorado winter, which also meant that any major noise generated within our small space was muffled. Such noises as screaming, squealing, shouting, licking and fucking were well muted outside the walls of our motorhome.

One afternoon, after reading an article dredged from a few local newspapers and newsfeed out of North-Central New Mexico, I looked over at my daughter-lover, who was also my personal slut.

I told her, "It looks like there was some major problems at a Woman's Colony, over near Espanola, in New Mexico. Apparently, the feminine lesbians had a fight with the bull-dykes and some guns came out. The bull-dykes just took over, making the feminine women their sex slaves, for about a month. Then there was a mass poisoning, apparently done by one of the pretty girls used as a whipping-slave."

"After the dust had settled, only about 4 women were left. Two of the women took off with all the accumulated money and the colony was left broke. The remaining two women, both former arch-feminists, had to turn into fucking-for-cash kinky whores. Using the former Colony structures, they created a sex resort for rich old men, then 'serviced' the guys with kinky sex and fucking, their feminist philosophy forgotten in the need to make money."

I ended my summarizing with what I'd pieced together, telling Ping, "One of the two women, originally from Columbus, Ohio, was arrested several times for prostitution, pandering and 'deviant sexual practices' with random men."

Ping's only reply was to giggle, as she said, "Daddy, let's not take a trip to Espanola anytime soon, OK."

I looked over at my nympho daughter and asked, "Did you say 'Daddy'?"

She lay back, using her left hand pull up her mini-skirt, while using her right to pull up her crop-top. Her slowly-growing boobs fell out, as she spread her slender legs open, revealing her glistening pussy lips, even now becoming thickened with need for sex.

"Say it, Daddy. Say what kind of a woman I am. Let me hear you say it, right to my face. Do it!"

I smiled, rapidly growing erect, lusty at the thought of taking her for sex. Looking down at her, I smiled and said, "Slut!"

Ping smiled, and looked up and over at me, saying, "Look at me Daddy. What do you see? Anything you'd be interested in using? Anything you'd want to fuck? What do you see? Go on, tell me!"

"Slut! I see a sex-drooling slut. A little golden-skinned, Asian personal slut, getting wetter by the second. A little nympho slut sexpot woman who wants to be fucked, right in her little cunt, by her adopted father. A nympho, sexpot slut. My own slut!"

"Take me, Daddy. You're hard. Stick it in and take me!"

I held back, though, saying, "Not just yet. First, I gotta lick your little boobs and nipples, pussy, and kiss your lips. I wanna feel, hear your fucking pleasure. Hold both of them up for me. Spread your legs wide open. Let me look at your pussy lips. I gotta lick you, until you pass out, just like last time."

Ping squirmed and then squealed as my lips and tongue centered around her breasts and nipples, while I kissed her with tongue. I know how to kiss like a woman (which is to explore, pretending that my partner is the last female on Earth, rather than to use my tongue like a spare penis, which is why most men do). I kissed around her whole boobs, not just the nipples, getting louder and more frequent screams of pleasure from Ping.

Then, I moved down her belly, while still squeezing one or the other of her nipples, until I hit the area just above her woman's slit opening. Abandoning her distended nipples, I used my fingers to gently pry open her out lips, revealing the sopping wet interior and—even though Ping was both young and Asian—the enlarged and protruding clit, I gently circled the organ with my tongue.

As a result, I heard a steam-whistle go off in one of my ears, as the little girl heaved herself off the settee couch, arching her back and having her umpteenth orgasm. Partially deafened, my now-straining cock was grasped in a death-clutch, until, abruptly, Ping relaxed and fell back, flopped in a full faint.

Cock straining to enter her, I waited until she came back to life. Then I poised over her, and, without ceremony, shoved my engorged member into her, myself screaming, "Slut!". I pounded out my lust for her, hearing her chant.

I heard her agree, as she hissed and growled out, "Yeah, I'm a slut. Your slut. Your nympho, sexpot personal slut! Fuck me. Use me. Deep in my cunt. I'm yours. Don't be gentle. I wanna feel it, all of it. Big. Hard. Long. Deep. Thrust in, yeah, that's it. Fuck your little Ping. I want it. Jam it into me. Yeah, shoot off into me. Do me!"

I did. I came, orgasming, squirting and pulsing my semen deep into her small body. I had to. No way I could last in this little volcano of fucking lust for each other that I'd raised and then made my own personal fucking slut ... just the way she said she wanted it!

Slowly, with her legs and arms clutching me, I went soft, as just-fucked men do.

Shaking and unsteady, but with a shaky but big grin on her face, she sat up and pulled herself up on the settee table, back arched, boobs thrust out and legs apart.. As she watched in a mirror and I watched from close-up, the large, thick drops of combined man-semen and girl-lubrication oozed, drop-by-drop, to run down her right thigh, down to her inner knee flesh.

I whispered, "Sexpot nympho slut!

She whispered, "Yours!"

- - - - - - -

It took a while (about 5 months), but eventually Ping's curiosity broke through and she wanted to know how and where I made all the money we were using to travel the USA in our 5th-wheel RV.

"OK, Ping, you asked how I made my money. Well, mostly we live off the interest on my investments, but at first I kinda 'harvested discarded money'."

To the end of my days on this earth, I will always treasure the look on Ping's face when I mentioned 'harvesting' money that no one had any use for.

"Before your eyes bug out any further, let me explain."

"Way back, when I was but a callow youth, right out of college, I was a low-pay intern for an international monetary wiring service, working for their back-up division. My job had me placed down in the basement, during the 'graveyard' shift. The core-program back-up had never been accessed or used, so I was bored to death, with literally nothing to do but sit there and pretend to be busy."

"One evening, so bored I was almost willing to read a romance novel, I found the read-out of the core program, that took each transaction and passed it on to the money-type translation systems (think of USA Dollars into Mexican Peso, Chinese Yuan or into French Francs). I discovered that the calculations always involved a monetary number, to be converted into a dollar-and-cents figure.

"That is, you'd have a money figure, say, of 12,347 Pesos, to be converted into dollars at the current exchange rate, but the program always converted to dollars while doing the calculations out to 8 decimal points. So, you'd have, just for an example, $5,347.72492139 dollars. Then the next command would round that figure up to the nearest USA currency cent, before re-conversion to Peso form, at the current exchange rate."

"Now, you remember the rule for rounding up. If the number is 0 through 4, you do nothing. If the number is 5 through 9, you add a '1' to the number to the left. The big, main program did that, each and every time, to yield a number the always had two decimal points, so the calculations would come out accurate to the penny."

"With me so far?" I asked.

"One evening, I got to wondering what would happen if I could 'salvage' all the unused numbers. That would need just a bit of extra computing time.

I figured out that things ran a lot faster if you just changed the money designations for the variables into decimal units, then re-translated them back into money units, at the end of the extra calculations. As a result, there were plenty of extra milli-seconds for my changes to take place."

"But next, I found a little-used command [called 'truncate'] that cut the number in two parts. The first 2 decimal points went to the number being translated to another currency. No one pays any attention to pennies in financial transactions, anyway."

"Remember, Ping, I'm dealing in little, bitty bits of seconds and with regular, old decimal numbers that don't refer to monetary amounts. All this is 'buried' inside the core computing program, running binary machine language, that translates currencies and then 'wires' the money to various International locations, none of which was important to me."

But, now I suddenly had a second number, which could range from .000001 to .0009999. I called this number something like [A] and had the computer then copy it to a location at [B], after which I had [A] re-set to zero. Next, I created another number, starting at .0000000 and added [B] to it, which I called [C]."

"So, you can see that, for each mainframe-computer transaction, [C] would continue to grow."

"But now comes the magic," I said, smiling at the memory.

"For simplicity, let's assume the number at [A] is .0005555, which is the average of all the possible numbers passed through the system. Every time there is a currency conversion—which I didn't care about—[A] is created from the truncation and goes to [B], after which [A] zeroes itself out. [B] is added to [C] and then [B] is zeroed. [C] grows. Again, remember that I just fixed things so that I was dealing with decimal numbers and not 'money' ."

"How fast does [C] grow," Ping asked?

"Well, let's start with an assumption of 1 transaction per second = .0005555. Sixty seconds make one minute which = .03333. Sixty minutes make 1 hour = about 2.00. Finally, I had the modified mainframe program copy [C] into [D], which re-translated my decimal number back into 'money,' so abruptly, every hour, I had $2.00 in [D]. At that point, I zeroed out [C] and the whole thing started over again, every 24 hours."

"Two dollars is such a little amount the nobody ever paid any attention to it, either. But, since computers work 24/7/365, 1 hour x 24 is one day = about $48.00 and so, for [D], there are 365 days in a year = about $17,500."

"That means I 'salvaged' a decimal number, which became a monetary number within my alterations, just under $18,000 out of nothing at all. I didn't even have to print it, since it was just digital numbers in cyberspace, not even entered on a spreadsheet anywhere."

"That's still not much money, until you remember that a second is a long time for a big, fast, industrial computer and there were a lot of international currency transactions for a clearinghouse. More like 37 to 58 per second, which doesn't even get the big mainframe machine into a sweat.

So, assume an average of 47 transactions a second = about $841,000 a year, into variable [D].

I had the machine split up the [D] amount into several different 'accounts' and, randomly, would have had them transferred to my newly-formed companies, so there were no big, unexplained transactions in the system."

"These monies were to go into a few randomly-separate corporation-type 'holding companies,' located in Delaware, which invested in 'index' funds, doing no better or worse that the 'average of the stock market'."

"Shortly after, I found a way to dump the [D] 'earnings' completely out of the company. I even set up to run these right through the currency conversion and over to France or Germany, where they'd be 'held' for a couple of days, and then re-transmitted back home. I set up to have paid their minimal fees and taxes for each transaction, but so what?"

"Each company 'does business' with some of the others (but not all of them), as I wrote the program. Every half-year, each of 7 'holding' companies automatically contacts me, as a consultant, to do an analysis of their holdings (all of this done by my program, of course). I automatically write a complex report in very technical language, which essentially says, 'You're doing fine, don't change anything'.

They (actually, just my program playing with itself) accept the report and I charge them an outrageous fee which 'they' pay to me via Platinum Debit/Credit card."

I said, "Since I 'owned' all the holding companies, working through phony names, I also would get a hefty income from each, every quarter-year."

"Then the company I worked for as the intern actually did have a major computer crash, and the whole system went down. The one I'd 'modified' as a back-up suddenly became the main computer program, and I was a hero ... for about 3 days."

"However, the powers-that-be decided they were not pleased that an intern had saved their reputation and their data, and they let me go. I was just fired, with not even a 'non-compete' or a 'non-disclosure' agreement signed. Just wham-bam, here's your last paycheck, get your stuff in a box and whisk, out the door. They essentially said, 'don't let the door-knob hit ya where the Good Lord naturally split ya!' "

"I had no more obligations to or from them, and so I started 'harvesting' the monies from [D], disguised as financial transactions running right through their own system. As before, no one ever suspected anything."

"Then, recently," I concluded, "there was the credit card explosion, and the clearinghouse expanded its reach into the credit-card business, where buying a latte at Starbucks could be paid with a credit/debit card. Now the transactions were in the range of 1000's per second and I couldn't even count the dollars anymore."

"About 5 years ago, all my programs shut themselves down abruptly, when the company shifted to a new, faster mainframe language. By this time, my total wealth had become over a hundred million. During a year's time, I closed all the 'holding companies' and transferred their monies to my new single LLC account, suited to a single professional person, working as a 'consultant'."

"I steadily invested the wealth in a conservative mix of bonds, stocks and other stuff, which yielded a yearly income at 4% interest rate, with came out to be around $4 million a year, which grew by itself, as I couldn't spend it all."

"I didn't dare call any attention to myself by living 'large'. I'd paid all my taxes on myself and my holding companies, to keep clear of government interference. I stayed far away from any politics."

"I'd planned on revealing my wealth to my new wife, shortly after the marriage, but, Ping, you know what happened, as soon as the ink was dry on the marriage certificate. So, as far as Sharon knew, I worked for myself, doing 'consulting' things. She never got curious about exactly what I did, so long as she got her hot little hands on a lot of my money, every week."

"Then the changes in her behavior started, when she took some Women's Studies classes at the college. You and I heard long monologues about female oppression. About the gender wage gap, abortion rights, and campus rape culture. About 'mansplaining' and 'man-spreading'. How men like me and 'breeders' like you were the root of all the problems in the world."

"Spending lots of time organizing marches and protests. Knitting pink 'pussy hats'. Creating hand-written signs at rallies. Organizing plays centering on female anatomy and physiology. Endless talk about strong women and weak men. Crying endlessly about 'eye-rape,' ... 'thought-rape' ... 'intent-rape' ... 'non-penetration-rape' ... but ignoring 'false-accusation-of-rape' or 'regret-rape'.

"Going on and on about 'If women ruled the world, there would be only peace and prosperity for all.' [Somehow forgetting about the female meanness and backbiting of middle- and high-school club bitches.]"

"We heard all about female monogamy as an outdated concept. About her having the rights to her own body, to use her sexual energy (and be used) at her own whim. About the superiority of womanhood. That female bodies were designed to accommodate multiple partners. About being able—and willing—to sleep with multiple partners ... especially female partners. About the joys of being lesbian."

"Toward the end, just before she left us, I started hearing that men should be kept on reservations, and only used to harvest sperm, when needed. About male castration."

"Lovemaking with Sharon consisted of an hour of foreplay, during which she loudly criticized every move and caress. Then 5 minutes of my thrusting, while she recited my to-do chores or the grocery list. I'd cum, after which she'd bolt for the bathroom, locking the door and making retching sounds while she flushed the toilet over and over.

A recipe for not having sex with her. But that led to increasingly public comments about my inadequacy in bed, usually ending with her recent 'memories' of having great sex with her Best Female Friend, because I 'couldn't get it up' enough to suit her."

"I thought about divorce, but soon figured out it'd be 'cheaper-to-keep-her' than to have her hired PI and accountants go through my financial life in a divorce settlement. So I lived in a sexless, loveless marriage to an increasingly radical feminist, had passionless sex affairs and watched my Ping change from a girl into a woman."

"When my wife—your adopted Mom—screwed us over to make her radical feminist philosophy real and left us—she hoped—broke with crushing debt, I don't think she realized anything about the cash-generating guy she was leaving. It was all about I, I, I ... Me, Me, Me ... I want, I want, I want—right-now, with no thoughts about consequences—especially about what might happen when the money she took ran out."

"So now, Miss Multi-Mega-Millionaire Adopted Asian Daughter Lover-Near-Nympho-Slut-Sexpot Ping, who calls me Daddy when she wants sex, we have an income somewhere around $4 to $5 million a year. We can't spend it all. We can't afford to 'live large' and call unwanted attention to ourselves. We don't have a fixed-in-place home. We can live pretty much anywhere we can get our wheels to, or we can buy a boat and cruise coasts and some oceans. We can travel the world, with me as a rich old guy with his sugar-baby 'niece' or as a 'dirty-old-man' traveling with his hot secretary."

"Whatcha gonna do next?"

She replied, wordlessly, which involved her outrageous sexing of my willing body, going on for the rest of the day and evening

Our life, post feminist/lesbian ex-wife, has extended through several trips to Europe, SouthAmerica and Asia.

But we never went anywhere near Espanola in North-Central New Mexico, USA.

—THE END—