The Politician's Daughter Ch. 01

Author's Note: This is a two part story. The second part is finished and will post next week. There's an initial tease here, but this first installment is mostly build-up.

This story is my version of an "I want to be Daddy's whore" story, done in a different way than usual. Though it is entirely fictional, it was inspired by real events.

All characters are over the age of 18.

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Allison received the text just as she walked from the subway to her apartment on Lexington and 53rd. It was a Thursday night, one of those cold rainy evenings when all you wanted to do was get inside, put on a pair of sweats and curl up on the couch happy that the week was almost over.

Seeing his words on the phone, she smiled with excitement and sped up to get home, now enjoying the walk, the city, and the rush of people all heading to places unknown.

The text she'd received was from her father, the Honorable Representative Paul Austin. It said: "Four Seasons, Room 1710, 11:00."

She knew he was in town. She'd seen him on TV that morning at a press conference with the mayor, looking distinguished and serious as they fielded questions about the upcoming elections. He was here on one of his press tours to support the local slate of candidates and urge people to get out and vote. A plug from Paul Austin, one of the city's most well-known Congressmen, always gave a huge bump in the polls. His experience, reputation for honesty, and his warm demeanor made him the perfect man for this kind of job.

Of course, Allison knew the real reason he'd accepted this little chore, and why he was really in New York.

He'd left her a short voicemail that morning, in his calm, deep voice: "Hi sweetheart. I'll be tied up all day at the mayor's office. . . .I need to see you . . . Will text hotel, room and time and leave key at front office. Let yourself in."

So she'd watched him on TV that morning with that message in mind, knowing she'd be seeing him later.

He stood on a dais looking handsome in an immaculate gray suit, crisp white shirt and blue striped tie. Onscreen, her father had the startling beauty and charisma of a natural born actor, like all great politicians. He had just turned 50. He was tall and very fit, with a lean runner's body. He had classic All American looks, like he just stepped out of a Brooks Brothers ad—turquoise blue eyes, a dazzling smile and a perfect nose, and a strong jaw with just a hint of a cleft in his chin. His black hair was now entirely salt and pepper and tiny wrinkles were visible around his eyes and mouth. He was the very picture of a distinguished, powerful man.

The mayor introduced him to a loud spattering of applause—everyone loved Representative Austin, even those in the opposing party—and the minute he began to speak, there was silence. He spoke without notes, in a deep voice that was intimate and seductive, that appealed to both body and mind. He was smooth and polished, and gave off an air of authority and complete confidence. Allison loved hearing him speak. As handsome as he was, his intelligence was the most attractive thing about him. Her father was simply the smartest man she'd ever met.

She watched him for a long time, getting more and more aroused. Seeing him on TV, in his element, drinking in his polished public persona, was the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world. Not because he was famous, and not just because he was her father, but because she loved thinking about their little secret at the same time. All of these people adored and worshipped him! He looked so honest, so professional, so utterly reliable and good! It made their relationship so much hotter, so much more forbidden and taboo. She knew he reveled in the secret and that he loved their dirty sex as much as she, in defiance of everything he represented to the world.

Allison was so worked up and aroused when she got home, she rushed inside, tore off her clothes and quickly got in the shower. She was standing naked in her bedroom deciding what to wear when her phone buzzed. She glanced at it: it was her fiancé, Peter.

"Hi honey."

"Allison, how are you?"

"Just getting in now. Long day."

"I know. So I see your father's in town. You didn't mention it."

"I know, I'm sorry. I just found out this morning."

"So does that mean tonight is off?"

"Yes, honey, I'm sorry. I haven't seen him for months, and he only has a few hours." Not exactly true.

"Well I'm tied up here anyway. Send him my best."

"I will, of course."

"Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Yes, bye hon."

That done, she opened her top drawer and ran her hand through all the silky, lacy lingerie. She loved getting dressed for these meetings. In the end she chose a black lace bra and a tiny thong, and sheer black thigh highs. She had to squeeze her full breasts into the half-bra, which hooked in the front. Not being quite big enough for a D, her breasts always slightly overflowed a C-cup, and so her dark red nipples were completely exposed. She chose a simple light blue silk blouse that buttoned up the front, loving how her nipples poked through. She rubbed them slightly to make them even harder. She tucked this into a very tight, black silk skirt and slid her legs into black suede pumps.

The blouse set off her blue eyes, which she got from Paul, to perfection. Allison got most of her looks from her father—her height (5' 8), dark brown hair, which she wore in loose, highlighted waves down to her shoulders, and sexy lips and beautiful smile. Like him, she also ran daily and kept very fit.

Lastly, she put on pearls and make-up—foundation, shadow, blush, mascara, and a rich application of sheer light plink gloss. Very nicely done. She wanted to slut it up but not look like a cheap hooker. She looked exactly like the kind of expensive call girl who serviced the needs of her father's class; it was all part of their game. Allison loved her father, and she knew he loved her, but their trysts were for sex, not for romance. She knew what turned him on and, at times, loved playing up the part of a whore.

By the time she was ready it was 10:00; she called for a car and waited wet and aching and knowing that her father was feeling the same thing across town, wherever he was. It was what they both wanted and needed, and they knew they could neither resist it nor stop it. The reluctance and hesitation they'd gotten over with; there was nothing to do but embrace their inexplicable thirst for each other. Allison was in fact very happy with Peter and looking forward to getting married. But she simply had to be with her father from time to time, there was no way around it.

In the car driving uptown, she got another text from him. "Will be there around 11:30. Looking forward." This made her so hot she had to reach up her skirt, her legs slightly spread, push aside her satin panties and furtively touch herself. She hoped the driver couldn't hear her gasp. She was so wet, her mind full of the images that morning of her Dad on TV, thinking of that delirious moment when she would get to feel him warm and naked in her arms.

The Four Seasons. She knew her father had chosen this as a little sign to her. It was their favorite place. So beautiful and rich and luxurious, it spoke of pleasure and enjoyment and was the perfect place for a whore to fuck her delighted client. This was one of their favorite role plays.

As she walked to the front desk, she got a thrill out of the various men noticing her. Rich men, powerful men, handsome men. She unbuttoned her coat and let it fall open a bit, so that her barely contained breasts could bounce and jiggle as she walked, and her hard nipples could be plainly seen through her silk blouse. She got to the front desk and said, "Paul Austin, please." The clerk immediately handed her a key and said, "Here you go, Miss Austin." Dad had set it all up.

As she waited for the elevator, she sensed before she saw a man come up to her. He was gorgeous. Tall, silvery hair, well-dressed, obviously wealthy. She picked him for a lawyer. He stood too close, and was obviously staring. But Allison felt bold and held his sexy gaze. It was electric. She felt so slutty. He thought she was a call girl—escort, to be more accurate. She let her eyes say to him, "Too bad it's not you I'm going to see."

He got in the elevator and blatantly stared at her for the entire ride, looking her up and down with the most direct and lascivious gaze. She gave him just the tiniest flirtatious smile. He had seen her push her floor and when it got close, he moved over and stood next to her. He leaned down right before she got off and said, "Is there some way to contact you? Who should I ask for?" Allison just smiled, thrilled that her apparent disguise was working so well, and slipped away.

Outside the suite stood a man. Daddy was not important enough to get Secret Service protection, of course, but he did employ a bodyguard when he traveled. John had been working for Paul for six years and he was completely professional and discrete. He knew Allison, and he knew of the long hours and sometimes nights she spent with her father in hotel rooms. But he had never betrayed a single flicker of acknowledgement of their relationship. He had to be stoic and close-mouthed; her father was on the Ethics Committee in the House, after all. Dad had searched for a long time to find someone so trustworthy. She smiled as she came up to him. He made the briefest nod, saying "Miss Austin," and quietly let her in.

It was a gorgeous room, with plush carpets and furnishings, but with that classic, simplified style that suited her father so well. The interior lighting was dim; most of the illumination came instead from the city outside the window. Manhattan, lit up at night, surrounding her on three sides. It was sexy and beautiful.

She took off her coat and walked to the window. There was nothing to do now but wait, her body getting more aroused and excited by the minute. She could feel moisture creeping down her thighs, and a heavy ache settle in her belly. She was on fire with need. Her nipples were like a mother's calling for her baby—aching, hard, and demanding to be sucked!

Finally she heard the latch turn and the door open, and caught her breath. All the sensations in her body shot up in intensity. She gasped, burning up with excitement, but didn't turn around. She heard Paul close the door quietly, and then toss his coat on the bed and his keys on the table. She kept completely still.

He walked over to her. She could see him reflected in the windows, looking a little tired, still wearing a suit, and could smell his subtle spicy cologne. Daddy's scent. It shot through her like a bullet.

She could only take shallow breaths. She hadn't seen him for three months. It had been so long . . .

He came up close and as he did she felt her labia expand and contract with excitement and her clit stiffen as waves of delicious pleasure emanated upwards. With one hand, Paul reached out and touched her round, firm ass. He clutched the cheeks tightly so his middle finger slid deep between them. The other hand circled her waist and slowly traveled up to her breasts. Allison gasped so loudly, she was so turned on! Then she felt his lips on her neck, barely kissing, just grazing her skin as he continued to squeeze her cheeks and manhandle her breasts. She felt totally weak and supple in his strong arms.

He said, quietly, "Do you need to come?"

Allison could only whimper in response.

"Open your legs a little bit."

His voice, his smells, his touch, electrified her. She couldn't stand up, she was too weak with desire. She sagged down a bit and let his strong arms and legs support her.

"It's ok . . . lean back . . ."

She gave in completely to the waves of intense pleasure shooting through her body as she spread her legs a little wider and felt his hand slip up under her skirt. With one hand he found her soaked panties; with the other he found her large, hard nipples through her silk shirt. She was passive and weak in his arms as he focused his attention on her sweet spots, bringing her quickly to a climax he knew she needed.

His hand pushed the silk panties to the side and she cried out when he pushed one, then two fingers inside her. "Dad . . . " she whispered, "Daddy . . . oh . . . oh . . ."

"Just relax . . ."

He fucked her very gently with his fingers, finding her G-spot and pushing up hard onto it and pressing. His other hand kept her nipples rock hard.

"I know you need this," he said.

"Ah!" She slumped in his arms as her orgasm ripped through her, her pussy exploding on his hand, her eyes rolling back in her head. It was always like this when she hadn't seen him for a long time. The need so great, their understanding so clear, it never took more than a few minutes for her to come. His arms shook a little bit with his own growing arousal, and she felt him pressing hard against her thigh. For several minutes Allison was utterly lost to the pleasure, the sharp, hard, urgent need peaking at the mercy of his strong, controlling hands. He felt every spasm, every pulse, every uncontrollable jerk of her muscles as the pleasure rocked her, evoking sharp, painful cries. Her eyes were fixed on nothing.

He whispered. "It's alright, Allison. Let it go."

She moaned from the sheer intensity of the electric sensations. Her sensitive clit was mashed against his hand, and he felt every twitch as she came.

"Good girl," he said, "Relax. . ."

She clutched at him desperately, overwhelmed, sated and soothed with a pleasure that was so intense it felt like pain. He knew. He knew exactly what she was feeling. He held her and let her come down, saying, "It's ok . . ."

She moaned sweetly, mewling with pleasure, "Oh . . . take me to bed, now, please, take me . . ."

Paul picked her up and carried her and gently laid her on the bed. She was so flushed and weak she could only watch as he began to get undressed, as he carefully hung up his $3,000 suit jacket and then reached for his belt. She smiled at him as he slid over her and got close to her face.

"Oh, I have missed you!" he said. He kissed her shoulders and neck. "Did you miss your Daddy?"

They fell into a deep perfect kiss. Paul sunk his hands into Allison's silky hair as he rolled over and pulled her on top of him.

"Mmmmmm . . . fuck, I need this, baby. What a long goddamned day."

Allison straddled him and smiled into his eyes as she took his cock and directed it to her spread, open legs. She gazed at his eyes thinking back to how this all started, to that summer four years ago, the summer she turned 21 . . .

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Allison had just graduated from college and was looking forward to a relaxing summer on their estate in Connecticut before starting a job in DC in the fall. In the past four years she'd hardly been home for more than a week at a time. But now she planned on three luxurious months, not doing much besides hanging out on the beach. Mom and Dad would be there, plus her younger brother Danny. Her older brother, Ken, would only be around for a month until his wedding in mid-July. It promised to be a big affair, held at the house. That was the only definite thing on her schedule.

Paul woke early on the day she was supposed to arrive with pleasurable anticipation. He'd missed her quite a bit these last four years, especially on their morning jogs on the beach. He got out of bed at dawn, trying not to wake Iris. But he heard her stirring as he laced up his running shoes.

"Headed out?" she murmured, rolling over.

"Yes, for an early run. Go back to sleep."

"Allison's coming back to today."

"Yes, I know."

"I hope you do, Paul." There was tenseness and almost a warning in her voice.

Paul didn't answer and headed out the door with his fists clenched. He really needed a good, long run. The path from the huge mansion led for a mile through heavy woods before it fed onto the beach, right onto the waters of Long Island Sound. God it was beautiful. He loved being up this early. He pounded the packed sand, working up a sweat and pushing and punishing his body to go faster and harder while thinking about his wife's "tone."

They'd been married for 25 years. When he met her, Iris Rhysdale was an incredible catch. Blond and beautiful and smart, she came from one of those families where it was always expected she would marry a politician or someone else "in public service." She knew exactly what it meant to be the wife of a famous, powerful man; she had been groomed for it since birth. When they got married, it wasn't exactly for passionate love. It was more of a convenient alliance—he, the brilliant up and coming state senator from New York with the rock star looks, and she the cool, gorgeous daughter of an old and wealthy East Coast clan. They were the perfect social couple. She was always there, always behind him, the adoring wife with the adorable family looking on as Paul ascended to greater and greater success.

From almost the very beginning of their marriage, they had had an "understanding." Paul could never quite remember who first brought it up, or how it was brought up. They both just knew this was not a traditional kind of marriage. His wife told him that she knew very well the temptations of a man in his position; he could have affairs, indulgences, as long as she never knew about it and as long as it never affected their children. One of her rules was that he not pursue any of his "extracurricular" activities while he was at the house, and never when the kids were around. But what he did in DC or on his many travels was his own business.

For the most part, things worked. They got along. If they weren't exactly in love with each other, it was at least harmonious and affectionate, and they would always be united by their unquestioned love for their children. For 25 years he had held his end of the bargain, so it irritated him immensely to have her remind him of it as if he were a ten-year-old child.

He knew why; it was because of Allison and what had happened when she was 16.

He never knew exactly what occurred, but somehow Allison found out about his lovers. She must have overheard him talking to one of them, or maybe one of her friends had shared some Washington gossip. He'd always taken great pains to be discrete, but maybe he had slipped up in some way. He was never entirely even sure that's what caused it, but there was no doubt that something traumatic happened to her. Iris insisted that could be the only reason for her dramatic change in personality. Allison had always been happy and outgoing, but almost overnight, it seemed, she got depressed. She cried all the time, stayed in her room, and had angry outbursts that were always directed at Paul. It was obvious whatever was bothering her had to do with him. She and Paul had always been extremely close. Everyone in the family knew she was his favorite, he'd never been able to hide it. But that closeness had abruptly ended. Allison ignored him and avoided him. Their relationship had never been the same.

Iris had been furious, and for the first time, had confronted Paul about his affairs.

"What did you do? Did you bring one of your sluts to the house?"

Paul had let that comment slide. "Of course I didn't. Allison's not an idiot, Iris. She has eyes and ears. Maybe she's just old enough to understand our marriage arrangement—an arrangement you have always agreed to, let me remind you."

"She's sixteen! She's just about to start dating! She's too young to know that her father likes to sleep with whores."

Again he ignored her insinuations. "Oh, don't start. Maybe if her own mother could talk to her, and get close to her, if you weren't always so goddamned busy with your 'social' schedule to have time for your daughter, we wouldn't be in this situation."