“And the panties, baby. Then sit on this seat and spread your legs, so Daddy can check on what you have going on.”
Oh, God…
Another burst of warm liquid seeps into the cotton, making me shiver before I roll my panties down my hips, then drop them to my feet. His eyes don’t leave mine, and I dare not look away. It’s like being in the sights of an apex predator, and knowing that I’m dinner.
“All the way,” he says, his voice hitting that low register that turns things inside me into melted butter.
I kick the damp fabric off my feet and step to the nearest chair, lowering my bare bottom onto the smooth velvet, relieved my shaking legs no longer have to hold me upright.
I let the microphone rest between my breasts, hearing my breathing pulse through the speakers.
Reuben follows with one wide side-step, grabbing my underwear and tucking them into his pocket before centering his massive frame in front of me, nodding toward my knees. I force my muscles to follow the orders I’m sending from my brain for them to open, but it’s like everything is in slow motion.
“More, baby. Daddy needs to see what his little girl’s pussy looks like.”
I nod again and manage a little, “Yes, Daddy,” as the skin on my upper thighs slowly peels apart.
His gaze drops, and I hear a loud groan that morphs into a growl. He steps closer, and I try to close my legs, but he steps between them, forcing them apart as he drops to his knees.
His eyes flick back and forth as he stares.
Sweat prickles on my chest as I pinch my bottom lip between my teeth.
The soft whooshing of the air conditioning coming from the vents in the ceiling mixes with the rushing of blood in my ears.
“Well, Daddy?” I ask when I can’t take another second, and see him swallow.
“I need a better look.” He drags my feet upward with one hand, spreading me full and wide, my knees hanging over the arms of the theater seat, my heels resting on the velvet cushions of the seats on either side of me as the furrow in his brow deepens, and that dark thunder I’ve seen gather in his eyes before when he’s been angry at Mom or something about work makes me want to disappear into the chair.
Everything below my waist is open for him to inspect. I’ve been doing a little trimming on my dark curls down there as well for a few years. Not a full shave, but there’s definitely not enough to hide anything.
I’m so wide, even my butt cheeks are spread, so he can likely see everything in that area as well.
This will either be the worst moment of my life or the best. Which still remains to be seen.
He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever known. I’m sure he’s had his way with women that would have been models and movie stars, and here I am, the chubby little girl he helped raise, exposing her shamefully big clit in hopes he will tell me there’s nothing wrong with me, but I already know that’s not true.
The heat that covers my face could fry an egg in ten seconds flat as the muscles in his shoulders flex, his jaw hardens to stone, and God, wetness is streaming out of me under his gaze.
He scrubs one hand down his face, clearing his throat, and embarrassment burns at my lids.
“I’m made wrong,” I sputter, my voice crackling through the speakers, taunting me with the certainty that he’s horrified by my malformed lady business. The only time I’ve looked at porn was when I stole my mother’s cell phone after she’d had too many margaritas one day by the pool.
I thought something was different about me, but I needed to be sure, so I found a site and started to look at the women’s pictures with their legs open and all their anatomy on display.
They had little clits. Barely a quarter inch if they were on the bigger side. I maybe spent a few shaking minutes watching some of the men, too. Fascinated by the length of their man parts and how they were roughly jerking and tugging on themselves in order to find their own relief. It all looked so violent and desperate, but in the end, it was just confirmation that what God had given me in my own southern hemisphere was not normal.
Reuben’s other hand is still down by his hip, the fingers still loosely curled as a strangled sort of growl works its way out of his throat. He drops the hand from his face downward, and the muscles in his biceps and shoulders start to rhythmically flexand shift. It reminds me of the movement of the men in the videos that I saw when I looked at porn on my mom’s phone, but I’m too afraid to look down and see.
I curl my toes into the soft velvet, praying for the moment of my shame to end as the ache at the apex of my thighs starts to make me dizzy.
His nostrils flare, his face turns a dark red, and I can’t help it when my hips lift and pulse. My body needs something, and I can’t name it or ask for it, not from him. Not from the man I’ve grown up with, that I consider my father in all ways except blood.
“It’s wrong, isn’t it? Girls don’t look like me. They shouldn’t look like me. Do you think—” The words catch in my throat as tears spill down my cheeks. “Is there a doctor, maybe, who could fix me? Like a cosmetic surgery gyno, something? Does that exist?”
It does. I’ve looked it up. But it’s not like I could call and make an appointment. I couldn’t drive myself there or pay for it, let alone tell my mother. I can’t even imagine that conversation.
I do have a car. Reuben bought me my dream car for my sixteenth birthday, a Volvo XC40. It was the closest current model to what Edward Cullen drove in the Twilight movies because I have a secret guilty pleasure when it comes to those movies. I think Edward was my first crush, my tastes have changed for sure, but I always loved those cars he drove. It’s not sexy or flash, but I guess neither am I and it was something Rueben could get behind because it’s one of the safest cars on the market.
