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Lizzie McGuire: Lizzie McGuire And Her Dad Part 2 - City Girl (
by Ambush Bug ([email protected])

I sat at my desk, my chin propped up in one of my hands, waiting for the bell
that signaled the end of class. I couldn't wait for school to be over, even
though that meant that I'd have to go home. I wasn't looking forward to that,
but what could I do? School sucked, my social life sucked, everything sucked.
What difference did it make if I went out with Gordo and Miranda or strolled
around the mall in a funk or went home and allowed myself, once again, to be
my dad's secret love doll? It was a choice of miseries.

I supposed I could ditch Miranda somehow, and run off somewhere with Gordo.
That wouldn't be a whole heck of a lot of fun, what with his ridiculous
crush, but at least I'd be having sex with someone who didn't make me feel
like a total gargoyle. At least I wouldn't feel guilty when my orgasms came.
Well, not that guilty, anyway.

What I really wanted to do was run away, but not just run away and be
homeless. I couldn't imagine myself living on the street, getting caught up
in drugs, and ultimately having to sell my body just to afford my habit. If
I was going to ruin my life, I might as well stay at home and let my own dad
do it for me. No, what I wanted was to move out, to live on my own, like an
adult. I figured I could pass for eighteen, and I could be responsible enough
to hold down a job and pay the rent and everything else adults did. But I'd
have to get a job first. If I could do that, the rest of my problems could be
solved eventually.

Maybe that's what I'll do, I told myself as I watched the second hand creep
around the face of the clock, I'll go out and look for a job. Sure, why not?
I could tell Miranda and Gordo I had to go home for some reason, and I could
tell my mom that I was spending the afternoon with Miranda and Gordo, and in
reality I could go downtown and look for work. Yes. As the end of class got
nearer and nearer, I thought more about my plan, about how I would get
downtown, what places I might try to get a job at, and my spirits began to
rise. I even almost smiled.

The bell finally rang and I made a beeline for the door. Miranda wasn't able
to catch up with me until I was several classrooms down the hall, pushing and
dodging my way through the throng.

"Hey, Lizzie," she said, "you wanna hang out this afternoon?"

"I can't," I replied, moving quickly through the crowd, forcing Miranda
to keep up. "I've got something I have to do. You and Gordo can hang out
together, though. Go to the mall, or something."

I liked that idea; maybe, if I was lucky, the two of them would fall in love
and Gordo would forget all about me. Not much of a chance of that, though,
since I'd noticed that Miranda had been acting kinda gay lately. Just what I
need, I thought as I made my way to my locker, not only is my best guy friend
in love with me and wanting to fuck me all the time, but now my best
girlfriend is heading in the same direction.

I had the momentary thought that maybe I just ought to shoot myself, but
quickly rose above that; I wasn't going to let my life drive me over the
edge, I was going to take charge of it instead.

"But Lizzie," Miranda said, "I wanted to hang with you, you're my best
friend."

"I know, and I'm sorry," I said, turning the combination on my locker, "but
I've got something really important I gotta do. Tell you what. I'll try to
get it done quick and catch up with you two, okay?"

Miranda was obviously disappointed, but she said okay. She reached out and I
thought she was going to touch my arm, a sweet little habit of hers, but then
her fingers brushed against my right breast for a second, then she dropped
her hand back to her side. I had just opened my locker, but I stopped and
looked at her. I could see it in her eyes, that puppydog look, and thought,
Damn, she is in love with me. Can my life get any more weird? I wanted to
smack her, or at least shout at her to straighten up, literally, but I
couldn't do that; this was Miranda, my best bud in the world, my sweetie pie.
I had to be nice, not hurt her feelings. I gave Miranda an apologetic look
and touched her hand.

"I'll make it up to you," I told her in a low, caring voice. I hadn't meant
to sound so confidential about it, making it seem like I was promising to
take her to a motel room or something, but it just came out that way. Miranda
took it that way too, smiling happily but also a little unsure, and saying,
"Really, Lizzie?"

"Sure," I said, digging myself even deeper into a potentially lesbian hole.
"I love you, you know."

Now, why the hell did I say that?

"I love you too," Miranda said, her eyes getting all watery and her voice
beginning to tremble. I thought she was going to start crying or, even worse,
start hugging and kissing me right there in front of the entire school, but
then Gordo appeared out of nowhere, saving the day.

"Hey guys," he said. "What we doin today?"

"You and Miranda are going to the mall," I told him, and explained that I was
going to be unavailable all afternoon. He was disappointed too, but didn't
get all weepy like Miranda did. My friends gave me their goodbyes, promised
to meet me back at my house that night, then headed off down the hallway.

I threw my backpack into my locker, took out my purse, and slammed the
door, then went in the opposite direction. I went out the south side of the
building and down the block to the nearest bus stop. The city bus would be
by in about five minutes.

I dug in my purse for the dollar fare, then waited, trying to think about how
I would conduct myself at the interview. I would be smart and confident, I'd
know what I wanted and be very direct about it. I'd outline all of my great
job skills (I'd have to do some lying, since the only real job skill I had
was typing, and that was only about fifty words per minute) and list my
qualities of honesty and trustworthiness, dependability and punctuality, my
attention to detail.

I'd have to do some more lying, obviously.

I started to get a little discouraged. Maybe this was a totally bad idea. I
was only fifteen, who the hell would believe I was an adult? And besides, if
I did get a job, how long would I be able to hold it before they realized I
had no idea what I was doing? That I was just a kid pretending to be a woman?

Dad doesn't seem to have a problem with it, I told myself. I tried to resist
it, but the memory of what my dad had done to me just last night invaded my
mind anyway. He'd come into my room after everyone else was asleep, like he
usually did, had crawled onto the bed with me. He'd kissed me and fondled
me, took my panties off and went down on me. Made me come, even though I'd
willed myself not to. Then he'd fucked me, and I'd almost come a second time.
I probably would have, except he pulled out before he was finished this time
and made me sit up and put his dick in my mouth. I'd tasted myself on him
and gagged a little. Then he'd held my head and fucked my mouth until he
came, made me swallow it before he would take his cock out. He'd called me
sweetheart and darling and pumpkin. Like he actually cared about me.

I wiped a tear from my eye just as the bus came around the corner. It rumbled
up and stopped in front of me, the door opened and I got on, put the fare in
the cash box, and walked toward the back of the bus. There weren't very many
people: two young women sitting together near the front, one of them holding
a sleeping baby; a young guy who was actually kind of cute, sitting in the
third row with his legs wide open, chewing gum and listening to loud music on
headphones; and another guy, an older man about my dad's age, sitting about
two thirds of the way back, in a black trenchcoat, reading a thick paperback
book. The women ignored me as I went by, but both guys checked me out, which
made me feel both attractive and creepy at the same time.

I sat in the very back and looked out the window as the bus got moving,
rolling down the street toward downtown. I tried to focus on the passing
scenery, tried to keep my mind free of the haunting images of my dad and
his secret night time violations, but they came anyway, how he'd laid on
top of me, held me, breathed roughly in my ear as he pushed himself into
me. The terrible sensation of his cock invading me, filling me up inside.
How my body had begun to betray me with sensations of pleasure, how I'd
gotten so close to orgasm. The taste of his cock in my mouth.

I shuddered and blinked and forced the memories from my mind, but as the bus
progressed along the downtown streets to the bus depot, I also had to force
myself to ignore the growing warmth between my legs.

Stay focused, I thought. You're bright and resourceful and talented, and
you're a fast learner. And you're willing to do just about anything. After
all, what's worse, flipping hamburgers for a living or swallowing your dad's
jizz?

The bus rolled to a stop and I stood up, shouldered my purse. The man in the
trenchcoat stopped at the rear exit and looked at me, motioned for me to go
first. I smiled politely at him, said thank you, and went out.

The downtown street was packed with cars, the sidewalks filled with
people. There was motion and sound everywhere, an energy that surprised me,
intimidated me, and yet gave me hope at the same time. I realized that I was
in the right place, I was doing the right thing, I could be happy here if I
just stuck to my guns, stayed focused and determined. I realized as I
strolled down the noisey and congested avenue that I was a city girl, and I
was suddenly eager to find out just what that meant.

I came up on a girl with a coffee stand and suddenly wanted to buy an
espresso. I had a vision in my mind of sitting at a small round table on the
sidewalk sipping a latte and smoking a French cigarette and watching the
absurd world go by and my heart began beating a little stronger. That was
what I was going to do with my life, become a downtown bohemian girl, maybe
even write poems and learn to play the saxaphone. But first I had to get a
job. After all, even bohemians had to eat.

I looked past the coffee stand and saw a bookstore, and in the window, as if
placed their by God himself, was a help wanted sign. I couldn't believe my
eyes, thought I might be hallucinating, or just falling victim to one of my
crazy wishes, but I blinked, then rubbed my eyes, and the sign was still
there.

I made a mental note to start referring to God as a she, then went up to the
door, took a slow deep breath, pushed it open and went inside. The place was
totally crowded with shelves full of books; there was hardly any room to walk
down the narrow aisles, and the sales counter was surrounded by stacks of
even more books. The lighting was a little poor, and there was a definite
smell of must in the air. I smiled. It was perfect.

There was a man behind the cash register, talking on the phone and looking
through a large book at the same time. I went up to him, stood there watching
him, my hands clasped together in front of me. Waiting patiently. The man was
saying something about Wiccan spells and turning the pages of the book and I
felt like Buffy waiting for Giles to unravel the newest mystery. Except Buffy
was gorgeous and I was just some loser teen girl with much smaller boobs and
an only slightly pretty face. Plus, Buffy wasn't getting nailed by her own
dad on a regular basis.

The memory popped back into my head, my dad's lean but muscular body on top
of mine, his strong arms embracing me, his big cock pushing into me. The
sound of my unwilling moans and gasps when I came. My hands were still
clasped together in front of me and I secretly pressed them against my cunt
for a minute.

"Okay, good," the man said into the phone. "I'll be there tomorrow afternoon
to check it out. Great. Bye."

He hung up and looked at me and I smiled and stopped pushing on my cunt.

"Hi," the man said, "what can I do for you?"

"Hi. I, um, saw the help wanted sign in your window and, um, I'd like to
apply for the job."

The man squinted, looked me over. Trying to figure out how old I was. Damn.

"I'm, um, I'm....not old enough, am I?"

The man shook his head slowly, an apologetic look on his face.

"No, dear," he said. "I'm sorry."

"But I really need a job," I said, trying to keep the pleading tone out of
my voice even though I was, in fact, pleading.

"I'm sorry," the man said again. "Unless you're at least fifteen and a half,
I can't even hire you part time."

Fifteen and a half? I was fifteen and a half.

"I am fifteen and a half," I said.

"Really," the man replied, sounding like he didn't believe me. "You have some
ID?"

"Sure." I dug through my purse and found my state ID card, glad now that I'd
pestered my mom to let me have one instead of just using my student ID all
the time. I handed it to the man and he looked at it for a moment, then
handed it back.

"Okay, so you're old enough to work," he said. "Just barely. Have you ever
held a job before?"

"Um....no....but I'm a real fast learner, and I'm willing to do whatever I'm
told." Just ask my dad, I thought. "Please, Mister...Mister...?"

"Valentine," he said. "Henry Valentine."

Wow, what a cool name.

"I'm Lizzie McGuire," I said, and held out my hand. He shook it gently and
I could tell he was just being polite. I had to come up with some way to
convince him to hire me.

Please, Mister Valentine, my dad is fucking me on a regular basis and I need
to move out. No, that wasn't it.

"I know I'm really young," I said, "and I haven't got any experience, but I-"

"Yes," Henry Valentine said, "you already told me, you're a fast learner,
and you're willing to do whatever you're told. That's good, I'm looking for
someone like that. But I'm wondering, Lizzie, if you're truly willing to do
whatever I tell you." He was looking me over again, but this time he wasn't
trying to guess my age. His eyes traveled over me as he spoke, lingered on
my breasts for several seconds, and I knew what that meant. I hoped to God
I was wrong, but I figured I wasn't.

I thought about just running out the door, but if I did that I'd just be
running back home, resigning myself to my incestuous fate. I had to have
this job, and if that meant doing things with Mr. Valentine, then that
was what I would have to do. Besides, this was probably the way it worked
downtown. The City Life. Everybody had to compromise one way or another.
Mr. Valentine was older, in his mid thirties was my guess, and he was kind
of good looking; compromising with him would be better than compromising
with my dad any day.

"I am," I said. "I'll do whatever you say. Whatever I have to." I crossed
my arms in front of my breasts even though it was way too late for that.

"Come on back to my office," Mr. Valentine said, "and we'll talk about it."

He led me through a maze of shelves to the back of the store, then through
a door and into his small office. It didn't have much in it, just a desk
with a computer on it, a filing cabinet, and a loveseat. A loveseat. He
closed the door and stood just a few inches away from me. He was tall; I
only came up to the middle of his chest.

"I'm assuming," he said, "that you know how to use a computer?"

"Oh, sure," I replied. "What kid-um, person, over the age of three doesn't?"
Mr. Valentine smiled slightly and touched my arm.

"That's good, because I need someone to take up the slack on the computer.
I get very busy sometimes. And since you're a fast learner, Lizzie, I don't
think it'll take long for you to learn how to operate the cash register."
He moved his hand up my arm to my shoulder, then touched my hair. He was
looking right into my eyes. "But there's another....job that I'd like you
to do for me. That is, if you're as willing as you claim to be."

I gulped. Here it was, my moment. I either had to get the job or go home and
marry my dad. I looked down at the floor, glad to see that it was carpeted.
That would be easier on my knees. I looked back up at Mr. Valentine.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, my voice sounding strange. Sounding
like it did on the few occasions when I asked my dad to stop sticking his
cock in my mouth.

Mr. Valentine didn't reply. He just moved his hand to the back of my head,
applied a little pressure, and kissed me on the lips. I kissed him back,
eager to prove to him that I was up to the job, but also I kind of liked
it. He was a good kisser, very gentle. The kiss lasted for maybe ten
seconds, then he drew back and looked at me.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"Yes," I squeaked.

"Have you ever done anything with a man before?"

"Yes. I've done all kinds of things" I had more experience with sex than I
did with working. I wondered very briefly if you had to apply for a job as
a prostitute.

"Okay, then," Mr. Valentine said. "How about if you sit down over there and
show me what you can do?"

"Over there" was the loveseat, of course.

I went over and sat down. Mr. Valentine followed, stood directly in front of
me. His crotch was only about half a foot away from my nose, and I noticed
that he was wearing jeans. He put his hand on top of my head and said, "Go
ahead, Lizzie. I'm sure you know what to do."

I did. I reached out and undid the fly on his jeans, pulled the zipper down.
He wasn't wearing any underwear and his cock kind of popped out at me. It was
huge, much longer than Gordo's, and a little bit longer than my dad's. It hit
me then, that Mr. Valentine would be the third guy I'd ever had sex with. The
third guy, and I wasn't even old enough to drive yet. The thought made me
kind of sad, but at the same time I felt an odd kind of hope; I was a city
girl, after all, and city girls took lots of lovers, didn't they? Mr.
Valentine could end up just one of many.

I stroked his cock, sliding my fingers expertly up and down the shaft as I
moved my mouth closer to him. I shut my eyes, wondering for a moment if I
could really do this, suck off some guy I'd just met. I decided I could,
and opened my mouth. I wrapped my lips around the head, then slowly slid
down on him. His cock was hard and warm, pretty much like any other cock
except for its size, and I took as much of it in as I could, which only
amounted to about half. It totally filled my mouth and pushed against the
back of my throat. I pulled back, also slowly, sliding my tongue along the
underside of the shaft as I went. I was still holding it with one hand,
and used the other one to cup his balls. I played with them gently as I
sucked and stroked him, picking up rhythm and speed. Mr. Valentine had
both hands on the back of my head now, as if he needed to hold it in place,
and he moaned softly. He was liking it, of course, and I was starting to
like it too. I echoed his moan, knowing how much guys liked that. He
started to move his hips a little, matching my rhythm, gently fucking my
mouth as I sucked him. I felt those familiar feelings inside me, the warm
little ball growing between my legs. I kept sucking and stroking him,
moaning and sighing, lathering his cock with my tongue, getting more and
more excited. Mr. Valentine played with my hair, whispered things to me,
dirty things like suck it, Lizzie, suck my cock and you're a good little
girl, a good little cocksucker, and I felt the heat in my cunt growing
even more. My dad said things like that to me, along with the sweetheart
and pumpkin bullshit, and for a moment I felt that way, like I was Mr.
Valentine's daughter, Lizzie Valentine, and I was submitting to my daddy.
Being a good little girl.

I gasped all of a sudden, a completely spontaneous noise, and realized I
was totally turned on. And, for maybe the first time ever, I wanted to fuck.
I wanted to. Mr. Valentine must have read my mind, or simply noticed that
I'd taken my hand off his balls and was rubbing myself between my legs,
because he made me stop sucking him and said, "Stand up, Lizzie."

He wasn't really nice about it, his voice rugged and his breathing heavy,
and I knew I had to do whatever he said. But that was okay, by this time I
didn't need to be forced to do anything. I stood up and he took my shirt
off of me, then unfastened my bra and took that off too. He stared into my
eyes as he fondled my breasts, then bent his head and kissed each of them.
"Turn around," he told me.

I turned around (following orders from my new boss) and Mr. Valentine pushed
me forward. I stumbled a little and ended up leaning over the loveseat,
which I found out real quick was what he wanted. He reached around and undid
the fly on my jeans, then pulled my pants down, then my panties. I tried to
spread my legs but my jeans were around my ankles now and I couldn't get them
very far apart. Mr. Valentine didn't seem to mind. He simply leaned over me,
held me by one hip, and used his other hand to guide his cock into my cunt.

I was pretty snug, but Mr. Valentine didn't let that stop him. He just pushed
his way into me, one long determined movement forward, his big cock forcing
its way inside until it was all the way in. There was some discomfort because
I was so small inside, but no real pain, and the hot burst of pleasure that
poured through me made up for that. I held onto the loveseat as Mr. Valentine
grabbed my hips and started fucking me hard. He shoved himself into me again
and again, and with each strong thrust I felt more and more fire spilling
through me. His balls pounded against my clit and my breasts bounced under me
as he fucked me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. I
couldn't believe how good it felt, to be taken this way, to get fucked. It
had usually felt good before, but now I wasn't feeling guilty about it,
because this wasn't my dad or my best friend, this was a real guy who desired
me and enjoyed me. Sure, he was using me, but I was using him too. I was
going to ride Mr. Valentine's cock right out of my dad's house and into my
own life.

He was still holding me by the hips, pushing his cock deep into my cunt,
but suddenly he reached up and grabbed my breasts, squeezed them almost hard
enough to hurt, and groaned. He was coming, I could feel the changes in his
cock, and suddenly I was coming too. The brilliant tide of orgasm rushed
through my trembling body and suddenly he stopped fucking me, shoved himself
into me one last time, then released his pleasure, his cock throbbing as it
pumped his come into my pulsing cunt.

We collapsed afterward, me falling forward onto the loveseat and Mr.
Valentine falling on top of me. We were sweaty and exhausted, both of us
surprised by the intensity of our experience. He was breathing hard in my
ear, and I was having a little trouble catching my breath as well. He was
still holding my breasts in his hands, idly fondling them as he kissed my
shoulder, and I decided I liked that.

"Well?" I asked. "Did I get the job, Mr. Valentine?"

I figured it was a rhetorical question by this time, but I had to ask anyway.

"Call me Henry," he replied. "And yes, Lizzie, I think you're going to work
out just fine here."

Woo hoo!

About twenty minutes later we got dressed, then Henry had me fill out the
paperwork he would need to hire me. After that he told me to report to work
the next afternoon, as soon as I could after school, then he kissed me and
hugged me. I walked out of the bookstore feeling like I was walking on a
cloud. It didn't matter that I was a whore now, giving up my cute little
booty for monetary gain; I was a brand new city girl, on my way to a
wonderful future that would, before too long, not involve my dad's cock. I
couldn't wait to hook up with Miranda and Gordo and tell them the amazing
news.

THE END

    

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