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Lizzie McGuire And Her Dad Part 3: The Things We Do For Love
(ff,Mf,inc,oral,cons,ncon)
by Ambush Bug ([email protected])

Everything was finally going well. Or at least better. I'd been working at
the bookstore for a month now, I was doing a good job, and Henry and I had
actually worked out to be something of a couple. We were still boss and
employee, of course, and the arrangements we'd made were still in place, I
was still letting him fuck me (and giving him blowjobs) as a condition of
my continued employment, but we'd also started to do other things, like
going for dinner after work and renting videos and watching them at his
place. Henry was becoming something like a boyfriend, and I liked this
development. I liked him, and decided that it was kind of cool to have a
boyfriend (or an almost boyfriend) who was so much older. It made me feel
all cosmo.

My dad wasn't real happy about me working, but since I was only working four
hours a day (3pm to 7pm) on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and six hours on
Saturday (10am to 4pm), and since my grades weren't dropping even a little
bit, there wasn't much he could say about it. He was still fucking me, of
course (he was up to number 82 now, I was still keeping track), and I'd
noticed that the things he was saying to me in the middle of the act were
getting kind of meaner; a lot of times, instead of pretending to be sweet
and romantic and calling me darling and pumpkin he was calling me names like
bitch and slut. I wondered if he suspected anything about me and Henry, but
I figured he coudn't do anything about that, either. If he did, I'd just rat
him out and he'd go to jail. I still didn't want that to happen, was deathly
afraid of ruining my family, but he didn't know that. I knew that Henry could
go to jail too, for having sex with a minor, and if my dad turned him in then
I wouldn't hesitate to turn him in too. Well, I probably wouldn't.

Of course, I had to tell Miranda about my pseudoboyfriend. There was no way
I could keep it from her, and I didn't really want to anyway. She was my
best friend, she deserved to know. So I got her alone in my room on one of my
nights off and I confessed to her that Henry and I had something more than
just a work relationship going on. I didn't expect her to take it well, and
she didn't disappoint me.

"But Lizzie," she said, "he's thirty eight! He's the same age as your dad,
for crying out loud! Don't you know how sick that is?"

No, I thought, a fifteen year old girl doing it with a thirty eight year old
man is not really that sick, especially when you compare it to a fifteen year
old girl doing it with her thirty eight year old father. But I didn't say
that.

I was laying on my bed and Miranda was sitting crosslegged down by my feet.
It was almost nine o'clock, almost time for Miranda to go home, and I was
sorry now that I'd waited to tell her; we had a lot to talk about and there
wasn't going to be enough time.

"But Miranda," I said, "I like him, and he's kind and gentle. He's not like
any guy I've ever met before. He makes me feel good about myself. His age
doesn't matter to me."

"Are you doing it with him?" Miranda asked. Her voice was low and her eyes
were focused on her hands clapsed together in her lap. I figured she already
knew the answer to that question but needed to hear me say it.

"Yes," I said. I had some arguments in my head but none of them came out; the
look on Miranda's face told me there was nothing I'd be able to say to smooth
it over. She wasn't shocked or angry or grossed out anymore, she was sad, so
sad that it hurt to look at her. I realized right at that moment that I was
breaking her heart. "I'm not in love with him or anything," I said, but I
knew before I said it that it wouldn't make things any better.

A tear fell from Miranda's eye, dribbled down her cheek, and she absently
wiped it away.

"Lizzie, I love you," she said, her voice wavering.

"I know," I said, surprising myself with my own nearly crying voice.

"But you don't know how much."

"Yes, I do, Miranda. I think I've known for a while now how much you love me.
And...." And what? I loved her too, but not that way.

"First you start doing it with Gordo," she said, "and now this. I just don't
understand why you want these guys. Why you wanna do it with people you don't
love. I can't understand why you treat me like this." More tears were rolling
down her face now.

I wasn't surprised that she knew about Gordo; he was a great guy but he was,
after all, a guy, and couldn't resist the temptation to brag. Not to her, of
course, but the word obviously got back to her. I felt guilty now, not just
for the crazy elements of my sex life, but because I'd been caught deceiving
her. She was right, I was treating her badly, and she was my best friend, my
sweetie pie, she didn't deserve that. I tried to think of a way to make it up
to her but nothing came to mind.

Miranda sniffed, wiped more tears away, then asked me, "You're really not in
love with him, Lizzie?"

"No," I said right away. "It's just...an arrangement. And I don't love Gordo,
either, but I think you already knew that."

"Then why? Why do you go with these guys? Why do you let them do those things
with you? Is it just for the sex?"

The tone of Miranda's voice made it clear that a yes would leave her
completely dumbfounded. But I couldn't tell her the truth. I loved her and
trusted her, she knew more of my secrets than anybody else in the world, but
I couldn't trust her with this one. And it wasn't because I thought she'd
tell; it was because I was afraid she would stop loving me, and I couldn't
stand the thought of losing her.

"Not really for the sex," I said, wondering what I was going to say next.
"It's....I don't know, Miranda. I guess I'm just...." A slut. "....lonely."

"I can understand that," Miranda said. She had her eyes cast downward and I
realized that she was looking at my boobs. Without thinking I kinda pushed
them out a little bit. "I get lonely too. But I don't even think about it
with guys. Tell you the truth, Lizzie, I....don't like guys very much. You
know what I mean?"

"Yes," I said. Of course I did. How could I not know?

Miranda met my eyes with hers. They were large and dark and still glistening
from her recent tears.

"Do you ever think about being with me?" she asked.

I'd been expecting that question, but now that it was here I was scared, and
a little frustrated with myself; I still didn't want to hurt her feelings,
but it seemed that hurting her was the only thing I was able to accomplish
lately.

"No, I don't," I said. "I'm sorry. I've never thought about any girl that
way."

"You've never even thought about it?"

"Well, okay, I've had some sex fantasies. But I've never actually considered
being with a girl. I'm just not made that way, Miranda."

Miranda didn't reply and I didn't know what else to say. Then she reached out
and timidly touched my leg, just above my knee.

"Lizzie," she said, "if we were to, you know, try something? Would that ruin
us? Would you stop being my friend?"

What? Was she afraid I'd stop being her friend? How could she ever be afraid
of that? Nothing could ever make me stop being her friend. She could shoot me
and I'd still be inviting her for sleepovers. But what would happen if I told
her that?

"You know I'd do anything for you," I said. "Even....be with you. But
Miranda, do you really want to? I mean, don't you want someone who can love
you the same way?" Don't you want someone who isn't gonna helplessly smash
your heart into tiny bits?

"I want you, Lizzie. I don't want anybody else." Her hand moved slowly up my
leg, stopped just short of touching my cunt. I was wearing jeans instead of a
skirt or dress, but I couldn't figure out if I was glad about that or not.
She was still staring at me, her eyes trying to fall into mine. "Is it okay?"
she asked.

I closed my eyes and nodded. Miranda crawled forward, laid down on top of me.
I automatically opened my legs and she settled herself between them. Her face
was now directly above mine, and her big dark eyes were right there, still
penetrating deep into me. I had to admit I loved her eyes, the way she looked
at me. There was something profound there, something primal that I didn't
think I could even begin to understand, but whatever it was it validated me
in a way. I was real to her.

She kept her eyes open as she brought her lips down onto mine. She kissed me
tenderly, bringing her hands up and touching my face. I found myself touching
her too, caressing her shoulders and back. I could feel her bra underneath
her shirt and for some reason I kinda liked that little discovery. Always in
my fantasies about girls, when I had them, which was rare, I was totally into
it, but in reality I always figured I wouldn't like it. But now all of a
sudden I was having to reconsider that assumption. I still didn't know if
being with a girl was something I wanted, but it was different, at least.
Besides, this was Miranda, my lifelong friend; nobody deserved this more than
she did.

God, the things we do for love.

Her breathing intensified a little and she murmured as she pressed her mouth
harder against mine. Our lips parted and Miranda slipped her tongue into my
mouth as her fingers moved down my neck and over my boobs. She fondled and
squeezed them and I was impressed with how different that was too; her hands
were so soft, her touch so gentle and loving. Not like a guy at all. I
realized I was getting excited. I continued to caress her back as she
struggled between us to pull my teeshirt up, exposing my boobs. She took one
in each hand, cupped them tenderly, and kissed them.

"Oh wow, Lizzie," she said, "you are so beautiful." Then she took one nipple
in her mouth and sucked on it, and I felt a flush of heat and desire shoot
through me. This was okay. This was not terrible. I caressed Miranda's hair,
ran my fingers through it. Miranda alternated from one nipple to the other,
licking and sucking, kissing my boobs. She was moving her hips too, rubbing
herself against me, and I suddenly felt like our clothes were in the way. I
still wasn't sure if I wanted what was happening, even after all of this,
but I figured being naked coudn't hurt; at least Miranda would be getting
what she needed.

The same thing was apparently on her mind, because she suddenly pushed
herself up to a sitting position and pulled off her teeshirt. Her bra was
black and lacey, very sexy, and I wished I had one of those. She kept her
eyes glued to mine as she unfastened it and pulled it off, revealing her
small mochacolored boobs. Her nipples were tiny but hard, and as dark as
her hair. My hands were now resting on my stomach and she took them in hers,
guided them toward her. I touched her ribs first, then slowly slid my hands
up onto her boobs. They were soft and yet firm, her nipples like two sweet
little pebbles. Just like mine.

Miranda lay back down on top of me, but she kept herself propped up on her
elbows and moved up a little bit, pushing her cunt against mine and bringing
her boobs right above my face. She touched one of her boobs against my lips
and I opened my mouth, took her nipple in. I nibbled on it, flicked it with
my tongue as I caressed her bare back, and Miranda gasped and moaned a
little. She started rubbing her crotch against mine again and I recalled my
favorite lesbian fantasy; it was a lot like this, except we were both
completely naked and she was rubbing her hand down there, masturbating me.
I played that fantasy in my mind as I continued to suck on Miranda's boobs,
alternating from one to the other like she'd done with me, and, since this
was all happening for her, I decided to do a little more. I unbuttoned her
jeans, pulled the zipper down, and stuck my hand down her pants.

Miranda gasped again, said my name as my hand slipped down inside her
panties. I found her pubic hair, then her cunt, all warm and wet. I rubbed my
fingers over her lips and kept sucking her nipples, and Miranda began moving
her hips faster, rubbing herself against my fingers, in tandem with them. Her
gasps became heavy breathing and her moans grew longer and louder, and I was
surprised to find myself getting even more excited, the heat and desire
inside of me growing along with my friend's passion. She pushed against me,
trapping my hand between us and bringing pressure against my cunt, so that I
wasn't just masturbating her, I was masturbating both of us. I liked this,
and increased the speed of my movements. Miranda was almost bouncing on top
of me now, and I couldn't keep her boobs in my mouth, but I figured that
didn't matter anymore. We were both centered on what was happening down
below, on the approaching explosion of pleasure, and suddenly it arrived. I
felt it bursting inside of me, washing through me, and moaned as Miranda
cried out. We shuddered together as our orgasms spilled through us like one
huge amazing wave, crashing on the shared shores of our bodies.

Afterward, we just laid there together, breathing hard and holding each
other, Miranda snuggling my neck and giving me little kisses. I caressed her
back and wondered what we were going to do now. Wondering if this was going
to change our relationship. It had to; there was no way we could go back to
being what we were before, there was this sex thing between us now. I still
didn't think it would break us up, but at the same time I had no idea where
it would take us.

"It's okay, Lizzie," Miranda whispered into my neck, "we don't have to do any
more than this." She must have been reading my mind. "Just being with you was
enough for me. It's what I've wanted all this time, and now that I've gotten
it, I don't need any more."

Good news, but I didn't entirely believe it. After all, I was laying on my
bed with my best friend, both of us topless and still sweating from having
masturbated each other to orgasm. Proof that the only predictable part of
love was that it was so unpredictable.

"Let's not worry about it," I said. I kissed her cheek, then hugged her a
little bit.

I knew it was already past time for her to go home, but I didn't want to just
kick her out, so I let her have a little time to enjoy the afterglow. We laid
together for another ten minutes or so, then I tapped her on the shoulder.

"What?" she asked.

I opened my mouth to tell her that it was getting late and maybe she should
think about heading home when my bedroom door opened and my dad came in.

We both screamed at the same time and kind of pushed away from each other. I
pulled my blanket up to cover myself and Miranda grabbed madly for her shirt
and held it over her boobs. Pathetic attempts at modesty, especially when you
consider the fact that being caught naked wasn't the biggest problem here;
being caught naked together was. By my dad. I was humiliated, of course, but
I felt violated too; wasn't skulking into my room at night and raping me
enough for him?

"Dad!" I shouted, "don't you ever fucking knock?!? What the fuck is wrong
with you? Why can't you just leave me alone!" I screamed the last word,
feeling out of control. I picked up my lamp by the base and prepared to
throw it at him, but Miranda suddenly lunged across me and grabbed my arm,
letting her shirt fall onto my lap.

"Lizzie, don't!" she shouted. At the same time my dad backed into the hallway
and shut the door.

"But he won't leave me alone!" I shouted, and suddenly I was crying.

I dropped the lamp, but Miranda had a hold of it by now and settled it back
onto my nightstand. I fell back on my bed and wept, holding my hands over my
face, and my best friend held me and whispered to me that it was going to be
okay, everything was going to be okay.

She left to go home around ten o'clock, an hour late and sure to get in
trouble with her folks. I worried about her, waited for her phone call to let
me know she's made it home okay, and worried too about my dad. I had no idea
how he would respond to what he'd seen, but I knew there would be some kind
of response. I was his property, and Miranda had been caught trying to steal
it from him.

I thought about calling Henry, asking him if I could come over and hide out
at his place, but decided not to; that wouldn't make Miranda any safer. I had
to deal with Dad myself, at least find out what he intended to do.

I didn't have to wait too long.

Miranda called just after eleven o'clock, told me she was fine. "Grounded
until Monday, but fine otherwise." She couldn't talk any longer and hung up
with just a short sad sounding goodbye. I hung up too and a moment later my
bedroom door opened again.

Dad came in, wearing just his pajama bottoms as usual, and shut the door
behind him. He didn't say anything, just drilled me with his eyes as he
approached my bed. I looked back at him, trying to silently communicate
the sense of angry defiance I felt, but I had no idea if that was what he
saw. It didn't matter, anyway; my dad didn't care about what he saw, he
only cared about what he wanted.

He stopped by the side of my bed and motioned for me to come toward him.
Like a spineless lamb I scooted over to the edge of my bed and sat in front
of him. Dad reached into his peejay bottoms and took out his cock, held onto
it as he touched the back of my head. I leaned forward and opened my mouth
and he put it in. He held my head as he moved in and out of my mouth, orally
fucking me. It took a couple of minutes, a long quiet interval of time
punctuated only by the sound of his increasingly sharp breath, then finally
he came, his warm milky sperm flowing over my tongue and down my throat.

Normally, when he was done, he just put his cock away and walked out, went
back to bed, but he didn't this time. Instead he just stood there, his cock
growing half soft in my mouth, and spoke to me in a low and ominously
intimate voice.

"I have to admit, Lizzie," he said, "that I'm not really surprised. I've
always thought your friend was a bit queer. What does surprise me is that
you seem to be heading in the same direction. That's okay, though, I don't
mind. You can suck your little sweetie pie's titties if you want. Hell, I
won't even ask you to share."

Now he did take his cock out, stuck it inside his pajama bottoms, and sat
down next to me. He put his arm around my shoulders, hugged me to him, and
kissed my forehead. I started to cry, not big sobs but just a weak murmuring
with silent tears falling down my cheeks.

"I know you don't think so," he said, "but I love you, Lizzie. You're my
little girl, my very special little girl. That's why I want things to be so
special between us. And if you want your little lesbian relationship with
your friend, then I'm not going to stop you. Just be sure that she doesn't
know anything about what we do. After all, that would hurt her feelings,
wouldn't it?"

Then he kissed me again, his lips smearing the tears on my face, and got up
from the bed. He left my room without another word, and I crawled under my
covers, turned out the light, and shut my eyes. I didn't sleep, though. For
the rest of the night I just lay there, thinking about Miranda and what we'd
done, and about my dad and what he'd said. He was right, of course; Miranda
couldn't ever know about my strange twisted relationship with him. That was
more of a threat to our friendship than anything else, and I couldn't live
without her. She was my best friend and I loved her too much.

    

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