Bend Me Daddy

SOPHIA

“I don’t understand why I still have to go to these boring events now

that I’m eighteen.”

My mom shoots me an angry look and pushes me back into the dressing room, handing me an armful of new dresses to try before shutting the door on my pouty face.

“Most young women would kill to be invited to the places you get to go for your dad’s work,” she shouts through the door as if there’s a foot of brick between us instead of a flimsy door that doesn’t even reach the ground.

I tune her complaining out and turn to the stack of evening gowns. I know I sound like a spoiled brat, but they’ve been dragging me to these damn functions since I was old enough to smile and keep my mouth shut. Having a dad in politics is not a fate I would wish on anyone. Everyone always watches everything you do, and you’re constantly surrounded by rich jackasses who can’t do anything except lie and look at you like they’re secretly undressing you in their minds. I always leave these ridiculous mansions feeling like I need a shower or a restraining order.

Looking at the dresses, I don’t even bother trying on several of them. They look like some old lady went crazy with the bedazzle gun. Not my style, Mom. I’m no longer twelve, and you can’t dress me like some damn little pageant girl. I stop when I get to the last one. It’s black and has cutouts on either side and a long slit up the leg. This is more like it, I think as I quickly strip and try it on. It hugs me like a second skin and makes me feel sexy as fuck. This is going to look amazing in a pair of black stilettos. I turn, noticing the way the back is mostly open, revealing a shit ton of skin and making my round ass look perfect. I know this is going to earn me a bunch of old-man, lecherous stares, but I love how the dress makes me feel, sophisticated and sexy and like a real adult. Besides, fuck them. Am I not supposed to dress how I want just because they’re a bunch of pervs?

I do another twirl in front of the mirror and smile. The fabric clings to my tits, making my rock-hard nipples painfully obvious. Maybe this function won’t be as bad as all the others after all. At least I’ll look good. I change back into my clothes and hand my mom the black gown when I step out.

“This is the one I want.”