To say that Amanda was pretty would be an understatement.

She was gorgeous. Absolutely perfect. Long, blonde hair - one of the most striking features of her mother had been her long blonde hair - bright blue eyes, and a dazzling smile. Her features had attracted agents and talent scouts from a very early age, and soon enough she was making quite a bit of money modeling. She was already a veteran of the business, knowing when an agent or photographer was trying to get her to work for less than she was worth -and not afraid to tell them so.

Because she'd been told, over and over, how beautiful, pretty, gorgeous, etc, she was for so long, she acquired a very healthy sense of self-esteem. She was hot and she knew it. She was not clandestine in her confidence either. The girl was a flat-out bitch sometimes, mainly when she didn't get her way. Had she had more time to acclimate herself to her lack of insecurity, she may have been more dignified in her confidence, but as it were, she was only eleven, and still very much a child. Only two things truly mattered to Amanda: She was pretty, and that meant she deserved to have whatever she wanted.

This particular day, I was picking her up from a photo shoot. It was going to be used as the image on the cover of a box for a "princess tent," (whatever that was.) Arrangements had been made for her to go to the shoot directly after school, and I was to pick her up when I got out of work. School for her was becoming increasingly back-burnered for shoots like these, and on more than one occasion she'd been excused from it for the entire day because the photographer wanted noontime light, or some nonsense. I tried to make her understand the importance of her education, but -well, have you ever tried to explain something like that to an eleven year old? Sometimes I felt as if I were less of a father to her and more of a chauffeur. Her mother's death early in Amanda's life had only exacerbated the issue; SHE was now the woman of the house, and felt she should be treated as such.

I arrived at the studio around 5:30PM, as per usual. This timing often worked out so that Amanda would be just finishing up as I got there, which was the case today. Tony saw me and immediately came over, extending his hand.

Tony was a little malignant hobbit of a man. Barely five feet tall, he dressed in ratty, stained sweatpants and a threadbare t-shirt. I'd often wondered if he simply wore the same clothes everyday or if he had a closet full of the same clothes. In our conversations, I'd learned that he was into LARPing, you know, where people dress up and act out scenes from fantasy books. Amanda and I had joked that he probably played an evil witch, and he wouldn't have to wear a mask.

For all his physical repulsiveness, Tony was a damn good photographer. As to any inclinations that he may be acting inappropriately toward my daughter, he'd been up front that it wouldn't have crossed his mind. He was gay, and claimed to have a boyfriend - although I found it implausible that any person would want to spend more time with him than was absolutely necessary. Either way, he was the best in the business, and Amanda had grown quite comfortable with him.

"Hey Jim," he said, shaking my hand.

"Hi Tony," I said.

"I'm sorry, I tried to reach you, but I just got here myself."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"My noon shoot ran long, and I was afraid I was going to have to cancel on Amanda. Luckily, I was able to find someone else to do the shoot. I wanted to talk to you beforehand, to make sure it was okay with you."

"Who is it?" I felt a small pang of fear, thinking that Amanda had spent the last three hours being photographed by someone I didn't know. But Tony was a professional above all else, and if he vouched for the man, that meant he was probably okay.

"His name is Carmine, I've worked with him a number of times before. He was free and agreed to do the shoot. His stuff isn't, well, it's not Tony-quality, but I think you'll be pleased."

"Daddy!"

Amanda came running, apparently having just seen that I'd arrived.

I was speechless when I saw her. Now, don't get me wrong, I know Amanda is attractive - as I've spent the better part of this story explaining - but I was simply blown away by her at that moment. She was dressed in a light pink princess dress, the type that little girls will wear for Halloween. Underneath, she wore a pair of white tights which stopped mid-calf. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, with two light wisps falling behind her ears, and she wore a little tiara on her head. On her feet were what looked like pink and white ballet flats, without the flattened toes.

She was absolutely stunning.

She put her arms around me and hugged me tightly.

"Daddy," she said, "Mr. Carmine did my pictures today. I think we did a good job!"

"That's great, princess," I said. I tried to kiss the top of her head, but was thwarted by the tiara.

"That's one special kid you've got there." A man was approaching from where Amanda had come from. Carmine, I figured. He put his hand out, and I took it. "I'm Carmine," he said, smiling.

"Jim," I said. "Thanks for filling in today, Tony just told me."

"My pleasure," he said.

Tony cut in. "We all set here, Carmine?"

"Yeah, we should be. I've got everything I need." Then, to Amanda, "You did a very good job, today, young lady."

She flashed that million watt smile at him. "Thanks Mr. Carmine!"

"Amanda," I said, "why don't you go get changed, and we'll take off."

She nodded, and ran off into the back room.

The three of us stood in an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Carmine spoke.

"Look, Jim, I'll just get this out there, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable at all with today."

"Not at all," I said. I was only half telling the truth, however. Even with Tony's recommendation, something was off-putting about Carmine. The way he had spoken to Amanda made me think they were sharing some inside knowledge, keeping a secret from me. I quickly pushed it out of my mind, however. If there was one thing Amanda wasn't, it was a liar. She would have told me if something inappropriate had happened.

"You want to see what we have?" Carmine asked.

I looked at my watch. Ten to six.

"Nah," I said. "I'm sure I'll get to look them over tomorrow when I pick her up. We need to get going."

Just then, Amanda came bounding back in. She had replaced the ballet flats with bright white sneakers, and was no longer wearing the tights. Everything else, the tiara, the pink dress, the ponytail, were all still in place.

"Sweetie," I said to her, "don't you want to change out of the dress?"

"No, daddy, I like it, I want to wear it home."

I nodded, knowing it was pointless to argue with her. If she wanted to wear the dress home, she was going to wear the dress home. I shook Tony's and Carmine's hands, thanked Carmine once again for filling in, and Amanda and I left.

In the car, I could see why she had been wearing the tights. The dress was made of some strange fabric that caused it to bunch more than a normal dress. It made sense; it wasn't made to be worn for normal, everyday activities. When Amanda climbed into the car and sat, the dress pulled up, let's just say "dangerously" high. Her photo shoot probably required her to crouch and bend down, making the tights necessary. Now, however, in the car, the hem of the dress was resting across the middle of her thighs. I suddenly wondered if she were wearing anything underneath, if little girls typically wore panties under tights like the ones she'd had on.

Amanda had reclined the seat and was resting with her eyes closed. She put her arms up behind her head, making the dress ride up even more. If she were wearing panties, they'd be less than two inches from being exposed. If she weren't...

"Daddy," Amanda said, surprising me.

"Yes, sweetie."

"Mr. Carmine said something weird today." She was still reclining, still with her arms behind her head, but she had turned to look at me.

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'You're going to make some man very happy one day.' What does that mean?"

I looked at her, and couldn't help but agree with Carmine. She was going to make some lucky guy extremely happy. "It's a nice way of saying that you're very pretty," I said.

"But what man is he talking about?" she asked.

"He wasn't taking about anyone in particular. He was just saying that the guy you marry is going to be a lucky man to have a wife as pretty as you."

"Oh," she said. She sounded disappointed. "I thought it meant something different."

"What did you think it meant?"

She was openly frowning. "Nothing, just not that." She tugged at the hem of her dress, pulling it back down to the middle of her thighs. "Maybe I shouldn't have worn this dress home," she said.

We walked into the house, and I immediately plopped myself down on the couch, happy to finally be home. Amanda and I had ridden the rest of the way in silence, with her giving me no more almost-panty peeks, although the dress had remained in its perpetual "dangerous" state. I closed my eyes, resting my head on the top of the couch cushion.

"Daddy?" Amanda asked.

"Mmm?" I responded without opening my eyes.

"Do you think this dress is pretty?"

I opened my eyes. Amanda was standing directly in front of me, her hands at her side, one leg slightly behind the other. She was the absolute vision of perfection.

"Yes, sweetie, you look very pretty in that dress."

"Then why didn't you like it in the car?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"When I let it slide up, you didn't seem like you liked it."

I gulped. She had been teasing me in the car. "Well, that's not really true..." I didn't really know how to respond.

"I saw the way you looked at me when I you saw me at the studio, daddy," she said, as if she had caught me doing something bad. Which, in a sense, I had been.

"That's because you just looked so lovely, Amanda," I said.

She ran her hands down the front of the dress, smoothing it out. "Do I make you happy?"

"What do you mean, sweetie? Of course you make me happy."

"No, I mean, do I make you happy like the way Mr. Carmine was talking?"

A million thoughts ran through my mind, but those as a father took the forefront. Amanda was approaching that age where I would have to have the inevitable "sex" talk with her. It seemed unavoidable at this point.

"Look, sweetie, that's a very different kind of happy,"

"But I want to make you happy, daddy."

"You do, angel, but you're not supposed to make me happy in the way Mr. Carmine was talking about. That's for when you fall in love and get married. And for when you're older." Much older, I told myself.

"Like fucking?" she asked, perfectly innocently.

I was speechless. I stared at her, wide-eyed.

"I know what fucking is, daddy," she said. "I'm eleven years old, I'm not a little girl!"

The irony of those words notwithstanding, I was shocked to hear my little angel say she knew what fucking was.

"How did you hear about that?" I asked.

"I can read, silly," she said, like she was explaining some painfully obvious concept to someone of minimal intelligence. "It's when a guy takes his thing," she said, raising up the hem of her dress, "and puts it in here."

Turns out, she wasn't wearing panties.

I sat, literally unable to move. Right in front of me was the most beautiful little girl I'd ever seen, dressed in a light pink princess dress and white sneakers, showing me her bare pussy. I can't tell you how long I stared; time stopped at that moment.

"Daddy?" Amanda asked, snapping me from the haze. "Do you like my pussy?"

How did she know that word, I asked myself. It was pointless to ask her; she obviously knew more about sex than I had thought.

I swallowed. "Yes, sweetie. Yes, I like it very much."

She stood for a moment longer, letting me stare, before releasing the hem, letting it fall back to mid-thigh. She took a step toward me, standing now close enough so I could touch her. Sinking to her knees, she parted my legs a gentle push of her hands, and inched closer to me.

"Amanda..." I said. Part of me wanted to end this immediately before it went any further, but another part refused to let that happen. And that was the part that was in control of my body.

With her face a mere inches from the rapidly growing bulge in my pants, she looked up at me and said, "I'm going to suck your cock, daddy."

I'd given up being shocked at her seemingly endless knowledge of sex and instead focused my attention on pretending to try to stop her. It was a losing battle as she had already undone my belt and was working on the button to my jeans.

"Amanda, sweetie, this isn't right..."

"Why not, daddy?" She'd undone the button and was slowly, tantalizingly, lowering the zipper.

"Because....daddies and....daughters...aren't." Hurry up and get the zipper down, I thought, before I completely come to my senses.

She looked, wide-eyed, at the bulge in my now exposed boxers, then up at me. "It looks like I do make you happy," she said, smiling. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of my boxers, and gave them one sharp tug. My fully erect cock sprung out, hitting her on the chin as it flew upward. She giggled, and in that moment, it finally set in what was happening. I had a petite, beautiful eleven year old girl kneeling in front of me, ready to suck my cock. I knew I had passed the point of no return. Any resolve to stop this whole situation had melted away with that sweet, little-girl giggle.

She positioned herself so that my cock rested on her face, and looked past it up at me.

"Hehe, daddy, it's as long as my whole face!" she said, smiling. Slowly, her smile faded, and she took on what looked to be what she thought a "sexy" look would be. She kissed up the shaft of my cock, from the base all the way to the tip, looking into my eyes the whole time. Wrapping one lithe hand around the base, she positioned it so it pointed at her face.

"I told you I was going to suck your cock. I always get what I want." With that, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and lowered her head onto me.

The feeling of her soft, wet mouth nearly made me come right then. She swirled spit around my cock. It was as if she was wrapping me in velvet.

She went as far down on me as she could, then slowly pulled up and off of me. A thin trail of saliva followed her mouth, attached to her bottom lip. "I can't go very far down, daddy," she said, pouting. "Does it still feel okay?"

"It's more than okay, angel," I said, trailing the back of my fingers down her cheek. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into them slightly.

"I love you, daddy," she said.

"I love you too, sweetie." She was preparing to put her mouth back onto me, but I stopped her. "Hold on, let me stand up. Maybe it will be easier for you," I said. But in reality, I was thinking ahead. I wasn't sure how comfortable she'd be swallowing my come, so I decided to come on her instead. I wanted to get as much as I could on her. On her pretty face, her flat chest and stomach.

She backed up slightly, letting me stand. Her face was positioned directly in front of my cock.

"Why don't you take this off," I said, tugging at the shoulder of her dress.

"Okay," she said brightly. She crossed her arms and pulled up from the hem, the dress coming off in on fluid motion. Now she was sitting in front of me, completely naked apart from her sneakers and the tiara. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect target for my come.

Again, she took me in her mouth, this time, surprisingly, going further down. She was almost able to get half of it in her mouth. She paused, and looked up at me, her mouth stretched around my cock.

Then she started moving back and forth on it, slowly at first, but then picking up speed. The whole time, she never looked away from my eyes. She didn't even seem to blink. It was like she was born to suck cock.

I felt the telltale build up and knew I was going to come soon. Rather than warn her, I took her head in my hands so I could control her speed. Her eyes showed surprise when I did this, but she didn't protest or try to take her head off. She simply let me fuck her face.

It only took a few moments of fucking her face before I lost it. I pushed her head off of me. Her mouth made a wet *thup* as my cock came free, and a big wad of saliva came with it, landing on her thighs. My cock was still connected to her mouth via a slew of spit trails. I took it in my hand, slimy with her spit, and stroked myself. Once was all it took, and come erupted from the tip of my cock. I aimed the first blast at her beautiful face. It caught her directly on the lips and chin. Another blast landed slightly upward, across the bridge of her nose and trailing to her cheek. I pointed at her perfectly flat chest and unloaded the rest of my come all over it. Some of it slid down her flat stomach and ended up on her thighs.

I collapsed backward onto the couch, completely spent. Amanda hadn't moved since I pulled her face off of my cock. She was breathing heavily.

"Wow, daddy!" she said, at last. "I guess I make you REALLY happy!"

To be continued...