"How was your trip?" Gerald Peters asked his daughter as he held the door for her while she maneuvered her rolling suitcase over the threshold. Once she was through, he leaned out and waved at the oversized pickup sitting at the curb. He thought there might have been a return wave, but he couldn't be sure through the tinted side window.
"Informative," Miranda answered tersely behind his back.
Miranda's personality could normally be described as bubbly. While not the sharpest knife in the rack, judging by her grades in school, she nevertheless had a normally-unfailing effervescence and enthusiasm that made her likable for other reasons than her intelligence. To hear her describe a trip in monosyllabic terms startled Gerald.
"Oh?" He said, trying to stay calm. It was perfectly possible that her mood had nothing to do with him.
"Ah," he began, reaching for an air of innocence he wasn't really feeling at the moment. "What did you ... learn?" He almost said 'find out', but that would have seemed to admit that there was some guilty secret lurking about, waiting to be discovered.
"That you haven't been completely truthful with me." Miranda parked her rolling case beside the coat-tree in the foyer. She sat her make-up bag beside it and turned to face her father. The movement made her long, loose skirt twirl around her legs, pulled by something long, thick and heavy underneath.
That 'something' was no secret to Gerald. He'd been present when it had manifested and had watched, stunned, while it grew to its current enormity and then demonstrated to everyone present that it was quite real and fully-functional. Despite this, as long as Miranda kept it hidden, he could pretend it wasn't there. A flimsy pretense that was frequently spoiled by his daughter's choice in clothes or a simple motion that called it to his attention.
Manfully, Gerald lifted his gaze and fixed it on his daughter's face. "How is that?" He asked, clinging to the fading hope that this might yet be a trivial matter that Miranda was blowing out of proportion.
"I was kidnapped by the man you used to work for."
"Did he hurt you?"
"Not ... really. But he used me pretty good."
Gerald's initial reaction to that news was the same as any father hearing it from his daughter. Except Gerald had to think twice about it, and then realize that he still didn't understand. And then again to get that she was being deliberately obtuse and perhaps even protective in not giving him the details right away.
He kept quiet as Miranda went on to say, "He told me you used to be his bookkeeper, but that you went to the police."
"They came to me, actually. It was an offer I couldn't refuse."
"So he's the Godfather? He didn't sound Sicilian."
"No, he's Bulgarian. I don't know his name. I've never heard him called anything but The Bulgarian. And he didn't make me the offer, the Federal people did. They said I could testify and they'd protect me or they would make it known that I'd been talking to them. Trust is a very fragile thing with people like him. He would have had to assume that I'd become a liability."
"Daddy, tell me this didn't have anything to do with Mom's death."
"No! Honey, that was just a horrible accident. One thing had nothing to do with the other.
"You told me we were hiding from some bad men. You led me to assume that they'd been hired by Gramma Louise. I figured out later that wasn't true."
"Well, it was convenient. I wanted a simple explanation that wouldn't give us away if you let anything slip, so I consolidated things. When Louise found out about what I'd been doing for a living she assumed that your mother's death was somehow connected to it. She wanted someone to blame and I was the obvious choice. With your mother gone, I didn't have the same motivation to stay in that job. A clean break sounded good. Especially if it got us away from Louise as well. The safest thing all around was for us to disappear."
"I knew most of that. But it was a shock to meet The Bulgarian."
"Does he know..."
"Where we live? Yes, he does."
Gerald turned to the door and leaned over to peek out the narrow window beside it.
"Don't worry," Miranda said, "He's not coming for you. This isn't about revenge. He said too much time has passed for that. No, he's using you as leverage on me."
"He wants something I have. He said as long as he gets it, he'll leave you alone."
"What could you have ... oh! Of course. But I thought that was only valuable if you did ... it personally."
"I thought so too. For legitimate breeders, it's very important. If I sire any winners, their stud fees could be worth more than the winner's purse of any race. But there is a Black Market for everything, and there the rules are different. In this case, it's people to whom winning is the most important thing. Not being able to register the horse will keep them out of the major races, but there are a lot of unsanctioned races and a lot of private bets on them by people who avoid publicity religiously. I imagine some of them may even be banned from legitimate racing anyway."
"And The Bulgarian is supplying these people with your ... seed?"
"That's right. A DNA test would prove what he has is the real thing. He can even show that he got it from me."
"How would he do that?"
"He has a video of the ... collection process. And before you tell me how shocking that is, remember, the magazine is selling videos of me demonstrating my ... virility. So this isn't even a new thing. Anyway, he shouldn't be coming around for a long time. He's got a gallon of the stuff to sell before he needs more."
"Did you say a 'gallon'?"
"Yes. Impressive, isn't it? I thought it was. And it didn't really take me all that long."
Gerald's stunned look was everything Miranda could have asked for in a reaction.
"OK, that wasn't my doing. He was in a hurry and he wanted to get every drop he could as quickly as he could. Afterward, I felt like I'd been completely drained, that I wouldn't need to cum again ... ever! That lasted about twenty-four hours. Then it was back to wrestling with regular boners and urgent needs. In fact, I better run on upstairs. We had slight turbulence most of the fight and the captain kept everyone in their seats the whole time. I can use a little relief about now."
Gerald dragged his daughter's luggage up the stairs for her. Miranda could manage stairs fairly well, but only if she allowed for the inertia of her ample appendage by counterbalancing its swing with a motion of her hips and the pair of hefty testicles bulging beneath her butt. The result was obscenely hypnotic, even with her genitals hidden under an ankle-length skirt. Anything that interfered with her rhythm risked making her trip, and that could be catastrophic if she landed wrong.
With Miranda up in her room, her huge member wrapped in a thirty-gallon black plastic trash-bag so she could safely unburden herself of yet another load of horsey-spunk, Gerald went back to his study to think about his situation.
"That bastard! How dare he take this out on my little girl!" Gerald muttered as he dropped into his chair, his knuckles turning white as he made his hands into fists.
"But then, she's not little any more. Nor is she technically a girl, something I can't seem to get my head around. I can tell when she needs to go jerk-off because she starts to talk like a man. After, she'll be all feminine and back to being herself again, but when her hormones are up, she sounds like a jock in a locker room. Talking about how much she'd cum! She was practically bragging!
"Where was I? Oh, right. I guess there's no magic about The Bulgarian finding us. He probably hangs out in just the sort of nasty places like that prick Richards has been sending her. It's no stretch of the imagination at all to picture him or an associate of his seeing her there and coming up with a way to exploit the poor girl. It must have been irresistible to him once he found out who she really was. He must think there's no way I can get back at him. Unfortunately, he's right. I can't risk telling the FBI about him because it would only put her ... us ... in more danger. And asking WitSec to move us again would be pointless since Miranda has become a celebrity, even if only in a small and mostly-closed circle. And a celebrity who can't just put on a pair of sunglasses and walk away from it. Damn! What a thing to be famous for! Having a horse's genitals between her legs! It's just so damn surreal! Of course, even I have to admit it's kind of hot too. There's just something primal about something that big and that male between the legs of a beautiful girl. I suppose that explains why some boys who declared themselves psychologically-female balked at going all the way through gender-reassignment. And why so many girls chose to have themselves turned into fake Futas at about the same time that the real ones were starting to come out of the closet. Popularity be damned! It's all unnatural and it's all terribly wrong! And to think I contributed to this. I donated my daughter to the cause!"
.... There is more of this story ...