When we got home, Becka ran past her mother with her raincoat and books in-hand. She went straight for her bedroom, to "freshen up".  My wife ignored us, as usual, putting something in the oven. "You really ignore her a lot." I said to her. "How do I ignore her?" she asked, defensively. "She went right past you, and I bet you don't even know what she is wearing today." "I do too." She replied. "She's wearing the jeans I got her for Christmas." "No she's not." I stated. "She's wearing beige pants. Do you want to see?" "Yes, I do!" she said, and we walked into Becka's bedroom...as far as I was concerned, just at the right moment.
  Becka was lying back somewhat on her bed, taking her pants off. I got a perfect shot of her awesome white panties, her crotch aimed right at me and my wife as we entered the room. (They looked awesome on her, at least.) "I thought you were going to wear your jeans today." She half-heartedly said to Becka. Becka looked at her with hate as she popped some chartreuse lycra shorts on. "Why do you care what I wear?" she asked her, and then sat on the bed to brush her hair, which was still a little wet. "Because I'm your mother! " She bellowed. I sat behind Becka and asked her if she wanted me to brush. She nodded "Yes." This totally negated my wife's statement.., and even her presence, so she left in a huff.
  Even before she turned to leave, I was already becoming hard from sitting with my little princess, brushing her long, shiny, auburn hair. As soon as mom left, I waited five seconds and then buried my lips into little Becka's hair, going straight for the nape of her neck. God, she smelled good, with the fading scent of her strawberry shampoo and "little girly" sweet skin scent. I cleared some hair away and licked my warm father's tongue up the back of the right side of her neck, over and over again. If she had had her shirt off, I would have felt her nipples rising after placing my hand on her chest. I know my Becka really well. But I had to leave her bedroom, so that my wife would not get suspicious. I got up and so did Becka, to change her shirt after all the rain (and activity). We smiled to eachother and as I was almost to her door, she seductively called, "Donald..." at just the right lowered-volume.  I looked back and there she was, 4-years-old, thirty-six inches tall, with no shirt on, exposing her lovely breasts to me.  She even jutted her little hips at me a few times! I wiggled my tongue at her and left.  I had to sit in the living room a while to let my hard-on go down.
 My cock never did go flaccid, because all I could think about was getting Becka's vagina open enough for me to cum in it. I would only need to get inside her a couple of inches, I determined, and there was plenty of room in her already for that. I might  buffet her cervix with my cock's face, but some girls (and women) like that. Some don't. We'd have to find out whether my little angel did.  We had done well with the anal beads, and I'd say that she could comfortably fit about 3/8 of an inch width in her. We were going to try something different, though, as soon as I could get rid of mom. Hopefully, that would be tonight. I had met, online, a pedo woman who works with crystals and hypnosis. She told me about visualizations and "energy centers". She said that she could get Becka opened up, temporarily, if Becka co-operated with the visualizations.  Her stories were mind-blowing.
   When Becka sat down to dinner, I sat there with a stunned look as I watched her just-washed and dried hair.  I couldn't believe my wife had missed all the looks I had given my little girl in the past four months, but then again, she rarely looked at me. Becka started right in on her mother: "You can't tell me what to do anymore." My "wife" looked at her, aghast, and then looked at me. I continued to eat, not returning her glance. I looked at my food. "Oh, I can't?" queried the hole with legs Becka had come out of. This lady was soooo history, and she didn't even know it. She pressed her luck: "I'll give you a whipping, you little brat..." she said. Becka calmly replied, "I don't think so." Her "mom" got up, walked over to her daughter and grabbed hold of her pretty hair. I got up, grabbed my wife by the tit and punched her in the face as hard as I could. She courteously released Becka's precious hair as she was flying back, unconscious, toward the wall. I kissed Becka's head and asked her if she was all right. She bravely smiled to me through her pain.
  I walked to the china cabinet and turned the tiny digital video cam off. My wife's un-provoked attack on my darling daughter would now be admissable evidence in either a civil or criminal court. Becka and I had lain the bait and my wife had taken it. I would not press criminal charges if she afforded me sole custody and waived her visitation rights. Becka hurriedly took another sip of her apple juice and walked over to her mother lying unconscious and bleeding in a crumpled ball.., and kicked her twice; one in the stomach and one in the tits. I called the police. They arrived and Becka and I made a full report. We did not file a criminal complaint though.., not yet. By the time they had arrived, I had scraped the groaning bitch off the floor and slumped her into a seat. I also instructed her that she should not seek medical treatment and that f she did, I'd press charges. The police asked her if she wanted an ambulance, and she politely declined, holding a facecloth to her bloody lip.
  "Can we go to a hotel tonight daddy?" asked Becka. She looked like she was going to cry from all the aggravation and stress. "That's a wonderful idea, sweetheart.", I said, squatting in front of the four-year-old.
I helped her pack enough clothes for a few days at pre-school and just as many romantic evenings. I grabbed my "special" briefcase, the one with her crotchless, lace panties and silk and nylon babydolls, bikinis and nightgowns. On our way out, I lifted my devastated wife's chin with my curled hand and said, "I want a divorce and custody of Becka." When I let go, her head slumped down again. No response. I figured it was almost time for me to give my woman pedo hypnotist a call. She had been eager to meet Becka from the first time I chatted with her, two months ago. Becka wanted very much to meet her, too.