Words. Evasive words.
Daddy had clearly told me what to do. I had my instructions but the cursed things just would not come. Jumping around my brain like tiny rabbits in a maze, hopping round the corner and out of sight before I could catch them. Naughty rabbits, I’m making a stew and I need you. A stew of words, a delicious feast of writing to be served for my Daddy as promised.
I can’t keep my promise if I can’t write and if I can’t keep my promise I’m not a good girl.
I stamp my foot with a pout. Not that you can hear it, the pile in the luxurious carpet underfoot muffles the sound. Still I peer carefully around the corner to determine if Daddy witnessed my miniature tantrum.
“Stay here. Get it done.” He’d told me before marching out of the room and onto the next task.
Daddy has outdone himself this time. Choosing a very fancy home indeed. Each room is decorated impeccably, attention to detail in fixtures and finishing. Their choices speak of the money to cater to their extravagant tastes, flocked wallpaper features walls with heavy velvet curtains and solid wood furniture with statement decorative pieces. Each room is adorned with a chandelier, lights twinkling in the high ceilings.
It suits them, a fancy house for fancy people. An overtly fancy house to make a statement about the fanciness of the people. They care about their appearance, the pearls she pairs with her velour sportswear and permanently fixed Botox expression are designed to keep her looking “young and fabulous daaarhling” her yummy mummy drawl in keeping with the company she keeps. Company that has become the audience for my creative writing skills.
Skills currently abandoning me. I blink back tears of frustration.
Daddy taught me how to write letters, how to carve them out perfectly. This is a whole new test. “Make it sounds like she wrote it.” Daddy insisted. I wonder if I can get her to talk a little, just for a minute, just for inspiration. I know I’m supposed to leave them alone because Daddy has a plan but it won’t hurt if it’s for a good reason. I need to, I persuade myself. I’ll be quick.
I tiptoe into the wide hallway lined with uniform doors; each with pristine white woodwork; each representing a new treasure trove to explore. I marvel at how many rooms they have for just four people. They must have many things. Daddy says love is more important than having things. Love and lessons.
I peek inside as I pass each one, the first an expansive bathroom, select hampers of beauty products on shiny glass shelves and a bathtub with feet. It looks like a catalogue. Then a child’s room filled with more toys than I’ve ever seen plus another separate room for even bigger toys, the electronic gizmos and gadgets that seem so popular. My eyes wide with wonder I resist being drawn in and focus on the job at hand. Daddy’s task.
The final large master bedroom is at the end of the hall, the woodwork marked with a single smear of blood. Tentatively I push the door, careful not to give away my position with an errant squeak. The brash décor, more ostentatious than the previous rooms, manages to offend my eyes despite being in a state of disarray. Flamboyantly decorated in garish clashing animal prints in a variety of colours, it overwhelms my senses.
Closing my eyes to get relief heightens my awareness of the aroma of the room.
Blood. Fresh and abundant.
The heavy drapes around the four poster bed have been partially ripped down. My clever Daddy has used them to secure these perpetrators of bad taste.
She’s secured to the foot of the bed, thick wads of material affixed around the frame in a complex pattern that weaves around her limbs, holding her secure, sat with her back against the wood, arms stretched out.
He sits on the chair in front of the dressing table, the mirror smashed, shiny shards liberally sprinkled over the mess of broken lotions and potions scattered across the top. Thick orange tinged make-up runs over the edge, staining the patterned carpet.
Daddy used the ropes for the man. The new ropes that we bought together the day we had cake in the little café in the hardware store and I was ever so clever at making up a story about why we were there. The nice worker man had given me a big smile when I said we were making a rope swing. He swung nicely from the rope we wrapped around his neck that night; I think he would have liked that.
Daddy won’t be pleased that the ropes are all stained with the man’s blood now. The front of his face is a mush, his nose shattered. He must have been rude to Daddy, that’s what he does when you don’t say please and thank you properly. Silly man, I learnt that one quickly, he should know better.
I’m still studying his face when he starts to make noises from behind the gag. “Shhh….” I implore him. “I don’t want Daddy to hear. Please.” He quickly shuts up at the mention of Daddy. Good. That means he learnt his lesson and will now be quiet. I silently thank Daddy for the progress he’s made so far.
I whisper loud enough for them both to hear. “I just need to ask her a little question… But I need you to both be quiet, OK? Because if you don’t Daddy will come back in and he’ll be mad. I just need to find out a teeny tiny little thing.” I creep over to her, close enough to place my fingers against her gag.
“Shhhh. OK?” I wait, hand poised, for her to nod, to confirm she’ll behave when I free her mouth.
“Now, if you were going on holiday for a really, really long time, what would you tell your friends? What would you say? Now just answer me quickly and then Daddy won’t have to come up and we won’t get in trouble. OK?”
She doesn’t nod. She just looks at me blankly. Stupid woman. It’s nice here and we don’t want nosey people coming to see so I need to know what to say to make them stay away.
“Would you say ummmm `I’m OK, I’m having a nice time and…’ ummm.”
Oh this is hard.
“What would you say?” I demand in a louder whisper, getting frustrated now.
She just shakes her head, tears springing up into her fearful eyes.
Again from behind me the man is making muffled sound. The material shoved into his mouth only permitting vowel sounds. I whip round and glare at him, “What?” I bark in hushed tones, pointing a finger at him with a warning.
He uses his head to beckon me, gesturing that I should come closer. I cautiously follow his directive; stealthy in my movements across the room. He nods furiously, even more so when I venture to pull the suffocating wedge of material out of his mouth.
He addresses his wife first, “Fucking stupid bitch, just answer her, tell them fucking anything. Do you want to die?” His words turn her tears into full blown sobs.
I growl low, warning them both to be quieter. Fuck, oh please don’t let Daddy hear me in here.
“We’d say we’re going away and probably say where and ummm… Fuck… I don’t know…. Talk about the weather. Is that what you want? Are you happy now? Just let us go, please…” His words are frantic, all annunciation lost because of his broken nose, smooshed beautifully across his face.
He’s quite attractive, despite being broken and covered in thick drying blood. Or maybe because of it. His suit is clearly expensive, and that’s the point. He’s taken care with his appearance too. His nails suggest manicure, his complexion clear, hair an even shade of grey. I suspect he visits a tanning bed, probably after the gym visits that keep his body so tight. The evidence hard under my hand as I run it over his stomach, feeling the muscles through his shirt.
He starts trying to talk again, far too loud for my liking and quickly muted by the gag I force back into his bloody maw. I catch my nails on his cheek, deep enough to draw blood, quickly slurped with an eager tongue.
Securing the material at the back of his head brings me close to his eyes, deep in there I see a flicker of something. Does he…? Does he think I’m attractive too? I find myself blushing automatically. Daddy says I’m pretty and I know how to seduce the boys but this is different. He’s a man, a family man, a married man, and he’s looking at me like that. He should look at me like he looks at his own daughters, not with the lustful wanting I see in his expression now.
I pull myself back to standing straight, inadvertently allowing the strap of my dress to fall. There. This time I know I saw it. The sinful look in his eyes that says he desires me. That’s what that look is, it must be, he can’t be scared of me. I’m just a little girl.
I test it further, allowing the other strap to fall. Daddy dressed me today; this dress is one of his favourites, and just enough to cover my panties: Daddy makes sure I’m decent in public.
The response is remarkable; he must be getting really turned on now because he looks almost panicked. That’s the usual reaction from the silly boys that Daddy has me practice my skills on, when I use them to learn how to please him. They like it, Daddy tells me, that’s why they stay so hard. That means they like me. They wouldn’t be hard unless they liked me. One day Daddy gave me the special blue medicines that they have too. It’s for their tummies Daddy said. It didn’t do anything to my tummy but I did love them extra hard that day. I broke one or two, but Daddy forgave me because I’m just his passionate girl.
Passion that I show the man now, dropping my dress to the floor and opening his fly, rolling my body up against his.
I quash down the disappointment that bites at me when I find he’s not hard. That’s OK. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t like me… does it? I feel the stirrings of the bad voices, the ones that Daddy has to quiet. They are fuelled by the annoyance of his stupid wife making noises behind me, thrashing at her restraints.
Hush. Stupid bitch.
I stride across the room and kick her square in the cunt. Pushing my face close to hers and warning her, in no uncertain terms, that she should “Shut up now, bitch!” It works, shocked into quiet she obeys. That’s better.
I turn my attention back to the man and his confusing soft response. Maybe it’s because he’s so old? I help him with my mouth. Sucking and using my strong tongue wrapping up and down his shaft. Slowly, it begins to work, very slowly. Maybe it’s because his wife is here? He’s afraid of getting in trouble. That she’ll be jealous because he wants me so much. Glancing up at him I see a struggle in his eyes, yes that’s it. He’s trying to be good to his wife so he doesn’t upset her.
“That’s lovely.” I say, reaching up and patting his cheek. He looks confused for a moment so I explain, “You don’t want to upset her, because Daddy says I’m beautiful and she’s all old. You’re just trying to be a good husband.” He doesn’t respond, I must have it completely correct but he doesn’t want to say so. I think he’s quite sweet really.
“It’s OK,” I reassure him. “I’ll make it OK. She won’t be upset if she can’t see. I only need her mouth anyway. I’ll make it ok shall I?” I plant a big kiss on the outside of his gag. He really is quite lovely. I’m glad I came to see them now, although I’ll need to be quick. Daddy’s task nags at me.
I select two of the larger shards of broken mirror from the catastrophe of a dressing table. They slide easily into her eyeballs, straight through the closed lids. The sockets explode in a fountain of blood drenched pus.
The gratitude in his eyes confirms that was the best thing to do. I smile at him, “Now we can have our fun. Shhhh…” I hold a finger to my lips, I can be a quiet girl. She’ll never hear anyway over the racket she’s making. I wonder if another swift kick to the cunt would quiet her, it’s accompanied by that worry of alerting Daddy.
Both the unwelcome thoughts pale into insignificance when I look into his eyes and read the unrelenting desire. He wants me. I take his cock deep into my mouth, pulling on it with my lips, using my tongue and my hands. My enthusiasm increases as I feel the stir of stiffening under my tongue, soon I am making a sloppy mess, drooling down around his balls. All good lubricant for the fingers I force into his tight hole. I push against the magic spot, the one Daddy taught me.
It works. He is gloriously hard. Gloriously obviously yearning for me.
I give him what he wants, climbing on top of him and pushing him inside. My girl parts already wet from having my mouth full with his engorged cock. It feels even better inside of me.
I ride the man the way Daddy likes. Feeling my girl parts respond, the waves of pleasure that build and pulse around his cock. I stroke his face and his grey hair. He’s so different to Daddy. He has his eyes squeezed closed now; he must be so overwhelmed with how good this feels. I must be a fantasy come true for him. That thought spurs me on, pumping my hips with force. I take him. I take all the pleasure his hardness has to give and I cum, pulsing around him.
The sweet release comes with a revelation. Orgasm is a blinding hit, the impact felt in my entire body. In the quiet moments that follow as I feel my heart pounding in my chest I realise the words I need. “Thank you,” I whisper in breathless pants. “Thank you, thank you.”
I slip off of him, delighting that his cock still remains standing to attention. Ready to take again. “I’ll come back,” I promise him. Slipping out of the room and back to the waiting computer, back to the his now visually challenged wife’s message to the world, easy when given such powerful inspiration.
“Dear friends,” I wrote on her behalf. “I need some work done to my eyes. I won’t be able to see anyone for some time. Please respect my need for time to recover. Hope to see you all again soon.” Perfect and also entirely true.
Daddy will be proud.