It's finally autumnal. It's the angle of the light. There's been a chill - that's not new; but it's the light this afternoon that's made the difference.
I came home early by two days. I called you two nights ago and you answered the phone warmly and sleepily and you sounded so happy to hear that I'd changed my flight and you said, "I'm so glad - I'll be waiting, Daddy." And now - I'll be waiting, Daddy - echoing in my head - now as I walk up the street the way I know you'll be coming home from class - I'll be waiting, Daddy - it's like slow fire in my veins against the cool air.
I missed you more than is reasonable for a gentleman to miss a young girl. Especially 'cause we'd only met a few months ago. You'd answered the ad I'd put on the board in the student center last spring - "room for rent, kitchen privileges, three blocks from campus." I had thought it would be good to have someone else around this big old house. Someone to keep an eye on things when I was gone. Someone who'd collect the mail.
I'd thought to hear someone's voice down the upstairs hall would do me good - in the apartment in the old servant's wing now vacant these last ten years. Someone young. Someone who wouldn't mind my nocturnal fits of writing at my piano or bumping around the kitchen downstairs in the wee hours.
You were the first to answer the ad and I liked you right away. Earnest, well spoken, quietly charming. You were at the end of your freshman year and staying on for the summer with a waitressing job down the hill. Could you move in right away? I said yes.
Now I see you in the distance and you see me. We walk faster and then slow. You stand inches from me - beaming. "I've been waiting for you, Daddy." You take my hand. We walk home together. It will be a very warm night.
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I can feel you trembling. Your hands are against the big tall old Victorian mirror in the front hall and my left hand is on the small of your back holding you gently in place - just off balance so you can't easily move. You took off your backpack when we stepped inside. I caught you off guard just right and pushed you softly but inexorably forward to where you are now suddenly but pleasantly at my whim.
You can see my face in the mirror over your shoulder. You can see the kindness in my eyes at the same time my expression lets you know that you will comply. You feel yourself give in. You know you will always give in.
My left hand works its way under your sweater - under your camisole until it's on your soft flesh and now my right hand works its way up the inside of your left thigh and under your pleated skirt until it finds your soft, warm mound. No panties. "Good girl," I tell you.
Your cunnie lips are hot and full and, as I part them with my fingers, very wet. "Very good girl," I tell you.
You moan softly as I begin to stroke your silky clitoris.
I push against your back just a littler harder and you lean further forward until the cool glass is against your right cheek. You are looking at me over your shoulder as you begin to rise in excitement. Your wetness is dripping down my fingers.
