We Dance
You are warm and sleepy and content. You are lying on your side facing me, your nose tucked under my jaw in my big old canopy bed in my big old bedroom in this big old Victorian house on the hill. You can feel my rib cage slowly expanding and contracting against you – I'm dozing. You smile and nuzzle my neck. I stir and kiss your forehead. The feather comforter and blankets weigh perfectly – the linen sheets embrace your naked legs.
You can smell our commingled sweat and the ripe fragrance of our love-making. You can still taste the flavor of my mouth and your own juices from my lips – and of my cock – musky, salty, clean. My white cotton shirt is unbuttoned but still over my shoulders. Your adorable white cotton dress is disheveled and pulled up around your waist. My arm is draped over your waist and, our fingers are still woven together, your arm is bent behind you. Your pussy is wet and leaking the result of the three times I pumped my seed into your recently opened cunnie. Your inner legs are sticky. It's marvelous.
You can feel the red velvet ribbons around your wrists. They are tying us together – your left wrist and my right – your right wrist and my left. You nuzzle me again smile and whisper "I love you." I squeeze your left hand gently. "I love you too, darling."
It was a cool November day and you couldn't help but be excited on your way home from physics class this late afternoon. In your Icelandic sweater and blue jeans and with your laptop and books in your backpack, you hurried across from the campus and up the hill where my house stands. You shuffled through the leaves and laughed at the squirrels gathering chestnuts. You skipped through the gate and around to the back door where you let yourself in. You ran up the back stairs to your room in what was once the servants' quarters.
Friday night. We had a date planned although you didn't know the particulars. You did know that we had agreed on special clothes for both of us and yours were laid out on your bed: white lace panties and a white lace bra – a beautiful simple white dress that had buttons from the waist-band to the neck. You stripped off your school-clothes, showered, and put on your panties and bra. Then you sat at your dressing table in front of the mirror taking your time – the slightest bit of makeup – subtle lipstick. You wanted to look natural tonight.
You brushed out your dark, curly long hair. You coaxed it into ringlets at your ears. You smiled at yourself in the mirror. A ravishing young beauty smiled back at you. Her dark skin and soft chocolate brown eyes twinkled. The white filigree of her bra lay in alluring contrast against her skin. Her nipples were erect.
You opened your mouth – the beauty opened her mouth – and you wondered at the transformation from girl to young woman. You thought maybe it was just your state of mind – but maybe, too, it was a new skin you occupied – no longer a virgin – having given your girlhood to me – having taken my cock into your pussy for the first time seven nights ago.
You slipped the dress over your head and fastened the buttons almost all the way, but left your neck exposed. You ran out your door barefoot, around the corner into the main house, down the long hall with its dozen heavy doors and stopped before the large mirror at the end.
You saw yourself again full length and framed by the hallway behind you with its fifteen foot ceiling; doors eight feel high, huge gold framed portraits on its walls. You mused about who those people could be – my relatives, perhaps, from long ago.
In the dimming early evening light you saw your lovely white dress extending just below your knees. You saw yourself differently now. You saw yourself as beautiful. You felt strangely at home in this big house on the hill. You had a strange thought – that you wanted a portrait of you to be hung in the hall or maybe in my bedroom or maybe over the mantle in the great living room so your image could keep me company when you're in class and look down over my shoulder when I work at my piano.
Then it occurred to you that perhaps a girl would be looking at your portrait a hundred years from now. You smiled. Yes – it would be so.
You turned and slowly opened the door to my bedroom. It was candle-lit. A fire was burning on the grate. I was standing in front of my mirror tying my bow-tie. I turned and smiled and held out my arms. You smiled and laughed and took two running steps toward me. But stopping, you turned around slowly to show me your dress then came to my arms.
I gathered your small body to me and took your breath away with my kiss. I wanted you weak in the knees. You wobbled a bit. I knew I'd had the desired effect.
I grabbed your hand and led you out of my room just around the corner, through a door that opened from the paneling – down narrow stairs like a secret passage – and out into the hallway downstairs. Then we passed through another tall, heavy door. Here was a large room also candle-lit with the fireplace burning, but on the three outside walls all around, except for where the fireplace stood in the center, were huge windows above French doors. And the room was empty except for a few high-backed easy chairs and a piano that seemed small in the context of the room's unusual scale.
You looked about as we crossed to the small table next to the fireplace. The room was at least sixty feet long and forty feet wide. The ceilings were twenty feet high with two immense chandeliers, and, as you turned back to look where we'd walked in, you could see that the interior wall had floor to ceiling mirrors all along it – with a dance bar. Near the mirrored wall was one wooden straight-backed chair.
You were marveling at the sight – and at our reflection – and you watched me picking up a long band of red velvet ribbon from where it was draped over the chair. You watched my reflection as I came behind you and, lifting your right arm, I slowly and ritualistically, wrapped your wrist with the ribbon and tied a knot such that your wrist was not restricted, but inexorably bound.
You began to tremble.
Mesmerized by the sight in the mirror, you continued to hold your right arm out, the long ribbon dangling from you wrist, like blood pouring out. You shuddered, what a thought. But you watched as I gathered another ribbon and lifted your left arm to give it the same treatment. Then, with your arms outstretched, I stood behind you and put my hands around your small waist.
You gazed at my pale skin, my hazel eyes, my fingers holding your waist firmly. And I bent over and kissed your right shoulder, my blonde hair falling by your ear.
I could feel you trembling. I purred, "I love you, my beauty. My beautiful little girl."
You turned and threw your arms around my shoulders – standing on tip-toes while your tongue slipped into my mouth. I returned your long kiss – minutes long, tender, deep – then probing, becoming urgent – I could feel your excitement rising.
We broke the kiss – you stood before me. "You are always beautiful, little girl, but tonight you are radiant."
"I'm in love, Daddy"
"A lucky man."
You smile. "A very lucky girl."
