Accustomed to Her Face

Afternoon Tea

At Thanksgiving, we had feasted – by ourselves. Next day there were turkey sandwiches and watching stupid TV in bed, there was bathing together. You began reading Anna Karenina stretched out on your belly in bed – your silver glasses perched on your nose, your head toward the bed's foot, your kimono draped over your lovely shoulders and back and your legs bent up at the knees. I played my guitar and scribbled lyrics on the three yellow legal pads I always keep handy for the purpose. We had napped. We had kissed, stroking each others arms, backs. You turned back to your reading.

You still had a few classes left and then exams and then winter break.

"Sweetie, are you staying here for Christmas or will you be going away?"

You looked up from your book, "I'll be staying here, Daddy. This is my home now."

I had smiled. "Of course. I'm glad, Darling. – Sweetie –"

"Yes, Sir."

"I'd like you to move from your little room in the servant's wing to the room next to mine here – the one that connects through that door. Would you like that?"

You looked up from your book. You paused. "Ok, Daddy. Yes. Can I see the room next door here?"

"Of course, sweetie."

We got up and went to the tall door and opened it. You stepped through into a lovely, airy room. As light and feminine as my room is dark and masculine. The fireplace was smaller and made of light green marble with a stuffed chair and footstool before it. There were huge bay windows with a window seat all around. Two high backed chairs flanked a small table. There was a big canopy bed with fine linens and blankets and afghans and big comfy pillows. There was an old-fashioned vanity with an etched mirror and lace skirt, a tall wardrobe and two chests of drawers, and an old trunk at the foot of the bed. You ran to the bathroom door – your own claw-foot bathtub.

All the colors were light. The room was fresh. I was a girl's dream come true.

"Daddy, it's lovely."

You ran to the window and knelt on the window seat looking out. It had begun to snow. The first snow of the year. You could see across the valley to the campus on the opposite hill. You could see it in the yard and bushes below. Snow.

You turned back to me. I was smiling at you. "Daddy, whose room was this?"

You saw the shock on my face. How foolish of me. Of course you would want to know. It was an innocent, natural question. I had been so wrapped up in us that I hadn't thought that far. Without thinking, I lifted my had to my brow. I must have looked pained.

You leapt up and came to me. "Daddy, never mind. Never mind."

I took your hand in mine. "No – it's OK, baby. I – I just forgot about it – I mean I've been so wrapped up in you and me..."

"OK, Daddy. It's OK. You don't have to tell me." You gently touched my face.

I smiled. You had taken away my pain. I could at least tell you a bit of the story – the rest could wait. "It was my grandmother's mother's and then, later on, it was my grandmother's. My grandmother was quite a character. You already have her glasses, why not stay in her room?"

You slowly and gently wrapped your arms around me. "Sure, Daddy, sure. I'd love to. It's right next to yours – which is really more like ours kind-of." You snuggled your face against my neck.

I stroked your curls. I held you close.

"Daddy, I know there were other women who lived here too. I can feel them in this room. They were good. They'll keep me company. Let's make tea and have it together here in my room."

I was relieved – you had let me off the hook. I knew you were being kind to me. "Thank you, little girl. That would be wonderful."

You took my hand and lead me to the kitchen. You made us tea and a plate of scones. We carried them upstairs and sat in your window. We watched the snow falling harder over the hill. Everything was being turned white. The world was soft and beautiful.

The tea was hot. We were silent together. It was a perfect moment. You began to feel as if you were living it in slow motion, in high relief. You felt full and still.

You marveled at how easy it was to be silent together – no need to speak – no awkwardness – no need to fill the gap with chatter. We finished our tea. You put down your cup and smiled and took my hand.

You lead me to your new bed. You took off your kimono. You undressed me. You pulled me into bed and under the covers. These were all perfect moments slowly unfolding just as they should be.

Now we are in your new bed. The linen sheets are smooth. Inexplicably, you feel as if you belong right here in this bed. It is familiar. It belongs to you and you belong to it. Even its smell – mild lavender – reminds you of something – a something that seems just out of reach.

You feel your body move languidly against me with a sense of watching it both from slight separation and yet immediacy. With your hand behind my head, you pull me to your kiss. Very, very gently; you nibble my lips. You tenderly press you tongue between them and begin to explore my mouth.

Your body shivers. You feel my cock growing hard. Now it's rock hard.

You curl you fingers and gently scratch my chest, coming back to gently play with my nipples while you bite my neck.

My hand slides across your breast, beginning to play with you. Your nipple is hard and as I roll it between my fingers, as I stroke it, and then cup your breast, squeezing gently, you sigh.

I kiss you assertively. I take your tongue into my mouth and suck it as we kiss deeply.

You are playing with my hair. Soft, fine, blonde hair woven through your fingers. You gaze into my hazel eyes as you kiss me. You are stroking the roof of my mouth with the tip of your tongue just behind my front teeth. I taste like me. It's become so familiar so quickly. And the sound of my breath through my nose as we kiss – and its feel against your cheek – you feel like these things, these subtleties belong to you. That sound I make – the little hum that means I'm enjoying your love-making – it belongs to you too.

I am playing with your breasts while you play with mine. I'm stroking your nipples and you are stroking mine too.

Now you break our kiss and kiss and nibble your way down to my breast. You take my nipple into your mouth and bite and suck. My small nipple is sensitive. I slowly inhale. You know I'm enjoying your touch.

My fingers are woven in your curls, but gently; just gently holding you while you suck me. And you return to kiss my mouth, biting and sucking my neck on your way back up.

Then it's my turn, cupping your breast, lifting it to my mouth, taking your nipple between my teeth, now beginning to suck you. I press your nipple against the back of my front teeth with my tongue and squeeze. It brings a rush of arousal and you shift against me. You slide your hand down and stroke the back of my neck and my shoulders.

I shift to your other breast. My touch is warm and gentle, but now I bite you. It is sharp. It's just what you wanted. You feel your cunnie, which has been getting wetter and wetter, suddenly gush. You take in your breath. I squeeze you breast harder with my hand. I return to kissing your mouth.

The sense that the moments are perfect – this is pervading everything – our kisses, our touches, the tastes, smell, sounds. And the emotion burning in your chest, warming you, driving you now – this young, blossoming rose – this love is also perfect. You know it. You know it so deeply and so surely and sweetly – you feel it was meant to be – all of it – perfectly.

You nuzzle my neck as you slide your hand down to touch my hard cock. You feel my breath warm against your face. I kiss your forehead as you gently stroke my erection, barely touching it, teasing me. The skin is soft and smooth. The ridge at the edge of its head is well defined. You know this well. You lick your lips unconsciously, remembering its familiarity – that sweet ridge as it slides past your lips.

You gently wrap your fingers around my cock. It's warm as you squeeze it. You feel me squirm slightly. It feels good to know you are pleasing me. It adds to your excitement and you stroke me gently again, your finger tips barely touching, stroking along its length.

I cup your breast again and we kiss. Now our mouths press together hard. It's wonderful. I gently pinch your nipples again. You are wet and ready and you feel my hand slowly sliding down your belly, down over your abdomen, down over your trimmed hair, down over the tip of your pussy.

The slowness of my reach is luxurious. I slide my hand back to your breast, caress your nipple again and repeat the slow reach down, down to your pussy and this time, I gently stroke the lips with my finger tips.

You squeeze my cock again while I play with you. Our kiss is deep and intense. Our play is imbued with that sense of perfection. On a level, it still seems like everything is in slow motion – it's got that intensity about it – that sense of purpose.

And now you pull me on top of you, spreading your legs and curling your back just right – bringing your cunnie to the tip of my cock. Our mouths are still joined. You squirm to work the tip of my cock between your pussy lips. Time slows. It stands still for an instant – for a perfect instant.

Your arms are around my back. Your legs are spread wide. You feel my weight on you. You taste my kiss, breath the perfume of my male scent. You pussy is wet, slick, and you want me and I want you... you love me and I love you. You hear in your mind – like a faint whisper – "Be good to my beloved." You wonder. It was like a thought, but it felt as if it came from somewhere else. "Take him for me." The soft voice again. A woman's voice.

A perfect instant and then, a perfect thrust. I push into you full and hard. Your body yields and our heat comingles – the heat of my engorged member, the heat of your wet tunnel, and the heat of our passion. Three thrusts – fast, hard, deep – then slowly, slowly four more.

It is exquisite. I'm holding you hard, kissing you hard, thrusting hard. It feels so good. My weight pushing you into the bed while I fuck you – while I fuck you hard. Three fast, four slow – over and over.

You are squirming. It feels wonderful. Three fast, four slow.

The wetness is dripping from your cunny down toward your ass hole. Three fast, four slow.

You are breathing hard. You are rising. You are digging your fingers into the flesh of my back. You are kissing me and moaning. Three fast, four slow.

I slide my hand between us, down to stroke your clitty while I fuck you. You shiver and scratch me. Three fast, four slow.

I stroke you faster, harder while my cock is sliding in and out of your sweet pussy. Three fast, four slow.

I feel bigger. We break our kiss at last. You are moaning, riding me. Three fast, four slow.

You bury your face in my neck. You bite. My finger is playing with you fast and hard. You are ready. Three fast, four slow.

The inner whisper again, "Now, little one, for me. For me, dear little sister."

You spread so wide. As wide as you can to take me as deeply as possible while... Three fast, four slow.

...while you suck in your breath and feel the beginning of your spasms... Three fast, four slow.

... the spasms of your cunnie – of your hot, now urgent, now insistant cunt... Three fast, four slow.

...filled with me while my fingers drive you with perfection like a perfect flower opening, like Egyptian madder color - the ancient pigment of your love... Three fast, four slow.

...now exploding... exploding perfectly... you gasp.... filling you from your spine's tail to your crown... perfect orgasm... Three fast, four slow.

Then fast and hard and deep while you groan and I gasp. You feel it – you feel it – feel it through the waves of blissful release, the intimate connection, the first pump. And then the hot liquid inside you. It is my seed and you are aware of its life. You've been aware of this before – although less viscerally. But now, this snowy afternoon, in this perfect string of perfect moments – you are acutely aware of its life as I pump again and you come so deep and pump yet again, over and over.

You are holding me so tight. You wrap your legs around me to keep me right there. You feel your cervix pulsing right by the tip of my cock pressed hard against it.

Our mouths re-join. Hard, then tender. The soft nibbles again.

And in time, lots of quiet time, you look me in the eyes and speak at last - softly, but with a new sureness.

"I am your little girl, Daddy. I belong to you and you to me. Other women have lived here over many years, but now I live here. And this is my bed, Daddy. We will be together in it.

"Daddy, my darling, I'm not the woman who slept here and loved you before – the woman you didn't tell me about but I know is still here."

I open my mouth to speak. You put your hand over it.

You smile. "No, Daddy – it's OK – maybe you don't understand – I know you don't want me to replace her or to be her. I'm not her, of course... and yet... what I'm trying to say is that she and I are together now. I know it. She is so beautiful, Daddy. I can feel her all around and through me.

"Daddy, you have given me so much – maybe this is a thing I can do for you... maybe this is part of why I've come here – so I can take care of you for her – and for me – I know it sounds strange, but we love you so much. We will take good care of you."

You close your eyes. You hold me close. You feel me convulse with the sob I repress so expertly.

The snow is falling hard over the town. The buildings of the university, the cathedrals, the theater across the little valley – the other stately old homes on this hill – stand like chilled shadows in its soft hiss. The wind whistles and rattles the tall, wide windows. But it's warm here in your bed. We drift together. Peace and slumber take us gently.

And just before you drift away, the inner whisper again, "Thank you." It is as if someone has caressed your heart with a warm light as it beats beneath your young breast.

I am asleep. You smile. You are so happy, you are glowing. You whisper aloud, but barely audibly, "I love you, too, big sister."