Accustomed to Her Face

Good Girl

You were waiting.

It was delicious.

Restrained in a nearly upright position, your legs were spread open with your knees up -- tied at the ankles, strapped at the knees. Your arms were bound above you. Your butt was near the edge of the bed so that your wet cunny and your ass were exposed and available. Your nipples were pinched by your pretty pink clamps. The ones with the little bells that tinkled as you breathed irregularly in your excitement.

Your clitoris throbbed perfectly. With every slight movement, even your breath, the clitoris clamp bit into your most tender place -- you knew its little teeth would not break the skin, but it pinched and smarted. Oddly, the image of a snake's mouth nipping and sucking you lept to your mind. You shuddered. You were on the edge of orgasm.

And you were waiting.

You had been anticipating my arrival home all day. You could barely concentrate in your Friday classes. Even before school this morning you had planned dinner with Louise and Margaret. You had wanted something special -- a surprise.

"What shall it be, Margaret?"

"Little Miss, he'll be tired from his travels. Perhaps something light."

"He loves Margaret's Caesar Salad," said Louise.

"Oh yes! The one you make from scratch," you agreed.

Margaret suggested, "And how about Louise's scallops over angel hair?"

"That would be perfect." You paused, "But what shall I make?"

Louise smiled wickedly, "But, Little Miss, you'll supply desert."

At first you missed her point, "Yes. I could make us chocolate sundaes."

Margaret giggled. Louise was smiling broadly. Then you got it and you laughed. "You're so bad! You mean I'm to BE desert. Well -- I suppose I will be. But after a sundae -- I want ice cream."

You all had laughed. You had blushed.

And so today you made your way through classes and had rushed home from school through the frigid February streets. The winter afternoon sun was already low. As you walked through the front gate, you stopped for a moment to admire the old manse. The house's Christmas lights were still up, decorating the expansive front porch -- and there was an electric candle in every window. Yes -- the place was Rockwellian.

Coming in the tall walnut front door, you had tossed your coat and backpack on the bench in the front hall and fiddled with your hair, looking in the tall mirror. You smiled. "I wonder how many of this home's women have fixed their hair, looking in this mirror on their way out and coming in." You looked up at the small chandelier and the ceiling beyond, twice your height above you.

In the mirror, you gazed at the reflected stained glass window above the bench on the wall behind you. There, an angel was depicted, lovely, smiling down at you. "We love this house, don't we, Angel. And we love Him. You watched him grow up here, didn't you? You've watched him coming and going. You know his secrets. And now I'm here. And so you're watching over me too."

You smiled. You kicked off your boots, turned, and ran to the kitchen.

"I'm home, I'm home." Miss Brooks had leaped up, barking and wagging her tail.

You threw yourself into your chair at the table. Louise brought you a scone and poured you a cup of tea. You fidgeted, "When does He get here..." It was a rhetorical question. You knew the answer: eight, or thereabouts. You sipped your tea, nibbled your scone. Louise and Margaret's voices faded into the background as you thought about the day I'd left.

I'd driven us to our favorite little restaurant for breakfast. We'd laughed and flirted openly. You had squirmed in your seat, feeling my warm seed dribbling from your pussy -- making your panties soaked as you ordered your veggie omelet. After we'd eaten, you reached across the table and held my hand and we sat, talking until it was time for us to go -- the very young lady and the older gentleman -- obviously lovers -- and obviously devoted.

"Little Miss?" Louise was offering her hand, and you emerged from your daydream. You looked up.

"Oh! -- Yes. I'm sorry."

Louise smiled, "Come on. Let's get you ready. I'll draw your bath and we can play dress-up." She had laughed warmly and you had taken her hand and grinned.

"Thank you. You are very kind to me. And very indulgent. Thank you both." Suddenly you were tearful. You stood up. "He WILL come home, right?"

Louise hugged you, "Of course he will," and Margaret joined in. "Group hug," Margaret declared. Miss Brooks barked and growled expressively at you three, and you all laughed.

"She wants to be part of the hug." You picked up Miss Brooks and cuddled her. "I miss him so badly when he's away and I -- I worry -- sometimes -- you never really know."

"You are little more than a girl, Miss. And he's a very grown man with a history here --"

Suddenly you wondered, "You know, I was so busy when you two got here before Christmas, that I didn't ask... how do you know Him?"

"Come on," Louise smiled, "Walk and talk." You put Miss Brooks down and she scampered off to her food bowl as Louise led you by the hand up the old servant's staircase -- the one you used when you first rented that room in my house.

"We came here years ago, Little Miss. Just before... well -- and then afterward too -- we kept house for him. But then we got an opportunity to visit with our family in France these last couple years. We called him when we were heading back to the States and he said he was delighted for us to come here again. He said there was a young lady living here who would need some care too."

At the top of the steps, you two walked along past the servant's quarters and turned toward the door to the main hallway.

"But then, you know him well!" you said, "But of course. That explains a lot. I've been so busy I hadn't even though about how natural you two are here. Oh, now I do feel a little like a fool. I'm sorry, Louise, I'm the interloper here."

"No. No. Not at all. You have brought light back to this house. We haven't seen him so happy since -- well -- years before. You are no interloper at all. You belong here. We're so happy for him. And, of course, for you."

You walked together along the hallway, still holding hands. On either side, there were the tall doors to other bedrooms. And on the walls were the family portraits. There was obviously room for more. In fact, now that you really considered it, it was as if there were a couple missing.

You stopped and squeezed Louise's hand. "I haven't thought about a lot of things, I guess. Like these other rooms. And the whole third floor." You had stopped in front of one of the tall doors along the hallway. You reached out your hand to its door handle. It didn't budge. You looked up at the crown of the door and thought, "Hmmm -- locked."

"Come on, Little Miss," you thought you detected slight discomfort in Louise's manner. "Let's get you ready for your lovely evening."

You smiled and followed Louise's gentle pull away. Soon you were immersed in the hot bath she had drawn. Your clothes were picked out and lying on your bed -- some of your wonderfully naughty underthings and your red dress. You had chosen out your Lise Charmel black bra and panties and garter belt with the real silk stockings thinking "This'll do the trick. I can't wait to have him."

After your bath you had donned your lingerie and lounged in your robe, sitting on the window-seat looking out over the darkening magical back yard with its snow-laden extensive garden. You talked to your friend Kristin on the phone, you texted with your friends, you read a bit of the erotic novel, "La Belle Amie" on your Kindle.

You slipped your hand over the exquisite silk of the black bra you were wearing. You felt your nipples stiffen. You gently caressed your belly and sent your fingers down over your panties. You sighed. "God, I can't wait to feel him touch me. It's bee too long." You slid your fingers inside. Your pussy lips were soft and warm and it felt so good to play, dipping your finger in-between and stroking your wet clitoris.

You had spread your legs a bit and closed your eyes. You remembered the day I left, watching the head of my cock spread your pussy lips open as it pushed into you. I had arranged a video camera so you could watch -- projected the image on a large screen -- you pussy wet and shining as my cock entered you. "You do like to watch, don't you?" you thought to yourself.

My cock was shiny from your wetness and you had watched it sliding in and out as I fucked you. "That's my good Little Girl." I had said wickedly. "You won't ever forget how good I feel, will you, stretching you when I take you? You won't ever forget what it looks like -- my cock in your pretty cunt. You won't ever forget that I was your first -- the first to come in you."

There was a rap at the door. "Yes, please," you answered as you quickly withdrew your hand.

The door cracked open, "He's almost here, Little Miss."

"Oh! Margaret, would you please help me with my dress?" You leaped up, throwing your Kindle on the bench cushion and untying your robe's belt.

You pulled on your red dress and Margaret zipped you up and put finishing touches on your hair. The last bit was lipstick and perfume -- a color that accentuated your mouth, but didn't scream "fuck me" and a fragrance you knew I found nearly irresistible -- the rare "My Sin" Lynn had given you for Christmas -- behind your ears and above your breasts and (even with Margaret watching as you lifted your dress) a little bit on the inside of your legs above the top hem of the stocking -- right up by you pussy.

Margaret and you had both giggled and had run down the hall. You could feel the thick rugs on your feet and it wasn't until you got halfway down the stairs that you realized you'd forgotten to put on your shoes. You stopped. You could hear the big front door opening and Louise talking. Then my voice.

Margaret, steps below you, turned, "What is it?"

"No shoes," you blurted. You were on the verge of tears.

"I don't think it matters, Little Miss."

"No -- I have to be perfect. I have to be perfect or they don't come home."

You turned to go back up, but then you heard my voice again. "Thank you so much, Louise -- yes perhaps coffee. I'm tired, but I don't want to be unconscious for the evening." And you heard my gentle laugh.

Margaret was looking at you quizzically. "Come on, Little Miss. You are already perfect." So you slowly turned again and came down until you stood, frozen, on the third stair up.

Margaret was crossing the floor to take my messenger case. Louise was holding my hat. I was taking off my gloves. I looked up. Our eyes met.

I beheld you. You were standing, elevated, in your stockinged feet, your hair falling carelessly in tight curls over your shoulders. Your light chocolate skin warmed the light as it was reflected, the soft line of your jaw and your neck and shoulders were framed by the bold red dress you had chosen. And the fabric of the dress revealed the lovely shape of your breasts and waist and hinted at your hips as it flared and fell to just below your knees.

I found your lack of shoes particularly charming. Always it is as if I see you for the first time -- and fall in love more deeply.

Your arms were down and slightly out -- your fingers were curled into fists. You were shifting from one foot to the other. You had a stunned expression on your face.

You saw me unbuttoning my coat as I walked toward you, breaking into a smile. "There's my girl."

You couldn't form words. You gasped and moaned softly. You extended your arms and stiffly stepped down another stair. You were opening and closing your hands.

Then you were in my arms with yours wrapped around my neck. My coat was open and around you. You lifted yourself and wrapped your legs around my waist. And you burst into tears.

You were shaking. You had wailed -- there was a tinge of anger and frustration in your cry. You had gasped and buried your face in my neck and sobbed -- releasing your emotion. "You -- you ca -- came h -- home."

"Yes, my Little Love. Of course I came home."

"People d -- don't always come h -- home. Sometimes things h -- happen."

I held you strongly. I took a deep breath and looked up at the paneled ceiling high above us. Yes. Now it was finally coming out -- we had both lost those we love most -- our families. I knew that in this moment I was not holding a young woman, I was holding a terribly frightened little girl. I knew it had happened about this time of year seven years ago.

"Yes, that's true, Konekochan. I know, Baby Girl. It must have been horrible when -- they didn't come home."

You squealed and held me tighter. "How did you know?" You cried out. "How did you know?" You felt Margaret's hand on your back.

I said softly, "It doesn't matter, Koneko. All that matters now is that you are here and I am here and we will always be here. I came home. I will always come home. And so will you."

"Promise."

"I promise."

You had sobbed with abandon. Margaret said, "We kept a close watch on her, Sir, just like you instructed."

"I'm sure you did."

Louise said, "Why not bring her in by the fire? You can sit and we'll bring her tea and your coffee."

"Good idea. And Miss Brooks."

"Of course, Sir."

I had carried you to the large couch by the living-room's huge fireplace. The fire was blazing. You unwrapped yourself from me and stood down.

Your eyes were red, your mascara was smeared. It managed to only make you more lovely. I handed you my handkerchief and, taking off my coat, I gave the heavy wool garment to Margaret. "Thank you, Maggie. Would you please bring us a bottle of that Pinot Noir she likes so much? San Pellegrino for me -- let's have juice glasses, home style -- four glasses, please."

"Yes, Sir."

Louise returned with a Pendleton blanket. We sat you down and she tucked you in. Miss Brooks came clicking across the parquet from the kitchen door. "Water's on the boil for tea. We'll have your coffee soon, Sir."

As Miss Brooks jumped into your lap, Louise sat next to you and put her arm around your shoulders. She took my handkerchief and daubed your eyes.

Margaret returned with a tray. Carl, the driver and groundskeeper, came in from the kitchen carrying my guitar cases.

"Thank you, Carl. Come on, now." I poured a glass of the wine for you. And handed one to Carl who stood by the piano. Margaret poured wine for Louise and herself.

I sat down in the chair to your side. You were looking down into your glass. The cut crystal of the juice glass sparkled in the firelight and tiny ripples arced across the deep red wine's surface. "Thank you." You said.

Louise squeezed your shoulders and kissed your temple.

You had looked up at the four of us. Miss Brooks had snuggled into your lap and you scratched her behind her ears. "I'm sorry I was such a mess," you said.

Margaret said, "Please, it's OK now, Little Miss."

Tears sprung to your eyes again. "Thank you all so much. I don't know what's come over me. I'm usually OK."

Louise said, "We know, Miss."

"No -- you don't know -- not this."

Margaret spoke softly, "Yes, Little Miss, we do know. We know about it."

You looked back down at your glass. "But how?"

Carl had cleared his throat and spoken softly. "Was me, Miss."

You looked up. "Just odd chance. My sister. In Baltimore. Visiting seven years ago. I read about it. The paper. Your picture, Miss. You were just little. When I saw you here I remembered."

"He mentioned it to me, Dear." Louise said. "And I looked up the article and showed Margaret. But when we showed it to Sir, he said he already knew."

You quickly looked at me. "You -- you knew?" You sighed and looked down again and nodded. "I thought you might, Shujin."

You stood up and sat on my lap. You put your head on my shoulder.

"That's enough for now," said Louise. She looked at Margaret and Carl, "Come on, you two. Let's get supper ready."

Soon we were alone. You nuzzled my neck and said, quietly, "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm sorry I lost it."

"There is nothing to be sorry for, Little Girl. We'll find a better way to do this. Maybe you can come with me next time."

"I'd like that."

Your mouth had found mine. It was a tender, lingering kiss. You had unconsciously squirmed on my lap in your sudden excitement and it had the predictable effect on me.

You got up and grasped my hand, leading me to the dining table. You pulled out my chair for me but Louise intercepted you and took you aside. "Let's fix you up a bit, Little Miss."

When you had returned, your hair was all done-up and your makeup was re-applied -- a little more grown-up and evening-appropriate -- Louise's French sensibility -- I had smiled.

Carl and I had been talking. He was smiling, finishing his thought. "Thank you. That's great. She'll be so happy. And me too. Thank you." He stood and shook your hand.

"You are very welcome. I'm delighted, Carl. Darling," I turned to you, "Carl's daughter is going to come and live with him in the carriage house. She'll go to school here -- what -- sixth grade?"

"Seventh, Sir."

"Oh!" you clapped your hands, "I can help her with her homework!"

Carl smiled broadly. "Thank you, Miss."

So dinner was served. The salad was wonderful. The scallops were perfect. Louise had brought you Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio (your favorite white) and a stemmed glass.

You drank freely. I didn't slow you. I figured you could use a little release. You laughed and flirted. You were lovely and bright. You giggled at my jokes. You indulged me by giving your rapt attention when I told my boring stories about old adventures -- and new ones.

After your third glass, you had asked Louise for champagne and seeing my nod, she smiled and took away the Pinot Grigio and replacing it with White Star and a champagne flute. You stood up shakily and grabbed the bottle and your glass and smiled at me wickedly. "Come on, Daddy. Ready for desert?"

Louise giggled and winked at me. "But what about the chocolate sundae, Little Miss?"

"Oh! Yes! Oh! Could you make the sundaes for me?"

"It's already done, Little Miss. Margaret will bring them up."

You giggled and said to me, "Come on, I'll race you." You trotted off toward the stairs, and when you heard my footfalls behind you, you squealed and laughed and sped up the marble steps. You ran down the hall to my bedroom -- our bedroom -- and around the corner and flopped down in the high-backed chair, pouring the champagne and guzzling it as I came through the door.

You had put the bottle and glass on the small table there and leaped into my arms, kissing me furiously. You started to undo my tie as Margaret came in with our sundaes and a bowl of strawberries. She set the tray on the table and closed the door as she left.

You had been hot and eager and you unceremoniously pulled off your dress. You were stunningly beautiful. Your shape -- young and fit and your legs, still somewhat particularly muscular from fencing -- was accentuated by the lingerie. You stepped to me, unbuttoning my shirt -- you took off my belt.

You had turned, filling your glass with champagne. You had watched with curiosity as I produced two heavy wooden bars that matched the bed-frame and installed them vertically spanning the distance from the canopy rail to the larger bed-rail below. They seemed to hook into the bed at about a three-foot distance from each other.

I took your glass from you and gathered you in my arms.

"Good Girl," I had said. I slid my hand down your belly, into your panties and played with your pussy. "Good Little Pet."

You had been so aroused that you nearly came just from my praise.

Then I had been rough. I had seemed eager; impatient. I lifted you onto the bed between the special posts. You had been surprised at my strength as I tied your arms up above you, hanging from the canopy frame. I had kissed you hard and deep.