Authors Note: This is not a story about incest so if that's what you are expecting you will be disappointed!
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I'm used to control, I work in a controlled environment, you see. Well, as controlled as a college can be!
I'm a good actress, you need to be. Strip teaching back and that's all it is - the façade, the emperor's clothes. And I've never let my teaching mask slip. So many years of reserve, truth be told, and it has bled into my whole life.
When I was younger I had hot thoughts like, I guess, any other young woman. I was a late developer in many ways. I was certainly very shy. But at the age of 18 I remember walking by the river and seeing a rower climb out of his boat. His black all-in-one was wet, his dark hair ruffled, his chest muscular and glistening. I must confess, my jaw dropped open and I suddenly felt a little prickling of moisture between my legs. It was such an uncontrolled feeling, I wasn't sure if I liked it. But it was there, demanding to be fed. That night I did feed it, imagining his body on mine, his hands pressing me down. And not sure where this bit came from but I could imagine him forcing me, disciplining me until I had control back again.
So it went on for the next couple of months, whenever I saw a good looking man, and I would spend the night touching myself, my bed sweat-soaked and my pillow chewed through.
For a time I had a boyfriend. Still only 19, I was a good girl, I was really was. But one night he got pushy and then aggressive. I can't, or won't even put into words exactly what happened, but at the time I thrilled to feel his hand on my head, forcing me down onto him. The strength of my response scared me, and I felt dirty even as I touched myself afterwards and through the rest of that long night. It doesn't really matter now, because after many years of practice I have my self-control back. And that's how it will stay. Over the years, I've cultivated an effective mix of formality and lightness in my dealings with men that protects me, and I guess has helped me act in my role as a teacher.
I really should describe myself. Forgive me, this doesn't come easily. I have girlish looks, long blonde hair, a slim frame and firm breasts. Yes, I know those words sound odd coming from my mouth but enough men have attempted to get past my reserve for me to know what they like what they see.
Now, my husband, he is good to me. He is steady, reliable and, my friends tell me, sexy. He is good with the kids too. Sounds pretty fine, eh? Well, it is, I'm very fortunate. He used to be bothered that we had such a quiet sex life but he adjusted. Putting it like that sounds really cold doesn't it? But you have to understand, I've had no choice. Something deep down tells me to hold something back for fear I'll become that 13 year old all over again, all compulsive desires and needs. Unable to stand the thought I've now pushed sex as far away as I can.
So this guy I've been talking to, he intrigues me. When I say 'talking', I mean chatting online. Strange really, I can't remember how we started. He just seemed to be...there one day. But it is so easy to talk to him, he understands me, all my issues at work, my need to be in control of my life.
In fact, much to my surprise I've come to lean on him just a little. Late at night, when my husband is asleep in the other room, I find myself turning on my computer with almost indecent haste. And he is always there, waiting for me. I love that, his reliability, his attentiveness. And I always feel better after talking to him. Oddly, there are moments every evening when time just seems to disappear - I don't know where it goes! But I feel so relaxed after talking to him, so...me. Unusually for me I get anxious sometimes - what if he gets bored of me? What is he finds someone else to talk to?
Then I log on again and all my worries fade away. He is still there, listening to me, prompting me to laugh. But where the heck does the time go? __________________________________________________
I log on. My Sarah is already there, waiting for me as I knew she would be. After all, she may not realise it but she needs me. I've been talking to her for several weeks now, sinking my messages deeper, through her surface needs, into her primal, unconscious self. Nothing sinister of course, just rewarding the time she is spending with me with all the feel-good chemicals her body can offer. But that is just the start...
"Hi Sarah", I type.
"Hi" she replies.
"How are you tonight?"
"Better now you're with me x"
"I can make you feel even better, honey"
There is a pause. She has picked up the innuendo, her defences sharp again. "Oh?"
"For that you need to go to sleep." The words appear on both my screen and hers. I don't need to say it again; she will be more receptive already.
"Sarah, from now on when you hear or read the words 'daddy's little girl' I want you to be very aware of your body. Feel the air around you as it strokes your skin. Feel your nipples prickle as they rub against your clothes. You feel so feminine and alive...but that's not enough, Sarah. After all, what is your body for? You will sit up straight, push your breasts out for any man that says those words. It will feel so good to be around him. Just, you know, generally. No expectations, nothing heavy, no harm done. It's not as if you're going to suck his cock is it?" "All you need to do is feel those hormones flooding your body, that sweet spot in the month when you want the attention of your special man, feeling all hot and bothered. Imagine just how good it would feel to give into that feeling..." __________________________________________________
It is almost time for lunch. I've felt so fresh this morning, so relaxed and unusually for a Monday morning, ready for the new week of teaching. Some of the students even seem interested, especially some of the worst-behaved lads. That's kind of unexpected; perhaps it is to do with the sense of poise and confidence feel standing in front of the class. Unusually for me I decide to leave the college to get my lunch, almost compelled by an inner voice. After all, it is a lovely warm sunny day.
A few minutes later I'm walking along the alley opposite the college and see a man lounging against the wooden fence. He looks at me, his eyes following me intently. For some reason I notice his eyes, the few stray hairs where his shirt is undone at the neck. I walk past him, suddenly self-conscious in my soft summer blouse, until he opens his mouth.
"Come here, daddy's little girl."
"Sorry?" My breath catches in my throat and my body starts to tingle. Adrenalin courses through me -- the adrenalin must be the reason my nipples feel suddenly hard, I tell myself.
Alarmed, I slow down but do not stop.
"I said, come here."
I turn halfway to face him.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, you know me, but I know you better."
I didn't like the rather salacious tone of his voice.
"I don't think so" I say coldly, passing my hand through my hair, unable to resist an unexpected attraction to this man.
"That's it, present yourself to me baby."
"I snatch my fingers away from my head guiltily, realising he was right.
I look at him again.
He is good-looking, no doubt. His eyes are piercing and his jaw strong. And his voice is deep and dare I say it, sexy.
"Tell me about yourself, Sarah. Tell me about your body."
"What?" I murmur, transfixed by his eyes, his voice. Fighting off the urge to move closer I stand there, helplessly aware not just of my body but his too. I can tell he is in good shape under his casual blue shirt.
"I don't...know...what do you want from me?"
"I told you, describe your body. Let's start with the basics. What do you look like under that pretty blouse?"
His voice was deep, persistent. I just didn't feel like arguing with him.
