Divine Intervention Ch 03

I'm Richey Davis, caught up in the kind of day that will surely live on in my memory forever. So far good fortune, sex, revenge and more sex had come my and the day was still young.

To park the car, I needed to proceed down a side lane to a row of spaces behind the house. That meant cutting through the back garden, a journey I was glad I undertook. For just the other side of the fence, new neighbour Zara was busy soaking up the late-afternoon rays. Stretched out on her stomach on a sunlounger, one leg raised, Zara's chin was perched on the back of a hand, whilst the other held a novel at the spine.

My gait slowing almost to a halt, I savoured the gently roasting flesh of Zara's shoulders and back. The straps of her bikini top had been loosened and eased aside to prevent a horizontal tan line from spoiling the golden brown effect. My eyes travelled down a luscious spine to a bikini bottom that was little more than a string thong, her bum cheeks displayed like two ripe mangoes. It was some sight and, after the incident in the park with Natalya, all that watching and no doing dictated that my urgings had reached critical proportions and my balls were near to bursting. "Nice day for it," I observed.

"Mmm very," she affirmed without looking up or acknowledging my presence though seeming to know I was there via some mystery female intuition radar.

"A real sun trap out here this time of day," I added.

Head turning aside, Zara laid down the book and pushed a pair of designer rimless shades off her nose as I peered over the waist-high fence that separated us. "Still up for the party later?"

"You bet," I replied before enquiring: "What's the, um, dress code?"

Zara wrinkled her nose. "If it stays this hot, t-shirt and shorts. We'll probably have a barbie out here."

I nodded. Just as well, I thought to myself, my fetish gear being in the wash and all.

"Sorry to be a pain, but can I beg another favour, Richey?" Zara enquired, twiddling a few stray strands of her around a finger.

"Depends what it is," I replied playfully.

"Nothing too strenuous this time, I promise."

"Oh go on then," I replied, mock-grudgingly. "Seeing as you asked so nicely."

She smiled. "You can save the physical exertion for later."

I raised my eyebrows. "Well I'm usually the first up to dance," I replied with a grin, adding: "And the last one off."

"Oh reallllllly?" she purred. "Most of the men I know have two left feet."

"Not me, salsa...lambada...breakdance, it all comes naturally."

Zara smiled. "So we've established you have stamina in bundles and a good pair of feet. Do you happen to have a good pair of hands too?" she said with a grin, reaching aside to take the plastic orange suncream dispenser in hand. "You couldn't do the hard-to-reach bits before I burn to a frazzle, could you?"

I was over that fence quicker than Ed Moses in his prime.

To be honest, she looked athletic enough to manage an all-over lotion, but I wasn't about to argue, perching on the edge of the sunlounger, my bum brushing her near thigh. Upending the bottle, I squeezed a dollop of cream into my palms and rubbed them together, heaving a deep long breath. She lifted the feather light ends of blonde hair and I touched a neck that was as elegant as a swan's. Slowly my hands dispersed a light film of cream over the warm skin. "Oh you DO have great hands, Richey," she purred.

Palms shifting to her shoulders, I rubbed gently at first, becoming more purposeful as I reached the shoulder blades, using my thumbs to indent the soft flesh below. "Oh gosh, that's wonderful," Zara sighed, immersed in the sensual massage.

I worked the remnants of oil from my fingertips into her upper spine, before reaching once more for the bottle. The next squeeze unloaded a dollop of cool lotion directly on her mid back and Zara shivered. "Mmm, that's it, work it in hard," she mouthed hoarsely.

Palms flat, I dispersed the oil on and around her hips, peering down longingly at the raised curve of her arse. She seemed to read my mind. "Do that too, Richey, please."

I flexed my fingers in readiness but sadly it wasn't to be, the voice coming harshly from the other side of the fence: "Oh I see you haven't taken long to forget mum."

In the excitement of the afternoon I'd almost forgotten about my ex's troublemaking daughter Shannon. Our eyes met and she spat: "Why don't you just fuck her here in the garden?"

My temperature rose to boiling and my brow crinkled. "Um, sorry about this, Zara," I whispered, considering it best to go before Shannon caused any more of a scene. "I'll see you at eight."

"See you, Richey."

Clambering back over the fence, I shot an indignant look Shannon's way. Though annoyed, it was going to take a lot more than some jumped-up kid to spoil my fun. "Jealous are we?"

Shannon snorted. "Jealous? Yeah right," she added with heavy sarcasm, before returning inside through the patio doors, her meddling done.

I followed, wondering whether to get my own back or leave it. A tough nut to crack and accustomed to getting her own way, Shannon was usually capable of giving as good as she got. My benign demeanour said let it drop and indeed I would have, were she not so intent on screwing up the rest of my afternoon by hanging around like a bad odour.

Flush from a morning fleecing her father, Ronnie Carver at cards, I reached into my jeans. "Shannon, here's fifty quid, why don't you run along to the cinema for a couple of hours?"

Shannon surveyed the money covetously before turning up her nose and raising a middle finger in defiance. I knew deep down she wanted the cash, and she knew that I knew she wanted it, but she didn't want to allow me the satisfaction. "Typical Shannon, always cutting off her nose to spite her face," I observed wryly.

"Cut off my nose and I'll cut off your balls," the belligerent schoolgirl retorted, tossing back her chestnut mane.

"Grow up," I replied, the best comeback I could muster, the quick and insightful lines exhausted for now, staunched by the bratty teenager's bad attitude.

Fuck it, I thought, I could play games too. Taking a seat in the armchair adjacent I decided to stay put and watch MTV2 with her. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her growing ever more frustrated. I suspected that by now she regretted not accepting the £50, hoping I'd become bored soon enough. In actual fact I was quite enjoying both the music and the teenager's discomfort.

In desperation she tried to get shot of me by flicking onto C-Beebies. It failed miserably. "Awesome, I love SpongeBob," I gushed in genuine appreciation.

Shannon frowned. "Okay, okay, I'll take your fucking money," she said resignedly.

Once a negotiator, always a negotiator and I stifled the urge to grin. "That offer's long been withdrawn."

She gave me a fuck-you glare before standing.

Getting into the little game, no longer was I burdened with having to bite my tongue for the sake of keeping the peace. I'd be gone in a week. So what if I pissed her off? As she went to depart, I stated firmly: "Excuse me, but did I say you could leave the room?"

She hovered in the doorway, still in the mistaken belief that she was in control. Little did she realise. "You what...? Who the fuck are you to tell me...? You're not my dad."

Bingo. The rabbit had fallen into the trap. "Oh yeah," I observed matter-of-factly. "I saw your dad in The Crown this lunchtime. When was the last time you saw him?"

Immediately I touched a nerve. If she deemed me a loser, and I admit I've had my moments, her father wrote the book on losers. "He gave me all his money. No wonder he never paid a penny in child support for ten years, he was always gambling it or pissing it up the wall."

Shannon's bottom lip quivered. She knew it well enough, just wouldn't admit it in front of me. Fathers are supposed to be hero figures right? Well, she was defending the indefensible and could only come out looking stupid if she argued her father was anything other than a waster. Not only that, she'd conveniently forgotten my contributions that had put her through school this past year. I'd been more of a father to her in a year than Ronnie had in eighteen. But again it wasn't something she'd acknowledge, let alone admit.

"I don't suppose you've met his new girlfriend yet," I commented, adding bitingly: "GIRL being the operative word. Some horrible little tart of a thing she is, about your age, if not younger. He seems to like his girls young does your dad."

Shannon was starting to flush with anger and upset, her cheeks a match with her flaming hair. Of fiery Irish stock, she spat back: "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm only reporting what people have told me. Quite a reputation he has..."

Suddenly Shannon flew at me, the nerve end I'd touched now exposed. Little powder-puff clenched fists glanced off my chest as she worked herself into a hissy fit.

"Shame you didn't fight him off quite so readily," I countered when she'd finished.

Ouch, now that was below the belt.

Shannon floundered, mouth agape and caught somewhere between rage and hurt. "My dad never touched me," she remonstrated, eyes reddening.

I smiled inwardly, maintaining the cool exterior. She was, it seemed, very adept at giving it out, not so adept at taking it when it was so close to home. Erupting in tears, she made as if to flee.

"Oh no you don't, young lady" I taunted, standing to reach out and catch hold of her wrist, reeling her back in like we were ballroom dancing. "You really do disappoint me, Shannon," I continued, adopting a paternal demeanour. "I thought you had more spunk in you than that."

She remained still and silent but for a few stray tears, my grip on her wrist tightening until she whimpered. The truth was that, despite a hard exterior, now exposed as a veneer, she was just a naïve little girl. She tried to pull away, though the harder she tried the more it hurt her wrist. "It's time you learnt a valuable lesson, young lady."

It took the girl by complete surprise as I hoisted her up and across my knee. She bit and scratched and wriggled and caterwauled which was a concern. I didn't really want Zara thinking I was some sort of abusive fiend. "If you make any more noise, young lady, I'm going to get an orange and put it in your mouth. Then I'll duct tape it in place. That stuff rips off layers of skin when it's removed. Do you understand Shannon?"

Suddenly she stilled from thrashing and stopped screeching, my threat taken seriously as she issued a little whisper of acknowledgement. It was power like I'd never felt before, all the more intense doing it in front of SpongeBob. Almost subconsciously I found myself idly fondling the girl's arse cheeks through the skirt. "So is this what your daddy used to do to you, Shannon?"

"Nooooooo," she protested, keeping the volume to a minimum. "He never, ever laid a finger on me, I swear. Now, please let me go, I've learned my lesson."

"I'll let you go when you tell me the truth."

"I am telling you the truth."

I sighed long and hard to convey an ever increasing annoyance. "Okay Shannon I'm going to give you one last chance. I just want to know if the rumours are true. That will help explain a lot about your shitty little attitude this past year, and then we can move on."

The inbred Celtic defiance prompted Shannon to wriggle like an eel in a vain attempt to break free, issuing further pained denials. Either she was telling the truth or she wanted to test how far I was prepared to go. "Okay," I sighed in frustration.

I felt her relax noticeably and she must have believed I was going to let her go. Instead, I reached down and tugged at her cut down jeans, a quick jerk and her bare arse was exposed. As she wriggled, the wiry mesh of a bushy nest chafed my upper thigh. I grinned. Having seen so many shaven twats of late, to feel a little hair was quite refreshing. "Nooooooo," she screeched far too loudly, the resistance returning.

"Right, that's it, I'm getting the orange and the duct tape unless you shut the fuck up right now," I warned, feeling her go limp once more. "Lift your arms above your head, Shannon – NOW" I ordered, my words met with immediate compliance.

The t-shirt slid up and off, ruffling her tangle of red hair and revealing shoulders that were generously freckled. "W-what are y-you g-going to do to m-me?" she mouthed, naked now, the words little more than a whisper.

I allowed a moment to pass before speaking. "What do YOU think I should do?"

"Let me go," she suggested in hopeful optimism.

"You think I'd do that after the crap you've given me this past year? Not just me but your poor mother too."

Her head dropped as she took a moment to reflect upon the trouble she'd caused with skiving school, thieving and staying out late nights repeatedly.

"So, what do you think I should do?" I repeated in hushed tones.

"Let me go," she maintained.

Of course, things had now changed completely in our relationship, the power having shifted away from her and back my way. I'd been treading on eggshells for the past year for her mother's sake, unable to speak my true mind. Frankly, I couldn't care less if she told her mother what I'd done. My only real fear was the police and I could hardly see that happening. I think Shannon realised it too and that I had little to lose. Deep down I liked to hope that she knew it was deserved. "Well I'm not going to let you go, so you can get that thought out of your head, not at least until we've wiped the slate clean," I clarified.

I heard Shannon swallow, her throat constricting in fear.

"Personally I think you need to be taught a lesson in manners. I think you might even want it."

Verbally she denied it, yet bodily she was betrayed, almost subconsciously grinding her moistening young twat down on my lap. As she shifted position, the first telltale drops of juice leaked through the nest at her middle to dab my thigh. "T-taught a l-lesson? H-how?"

"I'm going to spank you, Shannon."

"Nooooooo," she squealed, a last vain attempt at defiance.

I let her twist and squirm until she was breathless and it was out of her system. "And while I'm spanking you I want you to call me daddy, you understand Shannon?"

No verbal response, the lips of her pussy dragged on my thigh like a snail. Angling her back into the prime position, her belly on my lap, her rump prominent and plumped up, it had to be the most spankable bum I'd ever laid eyes upon. Not that I'd ever spanked one before and God alone knew what possessed me. I was, it seemed, being galvanised by Zara's photos and Natalya's roughing-up.

Raising a firm hand I let it rest shakily at shoulder height, Shannon's backside quivering, her heavy breathing the only sound in the room. The air rippled as my hand descended. SPANK! "This is the least you deserve," I cried. SPANK! "That's for making me spend six hours at the police station that time." SPANK! "That's for making your mother have to beg the headmaster to let you stay on at school." SPANK! "That's for waking me up at four in the morning more times than I care to remember."

"Owwwwwww," she moaned, shaking furiously. "No more, oh God please no more..."

SPANNNNNNK! "Tell daddy what you are, Shannon."

Her lower cheeks blushing nicely to match the upper ones flushed with embarrassment, she hesitated a brief moment. Catching the breath that had been shot from her lungs like a ball from a cannon, she struggled to re-compose. "Tell daddy what you are," I commanded.

"I'm daddy's naughty little girl," she responded breathlessly.

A smug look settled on my face.

The volley of slaps had pushed her cunt back onto my lap and she was busily rubbing herself. "Oh God, yes you are," I heard myself saying in throaty tones.

She reached up to touch her arse gingerly, purring gently as the initial pain turned into liquid desire and I couldn't be sure who was the more turned on. Ignorant of the protocol and, having enjoyed the feeling of spanking her and her reaction to it, I issued four more, enough to be felt, yet not so hard as to inflict any more than a sensual pain. At least that was what I imagined, judged by the way her body reacted, a puddle pooling on my thigh. "Oh daddy, no more please. Your little girl will make it up to you."

Her voice, an adult speaking in a childish tone, was so arousing my cock sprang up fully to attention, scraping painfully on the canvas crotch of my jeans. "And how do you intend to do that?"

Shannon lifted up and eased off my lap, a mischievous little look on her face as she slid to the carpet before me. I could hardly get my fly open quick enough, my cock springing out telescopically and very nearly poking her eye. She reared back as if it this were the first time she'd seen a man's excited cock. "Shannon...?"

It was then that the confession came. And boy was it ever a revelation. Evidently it WAS the first time she'd seen a man's excited cock in the flesh, the admission of being a virgin taking me by complete surprise. It seemed that whilst she'd been indulging in mindless truancy, underage drinking and shoplifting, boys had figured lowly in her list of priority. She'd felt one through a pair of shorts, she conceded, head bowed, but that was it.

I guess this admission succeeded in getting her real father, Ronnie Carver, off the hook from the accusations flying around the pub, which was a shame because I couldn't stand the bloke. On the other hand, taking his daughter's virginity, as I intended to do so, offered ample compensation. Her lips were pursed in readiness, there seemed little point messing around with oral sex with a nervous and inexperienced cocksucker. "Some other time," I dismissed selfishly. "Now lie down."

Leaning back, supported on her elbows, she watched as I dismounted the armchair and took up a position beside her on the carpet. Her breath was erratic and she was shivering. "Daddy, I'm a little scared."

In silence I leaned across to bestow our first kiss, something that yesterday hadn't even figured in my wildest fantasies. Instinctively she shied away, my lips brushing her cheek. I whispered assurances, lowering to nuzzle her earlobe. Shannon groaned beneath her breath, a breath that quickened as I found her neck. Closing her eyes, she allowed me to kiss, then suck then nibble the tender flesh. Lifting a hand to her cheek, I guided her face back round ninety degrees. This time she held fast, our lips moulding. "Ohhhhhhh daddy," she moaned back, the words muffled as our tongues touched tentatively.

Within no time we were exploring one another's mouths, tongues lashing. We remained entangled, licking, sucking and slurping. Shannon eased back and I bent forward with her, not for one moment breaking the embrace. As she flattened out, bathed in my shadow, I saw her smile contentedly. As I lowered, her pert breasts became pressed tight to my chest. Reaching over I caressed the auburn twines of hair at the temple. Still the kiss persisted and, going beyond the point of comfort, I craved oxygen. Finally we uncoupled, exhaling like marathon runners.

I took a moment to admire the naked 18-year old, her hands instinctively crossed at her crotch. Placing a hand on her inner thigh I stroked up, sliding my hand beneath hers. She gasped at the intimate contact, the heat radiating from between her legs warming my palm. Bending my thumb I moved it the length of her slit and back, scooping up a light film of cunt dew. Bringing it to my lips I sucked, tasting the bittersweet deposit with delight.

Shannon lay dreamily, half-smiling and twitching nervously. Lifting her hands, she placed them by her sides. "Take me now daddy," she mouthed.

I smiled reassuringly, cocking my legs across, knees resting between hers. At the same time I lifted her arse, slipping a plumped-up cushion beneath. Her mound, fringed with auburn curls, pulsed gently. Jockeying for position, my cock head scraped the soft flesh of her inner thigh.