Roger paused at the mantle and picked up the picture of Susan and Janine. It had been about two months since Susan had left. Not that he was sorry that she was gone, but Roger worried how Janine was taking it. Having her mother take off without a word of explanation was sure to fuck with her psyche sooner or later.
He had met Susan a little over a year ago. In the beginning, things had looked promising. At his insistence, he had her move her things into his place, unaware that when she would show up at the doorstep, her daughter would be in tow. Besides being surprised that Susan had a daughter, he was somewhat taken aback at the differences between them. Susan had been a looker - curvy in all the places a woman should be curvy - and she had known it too. Janine had looked nothing like her mother when he first saw her. She was thin and gawky. Where Susan had been loud and boisterous, Janine had been quiet and subdued. Susan had worn outrageously sexy outfits in bold bright colors. Janine preferred quiet clothes that blended in with the background. Roger figured it was a phase for Janine as she was still a teenager and probably suffering from typical shyness and insecurity most teens live through.
Even before a year had passed, both Susan and Roger had tired of the relationship. Susan's infatuation with authority had been shallow and she quickly veered from any guidance or correction Roger could give her. And although the first few months of having Susan living with him had been filled with sheer sexual compliance, Roger had grown weary of Susan's defiantly insolent side and his continual attempt to control it had become tedious rather than exciting. To make matters worse, Roger found Susan's extracurricular activities of abusing their fidelity and their credit cards had pretty much left him cold.
When she had finally packed a bag and yelled at Roger over her shoulder to keep the brat, he had been neither surprised nor sorry. Sharp tongued, malicious, and dishonest were not the characteristics he valued in a woman. He was better of without her so he didn't complain, even when she left behind Janine.
Not that Janine was a burden. Hardly. He stroked the picture of Janine tenderly. She had filled out in the last year. Although she was still slender, she had gained a few curves. A mere shadow of her mother's, but still nicely formed. And the gawkiness was almost gone, replaced by a quiet grace. She was still reserved, but Roger liked that, having tired of Susan's constant haranguing.
And unlike Susan, Janine had not only done her assigned tasks but did them quietly without question. As the year went by, he found himself more and more drawn to Janine. And he knew that the feeling existed deep within Janine also. He wondered when she would truly be ready for him.
When she domes to you
, he answered himself silently with a smile.
He had waited until after her 18th birthday to start enforcing the standards of the house. A woman has different responsibilities than a girl. But even with the strictest rules, discipline was not often necessary. Although, he thought as he glanced at his watch, it seemed lately there had been more reprimands needed than normal. He shrugged. No one was perfect. He put the picture back down. He was going to have to replace the mother and daughter picture with one of just Janine.
"Daddy?" Roger turned around to find Janine in the doorway. Her long brown hair was tousled and her voice was breathless. "I'm sorry I'm late!" she flushed. She looked adorable in her cotton shift, her young breasts pressing against the thin material. He suppressed a smile, thankful he had always required the woman of his house to wear dresses. Women should never wear pants.
He tapped his watch.
She looked at him tentatively, "Lisa's mom was late picking us up from the library."
He raised a questioning eyebrow, "You know the rules, Janine," he said softly, "What are they?"
Her eyes searched his and when they found no quarter, she took a deep breath, "One stroke for each minute I'm late," she looked at him and added quietly, "But it wasn't my fault."
Roger wagged a finger at her, "No excuses. You know better than that, don't you?"
Janine nodded her head slowly. Yes, she did. He glanced at his watch again.
"Eighteen minutes late. Two more minutes and
I
would be picking out the paddle. So go put away your books, pick one out and get ready for me. I think down here in the living room tonight," Janine slowly turned around and headed to her room.
Janine dreaded spankings. They hurt and continued hurting long afterwards. She shuddered apprehensively. But there seemed to be no other way. She closed her eyes and took a long deep breath. It was like eating a large plate of garbage to get to the chocolate sundae. Why didn't he touch her the way she wanted to be touched by him? Surely he had to understand how much she loved him? How much she wanted him?
When her mother had left, Janine had had three powerful reactions. Joy. Beyond the fact her mother didn't give a shit for her and vice versa, Janine knew that her mother was the one obstacle standing between her and Daddy. Fear. What if he didn't want her? He really had no obligations to her now that her mother was gone. Especially after she had turned 18. Hope. When he changed the rules, she dared to dream she had a chance, regardless how slim. She knew she could be the woman her mother hadn't been. And she waited, hoping beyond hope. She picked up a paddle and headed back to the living room.
Roger poured himself a glass of red wine and put a Vivaldi cd into the stereo. He closed his eyes as the strains of a full string section poured into the room. A few minutes later, he sensed more than heard Janine pad into the room. He turned.
She stood there, her head hung low causing her hair to cascade over her face and chest. Slowly, she stepped out of her dress. She took pains to fold it and place it on the sofa. Janine couldn't bear to look at him directly, but knew Daddy was watching her intently. She unhooked her bra and slipped if off her shoulders. Embarrassed, she tried to cover her breasts with her hair.
He looked at her for a few minutes. Ah, how high and pert her breasts were. And her pink nipples jutted out, begging for attention.
"Head up, young lady," He took a sip of his wine. She raised her head and implored him silently. A tear had escaped and was traveling down her cheek.
