The Getaway (a D/d Romance)

AN: Many thanks to Doctor Hook and twistedsickmind for their helpful advice

*

"Your daughter's here."

The secretary at the law firm of Hennessey, White & Associates sounded annoyed. She had that tone in her voice that said she didn't appreciate "personal matters" interrupting her work. "Oh, Thank Christ," John Hennessey muttered, tossing his pen on his desk. He took off his glasses and leaned back, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. It had been a long, exhausting day, and it wasn't over yet. He had a huge stack of briefs piled on his desk that he had to finish by the end of the day. A visit from Sara was

exactly

what he needed right now.

He waited another minute before buzzing the intercom.

"Please send her in. And hold my calls, Marilyn. Thank you."

Marilyn opened the door for Sara in a disapproving kind of way, but John didn't notice. His attention was entirely focused on his 21 year old daughter.

"Hey," said Sara, walking right in and making herself at home.

"'Hey' to you, too," said John, as he leaned back a bit in his chair and watched her sit down, thinking

What a goddamned beautiful sight.

She was completely out of place in her casual clothes, but to John she was absolutely gorgeous in skin tight jeans which showed off every perfect curve, no make-up and sun-kissed blond hair.

"What's up with Helga?" said Sara, raising an eyebrow.

"What, you mean the Gatekeeper?"

"I don't think she likes me."

John got up from behind the desk to make sure the office door was locked.

"It's just this place," he said, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. "It's a prison."

"I know. I have to show about ten forms of ID just to get in."

"Really? Well I'll have to get that fixed in the future."

"Yeah? Can I get put on the secret list?"

"Hmmmm, we'll see . . ." he whispered, as he walked past her back to his desk.

John sat down in his chair, leaning back with his hands behind his head, watching with fascination as Sara slowly got up and walked towards him, her long fingernails trailing on the desk, a little smile on her face. Their eyes locked, and he had to shift in his seat to get comfortable. Her every gesture held him mesmerized.

"Mmmm . . ." he groaned when Sara slid forward, straddling him. Her long hair fell to one side as she wrapped both hands around the back of his neck, like she was about to give him a lap dance. She spread her legs wider; he could see a lace-trimmed G-string peeking out over the top of her jeans.

"You're amazing," he whispered, as he slid his hands up to her waist and drew her closer. He closed his eyes and made a sharp intake of breath when she slid onto his hardness and he could feel the heat and wetness of her through his suit.

Sara wrapped her arms tighter around his neck as she looked into his eyes.

"So what do you think Helga would say if she knew you were fucking your daughter?" Sara whispered.

"Is that what I'm doing?"

"Hmmm . . . not exactly."

"No?" he said, grasping her hips and holding them down, tighter, on top of him.

"No, not yet . . ." she said.

"Oh . . . baby . . . I can't, I can't."

"She won't hear us," Sara murmured, as she kissed his neck.

"What? Oh I don't care about her. No, I have to work. I have to, if I want to get finished by this weekend."

"What's happening this weekend?"

"This weekend," he said, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, "I am taking you away."

"Really?" Sara said, smiling.

"I thought we'd go to Wildwood."

"Aw . . ." Sara reached down and held his hands. "Our 'anniversary'." "Yes," he said. "I thought we might celebrate."

She leaned over and kissed him sweetly on the lips. "I would

love

that. But I'm supposed to work."

"Oh . . . " John's voice conveyed his disappointment. "Can't you get out of it? We'll be together, just the two of us . . ."

Sara's nipples stiffened outwards at the look in his eyes, and a deep, secretive knowledge seemed to pass silently between them.

"You'll come?" he said, almost pleading.

Sara nodded, and kissed him again. "Let me see what I can do."

+++

After Sara left, John stood at the window of his well-appointed executive office with his hands balled into fists in his pockets, too aroused and excited to work.

In the far distance, he could see the mountains. Wildwood was only an hour away, but, he thought, it might as well be a million miles from where he was now.

His reflection floated like a ghost on the surface of the glass. It showed him a handsome man, 48 years old, with silvery black hair and dark green eyes. He wore a $2,000 suit with an immaculate pinstriped shirt, cufflinks, a stiff collar, and a perfectly knotted silk tie. It was the image of a man with power and responsibility— confident, conservative, everything he was raised to be. He never thought he would be contemplating it one day like he would a mask, or the face of a stranger.

It didn't trouble him—it was what it was, a necessary thing, for himself and everyone who depended on him. It was only with Sara that he let the mask down, and that was enough.

A year ago . . . it was hard to fathom how much could change in the space of two weeks.

He had gone to Wildwood miserable, stressed out, and desperate to get away from it all. Instead he had found something that he never imagined would become so indispensable to his existence.

He turned around to get back to work, thinking that tomorrow could not arrive soon enough. Wildwood was out there, just as real as the ghost. He would take her there, where it all began.

+++

An hour later, Sara, clad in a bikini and sunglasses, lounged on her back on a floating raft in the pool behind her parents' house. No one else was home.

She trailed both feet and one arm in the cool water; with the other she held an ipod. Lana del Rey streamed through the earbuds as she relaxed into the music, her blonde hair spread out behind her in the water like a jellyfish.

The float spun idly as she soaked up the rays. Once she slathered herself with protection, Sara could lie out for hours. She wore the teeniest bikini, to get as much tan coverage as possible, but also because nothing made her feel more alive than letting the sun caress her bare flesh. She'd be nude if she didn't have to worry about someone coming home.

Lana put her in a mood. The music was slow, sensuous, luxurious.

A series of images, small flashes of things, floated across the darkness behind her closed eyes.

A pair of cufflinks; a perfectly knotted tie; the electric touch of his hand on her shoulder; the blue-green of his eyes; the way he had gazed at her body; the tenseness in his shoulders that made her ache to touch him; the disappointment and pleading his voice. Every little thing came back so sharp and intense she had to squeeze her thighs tightly together right there on the raft to stop from touching herself.

They hadn't been able to get together in what seemed like ages. And now they'd be going to Wildwood, where this incredible madness had first possessed them.

She floated in a circle, thinking of him and how life could change, just like that, into something you never dreamed possible.

Sara didn't realize that her mother, Margaret, stood at the window of the master bedroom in the mansion, watching her float in the pool. She had arrived home from shopping, and was in the middle of changing when she saw her. She stood in just a slip, clutching a necklace of expensive pearls at her throat, a worried expression on her beautiful face. She always worried about her daughter; she did not understand her. They were so completely different.

Margaret gasped when Sara lift herself up out of the pool and she saw that she was practically nude, her bikini little more than a few pieces of string.

How could she do that?

She tried very hard not to be judgmental, but she was extremely puzzled how her own daughter could be so open, and free with her body. Sara sauntered across the deck, perfectly at ease as her lush, full ass and breasts jiggled and swayed. It amazed her.

That just wasn't her. She could never be like that.

Margaret went and stood in front of a full length mirror, still in her slip.

She turned around, looking at herself from every angle. She was pleased with what she saw. She was tall and thin and taut and toned from yoga and spinning classes. Even after three kids, her body didn't look that different from when she was 20. She ran her hands over her small, firm breasts and a perfectly flat stomach, hesitated for a moment, then turned away to get dressed.

+++

"Hi, Mom."

A while later, Sara walked up to Margaret in the kitchen and wrapped her arms around her from behind.

"How have you been?" Sara said quietly, into her neck. "I know I haven't been around much."

Margaret continued chopping tomatoes for the dinner salad, then tossed them into a big wooden bowl.

"I'm fine . . . honey, just getting ready for my trip."

"Where are you going?"

"D.C., I told you."

"Oh, right. What's it for again?"

Margaret gave her a look. "Work, honey. I'm testifying in front of Congress?"

"Oh yeah . . ."

There was an awkward silence for a moment. Sara had no interest in her mother's work, or in having a "career," and it was a constant source of friction between them.

"I'm sure you'll do great. Do you know what you're going to wear?"

At this they were on common ground.

"Yes, actually, I just got back from the mall. I picked up a new suit . . ."

"Red?"

"Yes, I took your advice."

"Good. You look great in red."

"And what about you? How is . . .?"

"The art gallery? It's fine," said Sara, contemplating a grape before popping it into her mouth. "I've been working there and. . . just hanging out."

Margaret's lips tightened. She had no idea what "hanging out" meant. But she didn't want to get into the same old argument with Sara.

"Well . . . good," Margaret said. "I'm glad things are ok."

Sara stretched, and yawned, sticking out her boobs, covered only with the tiniest triangles over the nipples. Then she walked over to Margaret and hugged her warmly again.

"You need to

chill,

Mom. You know . . . enjoy yourself? Have some fun on your trip. When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning. Your father's driving me to the airport, and then he's going to Wildwood for the weekend."

"What about Craig and Sean?"

"They're away. So, the house will be empty all weekend if you want to stay here."

"Maybe I will."

Sara kissed her. "Have a good trip."

+++

When John returned home that night it was past 11:00 p.m. He found Margaret propped up on some pillows in bed, reading. She barely glanced when she heard him come in, or when he came over and gave her a perfunctory peck on the cheek.

"Hello."

"Mmm," said Margaret.

"So where are the boys going to be this weekend?" John asked, as he took off his heavy silver watch, then began to strip off his clothes.

"Oh, they're off, staying with friends."

"No one's around then?" John said, reaching for his belt.

"Hmm? No. Sara was here, but she left."

"Alright, well I think I'm going to take a dip in the pool before bed. It's hot as fuck," he said, as he tugged down his shorts.

He padded through the dark house with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. When he got to the deck he took it off. He loved the sensation of being naked out in the open, with his long, thick cock swaying freely in the night air. When he dove right into the cool water it felt like heaven.

As he stroked out some laps, he thought of Margaret.

They had been married for almost twenty five years and had three children together. His wife was beautiful, smart, and successful, but he had never had a passionate life with her. They had a good, solid partnership that worked extremely well for their kids, careers and finances, and neither one of them wanted that to change. They still had two sons living at home; John would never do anything to disrupt their lives.

Their sex life had never been anything spectacular, but then, it wasn't supposed to be. They had both come from the type of families where sex was much less important to a marriage than finances, compatibility, and social position. They had always had polite, gentle sex that was fulfilling, in its own way, and even now, he kept up the pretense, though much less frequently than before.

For a long time, he had found outside excitement in affairs—some that went on longer than others, most intense and short-lived, and never for anything more than sex.

Up until a year ago, that had been enough—or so he had believed.

Sara was well aware of the situation, and she didn't want anything to change, either. In a way he would never expect anyone else to understand, it was, in fact, exactly what they both wanted. They just had to be careful—very, very careful.

+++

The next day, John navigated through the suburbs to take Margaret to the airport. She sat next to him with a briefcase on her lap, going over some papers.

He saw her knee shaking up and down from nerves, and she was tapping her pen so loud on the armrest it was driving him crazy. He reached out and laid his hand on her thigh.

"Relax. You're going to do fine. You always do."

"Oh . . . you're right, you're right." She leaned backwards, letting out a deep breath.

They were both high-profile lawyers, specializing in corporate litigation. Margaret was on her way to testify about a big lawsuit involving the airline industry.

"Where are you staying?"

"The usual place."

"Alright well call me before you go tomorrow."

"Up at the cabin? I don't think there's reception up there."

"Oh, right, I forgot. Well call one of the boys, or Sara."

At the mention of Sara, Margaret frowned.

"I don't know what she does with herself."

John knew they were on the verge of one of their disagreements about Sara. She was supposedly "taking classes" at a local university, but mainly she was supported by a generous allowance.

"She has no direction. I mean, what is she going to do?"

John shrugged. "She's figuring things out. Give her time."

"She has plenty of time! We were married by her age!"

They got out of the car and he helped her with her luggage. John reached out and put both hands on her shoulders, looking at her seriously.

"Can't you . . . relax? Enjoy yourself?"

She stared at him as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Alright, well have a good trip," John said. He drew her into a stiff hug. "I know you'll do fine."

"Thank you. Have fun at the cabin. Be safe."

"I'll be fine."

He drove away with a tremendous feeling of relief. There was a time when that conversation would have bothered him, but it didn't anymore. He wasn't responsible for her happiness.

His phone buzzed, and he saw he had a text from Sara.

"Got the weekend off but have to work tonight until 8:00."

He replied, "Ok, hon. I'm going up to get the place ready."

"Should be there around 10:00."

"Sounds good."

"Can't wait to see you . . ."

"I'll be waiting." He made sure to delete the messages before he clicked the phone shut.

+++

After dropping Margaret off at the airport, John headed back to the office to tie up some loose ends. He was just about to shut down his computer when one of the partners knocked on his door, saying he needed his input on a "very important conference call." John groan inwardly,

God, no,

and said "Of course."

Three hours later, after another conference call, a last minute meeting with a new client, and writing about a hundred e-mails, he finally turned the lights off. Marilyn eyed him suspiciously as he left, and he knew she was making a mental note of his early departure.

On the way home he stopped by the mall to pick up something he'd ordered for Sara, then the grocery store for food, candles and various supplies, and the liquor store for wine. He packed it all up, making sure to bring an extra blanket for the cool nights. He got on his phone to check in with his sons, then showered and changed into jeans and a polo shirt. At last, he locked up the house, got into his SUV and pulled out of the cul de sac.

It really wasn't until he was almost there, and the winding road through thick, heavy pine forest suddenly opened up onto the most spectacular view of the lake, that he felt like he could finally relax. The minute he pulled in he stepped out and inhaled deeply, relishing the pure mountain air. There was no other feeling like it in the world. There was no internet, no TV, no computers. It was heaven on earth.

+++

Sara checked her watch at the gallery. She still had an hour to go, and then she'd have to stay and clean up after the opening.

Her job was a combination of office slave and eye candy. For shows, she had to get dolled up in mile-high heels and skin tight dresses, slather on the make-up and flirt with potential buyers. Still, looking gorgeous was not that much of a demand as far as work went, and she did get to meet all kinds of people, including her last several boyfriends. She was hit on constantly by artists, writers, collectors, and rich businessmen. It was a never ending sea of men at her disposal.

At the moment she was being cornered by the star of the show, Carlos Abrarca, a hot, well established Latino photographer. He had one arm resting on the wall behind her, and was trying to get her to go home with him. He ran his eyes up and down her incredible body. She wore a white dress that showed off her dark tan.

"I would love to shoot you . . . come to my studio, I could do so much for you."

"Hmmmm . . ."

She gazed at him with her big brown eyes as if she was considering it, but she was miles away, wondering if John was at the cabin yet. She was picturing cuddling with him on the porch overlooking the lake. Maybe the moon would be out. She would snuggle into his arms, and they'd just relax for a while . . . mmmmm . . . before they went inside.

She'd spent so much time getting ready that day, primping and pampering getting ready to see him . . . two whole days they would have together. . . The closer she got to leaving the more excited and nervous she became. When she thought of being with him, a series of small explosions rippled through her body.

As soon as she was done, she tossed her heels, put sandals on her bare feet, and got in her car and took off.

It took her only 45 minutes. She drove in a state of agitation. She barely noticed as the freeway turned into a one lane road, she hardly saw the mountains or sky, she was only thinking of him.

John stood outside the house pacing, and anxiously peering up the road, waiting for her with the same nervous excitement fluttering in his stomach. He smiled when he saw her car pull up. She immediately went to him, and he let out a deep laugh as she leapt into his arms and buried her face in his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist. Sara giggled wildly as he spun her around, then carried her to the deck overlooking the lake, and deposited her on his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He grasped her face with one hand, turning her to look at him. He caressed her cheek, looking into her eyes.

"God, I've missed you," he said, quietly, as he leaned in to kiss her.

"Mmmmmm . . ." she moaned, as he opened her mouth, slowly savoring her lips, and found her tongue.

"Have you missed me," he whispered. "Tell me you've missed Daddy . . ."

"God! . . ." Sara gasped. She was so turned on she could barely speak. "Yes, I . . ."

"What?" he murmured, his lips traveling down to her neck.

"Please," she begged, pushing her tits towards his hands. "Please . . ."

"Relax, just relax . . ." he said, as he found her breasts, and gently stroked her nipples. "We have time."