Art Of Growing Up

The Art Of Growing Up.

Chapter One.

BRIBERY AND BLACKMAIL! "Why it's a girl's best friend..." as the saying goes - felt Tonya...

"Yes! ...Rather naughty is me, sometimes I am -- I guess...?

What I know is, although I live in a maybe, regular home by some standards...and on top of that, most if not all, of my friends around my age, would not have to put up with spankings... Hell, I'm gone eighteen, some five months now: I can vote – I can drink – I can drive... Why, I can even die for my country, if I choose to take a side – but if my dad gets mad...hmmm! –Why, he still thinks he has the right to put me over his knee!

Ouch! I love it, the poor old bastard is stuck in the past though, dreaming of turning out a sweet, lovely, little cherub-angel of a daughter, when I have been doing my holes for years with every vegetable in the fridge that would fit, that is.

What a joke! Quite often, in his rage, he would pull my pee-pee stained panties down around my hot, shapely, thighs, and paddle my sweet, innocent looking buns, until I sobbed, and sobbed, and promised, and promised, to be daddy's "good little girl" – once again... What a joke! I sure he think I'm still six years old! I mean, can't he see the hairs on my ass-hole and beaver, these days...? Doh!

Anyways, "I'm a good girl, I am..." smirked Tonya with Pygmalion overtones after watching a re-run of "My Fair Lady" – again on the telly.

TONYA HAD JUST TURNED-WOMAN when her mom started down at the local community center. She enrolled in sewing classes there, meeting every Tuesday evening with friends: They did quilts.

"I'm always at my naughtiest on Tuesdays." smiled Tonya to herself, inwardly.

I just love cooking dinner for dad when mom is off sewing. I don't want daddy to miss her, so I try very hard to copy everything mother does when she's here.

Every Tuesday, before I let him eat though, first, I make him take the trash out, and move furniture around. On times I would, accidently on purpose, drop a fork or something behind the refrigerator, and insist he slide it out so I could get in there at it.

One Tuesday evening, I even made him mow the grass, and trim the hedges of the back yard lawn at last - though it had gotten dark, even: Miserable and fairly forlorn, quietly suffering mommy's absence, he was, "...too hard to get daddy's mind off from missing mommy by using my ass." I thought, but I forced the issue out there, in the dark, sweating-off his useless dangling, love-sick horn.

What use is daddy's horn, hanging flaccid between his powerful thighs, drooping out of his sequestered marital loins – what use is it indeed, unless it is long, and thick, and rigid, with all of that lovely, rich cream, driveling out of the hole in the top? Hell, it's a waste to just use it as a hose-pipe!

Before Tonya's daddy could come to his senses, and realize that he really missed her - his wife I mean - on his, lonely, Tuesday evenings... and realized the depth of the darkness and despair dawning in his fat-ridden heart, Tonya stepped in and worked his ass off, so hard, that the pathetic old bastard could only think one second in front of the last, let alone stew in reminiscence of having his wife there at his beck and call 24/7! "Hun, get me this. Hun, get me that. Hun where's the remote? Hun, where's the paper? Hun, where my fucking ass-hole, I have to take a shit...?" Tonya mocked in her mind. Well, today is a new day, and forget all of that. You know what is said about new brooms...and from now on, Tuesdays will be known as – "New Broom Day" -- for daddy...!

THERE IN THE GARDEN – tooth-marks in the apple – paradise gone: Daddy-Adam, and daughter-Eve - why! Almost a new paragon...

I made him sweat whilst yawning: I was daddy's wife for the night. He needed to...to -- to be taught! -- To love - me - as his wife. --Why, mommy didn't care - pricking her fingers, under the quilt on Tuesday nights, at the college - out there.

I smiled: Tearing at his mental fig leaf:

Adorned stains: My panties were wet in the middle.

I could smell their sweet acrid aroma, billowing out of my buttoned crew-necked blouse. It's a wife's right - to have a wet-panty-gusset, at any time of a night. If it is seen to be fit, and – I as surrogate wife for the night – well, I saw fit.

GARDEN LOCKED: Standing there, holding some sort of flash-light: Hip, hand, elbow thrust half-akimbo out. Leg-crossed, forward-foot beating: Impatient! Toe-patted ground, contrite: Stubborn lower jaw jutting-out – in resignation, that's right...

Head wobbling: neck-about-shoulder; spinning - pictured - china - balance - wobbly atop; spindly bamboo sticks; vaudeville bimbo. Tonya stood there, barking orders, shifting her head around like a Puerto Rican 'hoe, reading her pimp the riot-act; just before her knocks her two front teeth out.

Ordering – Yes! Ordering more and more – and more – and more...

Trimming: --Daddy; snipping here, daddy chopping there: Wildly mowing! Mowing here, wildly mowing there; daddy snipping and mowing - wildly! Every-fucking-where...!

Tonya blushed scarlet - in the dim light of the night-ridden garden – flushed at the sheer power of it all – her knickers dripping at the turn-on.

WHAT A SIGHT, the brazen harlot touched little by life and, bruised and hardened, not by sin itself but, from Christmas-card sights; frosted cut lawns and mowers paid by the hour alright.

Tonya cooled herself down though, through thought and the reminiscence of pallid mimicry: Stark, stolid copied wanness of mommy's dead-pan hanging face.

Yes! That one; the one she adopts, when dealing with daddy.

Tonya did what she did to him for his own good: He couldn't survive without mommy - not even for a single night...! No. Not even for - one - single - night! No...! Not for – even! - one dirty stinking night: One mother-fucking night! No... Daddy couldn't survive without -- Her...! The Bitch!

TONYA KNEW IT: All she wanted was one stinking night...

So...she did it! And somewhere inside – he knew it, and somewhere too, she knew her daddy blew it - it became known to all, stewing in it...

Come to Tonya daddy: Why! She won't bite – Right? – Maybe. Well not tonight; baby but don't screw it up - alright!

"Men are wild beasts." Tonya's mother had often told her, "...and it is a woman's duty to tame that beast, hunnie."

"I had often seen mommy do it to daddy – control him, I mean. But on Tuesdays, I was the mommy: I was the controller, and I was daddy's wife too – then." She beamed, "At last, on Tuesdays - by default - daddy would become mine, mine: Yes—ss all fucking mine!" ...it seemed?

THE POWER OF it all made Tonya – stink! Thinking: She loved her panties stinking – 'specially when she was thinking...

At night, Tonya would pull them over teddy's head: her stinking knickers, I mean, and cuddled up in bed.

Tonya holds - a whole night of cuddling - Mr. fluffy Bongo tight:

Into her budding bosom;

Inside out:

Creamy gusset fuming silently, steamily close, musky scent - pungent clout...

Night breath bathed: Crack-fudge boiling – off:

Musky pong – there's nuttin' wrong.

Tonya flosses – her gash with her thong;

and snuggles into Teddy;

cumming under the blankets, and then she's gone.

Steady streams of pungent whiff; sucked-in throughout the night, as if -- intoxicated senses of love-hole cream and powdered shite -- director of dreams, the sniff so thick; wetting her next day panties – a symbiotic relationship trick.

(To be continued...)