Retirement

"Of course, dear," he said smiling, locked the door, and left.

Daphne pushed the soaked towel toward the bottom of the bathtub. "Must be this freaking headache," she muttered. "I always lock the door. And if I didn't before, you can bet I will verify it all the time now, you old bastard." She settled back down into the hot water. "Stinking old bastard, barging in here like that."

*************************

Sarah looked up from the posterboard that she was trying to turn into a sign for the fundraiser, and studied Daphne across the table. They were in Daphne's kitchen, and Sarah was concerned that her friend was so quiet today.

"Caroline said to tell you again that she is sorry."

"Well, she can stuff it," Daphne said, without looking up from her own sign.

"What happened between you two anyway? Caroline won't talk about it."

"We just had a difference of opinion. A *big* difference of opinion."

"Well," Sarah sighed, "You both seem to be tearing yourselves up over it."

Daphne tossed her magic marker to the middle of the table and leaned back. "It's not really that that has me so worked up."

"I'm biting. What is it, then?"

"Well, it's just ... Daddy just seems to be bullying everyone around and still getting his way despite anything I say. And, dammit, this is my house. He needs to be behave himself. David's still living here, impressionable, and Daddy's having a hyperactive mid-life crisis!"

"Boy, he really does have you worked up."

"He's impossible!"

At that moment, they heard a key unlock the front door. Then Grant stepped in with a pretty blonde college girl.

"Daffy! Good afternoon! I see your pretty brunette schoolteacher is here with you. Hi, pretty brunette schoolteacher."

"Daddy," Daphne sighed, "What are you doing?"

"This," he said, putting his arm over the blonde girl's shoulder, "Is Trish. She's a cheerleader at David's college, and she's the prettiest girl in the whole school."

"Grant," she said, giggling and nudging him with her shoulder.

"Daddy! For godsakes! This girl is a third your age!"

"Daffy-Bear, you just have to realize that your father is not only a parent, he is also a man."

"Puh-lease!" Sarah put her opinion in.

"Don't scoff at me, pretty miss schoolteacher," Grant smiled. "You've never had the Blaine charm sprung on you."

"And I can go my whole life without it, I assure you. Patricia, why don't you run along and stop teasing the old man."

"Don't you try to --" the blonde girl began, but Grant cut her off.

"I've really touched a nerve," Grant said to Sarah.

"It's just silly to see ... something ... like this," Sarah said, waving her arm at Grant and Patricia.

"You're just jealous because you're too repressed to get a man, Miss Milsford."

"Young lady, you may be --"

"Ladies! Ladies!" Grant bellowed. "Easy, gals. Don't get into a catfight over me. Miss Milsford, you'll get your turn later. And Trish, honey, you'll get to watch. But for now, if you two ladies," he nodded toward the table Daphne and Sarah were sitting at, "Will excuse us. Trish and I are going to go play a little." He put his arm around the giggling girl and led her up the stairs.

"Bastard!" Sarah spat out.

"Do you see how he gets to you?"

"I see, alright. Geez, he's a mean old bastard!"

"And you don't even have to live with him."

"How do you stand it, Daphne?"

"I'm figuring that out now," she said, picking up the marker and starting to work on her sign again.

Sarah just stared at her a few moments, then resumed working on her sign as well.

"Grant! Oh, what are you doing?!" came the high pitch voice from upstairs. "Grant!"

"Bastard!" Sarah muttered.

"Yep," Daphne agreed, still working on her sign.

After a couple minutes, a rhythmic thumping began upstairs.

"Daphne, you do *not* need to put up with this," Sarah said, looking up from her posterboard.

"What else can I do?"

"You do *not* have to suffer being treated this way. You are an adult. So is he. If he doesn't follow your rules, he needs to just start looking for another place to live."

"Oh, Grant, oh! Damn, that feels goooooood!"

"You wouldn't put up with David doing this in your house, would you?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Then why do you put up with it from him?"

"Oh, yes, *yes*, *YES*!!! Fuck! Yeeeeessssss!"

"I don't ... know ... I couldn't just ...."

"Daphne, you are not ... this isn't ..." Sarah stopped to get a hold of her anger.

"Oh, not again! Oh! Fuck! Graaaaaaant!"

"Daphne, the consequences of his actions are his fault and his fault alone. If he wears out his welcome, well, that was just something he should have thought of!"

"Oh ... oh ... yes, Graaaaant ... yes ...."

"Daphne, he is a slimy old lech. Forgive me, I know he's your father, but he really is."

"I know, I know. But I just can't bring myself to --"

"Oh, sweetjesus, not again! Oh! *Oh!! *OOOOOHHHHHH*!!!!!"

"You know, this is an insult right here," Sarah said. "Every time that little tramp squeals, it's an insult to the two of us sitting here."

"I know, Sarah," Daphne sighed.

"And you just keep on taking it." Sarah clucked her tongue, grabbed the magic marker, and started taking her agression out on the sign.

Daphne didn't know what to do. Sarah was right, but Daphne just couldn't bring herself to take action. She took a carrot from the bowl on the table and stuck the tip in her mouth. As she pondered over what was happening, what Sarah had just said, she ran her tongue around the tip of the carrot without biting it. Actually, she had never kept carrots in the house until she started craving them a few days ago. But she always took her time eating them, spending quite a bit of time just slowly running her tongue around and around the end.

"Oh, god, I feel like a woman ...," came a voice from the bottom of the stairs.

Daphne and Sarah looked over to see Patricia standing there, leaning on the bannister, dressed in a white nightgown, her breasts clearly visible through the sheer top.

"That's my nightgown!" Daphne told her.

"Well, I needed *something* to wear. Although I suppose I could take it off now for you if you really want."

"No," Daphne told her, her lips pursed. "Just keep the damn thing on."

"You tramp!" Sarah called her.

"Yeah, right. He said to send you up next, although I really don't see what he sees in your drab little self."

"Send ... me ... up ...," Sarah sputtered.

Patricia walked to the kitchen and opened the refridgerator door. "Yeah, he said he wanted to do you next," she said, taking the orange juice carton out.

"To ... do ... me! ... That ... bastARD!"

"Yeah, but, boy, can he fuck. You heard a couple quiet spells there in the middle. Damn if I didn't pass out it felt so good!"

"This is enough ...," Daphne said quietly.

"He has this thing he does with his tongue, you know," Patricia continued telling Sarah, causing the schoolteacher to cover her ears with her hands.

"This just can't go on ...," Daphne muttered.

"And he has this one way of rubbing your clit at the same time that he fingers you butthole that --"

"You let him touch your anus?!" Sarah asked the cheerleader, taking her hands from her ears, astonished.

"Well, I normally wouldn't. I mean, I don't do things like that. But he was doing something else at the time, licking me somewhere, and before I knew it, he had been fingering my butthole for several seconds, and it just felt so, oh man!, so good that I couldn't get the words out to tell him to stop. You know? So he kept on going. And that was one of those times that I just passed out, it felt so good."

"I need to take a stand sometime," Daphne said a little louder. "Sarah, you're right, you know that?"

"Yeah," Sarah said distractedly, sliding her chair back and standing up.

"I mean, you're right. He doesn't own this house. And he certainly doesn't own me or my family. For David's sake this can't continue going -- Sarah, where are you going?"

Sarah stood at the doorway to the kitchen. "I was just ... uhm ... I just need to ...." She shut her mouth and shrugged her shoulders.

"Sarah!" Daphne gasped. "You're not -- you are! You're going to go up to him! Just like he told you to!! Sarah! Where are your ... how could you?!"

"Oh, I'm not listening to him! I'm --" Sarah said, then opened and shut her mouth twice without saying anything. "Daphne, I'm not listening to him. I just want to go up and see the sonofabitch that would have enough gall to even suggest something like this. That's all," she said, backing up towards the stairs. "I just want to see what such a sonofabitch looks like."

"Sarah ...."

"I'm just going to look," she said, backing up the stairs.

"I give her two minutes before she cums," Patricia offered, sitting down in the vacated chair with her glass of orange juice.

"But how could she?! How could she just ...."

"He just has this way about him." She drank several gulps of juice.

"Don't! Don't you dare!" they heard Sarah's voice from upstairs.

"Ignore that," Patricia advised Daphne. "She's just playing hard to get. Won't last, though. But she may try to go as long as she can without crying out. It would be a matter of pride for her." She took another long drought of orange juice.

"Ohsweetfuckingjesus!!!!!!"

Patricia smiled. "But, then again, she may not have much choice. Like I said, he has a way about him." She finished drinking the glass of orange juice, then set the empty glass by the sink. "Well, I'd better get back up there. He said I could watch." She giggled and headed up the stairs.

Daphne stuck the carrot back in her mouth and began running her tongue around and around it. How? How could this all be happening? Sarah was so decisive just a few minutes ago, and now listen to her.

"Oh, FUCK! Not there! Please, stop, no! Oh ... OH ... OH, YES, OH YES RIGHT THERE ... AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!"

"What happened to you, Sarah?" Daphne whispered out loud. "You were just here, getting ready to help me. But now you're up there with him, sucking his cock or something."

"No!" Sarah cried out from upstairs. "Don't stop! No, please don't stop!"

Daphne slowly stood, her carrot in her mouth, and eased over to the staircase, then up the stairs.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," Sarah was repeating with a rhythm from the room at the top of the stairs.

"Here, tramp, suck my nipples while he plugs you," Patricia ordered her.

"Get lost, bitch. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck."

Daphne swallowed hard, then moved into the doorway to see what was happening.

Sarah was on the desk, her ankles up by her ears, her pelvis tilted forward to allow Grant's prick pumping access to her asshole.

Patricia and Grant saw her first. "Oh, look at that," Patricia said with a smile, pointing at Daphne.

Sarah wrenched her upper body around to see, but Grant held her lower body pinned with his hands and cock.

Sarah's eyes grew wide, and her mouth opened and shut a couple times before anything would come out. "I ... I ... Daphne, please ... I just don't know why I ...."

Daphne just stood, shaking her head, then began backing away, down the hall, toward her room, to lock the door and try to sort through all these things that were happening.

"What was that carrot dangling out of her mouth?" Patricia asked the other two.

*************************

It was ten o'clock in the evening.

Daphne was in the bathtub, her carrot in her mouth, her tongue slowly running around and around it as she reflected on what had happened today, on where everything was going.

The doorknob turned, and Grant stepped in.

Daphne pulled the carrot out of her mouth gave a tired sigh without bothering to cover herself. "Oh, Daddy, not again."

"Daffy," Grant said with a leer, "What pretty red nipples you have."

Daphne half-heartedly brought one forearm across her chest to cover her breasts, without bothering to cover her pussy. "Oh, Daddy (sigh) you're not supposed to be looking."

"I know, Daffy-Bear, but they're just so ... so ... are you cold or something, honey?"

"Daddy, how could you? How could you do those things to those women today. One was my best friend, Daddy! And you just ...."

"Now I really cannot understand this. Here you are, griping at me, chastizing me, when you're the one that's been collecting slutty friends. I mean, no proper lady would do the things they've done. You picked them as friends, not me. But you yell at me when they show their true colors."

"Daddy, they were never like this before!"

Grant grinned slyly. "Guess it's the old Blaine charm."

"Daddy!"

"Turn your back around here and hand me the soap," Grant said as he kneeled by the bathtub.

"What are you going to do, Daddy?"

"I'm just going to soap your back. That's all." She still looked at him suspiciously. "You seem to be upset, and a backrub always puts the mind at ease."

She handed him the bar of soap, and he began running it over her shoulders and back.

"Mmmmmmmm ...."

"Feel good?"

"Mmmmm-hmmmmm. I guess so."

"You guess so? Well, if it's not helping, I'll quit."

"No. No, you can keep doing it."

Daphne shut her eyes as Grant began splashing water to wash the soap away. Then he began repeating the process.

"I just don't understand it. Sarah has never acted anything at all like that. She always seemed so ... shy."

"Some people aren't always what they appear to be," he said as he moved his lathering motions from her back to her sides.

"But Sarah?! She is the most reserved person I've ever known."

Grant lightly, accidently brushed the bottom her right breast, then watched for a reaction, but Daphne did not open her eyes. "She didn't fool me, Daffy Bear. I saw her for what she was."

"Mmmmmmmmm. And what is that, Daddy?"

"A highly repressed, stalled individual. When someone gets like that, they --" As he spoke, her slowly moved his hands to cup his daughter's breasts.

"Daddy!" she squealed, splashing around in the water as she pulled his hands off her breasts. "Daddy, not my titties! No! You -- you shouldn't even be in here." She covered her breasts with one forearm and her crotch with the other hand. "You should leave, Daddy. You shouldn't be in here."

"Easy, honey, easy. Sssshhhhh. It's okay. Just sit back down, and I'll --"

"No, you need to leave now, Daddy."

"But didn't the backrub feel good and help to --"

"Daddy, please! Just leave now."

"Okay, honey, anything for you. Just tell me you're my little Daffy-Bear before I go."

"Daddy!" she whined.

"Come on."

"Okay, Daddy, I'm your little Daffy-Bear. Happy?"

Grant smiled. "That's my girl. I'll see you tomorrow, then." And he opened the door and left.

Daphne settled back in the water and put the carrot back in her mouth. How? How could her friends behave like that? Letting her father just have his way with them, acting like they've never acted before?

On impulse, she pushed the carrot into her mouth, curious how far back it would go before she gagged. Quite far, actually. She pulled it out and tried it again. Yes, quite far.

But how could her friends behave like that, letting Daddy touch them in places and get them to do things that just ... weren't ....

Maybe there really was something to "the Blaine charm.

*************************

Amy was tired as she unlocked the door to her house at the end of the day. She enjoyed being a real estate agent, no doubt about that, but some days were just frustrating. It seemed all the houses she had taken her clients to today -- some of which she thought they'd be delighted with -- were picked apart and turned down entirely.

"Hey, honey," her husband called to her from the living room. He had his calculator and books spread out on the kitchen table, apparently working on the bills.

"Hi, Allen," she said, hanging her coat up.

"How was your day?"

"It ... was. That's about the best I can say for it."

"I'll tell you what. Change into something more comfortable, and I'll take you out to dinner."

Amy paused a moment, then smiled. "That sounds good. Give me just a few minutes, and I'll be ready, kind sir."

She had travelled halfway back the hall when the doorbell rang. "Could you get that?" she called out to Allen.

"No problem." Allen shut his books and answered the door. A man he had never seen stood there. Probably trying to unload his quota of religious pamphlets, Allen thought.

"You must be Mr Keith," the man said.

"Yes ...," Allen answered, cocking his head, "And you're ...."

"My name is Grant," the man said, extending his hand for Allen to shake. "Grant Blaine. Your wife and my daughter are good friends."

"You're Daphne's father?"

"That I am."

"Well, come in. How may I help you?"

"Actually, you and your wife can join me for dinner. I've moved into town, staying with my daughter, and I'm trying to get back into the hang of socializing."

"Well, that sounds like a very neighborly offer."

"It is, it is. Please, join me. I've even brought my old company's limo for us to ride in."

"A limo?!" Allen whistled. "Well, I don't see how we can turn down an offer like that. As a matter of fact, Amy and I were just talking about going out. We'd be delighted to join you."

"Who is it, dear?" Amy asked as she came back down the hall. "Oh! It's you?!"

"Amy," Allen said, apparently not picking up on the tone of her voice, "Mr Blaine here just offered to take us out to dinner. In his limo, no less."

"Well, I'm sorry, Grant, but we --"

"Honey," Allen interrupted, "I just told him we would join him."

Amy clicked her teeth together. "Can I see you in the kitchen a moment, dear?"

"Excuse us, Grant."

"No problem, Alan. I guess some men still have to answer to their wives."

"What is it?" Allen asked, his voice a little irked, when they were in the kitchen.

"Allen, you don't know this man. You really wouldn't like him. Let's not go."

"Amy, I've already committed us. Besides, he seems fine to me."

Amy sighed. "You *really* don't know this man, Allen. Please just take my word for it -- going out with him would be a mistake."

"Why? What could he possibly do?"

"He could ... I ... look, Allen, I grew up with his daughter. We played together at her house all the time. He tried --"

"He didn't try to ... molest either of you or anything?!"

"Oh, no! No, nothing at all like that. But he tried to dominate her every chance he could. And lately, since he's been here, there's been trouble between several of Daphne's friends and her."

"And you think that somehow he's responsible? That he's been fomenting trouble?" Allen winced. "That sounds like it's stretching things a little, don't you think?"

"Allen, if you insist on going with him, I'll come along. But please don't. If we go out with him, we're going to regret it."

"Honey, I did already agree."

Amy stared at him a moment, then clucked her tongue. "Very well, then. Fine. We'll go."

"Are you sure, dear? It *will* be fun. He brought a limousine and everything."

"Yes," she said, pursing her lips and shaking her head, "We'll go."

"Great!" Both reentered the living room. "Just give me a minute to get changed, Grant, and we'll head out."

"Great! Splendid!"

Allen walked back up the hall, and Grant wandered over to a bookcase and began glancing at the backs of the books. "I'm a little surprised you two are joining me, Amy."

"It wasn't my choice, believe me," she said, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

"Oh, I knew that all right. You've had this love-hate thing about me since you were a little girl." Amy sputtered, but Grant ignored it. "What surprises me is the balls Allen is showing. I figured that any husband you would marry would be some gutless wimp that surrendered his testicles to you long before he even said, 'I do.'"