Accustomed to Her Face Ch. 01bybill33©
It's finally autumnal. It's the angle of the light. There's been a chill - that's not new; but it's the light this afternoon that's made the difference.
I came home early by two days. I called you two nights ago and you answered the phone warmly and sleepily and you sounded so happy to hear that I'd changed my flight and you said, "I'm so glad - I'll be waiting, Daddy." And now - I'll be waiting, Daddy - echoing in my head - now as I walk up the street the way I know you'll be coming home from class - I'll be waiting, Daddy - it's like slow fire in my veins against the cool air.
I missed you more than is reasonable for a gentleman to miss a young girl. Especially 'cause we'd only met a few months ago. You'd answered the ad I'd put on the board in the student center last spring - "room for rent, kitchen privileges, three blocks from campus." I had thought it would be good to have someone else around this big old house. Someone to keep an eye on things when I was gone. Someone who'd collect the mail.
I'd thought to hear someone's voice down the upstairs hall would do me good - in the apartment in the old servant's wing now vacant these last ten years. Someone young. Someone who wouldn't mind my nocturnal fits of writing at my piano or bumping around the kitchen downstairs in the wee hours.
You were the first to answer the ad and I liked you right away. Earnest, well spoken, quietly charming. You were at the end of your freshman year and staying on for the summer with a waitressing job down the hill. Could you move in right away? I said yes.
Now I see you in the distance and you see me. We walk faster and then slow. You stand inches from me - beaming. "I've been waiting for you, Daddy." You take my hand. We walk home together. It will be a very warm night.
I can feel you trembling. Your hands are against the big tall old Victorian mirror in the front hall and my left hand is on the small of your back holding you gently in place - just off balance so you can't easily move. You took off your backpack when we stepped inside. I caught you off guard just right and pushed you softly but inexorably forward to where you are now suddenly but pleasantly at my whim.
You can see my face in the mirror over your shoulder. You can see the kindness in my eyes at the same time my expression lets you know that you will comply. You feel yourself give in. You know you will always give in.
My left hand works its way under your sweater - under your camisole until it's on your soft flesh and now my right hand works its way up the inside of your left thigh and under your pleated skirt until it finds your soft, warm mound. No panties. "Good girl," I tell you.
Your cunnie lips are hot and full and, as I part them with my fingers, very wet. "Very good girl," I tell you.
You moan softly as I begin to stroke your silky clitoris.
I push against your back just a littler harder and you lean further forward until the cool glass is against your right cheek. You are looking at me over your shoulder as you begin to rise in excitement. Your wetness is dripping down my fingers.
"My - you are an enthusiastic little thing aren't you, dear?"
"Yes what, darling?"
"Good Girl. You know that tonight is very special, don't you sweetie?"
"Mmmm hmmm. What will happen tonight, my beautiful little girl?"
"I will give myself to you, Sir."
"Yes you will. I will be your first."
"It will make me so happy, Sir. I will belong to you even more."
"Yes you will. Good girl -"
I know just how to make you come and I make you come now - you are squealing and writhing, pushing your hips back to increase your pleasure on my fingers. Your breath has made a fog on the mirror and I'm telling you, "You are so beautiful, darling. Come for me, baby. Come for me. You are my good girl. My beautiful girl," until your shuddering abates and I slowly release my pressure on your back.
You catch your breath for a moment then you twist away playfully, giggling and grabbing my hand. You pull me into the house - into the big old formal living room with its high ceilings and dark casements. The soft late afternoon light filters through the drapes and cascades across the rugs. The clock sits unwound on the tall mantle - stopped so it doesn't act as a competing metronome when I'm working.
You stand before me fussing with your scarf and I think to myself that you are like a bay warmblood filly - a vision of loveliness. And you catch me watching you (this way I often do) and you smile and step to me and kiss my mouth - tenderly pushing my lips open with your insistent tongue while you unbutton my cardigan and loosen my tie.
A languorous kiss. Then your smile again.
"Shall we have a fire?" I ask.
"Yes, please - and a tonic and lime for you and a glass of wine for me, OK?"
"And then some supper, I think. And you can tell me about your classes and all the important news at the big, big school," I tease you.
"Stop patronizing me," you laugh.
"Interesting choice of words, darling."
"It was deliberate - Sir."
I smile. Yes - a warmblood. With spirit and intelligence. It's nice to have someone to talk back at me.
"And you can tell me of your travels and play me your latest song, Daddy," as you saunter back toward the pantry for our drinks. I'll busy myself with the fire while I ponder the entomology of "patron," but for now, I watch your hips sway as you disappear through the double-hinged door.
I think of Higgins: "I've grown accustomed to her face." Damn indeed. I sure hope you don't run off in a year or so - chasing some lucky young man. I lean against the piano. I'm frozen. And the words play:
"I was serenely independent and content until we met... "Surely I could always be that way again- "And yet..."
You're back with our drinks and I'm standing there in the growing shadows. You catch my expression. "Don't leave," I say.
You hand me my tonic and lime - "Yes, Daddy. Never."