tagNovels and NovellasAccustomed to Her Face Ch. 28

Accustomed to Her Face Ch. 28


Christmas Eve

You ran around the corner into the grand living room. I was standing, facing the large marble fireplace and I heard you rushing to me. I turned, and you halted a few feet away. I beheld you. I smiled.

"Radiant." It fell short of the mark but I could think of no other word. Your cheeks were more pronounced than I remembered, your eyes were dark and large. You stood in your stockinged feet. You had entirely forgotten your shoes. I saw the diamonds around your left ankle. I smiled again.

You were suddenly aware of the sensuality if your dress. You could feel the caress of your lace lingerie and the silk of your slip and dress flowing around your legs. You could feel the cameo against your heart and the glorious weight of the bracelet around your ankle.

Your body was revealed in its subtle shapeliness by the dress you had chosen. The deep red-rose of the fabric contrasted the richness of your skin. The V of the dress's neck revealed a slight cleft created by the push-up of your bra and the resulting curves of your breasts were irresistible. The flower in your hair was perfect.

But these were the mere outer trappings, albeit very lovely, of something deeper. You were lit up from within. Tonight you were the source of all light in the room. There was only you. Only you.

You customarily come to me. Tonight, I took the steps, and then, standing close as you looked up into my eyes, I touched your cheek with my right hand and bent down, slowly, to your mouth. With my lips so close that you could feel them brush your slightly opened mouth, I whispered, "Darling, you are -- radiant."

"Thank you, Daddy."

I gently nibbled you lips as you spoke. I reached around your waist and drew you close. You were trembling. My mouth was caressing yours as I spoke again. "I love you, little girl. You belong to me."

You melted into my arms, bending back slightly as I kissed you deeply. You thrilled, your pussy moistened. Your perfume filled my head. "Daddy." You were breathless.

You wrapped your arms around my shoulders and stood on your tip-toes. You slipped your tongue into my mouth. You became the aggressor, kissing me hard, meeting me with equal passion. My arms held your waist tightly. You belly was against my waistcoat. You could feel the buttons. Your breasts were crushed against my jacket. You could feel its lapels on your erect nipples. You wanted to knock me down and fuck me right there and then.

But there was a chime from the dining room. Our lips barely parted. "Shall we have dinner, Daddy?"

"There is only you, my pet." I kissed you again.

You smiled and put your hand over my mouth. I nibbled your fingers. I felt you shiver.

You giggled. "My fingers aren't nearly as nutritious as what Margaret and Louise will have fixed us."

"I suppose you're right." I smiled. "But I could devour your arm." And I began to bite up your left arm.

"Then you could go for my leg." You laughed. I turned you around and, leaning down, I bit your neck.

Your pussy gushed. You felt a little dizzy.

"Oh, Daddy, it's a magical night." I held your waist as I bit the back of your neck again. Then I took your hand. You took the lead. We walked to the table.

The chandelier sparkled above us. Candles were lit in a silver candelabrum near us. There was an arrangement of roses in a crystal bowl. The table was set with my family's old blue-willow china -- two centuries old. The glass was leaded cut crystal, the flatware was Revere silver.

And then there was dinner starting with our drinks -- a martini with a twist for you, tonic and lime for me. Margaret whispered to you, "Eat only a little each course -- there are eight of them." You nodded.

You sipped your drink. You began to tell me about your studies. You regaled me with university gossip. You told me about your friends. And the shrimp arrived, hung around icy cups with cocktail sauce. Next, bread and cheeses with white wine for you, mineral water for me. Then soup. Then arugula salad. Then sorbet.

You got a huge kick out of this. "I never had desert in the middle." I teased you mercilessly about not knowing which spoons and forks to use. You feigned indignancy. We laughed and joked. You made fun of my formality.

Then came shell fish. Scallops, clams, lobster tails, mussels over pasta. More crisp, white wine. Then came the baked salmon with Brussels sprouts. Then the ginger cookies.

You were glad of Margaret's advice.

And then there was a Grand Marnier chocolate mousse and champagne -- well -- mineral water and lime for me. But you sat on my lap and spoon fed me, kissing me between bites.

You spoke softly about little nothings. I wasn't even paying attention to your words anymore. Just to hear the sound of your happy voice -- feeling your weight on my lap, your fingers in my hair -- tasting another bite of the chocolate, another kiss -- it was good.

You gave Louise a nod and she hurried off to light the fire in your room.

"Would you like to open a couple presents tonight?"

"Oh, yes, Daddy!" You sounded like an eager nine-year-old. We both laughed.

"Let's go into the living room."

"I'll bring these." You grabbed the champagne bottle and your flute glass.

We sat together on the sofa. The fire was warm. The big Christmas tree was beautiful. You rummaged among the packages beneath the tree. "Here! Open this one."

So we opened gifts, taking turns. A sweater, a dress, the houndstooth windowpane jacket you chose for me, a new lap-top for you.

"Let's ask Margaret and Louise in for a moment," I said.

"Oh! Great idea." and you ran to the kitchen to invite them in.

They came, drying their hands, laughing with you. Soon they were opening presents with us. A pair of watches. Sweaters. You ran and got them glasses. You three sat, giggling, chatting, and guzzling champagne while I sat and drank you in.

I hadn't thought how you must have been lonely here -- in a way. You never had friends over. This place had been full of my melancholia and reclusion. Tonight you sat, the much younger, on the rug with these young women and you were talking and laughing and enjoying their company without care. You were like a little star descended from the firmament to take up residence here. You lit up everything you touched.

You poured their champagne and Margaret ran to the kitchen for more and came back with gingerbread boys and with my coffee.

Margaret said, conspiratorially, "You'll never guess what's out front, Little Miss."


"Out front of the house," said Margaret.

"Out front?"

Margaret and Louise grabbed your hands and you three piled and thumped to the front door. I followed behind, smiling at your fun.

"OK, OK, OK. Close your eyes." Margaret instructed -- and they brought you out on the front porch, the three of you shivering in the frigid midnight air but warmed by the champagne coursing in your veins.

And just then, the church bells in town began to peal their Christmas change ringing. "Now open your eyes!" Margaret laughed. And she and Louise clapped and chortled.

There, at the bottom of the stairs, was a pristine VW Type One ca 1968 -- a light zenith blue Beetle that looked silver in the porch Christmas lights.

"I don't understand."

"It's yours, Little Miss." Louise announced.

You turned to me. I fished in my waistcoat pocket for the key and triumphantly produced it, handing it to you. "It's yours, Little Miss," I said.

You descended the stairs. The girls followed you. You circled around it in your stockinged feet in the snow. You opened the door. You sat in, you turned the key. It started.

I roared with laughter. Only someone my age would get the joke -- the old Volkswagen commercial that bragged about how they always start. Of course, this one I had pampered for years, having even the little bits of rust and grime removed as they appeared, the engine rebuilt. The heat even worked as if it had just come off the showroom floor.

You turned it off. You came up the stairs, smiling warmly. You looked up at me and quietly said, "Thank you. Thank you. I can go anywhere now -- all on my own."

"Yes. Yes you certainly can. And where will you go first, my darling little girl? Will you go to Paris? London? The thing floats, you know." I smiled.

You looked me in the eyes with quiet earnestness. You took my hand in your cold fingers and pressed it to your heart. "I'll go upstairs with you, Daddy. With you where I belong."

"I love you, little girl."

"I know." Your smile returned. "I know you do."

You took my hand and walked me into the house. Louise hurried ahead -- the fires would need stoking -- so when you took me into my room, my fireplace was blazing. You lead me to the door to your room and opened it. We stepped inside.

On the hearth was a bright fire. On the rug before it was the improvised bed Louise had made. There were flowers and candles on the mantle and across the room on the table by your bay window.

But there, next to your chair, was a beautiful tree. As I took it in, I saw it was lit by the old kind of lights I remembered from my childhood. And, as it came into focus, I realized that it was decorated by the ornaments from my childhood, and from the ornaments I had added to the collection in my earlier years, and the years when...

"Is it OK?"

I passed my hand over my eyes.

"Daddy, is it OK?"

"Oh, my," I said quietly. "Yes. Yes, it's very OK."

You smiled. You took my hand. You gently lead me to the tree. "I found the ornaments in my closet. They're all really old."

We stood by the tree. "Thank you. Thank you, little girl."

I smiled down at you, but you could see the sadness in my eyes. I looked back at the tree.

"So tell me..." you pointed to one of the oldest-looking ornaments, made of glass. "This one... where did it come from?"

"That's one of the oldest. It came from my father's family in the mid-nineteenth century. It came from Germany along with these here -- yes, sweetie -- and those are Victorian --"

So we went through many of the ornaments until I glanced up at the tree-top. "But, darling, I don't know that one -- the star on top."

You reached up, putting your arms around my neck -- you looked me in the eyes and drew me to your lips. You kissed me tenderly. "It came from me, Daddy. Is that OK? It came from me."

A wave of emotion swept through me. I couldn't speak for a long time. You hugged me. You waited. "Yes, darling, it's perfect. A star from my little star. Perfect. Thank you."

You shuddered. You began to cry. "Thank you. Thank you, Daddy. This is the best Christmas ever. Even better than the time I got my infielder's glove." We laughed long and hard at that.

"Now I know what to get you next year."

"What, you'll get Victor Martinez to give me lessons?"

"Darling, I have no idea who that is. I was thinking season tickets or something."

You laughed. "Well, well. There's something I can teach you about. But Daddy," you smiled wickedly, "The night is still young."

You took both my hands in yours. You brought me to the improvised mattress, and urged me to sit. You made me comfortable leaning back on the mountain of pillows Louise had stacked up for you. You poked the fire. You stepped away so I could see you in the light of the tree and the candles and firelight.

Now you are standing there, the radiant beauty -- the little star -- the young lady who owns my heart. You smile, and turning slowly, you begin a sort-of dance -- gently swaying -- organic -- indigenous to your body's instinctive sexuality. You are fascinating.

There is inherent artistry and grace overlaying your deliciously subtle bump and grind. You are teasing me.

With your back to me, you unfasten your dress. The silk opens, and, as you turn to face me, you allow the dress to fall, revealing your breasts, cupped and lifted, sensually, by the peach lace of your bra. You wriggle out of your slip. You step out of the fabric now around your ankles.

You are revealed. Your panties. The lace tops of your stockings. Your skin is particularly smooth tonight. It reflects the light just so. You run your hands up your belly, up over your breasts.

You dance a little closer. Your nipples are hard. I can see the hint of their areaolae straining against the lace. The fabric has lifted your breasts so their lovely shape is emphasizing a slight cleft on either side of your heart. And my great-grandmother's cameo is right there -- just above -- strung on its silver cord.

As you turn away from me, you are giving me the view of your waist and hips. You sway, you gently grind, You hook your fingers into you panty waist and draw them down, bending over, all the way, and I can see you pussy lips. You tarry there, bent over. You know you are arousing me. You know my cock has become hard by now.

It feels so good to be adored. Your pussy suddenly gushes. You are wet. But you take your time. You want to savor the moment. You slowly stand, sliding your hands up your legs, turning again and looking me in the eyes.

You walk slowly to your easy chair. You turn it to face me. You slowly sit on its edge and arrange the pillows behind you so now, as you relax back, you are supported, you can watch me.

You raise your left leg and drape it over the chair's arm. The diamond bracelet sparkles around your ankle. You are giving me a licentious view of your dripping-wet maw. You stroke the inside of your legs. You wet your lips.

You are watching me. You can see my desire. It is so exciting.

You slide your hands to your breasts. You squeeze. It is thrilling -- and as you slide your hands back down and gently touch your pussy lips, you feel a warmth in your chest, a tingle in your spine. You throw your head back and gasp.

You orgasm. You writhe slightly. You look back at me. You smile.

You dip your finger between the lips of your glistening mons veneris. It is smooth and completely hairless. I know you've been shaved, and the knowledge that you prepared especially for this occasion is very arousing to me. You are enjoying the sensation of your smoothness. My excitement is palpable.

You begin to masturbate while I watch -- slowly, luxuriously circling your clitoris -- dipping your finger into your cunnie -- compelling yourself to come again. You spend minutes upon minutes in this glorious pursuit. Teasing, lifting, pushing, and finally coming hard while you squeal wordlessly, gazing at me as I watch your show of abject wantonness.

It's wonderful. I'm hard and ready, but I'm letting you give yourself to me slowly.

"I adore you, darling," I tell you as you right yourself and stand and come to me, straddling me here where I sit. You begin to untie my tie. Slowly slide the jacket off my shoulders and toss it to your chair. And then, slowly, unbutton my waist-coat. Button by button, sliding it, tossing it too. Smiling the whole time.

You squirm on me. I can feel the heat of your wet quim on my hard prick through the fabric of my pants. You kiss me tenderly as you unbutton my shirt. You run your hands over my hairless chest. You lean down to nibble on my neck while you unbuckle my pants.

Your hands free my priapus. You shift. You lean down and kiss its soft head. The skin feels silky on your tongue as you run it around the cap and you taste the salty, musky pre-come it is leaking in your honor. You take the head in your mouth and suck. You slide your lips over the head. You take my cock in your mouth.

It's so warm and sexy. You feel it pulse and swell. It arouses you to know you are making me feel good. The outer skin slips slightly over the hard interior. It tastes like -- me -- and you take it all the way -- all the way -- until you feel it there -- there.

And you know what to do. You relax. You feel the shift in your throat that allows you to take my cock that final bit deeper. You squeeze it with you tongue. It pulses again. And you begin to work me. Sucking. Milking.

I sigh, "Oh, my baby girl. My darling." I'm stroking your ear, playing with your hair. My cock pulses in your mouth. But you're not going to let me come.

As you suck me, you take my balls in your hand. The skin of the sack has tightened and is holding them up. The insides of the my legs are flexed. As you squeeze, you can feel my balls move inside. You are gentle. You can feel me reacting.

You run your fingers through the strawberry hair above my cock -- right there by your nose -- you squeeze it again with your tongue, deep in your mouth, its tip in your throat. I pulse again.

You run your hand up over my abdomen. The skin is smooth. The muscles are taught.

You slide my cock out and caress your face with it. You crawl up over me, straddling me again. You hold my cock to guide it right there... and you flirt with it, teasing your pussy lips with it -- getting it slick with you wetness.

Then you push down. You feel it enter you. It is hot and hard. It always makes you gasp a little bit. You close your eyes and open your mouth instinctively. You put your hands on my shoulders. You feel my hands grip your waist.

You begin to rock your pelvis, fucking me.

"I love you so much, little girl."

"Oh -- Oh, Daddy."

You reach back and unhook your bra. It opens and your lovely breasts fall gently out. I reach up and cup the dark skin in my hands, rolling your nipples between my fingers.

I feel you suddenly wetter. You reach up and undo your hair. The curls cascade down over your shoulders. The rose falls to the rug beside us. You slide your hands over my chest. You play with my nipples.

You put your hands on my shoulders again. You are urgent now. I grip your waist again. I guide you and urge you on, the tip of my cock caressing your cervix.

You look down into my eyes. "Oh -- yessss. Oh, Daddy! Daddy -- now. Daddy, come in meeee. Daddy, come in meeee now."

"Yesss," I groan. You look into my eyes.

"Now, Daddy."

I rush, I begin to pump. Your cunnie flutters. You can feel the tip of my cock nuzzling your cervix and I feel it twitching against me. You gasp. I groan. You are suddenly aware of that other voice inside you: "Oh God, yes! Oh God!" It is like an explosion in your heart. Your heart is pounding. You open your mouth, and, staring into my eyes, into my soul, you scream while I yell --

"Koneko!" "Daddy!"

Long and beautiful release. We moan in our ecstasy, our voices harmonizing like wolves.

And then you arch back. Eyes closed. I feel you stiffen. You come again. So hard -- so long -- while you squeal and convulse in your rapture. You feel the last of my hot seed pump into you. You squeeze my cock. Your cunnie is flooded with my liquid. You want to save every drop.

You open your eyes. You face me again. You breath deeply. You weave your fingers into my soft, blonde hair. You lean down and kiss me so gently.

Our lips are still touching -- barely touching.

Your voice, barely a whisper -- "Happy Christmas, Daddy."

I slide my hand up your back and weave my fingers into the hair in back of your head. I grip it firmly and push you against my mouth. Hard -- hard. I kiss you hard.

And then, gently, but firmly, I pull your head back away from me by your thick, curly hair -- with strength -- with tenderness.

You smile. "My Daddy."

I gently blow breath after breath on your face, your neck, your breasts, cooling you. The air tickles you. All the time I'm holding you firmly by the hair. It is so romantic. You lift your arms and I blow into your armpits. It is sheer luxury.

I grin. Still gripping you by the hair, pushing you over, I roll, pulling you under me. You yelp in surprise. I force you down into the blankets, compelling you, with my weight, to spread your silk-stocking-clad legs wide open. I kiss you hard again as I begin to fuck you hard. I take your hands in mine, our fingers woven together, as I hold you down. My chest is crushing your breasts against me. I growl into your ear, "You are mine. You are mine."

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