Doing More for Daddy

No, I only hoped it would compensate for the daughter invading my territory.

Messing about with my possessions . . .

Messing about with the wreckage of my family life . . .

It was all about revenge, see? Not sex but pure and simple revenge.

Contacting Amy took up most of my Tuesday. I didn't have her mobile number so I rang on the home landline, at times when Mother would be at work, finally getting her on the fifth or sixth attempt.

'Oh,' she said, sounding surprisingly less-than sulky, 'it's you.'

'It certainly is,' I confirmed. 'I'm ringing to see if your backside's still tingling.'

Amy's laugh was positively flirtatious.

'Are you proposing kissing it better if it is?'

'Kiss your ass?' I laughed along with her. 'I'll kiss something, but it won't be your ass.'

Deadly silence followed that little gem. Pins dropping would have clanged like dustbin lids falling on slate floors.

'So what bit of me are you proposing to kiss,' Amy said at last, more flirtatious than ever.

'I'll leave that to your imagination,' I replied. 'Assuming you have an imagination and assuming you're not a big chicken.'

Amy didn't even flinch. 'I never chicken and my imagination would blow your mind. Where are you?'

'I'm hundreds of miles away,' I said, 'but not forever. Does Mother still work all day on Fridays?'

'Yes, until half four, then she does the weekly shopping with my daddy. Then they go to the pub. The coast will be clear until seven or eight. Assuming you want the coast to be clear.'

'I certainly do. Unless you're the backing-out type, that is.'

Amy chuckled fetchingly. 'Give me a date and I'll be there, ready, willing and unlikely to back out.'

'I'm not proposing a date, I'm proposing Friday afternoon in your bed. Well, in my bed actually.'

'That sounds good to me.'

'Shall we say half past twelve?'

'That sounds even better.'

It had been as easy as that.

*****

Note for fellow females: Paying forty quid for a hairdo is dumb when one is en route for an afternoon of unbridled sex. I'd say we live and learn but hey, do any of us ever really learn?

And men are much worse, obviously . . .

Not that they care so much about their hair.

Anyway, Deb was brilliant at cutting and that was the service I was after. Well, so I tried to convince myself. When I met Daddy later my locks would be properly trimmed and wet from the shower; he just wouldn't know which shower I'd been under.

Properly trimmed, I passed an hour or so in the local pub (meaning the one local to my family home, not Daddy's new one). Then, feeling virtuous because I had eaten a sandwich without onions, I made my way to the semi I'd lived in for most of my life.

Preventing the deadly onion-breath . . . wasn't I the considerate would-be lover!

It felt strange, I must admit, walking to my old front door along a well-beaten path. As if by magic the door opened before I could knock on it.

Amy was smiling again.

She was wearing a low-cut top and the world's tightest leggings. And how had I ever thought she was less than eighteen. Stacked or what! She'd have got herself arrested if she'd worn that outfit in public.

Well, she'd have got herself something, especially in the rougher pubs in town.

'Natalie,' she purred, 'come in, have a drink.'

'I'm not here to drink,' I said in a suitably dominant tone,' 'I'm here to closely inspect that fat backside of yours.'

'What do you mean, fat?'

'Okay then, correction: that sexy backside of yours.'

'Are you here to kiss it?'

'Quit stalling and get up that staircase.'

'You're so Alpha!' Amy rolled her eyes but did as she was told.

And the first examination chance I got was as she led the way upstairs. Those leggings! She really would have risked arrest walking the streets in them.

Was I nervous following her? As my girl-on-girl experience was limited to just Jude, maybe I should have been.

But was I fuck!

Chapter Four

Sexually excited as I was, I took a moment to check out my ancient Nintendo. Amy had it hooked up to my old portable TV and sure enough, when I switched it on it was playing Super Mario 3.

I did a double-take when I realized Luigi was paused midway through the seventh world . . . no, he was most of the way through the seventh world . . . and Amy had dozens of power-ups still to use.

The girl was good. Maybe she hadn't buggered my high scores after all.

When I looked at her she smiled yet again then, slowly and very deliberately, took off her top, her bra-less tits obligingly spilling out.

'See anything you fancy?' she said, carelessly tossing the garment aside.

Not to be outdone I took off my T-shirt and spilled out my equally impressive tits.

'Snap,' I said.

Amy surprised me by diving mouth-first into my chest. Before I knew it she had a boob in each hand and was licking, sucking and nibbling like crazy.

That wasn't in the game plan but it felt good, so I let her be a while. Then, when the building sensation inside me got a little too close for comfort, I pulled her off. No way was I going to cum before her. No way at all.

'Remove those leggings,' I commanded, back in Alpha mode.

She lithely obeyed and stood there, naked apart from a microscopic pair of lacy black panties.

'Now do you see anything you fancy?' she simpered.

In response I pushed her until her calves were up against the side of the bed and knelt, tugging down the panties as I went. Her tiny patch of short hair was martini glass-shaped, pointing like an arrow to my destination of choice.

'Fuck me, yes,' she gasped as I kissed her pussy.

Grinning inwardly, I kissed her again. Amy wasn't so sure of herself anymore.

'Sit down before you fall down,' I said. 'And open your legs while you're at it.'

Yet again she obeyed and I felt power flood through me. I was in control and she was about to pay for invading my space.

Well, so I assured myself. The fact she desperately wanted to pay wasn't exactly unnoticed.

But to hell with that; I was the all-conquering heroine and stuff the small print.

The next half hour passed with me flitting between her clit and her vagina, mostly using fingers, lips, tongue and . . . just occasionally . . . teeth. And I must have done okay because Amy came twice and said "Fuck me, yes" at least fifty times.

Deciding thirty minutes and fifty swearwords was foreplay enough, I finally desisted.

'Stay where you are,' I said, undoing my leather boots.

By then Amy was sideways on the bed, bare feet on the carpet and ass on the mattress. She watched me take off my jeans and rather damp knickers, laughing when I immediately put my boots back on.

'Kinky,' she observed. 'I like that in a girl.' Then, deftly catching my knickers when I threw them at her: 'Is this the closest I get, or is there a chance of a taste?'

'You've every chance,' I replied, 'but not anytime soon.'

'What about a kiss?'

'That comes after you've had a taste. But only if you're a good little girl.'

I reached for my backpack and produced the harness I'd thoughtfully brought along.

'Fuck me,' Amy said.

'That's exactly what I intend to do,' I retorted smartly.

There were two dildos in my pack: both of them eight inches, one bright blue the other black. I chose the black one and put it in the harness, tightening the straps so it stood up past my belly button.

'On your knees on the carpet,' I instructed. 'No, not like that, turn and face the bed, as if you're saying your prayers. That's better. Now relax and think of England.'

Positioning myself behind her I knelt again and scowled. Amy was too upright for my liking. I pushed the top half of her body flatter onto the mattress and chuckled when her ass waved at me.

'Oh yes,' I said, running the head of my artificial cock up and down the cleft between her buttocks.

'Fuck me, yes,' she endorsed.

Grinning, I circled the toy around her anus, taking my time about it, occasionally breaking off to stroke her cleft, always returning to her ring. At that stage I had no intention of fucking her ass but she didn't know it. And I knew only too well what went through an anal virgin's head given attention like that: hot anticipation and icy-cold fear.

No, make that hot anticipation that flooded a pussy, icy-cold fear that drained the contents of a spine.

(Wanting and not-wanting, balanced precariously with expectation.)

Eventually tiring of teasing, I changed tack. Abruptly switching aim, I traced a line along her slit then eased in the realistic glans of my strap-on.

Knife into butter or what! Suddenly half the length of it was inside her and she was yelling for more. I eased out a fraction then thrust, this time sinking in as far as possible, so my hips were flush with the downy cheeks of her backside.

'Harder,' she yelled. 'Fuck me, yes, harder. Harder!'

Happy to oblige I went at her as forcefully as I could, pulling most of the way out and plunging deeply back in. My harness slap-slapped her bare flesh and the sex toy made loud, liquid squelching noises that mixed with her cries.

'Fuck me, yes, harder. Harder!'

I could sense her building to another cum and pounded her faster still. Then, when she was through it and beyond, I remembered Daddy's trick from the night before.

To think was to act. I grabbed her from behind by the tits and hauled her off the bed. She wailed and screamed at the different penetration. Finding it difficult to thrust with her weight on me I considered pushing her back onto the mattress. But no need; she almost immediately found a way to bounce up and down, wailing and screaming as she went.

'Fuck me, yes. Fuck me, yes, yes, yes!'

Thank God Mrs Smith next door was as deaf as a post!

'Fuck me harder. Fuck me harder, yes, yes, yes!'

The cum at the end of that particular episode was colossal. Amy's body juddered so violently I thought she was having a fit.

But was I satisfied? Oh no. Fires were burning brightly inside me. After confirming Amy had survived her latest climax I ordered her to lie in a straight position. Choosing the dead centre of the bed, she parted her legs. Game thing that she was, she clearly expected the next fuck to be missionary style.

Well, it was and it wasn't. I pulled her legs back together and lifted them until her feet were above her head. Then, taking a second to admire her almost purple, blood-engorged sex, I ran my glans along her slit again and achieved re-entry.

Surprise, surprise! Amy knew what to do. She slung her legs over me without hesitation, digging her heels into my shoulders, keeping everything as closed as she possibly could, tighter than tight.

Trust me, it was good. In my evil imagination I was a guy fucking the tightest cunt in the universe and loving every second. I could even summon up the hot, wet heat of her wrapped around my hard prick.

It was simply brilliant. My only regret was that she couldn't seem to get a decent grip on my tits. Never mind that though: supporting my weight on straight arms and putting heart and soul into the relentless motion of my lower body, I gave her the seeing-to of a lifetime.

That time I came with her, juddering even more violently than she did.

Chapter Five

Quite incredibly, while I tried to recover my breath and sanity, Amy sucked me off.

I know, I know. I'd seen the videos where girls sucked strap-ons, convinced it was for the camera and not anything likely to happen in real-life. Except Amy did it very slowly and somehow moved the base of the dildo so it gently stimulated my clit and all surrounding areas.

Heaven! At one point I honestly thought I was going to shoot like a man . . . like Daddy shooting into me. I obviously didn't, but I did deposit bucketloads of lady juice into my harness.

'Now a kiss,' said Amy, staring down into my eyes.

'Nowhere near,' I countered. 'I'm fucking your ass before you get a taste of pussy, never mind a kiss.'

'Okay,' she said without batting an eyelid, 'so how do you want me?'

Impressed by the ready compliance, I told her to re-assume that praying position. Then I trickled lube onto her in copious amounts, using her cleft as a channel to her anus.

Aided by lube, two fingers slid into her with no problem at all. She'd done that before else was relaxed as anyone on the planet . . . or maybe both.

'Come on,' she said, 'fuck me hard.'

I circled her ring with the head of my lubed-up dildo but not for long.

'Here goes,' I said, pushing softly yet firmly . . . and meeting no resistance whatsoever.

'Come on,' Amy repeated, 'harder. Fuck me harder.'

Kneeling, pounding into her with some degree of control, I soon made her cum.

'Yes, yes, yes,' she yelled. 'Harder! HARDER!!'

Holding myself deep inside her, I clumsily got to my feet so I was sort of straddling her, my bent and booted legs either side of her bare ones. When I pushed from that position I seemed to go in forever and ever.

'Yes, yes, yes,' she screamed. 'Harder! HARDER!! HARDER!!'

'Okay,' I grunted, 'if that's what you want . . .'

Outside a car door slammed and I instinctively leapt off her. The semi might not be my home anymore but I knew that sound all right; I knew it from illicit spliff-smoking sessions of yore.

It was my mother, arriving at the most inconvenient time imaginable.

Leaving Amy dripping jelly, I went to the window. We hadn't drawn the curtains so, using the bunched up drapes at one side as a shield, I peeked out.

Sure enough, Mother's car was parked in its usual slot. Less usually, Mother was standing beside it, staring upwards. For one terrible instant I thought she'd seen me, big black strap-on and all. Then I realized she was looking elsewhere.

Puzzled, I too looked skyward, half-expecting to see a UFO, but there was nothing to be seen; only a few fluffy clouds in expanses of eggshell blue.

Worried, I turned to Amy.

'It's Mother. So much for shopping and the pub, she's here and now.'

'Oops,' Amy laughed, 'and with us both smelling so noticeably of cunt!'

*****

My efficiency from that point was awesome. Sending Amy off for a shower I swiftly unharnessed and towelled my distinctly wet pussy with my T-shirt. Then, thoroughly spraying myself down there and everywhere else with deodorant, I pulled on a fresh pair of panties and a clean red sweatshirt before climbing back into my denims.

Two ticks and I looked and smelt as good as new.

I hoped.

Hurrying downstairs, a fixed smile on my face, I mentally rehearsed a hundred greetings.

"Hi Mother, it's me!"

"I was just passing and dropped by."

"I'm so sorry we argued last week."

No, can that last one; she'd never buy it.

Unsettlingly, she wasn't yet in the house. Using the kitchen door (the one nearest her parking spot) I looked outside. Mother was still standing in the same place, vacantly gazing upwards.

After rechecking for UFOs I cleared my throat. 'Hi Mother, it's me.'

I could almost hear her neck creak as she shifted her gaze in my direction. And, alarmingly, for almost a minute she stared at me as if I was a total stranger.

'It's me,' I said again, 'Natalie.'

'Redundant,' she said in a voice out of a Hammer horror film.

'What,' I said, the word making no immediate sense to me.

'Redundant,' she repeated, chill winds blowing between the drawn-out letters, dragging the word out, making it glacial.

I took her by the arm and led her inside, sitting her at the kitchen table. Momentarily at a loss, I fixed her a large gin and tonic, only too well aware where to find the bottle of Gordon's. Then, after adding ice and not bothering with a slice, I fixed myself a similar supersized one.

'Tell me,' I said, pressing a glass into her hand.

She had a slurp of alcohol that would have made Oliver Reed and Lee Marvin look like teetotallers.

'That fucking bastard has made me redundant,' she said.

Call me two-faced, but I was shocked by Mother's language. I'd never heard her say mild swearwords before and didn't suspect she even knew the eff-word.

(Yes, I know I use it myself more often than a trooper . . . or your average Irish navvy, come to that. It was just astounding hearing it from Mother's cultured mouth.)

'Do you mean Lionel,' I ventured, referring to the toy boy.

'Yes, I mean Lionel, the fucking, mother-cunting bastard.'

I shook my head in admiration. Jude would have been proud of that one.

Before I could speak again I heard another car arrive. This one's door didn't slam. If anything it closed tentatively. Lionel's luxurious Audi, I guessed.

Ten seconds later he was in the kitchen with us, looking no more than thirty years old, his soft brown eyes every bit as appealing as one of the puppies in Lady and the Tramp.

'Joan,' he began, 'please, you have to believe me, I didn't know.'

'As if,' Mother spat, 'you must have known when you were shafting me last night; shafting me in more ways than one.'

(And yes, Jude would have been proud of that, as well!)

'Joan, I . . .'

'Fuck off, Lionel. Get the fuck out of my house right now. And take that miserable bitch with you.'

'Joan, please be reasonable . . .'

'Natalie; ring the police. Tell them we have intruders.'

My head was still spinning with the suddenness of everything. In all honesty I was unsure which side I was supposed to be on. But Mother was clearly going to win, so I opted for hers.

'Wait,' said Lionel as I opened my phone, 'let's not get carried away.'

Then, turning back to Mother, eyes more sadly appealing than ever: 'I sincerely did not know until two minutes before it happened. But I understand your doubt. I'll move out while the dust settles. We can talk it over on Monday.'

'Just get the fuck out of here,' Mother countered. 'I'm going to the pub. If you're still here when I come back I'll have you locked up in chains.'

Lionel nodded meekly and withdrew. I immediately caught hold of Mother's hand and removed the car key she'd been clutching all along.

'You are not driving,' I said sternly. 'There was nearly half a bottle in that G&T and the pub's not two minutes' walk away.'

She snarled at me a while then gradually, reluctantly smiled.

'You're a good girl, Natalie. Why don't we walk to the pub together and get blitzed?'

'I'll see those two safely out then join you,' I promised. 'I don't want them walking off with your jewels.'

Mother laughed at that and left, thankfully on foot. I took a deep breath and wondered what was going to happen next. And, for that matter, what on earth had actually gone on.

Then I remembered that I'd left my smelly T-shirt, even smellier knickers and used dildo and harness up in Amy's bedroom. Okay, they were secured in my backpack, but anyone could snoop in there.

Taking another deep breath I set off for the staircase.

But I paused with my foot on the bottom step.

Voices were audible from above. I instinctively knew that the speakers, hearing the kitchen door shut, had supposed they were alone. And, being supposedly alone, they were talking in a way they would not have spoken before an audience.

Amy: 'I'm fucking sick of it always ending like this.'

Lionel: 'Hey, come on, you can't blame me this time. I hadn't a clue until ten minutes before.'

Amy: 'You're supposed to be the bitch's frigging boss.'

Lionel: 'Yeah, well the frigging FD's a law to himself. He sent that HR woman to see me. The Angel of Death, they call her. She only comes out when heads need to roll. She makes Dracula look like some sort of Mother Teresa figure.'

Amy: 'Forgive me if I don't laugh.'

Lionel: 'Listen Ames, I can turn this round. Joan has to work one month's notice to get three month's pay. She has to come in on Monday. I'll catch her then, sweet-talk her . . . We'll be back in here same day. Trust me.'

Amy: 'That's what you always say.'