Meadows

My heart was breaking; the one man I loved more than life was hurting badly by my refusal to share how I felt, so I did the only thing I could, I got angry. "I want you, Daddy, and it is that simple?" I snapped at him.

"What are you talking about?" Daddy was at a complete loss, and I almost exploded in his face, my words harsh, spitting out my anguish "do you know how long I have wanted you? No. because all you can see is your precious little daughter, but I am not precious, not a little girl anymore, not a child you need to take care of. I love you, damn it... and right now I hate what I am."

Daddy held my hands so tightly, almost crushing them in his tight grip, "What do you mean you have wanted me? Katie and why do you hate yourself? I do not understand." Daddy started stroking the backs of my hands, "tell me what you mean." his voice was now gentle and soothing.

My words came out haltingly, fighting back the sobs that were threatening to overwhelm me. "Since I was five, you have loved and cared for me, and I for you. When Mum died, you were the one who made everything right; you have done everything for me; you are my world. When I was away for so long at university, I missed you so much, and I thought about coming home a million times a day. You are the one I trust with my life and my heart, and I want you to take every part of me; I have such strong desires for you to be forceful and take me, use me like a whore, so that's what I mean when I say I want you."

Daddy was quiet, and I could almost hear the thoughts turning over in his head; I was terrified that he was disappointed and disgusted with me.

Then he let go of my hands and moved them around my wrists. He held me hard, then jerked me with such strength I ended up sitting in his lap. He kept me close, so close, so tightly, his voice was soft. "Tell me everything, Katie, be honest...." I thought my face was going to burst into flames. I was crying so hard. Still, he did not back down, "Katie, please understand. I will never judge you, and your Mum taught me a valuable lesson, she taught me that I could never guess what goes on in someone's head, and the best way for me to understand what you need is to ask, and no matter how embarrassing it is I want to know". His tone was gentle but insistent, and he was not going to run away from me.

He almost whispered, "My beautiful Katie, I am asking what you want, what's in your darkest thoughts, whatever is deep inside you, causing your so much heartache it is better for you to open up that little box and see what is inside. It is better to celebrate and embrace it rather than bottle it away until you explode". Although his voice was soft, his demand was unmistakable. All my life, he had only wanted what was best for me; he cared for me, had seen me through so many bad times, and I trusted him like no one else.

I also understood what he was trying to say, Mum had bottled up the feelings of guilt over her unborn child, and the results were devastating.

I was shaking so hard, it hurt so bad, almost biting my lip as the words stuttered out, I told him that he was the only one I wanted, and I wanted him to do such nasty things to me, and all of this was making me feel so wretched.

He held me gently then, just cradling me in his arms, stroking my hair, calming me down. He let me cry out all my frustration in his warm, safe embrace; his shirt was an absolute mess with my tears. Very gently, he asked me to elaborate, so taking every ounce of courage I had, I told him, using halting, dirty raw, hungry words of the need that I had buried so deep. Today was my only chance, and I needed him to know so he could not mistake my intent and sincerity.

I told him how I was aching to be used, to be abused, and that I thought about him all the time, sometimes all day, such wicked, nasty thoughts driving through my brain, distracting me, making me squirm, and making me ache in all my secret places. I made sure he understood how bad I felt, so fucking bad that I wanted to crawl out of my skin for it, I was a monster, and I knew it, and it tormented me. But I cannot help the thoughts, the dreams, giving him anything and everything he wants, tearing my clothes off me, mauling my soft, tender body, bending me over, and fucking me anywhere and everywhere.

I even told him about my accidental spying on him and Mum and the look on her face. How I wanted to feel that way and did not, not with Tim, he had never even seen me fully naked, which is why I was so confused, and I got so down, how could I want such things when I have this gentle man, who says he loves me.

If my Daddy was shocked or embarrassed by anything I admitted to, he did not show it, nor did he make any judgement. Daddy just held me in his arms and gently stroked my hair to soothe and comfort me, he told me he was proud of me and could never be disgusted with me or love me any less, and he was just so happy and proud that I trusted him enough so that I shared my secrets with him.

His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper when he said. "Katie, my love, I would not ordinarily tell you about this, but your beautiful Mother felt much the same way as you do. There is nothing for you to be ashamed of, and she had to teach me. I was quite naïve when we first got together, but she understood, was patient with me, showed me what she needed." Then he went on to tell me in his most serious voice that I should trust in him because he loved me more than life, and together, we would find a solution.

Little could I know how life-changing the solution would be?

I knew he was not about to lecture me on the dangers and the reality of actual harm being done if I sought out my fantasy with strangers. He knew I had already worked with abuse victims to hold any illusions to the actual damage. Simply by admitting to my Daddy, by saying these things aloud, and he, in return, was so supportive, it helped me, and I felt a great weight lift off me. Daddy made me understand that I was not alone or disgusting, as many people shared the same thoughts and feelings.

The rest of our day and the evening was happy. Daddy made me laugh, treating me as he always did as if our conversation had never happened. He booked us into a hotel for the night. Rather than take the long journey back in one day, I shared his bed, and he just held me all night, safe and protected as always.

Warm and safe in our pyjamas, the conversation inevitably drifted back to my confession. I felt the resistance to being honest with Daddy fading, and now I needed to talk. I think Daddy sensed this and, in his quiet way, pushed me into talking more about my feelings and fantasies. For the first time in my life, I spoke to him of sexual things, of the stories in books that made me hot, of my need to submit to him in every way.

I slept well, the bad dreams not disturbing my sleep, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, I woke happy and refreshed.

We drove home the following morning, and I did form the distinct impression he was somewhat reluctant to drop me back at Tim's flat. He did not say anything directly, but somehow his whole attitude was different.

Tim did not question me when I returned; his head was stuck in a book, so I begged a headache, feigning sleep when he came to bed later.

Basma did, of course, when she phoned me the following morning, as she always needed the details. I did not give anything away; I just hoped they would both be pleased that I was almost back to my old self. Just talking to my Daddy, telling him how I truly felt, relieved the pressure, and I was happy once more.

Two weeks after my trip to the lakes, the consequences of my conversation with Daddy caught up with me.

~~oOo~~

Chapter 2: Consequences

Since our trip, I found reasons to stay home with Dad, even though that meant travelling to university every day.

Every night alone in my bed, my Daddy just down the hallway.

I was cast carelessly adrift on an ocean of wanting. Sleep escaping me for hours, my underlying excitement fuelling my needs, suppressed for so long but now out in the open. With my lust betraying me, just the thought of him knowing, of his understanding, I could not resist as I slipped my hand down my tightening belly to the soft, delicate folds of my soaking wet little pussy.

I would make sure my bedroom door was open and then wait until I could hear his footsteps on the stairs and then timing precisely, I would take my first step into the bathroom knowing that, if he peaked into my room, he would catch a glimpse of my naked back and bottom before the door closed.

The first time I did this, I heard him trip and stumble. It made me laugh and only encouraged me to parade around in less and less clothing and behave more provocatively. After my shower, I would run around my bedroom naked, in the hope that he would need to ask me something and poke his head into my room, anything to get him to notice I was a grown woman.

As I shamefully toy with my clitoris, I feel the heat on my cheeks slightly flushed, the hardness of my burning nipples as they ached for his attention. My fingers move urgently, deftly, to bring my much-needed relief before I can sleep. What I want is for him to watch me, then use me, his soul entangled with mine, seducing me with silken bonds so tight, let me fall into his strong embrace, my wicked desires whisper to me of forbidden dreams, how I want him, need him to tease me, please me, use me. He is the overriding thought that always fuels my erotic self-pleasuring as my body shakes with orgasmic bliss.

Every night I would spend hours talking to him about anything and everything. I even got Basma to come and stay, just like the old days, Basma sharing my bed at home.

Then as luck would have it, on Thursday, Tim telephoned saying that he had to be in Southampton for those two nights over Friday and Saturday. His being away was not strange as his work often took him away, but what was rather odd was that on a Saturday night, Tim was away. Daddy insisted I attend a Halloween function on behalf of the firm.

I did not feel like going, but Daddy insisted. When I mentioned it to Tim on the phone, even he encouraged me to go and have fun.

Reluctantly I agreed, but I did need a costume, and even that excuse did not work when Dad said he had already sorted that.

I even thought of calling my Bas to see if she would come, but at the last minute decided that if it was strictly for work, then maybe not. She could be a bit exuberant when alcohol was involved.

Dad said he had to be away and could not get out of it on the function night, so I had the house to myself. I spent a lot of time pampering myself, and once I was ready, I surveyed myself in the full-length mirror. My outfit, the one Dad supplied, was very daring and not quite what I had expected.

It consisted of a balcony red satin bra trimmed with black lace that gave me a gorgeous cleavage, a black mesh semi-transparent blouse with stylised red flames leaping from the hem. A little black mini skirt with pleats of red flames flew outward rather revealingly when twirling around. I knew that if I bent down without being well mannered, then whoever was behind got a great view of my whole bottom.

I did think that the skirt was entirely too short but guessed it was probably just the way the costume was. I did make sure to wear a pair of black boy briefs to ensure some modesty should I forget how mini the mini skirt was.

My costume had black hold-up stockings and a pair of very stylish patent red leather stilettos. The "pièce de résistance" was a face-mask shaped like the Phantom of the Opera mask. It was primarily black with red crystals like flames swirling. It covered most of my face, leaving my mouth and lips free to drink and talk.

Without being conceited, I thought I looked very sexy, if not a little slutty, in the outfit and wondered to myself exactly what kind of business this would attract.

As I looked in the mirror at myself, my eyes glitter with amusement. My first thought was little devil slut, or even a demon tramp. I giggled to myself and figured tonight was a night for a bit of fun on Daddies money, so I should be proud of myself.

As always, though, the nerves are there, especially with me going alone. My hands shook just a little as I downed a quick vodka, just for medicinal purposes, and donned a long black jacket to hide the almost transparent blouse I left, feeling like a different person.

Once the taxi pulled up to the club, I just knew the driver turned deliberately to watch my bottom exit the cab, so I laughed, paying him, then headed straight towards the door with a sexy wiggle.

I walked inside, it was mostly dark except for the faint fake candlelight throughout, and there seemed to be a very definite red and black theme, which pleased me no end with the costume Dad had chosen.

I walked over to the bar and ordered a drink. The bartender was also wearing a mask, so I had no clue if he was even attractive. It seemed that everyone in the club had masks and outrageous costumes, so I felt right at home, even if it would be difficult to conduct any form of business.

After two large vodka tonics, I was starting to feel good, no one had bothered me, and since I did not usually drink very much, I was feeling somewhat lightheaded. I still struggled to understand how this was good for business, it seemed more like a regular club theme night, but three drinks down the hatch meant that I did not care very much by then.

I stood up and walked over to a secluded corner of the dance floor. Since I was already here and had an alcoholic fuelled buzz, I decided that I may as well enjoy myself.

I started moving with the music, moving my hands around in the air and then running them down my sides. I have always received compliments on my dancing, and I was just drunk enough to make it as sexy as possible.

After a few songs, I got a little excited and into my groove. The club was so dark, and the music was techno beat. It was almost impossible to see anyone other than shadows. I had my eyes closed most of the time, just feeling the rhythm of the music and moving my body with it.

I felt, rather than saw, someone watching me, but the alcohol had worked me up, and my hands running all over my body was exciting me, so in the darkness of the club and the anonymity of my mask, I could not have cared less. I turned my head slightly but only saw a long dark cape and a hood, with a very realistic death mask staring at me intently.

Then he moved, slowly dancing his way behind me; when he reached me, his hands rested on my hips, and he slowly ground his hips into my bottom. "Dance sexy for me, beautiful," he growled in my ear, and it felt good; I felt good.

Why did I not do this for Tim or even Daddy? I thought rather daringly as I placed my hands on his large hands. They felt strong while still pushing back against him and dancing to the music. I could feel his cock getting harder and pushing into me; there was something big and hard in his pants.

His hands slowly moved towards my stomach. I lifted my hands and placed them behind my head and onto the back of his neck. My head was touching his chest, and I thought I heard him let out a soft moan as he said, "this is so fucking hot." I had to agree; the music was just right, I felt so sexy, so naughty, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

Then the music changed, something more complicated, faster, his hands left me, his body moved away, "We will meet again" I heard him say above the sound of the music and then he was gone, lost into the darkness before I could regain my senses to turn around.

I was a bit lost, a bit confused, but more than a little glad as that was getting way too heavy.

On wobbly legs, I managed to get back to the bar, and without asking, the bartender placed a large drink in front of me, "Compliments of death," he said, nodding towards the door, I turned my head and caught sight of the tall caped man leave through the exit. I downed the drink quickly, deciding to go home and call Daddy so he could talk to me as I fell asleep.

I grabbed my jacket, pulled off my mask, and slipped into the deep pocket of my coat before heading out of the club. The nearest taxi rank was down the end of the street from the club, and it would not take long to walk.

The weather had turned cold, so I pulled my jacket around me, and I could see my breath as I headed down the road. The traffic was non-existent, which did not surprise me at 12:30 AM. The street felt empty, cold, and uninviting. The street lamps overhead cast their soft sodium, diffused light, turning colours a funny shade and throwing doorways and open storefront windows into various shades of black and grey murkiness.

I was halfway to the taxis when I became aware of footsteps behind me. I turned my head slightly, trying to see if I could catch a glimpse of who it was, but no luck, and I did wonder briefly to myself if I could run in my stilettos.

Then silently, I cursed myself; I could not let my alcohol-fuelled imagination set me on edge for no reason. There was just one alley near the end of the street, and before I could get clear of the shadow, a sudden flurry of movement and strong hands grabbed me, pulling me headlong into the darkness.

I gasped as I tripped sideways, a sharp pain shooting through my right foot, I tried to steady myself, but I stumbled wildly as some unseen force flung me hard against the brick wall of the building. With my head ringing, I tried to push away from the wall but stopped dead when cold, steely fingers pressed hard into the soft skin at the base of my throat.

In seconds, I felt myself pushed tight and hard against the wall, my arms flailing helplessly; I could not breathe, scream, or think. I could feel my heartbeat racing in my head and feel the panic starting to overwhelm me. Digging my fingers into a solid arm, I pulled frantically but could not match the physical strength holding me. I was helpless and could feel the fight draining out of me. Everything was starting to get a little fuzzy, and I suddenly felt exhausted, the sound of my small, short gasps ringing against the alley walls as something, someone moved closer, pressing a heavy body against me.

"Not a sound," a voice growled. So definitely a large man, and he pulled back a little to stare at my terrified face. I could feel his body heat through his trousers as he slid his muscular legs between my thighs.

His hard eyes were penetrating, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. My vision blurred as I blinked away tears. I could feel my lips begin to tremble. I shuddered as I felt the cold fingers of his other hand stroking down the side of my face; I could not help but turn away. Then he chuckled, it sounded so sinister, threatening, and I grimaced; the fear had settled deep in my belly, and he knew it.

The tightness against my throat lessened as he released his grip, and I could finally draw a deep breath. He was close enough so that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face, his legs still pressed against mine.

My hands were shaking badly as I slowly drew them up to rub the sensitive skin of my throat, my eyes big and round, locked on his death mask face. He placed his index finger to my lips and tilted his head in question. I slowly nodded that I understood, and if he smiled at my response, I could not tell; no smile touched his eyes; they remained cold and penetrating.

"Good little slut," he whispered. "You are lying with those tears; you want this, don't you slut?" as his thumb gently traced a tear down my cheek. I could not help the low, guttural moan that escaped my lips as I pressed myself into the cold hard brick wall at my back, desperate to get away from his touch.