Princess

I didn't get this written in time for the Holiday contest, but thought I'd post it anyway. I will probably visit these two for the contest next year. They may have a future.

As for the characters: I do work in a warehouse and I did meet this pretty young lady during the Christmas rush, though I did not train her. Past that, all is fiction.

*

My wife celebrated our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary by announcing that she wanted a trial separation. She moved in with her sister, two states away. Her sister is a Lesbian, which was just fine with me. Everyone is entitled to their own way to get off. She converted her sis to girl-on-girl. Five months after the separation, we agreed to a no-fault divorce. I got the house and pickup, she got the car, we split all monetary assets down the middle and shook hands. And agreed we were thankful our two kids were grown and long out of the house.

What I found confusing was that my wife, Eileen, would never allow me to kiss her on the lips after cunnilingus unless I washed her off my face and mouth. And now, apparently, getting a mouth full of another woman is okay. I have to wonder if she's tasted herself now on the lips and tongue of a playmate.

I'm one of three trainers in a distribution center. We train new hires and current employees changing departments. Nine months out of the year we trainers just work like everybody else. But from the end of September to the end of the year we train lots of new hires, most of them seasonal, for the big Christmas rush.

And after training there are always little questions, computer problems, and unusual circumstances that we need to address.

The absolute best part of this is that every year we get two or three really pretty young women among the one-to-two dozen seasonals. That doesn't mean much to Cathy, but Louis and I appreciate it.

Of course, every silver lining has a cloud. Company rules are very clear and very strict. Even a hint of sexual harassment can result in a suspension or even termination. No rule against regular employees dating, or asking for a date—once—but Louis and I, being in positions of (very limited) authority, need to be extra careful.

This year we had three outstandingly pretty young women hired for my department. Each one near the same age as my daughter. I stayed completely professional and unbiased during the training. But after...

Olivia was one of the three, and the only blue-eyed blonde. Those eyes scared me. Blue eyes like that can tempt a man into making promises he can't keep without serious self-sacrifice. She's a short little nymph, eight inches shorter than my six feet. Doesn't have a great body; small breasts and a little extra tummy weight. But I prefer small breasts, and since I carry some extra weight behind my belt buckle, I couldn't be critical of hers. However, from the waist down incredible doesn't do her justice. If there was a magazine that focused on legs and ass, she'd be a centerfold. She didn't wear shorts, of course, in the fall and winter, but her jeans and stretch pants left little to the imagination.

Whatever your own personal ideas are of pretty and cute, she was right smack in the middle. Those wide-set blue eyes were over a soft-bridged slightly up-turned nose decorated with a spray of freckles above perfect lips.

She seemed to like me.

She always had a happy smile for me and you can bet I returned it. Every interaction with her made my day better. And we usually had a friendly teasing word or two for the other.

I will not admit that we flirted. Nor will I deny it.

The other two pretty youngsters treated me as you'd expect them to treat a man about the same age as their fathers that helped them with their work when necessary.

With Olivia, there seemed something more. But there was no way I was going to chance so much as an unnecessary touch or a suggestive phrase. I need my job.

A week before Christmas the work had declined; the seasonals could be laid off any time.

I'm usually one of the last to leave work every day. On Thursday when I left I found her waiting for me. My day immediately got better. And then better still.

She put a hand on my upper arm and looked up at me with those eyes and smiled.

"Greg," she said, "I know you won't dare to ask me out. So I'll ask you. Would you be interested in going out to dinner with me tomorrow night?"

I looked at her and grinned. "Is this a trick question?"

She looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Olivia, almost every man in the world would like to have dinner with you. But why me? I've seen at least four of those young bucks practically lying at your feet to get your approval."

She shrugged. "Not interested in them. Interested in you. We can talk about the why at dinner. I'll buy."

"Not for me you won't. I would love to have dinner with you. What time tomorrow and where shall I pick you up?"

"Could we just leave from work? Have a drink or two, an early dinner, and then see what might happen?"

"What, like a movie or something?"

"Or something."

"Young lady, there is no chance that I will let any kind of scheduling questions get in the way of having your company at dinner. Should I bring a change of clothes, or are we going casual?"

"Definitely casual. I do have some tentative plans for after, if they'll be agreeable. We can talk about those at dinner too. Or maybe while we're having those drinks."

Her hand had never left my arm, though she had moved it down from my upper arm to my forearm. I reached with my other hand and took hers and kissed the knuckles while looking into those blue eyes. I think, maybe, I was in love at that exact moment.

"You have a date. I hope I can keep from dancing in the aisles during work tomorrow."

She laughed shortly, withdrew her hand, reluctantly, I thought, and gifted me with a cheery wink as she walked to her car.

I did not sleep peacefully that night. But I smiled a lot.

On Friday we got lucky though it didn't seem like it at the time. Not to me, anyway.

Management decided we could put in an extra two hours—turning a nine-hour day into an eleven-hour one, and not have to work Saturday. So we worked till 5:30. I was tired, but the thought of dinner with Olivia helped dispel the feeling.

She did not seem tired. We'd had little interaction that day. But like the day before she was waiting for me just inside the door (it was about twenty degrees outside) and as soon as we exited she put both hands around my upper arm and smiled like a kid at Christmas. She practically bubbled with enthusiasm.

I grinned like a teenager.

She followed me in her car to our local steakhouse. There's always a waiting line on Friday nights and they don't take reservations. So my date and I sat in the bar section and had a couple of drinks until our table was available. She had to show her i.d. Turns out she was twenty-two, which was a year older than I'd guessed. I suppose most observers figured I was out with my daughter.

We talked. Mostly she talked and I listened.

Her mother died from a car accident eighteen months before. She'd lingered, conscious, in the emergency room, just long enough to talk to her family before she died of her injuries.

Olivia was grief-stricken, just as you'd expect any teenage girl to be at the sudden loss of a parent.

Then, a year later, she was orphaned. Her father had felt unwell for weeks. Pain in the stomach and side seemed constant, but he felt it was just a bad case of the flu and he didn't want to make a big deal of it by seeing a doctor.

One day, though, it was so bad he called in sick and asked Olivia to drive him to the emergency room. He never left the hospital. Pancreatitis won't kill you if you see a doctor in the first week or so of symptoms. But if it goes untreated long enough, you die.

The hostess called my name and showed us to the seating I had requested. Olivia said she wanted as much privacy as possible so we got the booth on the end nearest the back wall.

We gave our attention to the menus until the waitress brought us our next round of drinks and took our orders.

Then she continued.

"Greg, I was always Daddy's girl. His princess. Mom was never bothered by that because she was his queen. When she died, he was devastated beyond anything I could even imagine. He didn't go into any obvious depression, and he certainly never ignored me. He made sure I knew I was still his princess. After the funeral he went back to work and to anyone else it seemed like he'd moved on.

"But every night I'd hear him in his bedroom, sobbing, speaking her name, talking to her before he finally cried himself to sleep."

She stopped and looked at me. I didn't see any tears in her eyes but she looked incredibly sad. Which made me sad.

She stopped then, like she needed a break before she told me more. She asked about me and why I was single and I told her.

We had a curious similar circumstance. Both of us lived alone in a house that had room for a family. The difference was that I still made house payments while she owned her house free and clear due to her father's mortgage insurance policy. She still had to pay taxes and insurance, plus the regular living expenses, so she couldn't really scrape by for long without working, even with the money from both parents' life insurance. She hadn't found any regular work she liked, so she worked various seasonal jobs.

She'd decided she didn't mind the warehouse work. She'd talked to HR earlier in the week and asked to be kept on full time. Her production was good and her attendance perfect, so there was a good chance she'd stay.

The waitress brought our dinner and we devoted most of our attention to eating it until we were both near to finished.

Then she looked at me with those gorgeous blue eyes.

"Greg, would you make love to me tonight?"

"Is that another trick question? I don't personally know any man that would say no to that. But it brings up the same question I asked before. I hate to question my wonderful luck, but why me?"

"Greg, I'm afraid I'm going to shock you."

"Highly unlikely. You might surprise me, but unless you tell me you're a werewolf and can prove it, you won't shock me."

"But you have no idea what I've done."

"I think I may have an idea. But go ahead and tell me."

She looked around, then leaned forward and dropped her voice to barely above a whisper.

"Before Mom died in the hospital, she told me to take care of my father. In every way I could. She actually emphasized that. In every way I could.

"So finally after a week of hearing Dad so incredibly sad at night, I decided I needed to help him. One night after he went to bed, and I could hear him with his grief, I went into his bedroom. I was wearing my pajamas and I knew Dad always slept in just his pajama bottoms."

"When he noticed me, he said, 'Olee', what is it, Sweetheart?' I suppose most fathers call their daughters 'Sweetheart' now and then."

"Seems likely. I did."

"And he called me 'Princess' a lot, but he also usually called my 'Olee.'

"Instead of answering him, I climbed into bed with him. He tried to forbid me and shoo me away, but for maybe the first time ever I refused to do what he told me.

"I said, 'No, Dad. Mom told me to take care of you. I know you cry every night because you miss her so much. So I'll try to take her place at nights. You're not going to have to sleep alone anymore.' Then I kissed him on the cheek, snuggled up against him, and closed my eyes.

"I could feel him lying there on his back for a minute. Then he sighed. 'Okay, Princess. I don't want you to disappoint your mother.' He gave me a kiss on the cheek and turned onto his side, his back to me. I put my arm over him and we went to sleep."

"Certainly nothing shocking about that."

"No, but that was only the beginning. Almost at once he stopped sobbing in bed. That made me happy. I was taking care of him. He wasn't so sad anymore.

"As you'd expect, we'd shift positions during the nights and lots of times I'd wake up with him curled against my back and his arm over me. One night I woke up and his hand was on my breast, and rubbing it a little. His crotch was pressed against my butt and I could feel his erection. I didn't know what to do.

"Greg, this might be the shocking part. I hadn't been a virgin since I was eighteen, and feeling his hand on my breast and his erection pushing against my ass was exciting. I got very horny very fast.

"I reached behind me and found his erection with my hand. It had poked out of the fly in his pajama pants. It felt good to hold a hard-on in my hand again. I turned around so I was facing him. He was awake.

"He said, 'I'm sorry, Olee. I miss your mother other ways than just sleeping.'

"And that's when I realized I hadn't been taking care of him every way I could. Besides, I suddenly wanted him the same way. I hadn't had sex since Mom died. I just hadn't been in the mood to go on dates of any kind, especially fuck dates."

She looked at me without apology. "Greg, I like sex. I like it a lot. So when I found myself in bed with a man with a hard-on, that it was my father didn't matter. Or maybe it did, since I should have been making love to him for weeks.

"So I squeezed his cock and stroked it and kissed him on the mouth. As soon as he started to return it I opened my lips and gave him my tongue. He gave me his and in just seconds we were groping and kissing like lovers.

"I let his cock go long enough to take my pajamas off. He looked surprised, then reached down and took his pajama pants off. I threw the covers off the foot of the bed and bent down and took my Dad's hard cock and fucked him with my mouth.

"Shocked yet, Greg?"

"No. Consensual incest goes on much more often than most people realize. I don't suppose it stopped there."

At this time, the waitress came by to see if wanted any desert. We declined and asked her to bring the check.

When she left, Olivia continued. As low as she had been speaking, she dropped her voice even more. I had to concentrate to hear all she said.

"Not at all. I had been on the pill since I turned eighteen and I'd stayed on even during my dry spell. I was ready. Dad was very ready. I just put myself over his cock and put it in me. He reached up and started caressing my breasts and my nipples and then he sat up and we kissed each other hard and suddenly he was hitting my G-spot while his fingers caressed my clit and I just exploded.

"I'd usually get pretty wet for sex, but this was something more. I just drenched his crotch and he came too and it was the most wonderful sex I'd ever had. Partly because it was the most loving sex ever."

She'd blushed during her recitation, but hadn't let it stop her. Her blushing got a curious look from the waitress when she brought the check. When she was out of earshot, Olivia continued.

"Of course that wasn't the last time. About twice a week we'd make love. He said it was just the way he and Mom loved each other. We'd cuddle up together, naked, and start kissing. Pretty soon he'd get hard and I'd get wet and we'd have intercourse. Sometimes I was on top and sometimes he was.

"It was just like my fuck dates. Some groping and feelies and kissing until we were both ready, then his woody in my womanhood and we'd stroke until he had his orgasm. And I'd usually have one at the same time, so I had no complaints. But that was just happy earnest fucking.

"With my dad it was making love.

"Greg, I finally felt that I was doing everything I could for my father. But I was also doing something for me. I didn't have an orgasm every time, but I always enjoyed it because Dad enjoyed it so much—he needed it so much."

She stopped talking for a minute. She took a few sips from her drink.

"Olivia, your father was not the first man you went down on."

"No. I knew most men liked it, at least as foreplay. And it made me hornier. Holding a good hard one in my hand was exciting. Having one in my mouth was arousing. It always got me ready."

"Haven't you ever had a man go down on you?"

She shook her head. "No. I don't think Dad ever did that to Mom, and none of my young studs ever expressed the inclination.

"Then we stopped making love because he didn't feel well. For three weeks I made it clear that I wanted to make love, but he wouldn't. He felt sick all the time. He insisted on going to work, and wouldn't see a doctor even though I begged him to.

"Greg, you've asked why you. There are a few reasons. For one, you make me smile. You're not like Dad, really. He was only five-eight and had dark blonde hair. But your after shave smells just like his and every time I'm close to you I think of him.

"I got used to loving sex with an older man and I want that again."

She looked me square in the eyes, earnestly. "I want that tonight. I want to be held and cuddled and kissed. And Greg..."

She paused for a few seconds, then gave me a quirky little smile and dropped her voice even more.

"I want to be fucked. I want a hard dick filling me up while my breasts are kissed and strong arms wrap me up while that hard-on strokes me to an orgasm. And I want that dick and those arms and those kisses to be yours."

I waited till I was sure she was finished.

I gave her the same teasing smile I'd given her a dozen times at work.

"Then I guess we better get out of here. Your place or mine?"

"Yours," she responded without hesitation. "I'm not ready to do what I want to do in the same house I...you know."

I scooted out of the booth and offered her a hand to help her out. I helped her on with her coat and as I did I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. I wasn't cold at all, but that made me shiver a little.

I left a good tip on the table and escorted my beautiful date to the cashier where I paid the tab with a credit card and then walked Olivia out to her car and she followed me.

When we arrived and she got out of her car she carried a small overnight bag. She made the usual expected complimentary comments about my house but voiced a bit of surprise. No decorations? Not even a tree?

I responded. "With the hours we work, I just haven't wanted to use the time. Neither of our kids will be here this year and I'm not so much into the Christmas spirit to put a tree just for myself."

"Another similarity, Greg. I feel the same way. I've been invited to a couple of parties for Christmas Eve, and I might go. But there won't be anything happening at home."

"The inside of my house will be cheerier and much more wonderful very shortly."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because you'll be in it."

As soon as we were in the house and she'd put down the bag I took her coat and put it on the back of the arm chair, then deposited my own in the same place. Then I did what I'd been wanting to do for days. Maybe weeks. I bent down and kissed her.

She was startled for a second, then returned it. With tongue. In seconds our tongues were dancing with each other while our hands went exploring.

We broke after a while. She'd finished with her hands around my waist, but moved one hand to a definite bulge below my waist.

"Whew! Men my age have no idea how to kiss. Greg, that was really horny-making, and I was pretty horny already. And I'm glad I'm not the only one."

I grinned. "You're probably too young to know the joke about how much calcium is in a kiss."

"How much?"

"Enough to make a bone about this long."

"Oh, I hope it's that long. Greg, we really need to get to the bedroom."

On the way she took a peek into the bathroom connected to the bedroom. She giggled.

"Old Spice. Same as Dad's. I knew it."

"Lucky for me."

I started to undress her, slowly, scoring many kisses along the way. She picked up the procedure and undressed me as I undressed her. Soon we were both naked and she stroked my full and eager erection. I looked at her. Her breasts were small; firm and high, and her nipples looked delicious. I had to check that out. They were, and I enjoyed kissing and sucking on them for over a full minute each.