The Sun in Her Sky Ch. 01

I stepped back and took a moment to enjoy the view, as lovely, enticing and alluring now as it had been that first day in my kitchen. Perhaps even more, as I was now free to enjoy it in whatever way my whims would suggest.

Her sex continued to drip; a long strand of musky-scented, viscous pussy juice formed between the hairless lips of her slit and stretched languidly towards the floor as Becca trembled.

I stroked my palm over her upturned buttocks, then ran my fingernails across them, leaving white scratches on the smooth skin. Becca sucked in breath, then released it in a needy groan. My girl wasn't the only one who'd honed her sexual technique – I knew her needs and responses well.

"Soft or hard?" I asked – one of the rare choices I still allowed her to make. Well...sometimes.

"Maybe...a little hard? Only a little."

I drew back and smacked her right buttock, just hard enough to leave a faint, pink glow. The sound seemed loud in the confined room, and I idly wondered how soundproof the door was.

"One, miss Bailey. Thank you."

I paused. The 'thank you' was new, and unexpected. I couldn't help but grin. My girl was doing so well!

And when Becca emerged from the tiny room five minutes later – weak-kneed, sweaty and panting – my sticky arousal was drying on her cheeks and chin while her own copious juices soaked her thighs under the thin, sex-scented trench coat.

*

And suddenly, it was over!

All my work, all my efforts of the last few months were obliterated in just under an hour, three days before final exams at the end of June. All my dreams, all my plans, up in smoke! Gone!

Becca was called to the principal's office just before last period. She didn't meet up with me after school, so I headed home alone, figuring she'd catch up with me there when she was done with whatever business needed doing.

It was nearly an hour after I got home that Becca came in, crying. Not just crying...bawling inconsolably, tears streaming down her face, nose running. I had to sit her down and pull her into a warm hug, and even then it was five minutes before she could get an intelligible word out.

"I have to go!" she cried. "Mom's out of rehab and she wants to take me to Arizona."

I was quiet as I tried to process this. Becca was leaving me?

Becca was leaving me?

"Why...why do you have to go to Arizona?" I asked.

"Mom's got a half-sister in Phoenix. The doctors say mom has to change her surroundings or she'll relapse. She can't stay here."

"But...why do YOU have to go? You're eighteen! You don't have to-"

"She asked me. In the office today...she apologized for before and asked me to come. She said it would provide emotional support...help her stay clean."

"And you said yes?"

"I had to! She's...she's my mom."

"Her half-sister can provide emotional support..." I started, but then trailed off. I could read it in Becca's agonized, tearful eyes. The call had been made. It was a done deal. She wasn't asking for my blessing, she was informing me of her decision. HER decision!

Whatever control I thought I had of my girl, it wasn't enough. The progress I'd been so proud of had fallen far short. The potential Becca had shown would never be realized.

I had failed.

I had lost.

Neither Kind Gwen nor Angry Gwen could help me here. I was on my own.

"I'm sorry! I'm really, really sorry! I love you! I want to be with you!" Becca bawled, but I was only half listening. I'd never imagined it ending, and now I was at a loss for how to untangle myself from the messy, exploded remnants of the future I had planned.

"I understand," I heard myself say in a quiet voice. "I'll help you pack."

My body seemed to be moving on its own as my legs trudged up the stairs to my room. I found her gym bag, then mechanically lurched around, collecting her few possessions, folding them neatly, then placing them carefully into the bag.

She was following me through the room, crying, wailing, protesting the unfairness of it all, vowing to stay in touch no matter what, letters, postcards, social media. I didn't respond. I wasn't intentionally giving her the silent treatment – I simply had no response for this situation.

I carried her bag downstairs and out the front door, then handed it to her. She was in front of me, clinging to my arms, crying into my chest. Finally, I looked down into her eyes and realized it was the last time I'd ever be doing that. I wanted to say something worthwhile, but my mental and emotional faculties had abandoned me.

"You hurt me," I said in a whisper, "Good luck in Phoenix."

I stepped back in the house, closed the door gently behind me, and went up to my room.

**