Accustomed to Her Face Ch. 22

Doughnut Shop

You stood in the snow looking up.

We had been on our way out the door when I'd gotten a call. I was buttoning my coat and asked you to answer it for me. You picked up the old black handset of the telephone in the front hall; the one sitting on the wood box with the instrument's bells and the thick cord. You marveled at its weight.

"He's right here," you had said to the inquiring voice. After exchanging greetings, I had held my hand over the mouthpiece - "Give me ten minutes, OK. darling?" You kissed my cheek and ran out the door and, turning left at the bottom of the porch stairs, trudged around the house into new territory.

It was a beautiful day -- the day after the snow. You turned to watch the troop of schoolboys shoveling the far drive that came from the street through its own gate and back to the carriage house. But here, the main driveway remained pristine. It came in the opened iron front gate and formed a circle running past the porch then back out. At the side of the loop where you were heading was an iron gate. Now you wondered about it. You made your way up the five steps, pushed it open. You had never been around this side of the house.

As you came around the corner, you were standing on what must be a wide terrace, now deep in snow, with a brick wall to your right separating it from the bushes and trees that bordered it on that side. Pushing your feet through the fifteen inches of powder and down the center of the long terrace, you looked back at the house on your left. You realized you were looking at the huge room we had danced in. "So all those French doors open onto this terrace," you said to yourself.

A cardinal was perched on one of the trellises against the building. Its brilliant red feathers were like fire against the stone. It cocked its head, watching you as you imagined the balls and parties that must have taken place here. "Oh my," you said aloud -- your breath coming out like billows of smoke in the crisp air. You trudged over to the center door and pressed your nose to the glass. Yes - there was the piano, the chairs, the mirrored wall just as we'd left them weeks ago.

You smiled. You trudged on around the house. This room, the Terrace Room had the huge French doors on three of its sides and it connected to the main house only on one wall -- the mirrored one. Looking up, you could see that its flat roof twenty five feet above, had a rail around the edge. You thought, "My goodness, a balcony that big?," and you wondered how you'd get to it from inside the house.

You hadn't realized how big the house is. You had seen it only from the street and from the far driveway and back entrance that you used to go into the servant's wing. You had always been so busy coming and going that you'd never explored it.

Looking up, you now saw that the house stood three stories high, not even counting the dormered windows in the roof above that. The bottom floor was very tall. You had only ever been in the bottom two floors. And you were realizing that your basement 'play room' must be here under this back corner of the Terrace Room. Yes -- here were the grated tops of the window wells that let the light down into that secret place.

You shivered at the memory and your pussy moistened. The very thought of your special room was exciting. As you rounded the corner, you thought about how it made you feel warm to be reminded of your slow, subtle training. You thought about how your response was so strong. You thought about how it's the way you want it to be. Exciting. Gently, lovingly dominated. You wondered what the next step would be. You very nearly turned back to wait for me in the front hall so you could take me back upstairs or, better yet, ask me to take you to your playroom.

But there, around the corner was an open space with a large marble fountain. Its raised marble bowl, fully five feet in diameter, stood as tall above ground as you. Its base stood as deep below in the fountain's empty, wide pool. And there was a statue of an angel standing at its far edge. Beyond her and the ancient trees, was the very tall stone wall that kept the street world out of this sanctuary.

You recognized these from your view out the library windows where you study these days. You wondered how you'd never thought to come outside before.

On around the house, you came to a serpentine brick fence undulating through the trees across the yard from the back wall to house. Here was another wrought iron gate. You forced the gate open against the weight of the snow and pushed your way into a disheveled snow-covered garden.

There were obvious paths through snowy lumps of plantings. There were small trees and shrubs and there were trellises and all this going on an on with benches and a table away over there and -- and there, deep in this rambling old Eden, was a large, intricate, Victorian glasshouse -- its copper frame green with the patina of a hundred thirty years.

How had this become your life? It was as if you had stepped into someone else's skin. It was as if you had been swept into someone else's story. And there was so much of the tale yet to be revealed -- so much about him -- and here, in the snowy garden, you felt that to hear the full story, the real story, you'd need to reveal yourself as well. You should risk it.

You turned slowly all 'round. And then, gazing back and up at the house, you saw those huge bay windows of your new room far above, overlooking the garden.

And so you stood in the snow looking up -- in your heavy sweater, and your pleated wool skirt and your thick woolen tights, your mittens and your infinitely cute insulated boots -- looking up at the flash of a woman's face in your window smiling down at you.

Had it been a reflection of a cloud? The sky was a flawless caerulean canopy; no cloud to be seen. Had it been your own breath steaming through the frosty glare? You knew better.

You felt an opening in your heart. You smiled again. This was to be your garden now -- hers and yours. You had seen some old photographs of the house in the library. Perhaps you can research it. Perhaps you could restore it.

You turned and hurried back through the garden gate. You stomped across the yard, around the house, down the length of the terrace, back around and down the steps to the snow covered drive. I had just stepped out onto the porch. You stopped at the bottom of the stairs as I descended to you.

"Ready for our walk, Daddy?" You took my leather glove in your mittened hand.

"Yes, darling. Where are you taking us?"

"Well, part of the care and feeding of Daddy is to take him for walks now and then," You giggled. "But I need to pick up a book I left on campus, then let's get some coffee."

"Very well, little girl. That sounds delightful."

We walked along the drive to the open front gate and out into the old town streets and headed down the hill through the neighborhood of brick row houses. The roads and sidewalks had been cleared of the snow and we past the pharmacy and shops, the bank, and the luncheonette, turning up hill and onto the university campus.

You held my hand all the way. You talked about your studies, your impending exams, your teachers, your friends. Some of the kids watched us as we passed, a few girls waved and you waved back. They watched you holding my hand and wondered aloud. We climbed the winding roads and, as we passed the old university administration building, a car slowed as it approached us.

The driver's side window glided down and, to your surprise, the university president greeted me. You had only seen him when he addressed the school at official events.

"Thank you for your assistance with the new school theater. It's been much appreciated."

"Sure thing, Benjamin."

"We so rarely see you anymore. Please stop by my office. We can talk about your ideas for the music department recording facility."

"Next week?"

"Better make it after the holidays, OK?"

"Yup, sure thing."

"Is this one of our students?"

"Yes, and my very dear friend."

"Music major?"

"Physics," I said.

He raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps we could solicit your help with a new particle collider, then." He laughed. "You'll both come to tea sometime and we can make the arrangements."

I laughed and turned to you. "Would you like that?"

You were tongue-tied and just nodded. I chuckled and said, "Yes, that'll be great, Ben. We'd love it."

The window glided back up and the car went on its way.

It didn't take us long to grab your book. It was nice to be in the old building where you took English Lit 372, advanced for third semester. The halls smelled of the steam heat radiators and as the hour turned, kids bustled out of the classrooms, pushing past us on their busy ways.

We stood there in the hall for a little while as they pressed around us. You were holding my arm and your book. You were struck by the contrast between what your life had been and what it was becoming.

You had been just like one of these kids, but as of these last few months -- just six months -- you had stepped into a world you couldn't have imagined before. From the moment you saw my little hand-written ad on the bulletin board of the Student Center, your life had taken a different trajectory. It had gone from precocious school girl with full scholarship to -- something else. In a way, it was like a dream now, standing here near the end of your first sophomore semester clutching my arm.

You looked up at me and said, "I love you, Daddy," and stood on your toes to unselfconsciously, briefly, but unmistakably tenderly, kiss my mouth. A couple of the kids -- girls -- noticed and whispered and pointed to friends -- look -- the girl and the old guy kissing in the hall.

"I love you too, darling."

My life had changed too. Oh -- I was still busy with music. Even in what I'd thought of as my retirement, it kept me quite occupied. That wasn't different. It's that I was also very busy with you.

You were an all pervasive influence. And I was in love -- a completely miserable state that even at my middle age gave rise to inconvenient waves of insecurity and doubt in coexistence with the heat and desire and attachment that I'd grown comfortable living without.

My song writing had changed in reflection. My publisher had remarked about it, "You haven't written like this in more than a decade -- you're on fire, man." Yeah -- on fire. Somebody get me some cold water, quick.

"I didn't know you two knew each other."

It was your English Lit professor. She was your favorite and you were suddenly flummoxed at the greeting.

She was obviously taking in the way you were clutching my arm. Had she seen the kiss? You stammered, "Hello, professor."

I went to extend my right hand to hers, but realizing it was being jealously guarded by your grasp, I chuckled and gave her my left. "It's good to see you, Karen."

Her eyes sparkled but she posed an inquisitive expression as she looked from me to you and back. "We've missed you." She said to me. "Shall we get together sometime? Dinner?"

"Of course."

"Charles will be glad. Bring my student with you." She turned to you. "She's one of my favorites. Great promise in this one." She smiled at you and you swelled, beaming back at her. You were proud of your academic work and your favorite professor was complimenting you in front of me. Your two passions were physics and writing. Oh - and, of course, there was a third passion: sex.

The hall had nearly emptied out. "Thank you, professor," you said, and you grabbed me and pulled me away down the hall while I waved goodbye over my shoulder.

As we made our way down the now empty hallway, you could hear one of the other professor saying, "Wasn't that... "

And your English Lit professor say, "Yes, it was."

"And that's a student on his arm?"

"Yes it is."

"But..."

"Yes, yes. Whatever. But it's gotten him out of his house. That's a first step and something to be grateful for. He said he'd come to dinner. He hasn't been for more than a decade. We used to be close back when... but ever since... well -- I suppose it's a miracle he's come outside, frankly."

"But the girl."

"Yeah -- who can say. But a decade and a half of grief is long enough. That girl is a special one. Who can say."

"But the age difference."

"Yes. A big difference. Still, I haven't seen him happy since years and years. And she's radiant."

"It's not -- well, it's very unusual, Karen."

"Stranger things have happened, Brandon. I'm not worried about her. He's a gentle soul. He'll take good care of her. I fear for his heart. Girls are so fickle at that age."

"I suppose."

As we stepped outside, the air was bracing. One of your friends stopped to say hello.

You turned to introduce me and I watched as I became visible to her -- coming into focus as more than just a codger. I took her hand briefly and she smiled, and, as you reinstated your claim to my paw, she seemed to grasp the implication.

You pulled me away again -- down the hill toward the streets of shops that catered to the student population. You strode along the sidewalk, hauling me with you like an eager child and through the door of the doughnut shop, the door chimes jangling.

The place was empty except for us and the girl behind the counter -- one of your friends, apparently -- the one you'd played with on the phone when I was away a couple weeks ago, in fact. You two greeted and leaned over the counter to kiss each other on the cheek and you turned to introduce us. I extended my hand to your friend and she took mine.

"How nice to meet you. I've heard all about you," she said.

"Good things, I hope."

"Oh -- very good things," her gaze seemed particularly warm and I wondered what it meant, but you interrupted.

"Kristin, how about a couple coffees?"

"Sure thing. Doughnuts?"

"Yeah, plain for me. How about you, Daddy?"

Your heart stopped at your slip. And you saw her eyes widen a nearly imperceptible bit. In fact, you saw her pupils get a little larger. It occurred to you that she was a little exited. And she was studying me, you could tell. Looking at me intently.

But she didn't skip a beat, "Yes, sir, what can I get for you?"

"Well, this place used to have crullers. Do you still make them?"

"Oh, yes, we do. Plain or cinnamon?"

"Cinnamon."

You urged me toward the tables and tall booths in the back of the shop. "We'll be back here, OK, Kris?"

"Thank you," I said over my shoulder.

"I'll bring your coffee right there," she said as we disappeared around the corner.

You guided me into the back-most booth. It had an old, wooden, high-backed bench on one side that extended well over our heads like in an old pub - but on the other side were a couple bistro-type chairs. You led me to those chairs. You sat next to me, cuddled up, and you pulled your mittens off, and then my gloves.

Kristen was there in an instant with our cups and doughnuts. "Look, you guys, I have to run out for a few minutes. You can stay here, but I'm locking up, OK?"

I was unbuttoning my coat. You said, "Sure. Ten minutes?"

"Fifteen, dear."

She turned and hurried out the door, the door chimes jangling as she locked up.

It was warm and cozy and you kicked off your boots. You slid off your tights and draped them over the back of the chair to dry. You pushed the table back against the opposite bench and, standing over me, straddled my legs, reaching down to kiss me and fumbling with my belt, and my trouser buttons, and my shorts.

"We've only got twelve minutes, Daddy," you said breathily, "I want you -- now."

You extracted my cock which sprung to attention at your touch. You lifted your skirt, you lowered yourself onto my lap, your legs spread, pulling me under you. You slipped my cock into your very wet pussy.

Now I am deep inside you. It is quiet and warm in the doughnut shop -- quiet except for your heavy breathing and our kisses and your sighs. "Daddy, I love you sooooo much."

"I love you too, darling."

"This is so naughty, Daddy."

"Yes, my love. Are you enjoying it?"

"Oh yesss. Yes, Daddy."

You kiss me deeply, your tongue working into my mouth while you fuck me. You break the kiss and arch back away from me, hitting your stride. I hold your waist. You rock and sway, taking your pleasure. Your cunnie is wet and hot. You are so beautiful and so young.

I had somehow lost perspective about that. At home, your youth is something I've been aware of, but it has faded in the our day-to-day, into the deepening of our love. Here, in the world outside the privacy of our walls, I am keenly aware that I'm being fucked now by a young girl.

Oh, very much of legal age. Very much a young woman. Hell, you could easily bear and raise children. You could have a couple children by now.

But in this place and time, we are an exception to the rule. And there are rules about such things. Rules with good reasons behind them.

Those things don't matter now -- not now while you make love to me. For now and perhaps for years to come, those rules will have to bend. And so I surrender again as you kiss me deeply -- again. And you fuck me -- again. And you pussy slides along my cock -- again. Milking me, urging me, compelling me.

"I love you, little girl."

"I love you too, Daddy."

And you speed up. You are urgent. You are in a hurry now. You want to come. We've only minutes before your little friend is back. It's risky and dangerous and fun. You kiss me again. You whisper, "Come, Daddy. Come in your little baby girl."

The heat takes me. My balls tense, my ass clenches. I whisper, "Konekochan! My little kitten."

And you shudder as you orgasm, quick, deep, full while I pump into your tight cunnie. You grind down on my lap, intensifying your pleasure. Your pussy is fluttering. You exclaim, "Oh! Oh, Daddy!"

You embrace me tight and hard.

The door rattles as Kristin fiddles with the lock. You are still squeezing the last drop from my cock, the last quick heat from your orgasm. The door chimes sound as she enters the shop.

Fortunately for us, she immediately steps around to the back of the counter and calls out, "Hey, guys, I'm back."

As you lift off my lap and my cock slides out of your pussy you reply lightly, "Hey, you. Get your chore done?"

"Yup." She's rattling paper bags. "I had to get some salad stuff at the market. We ran out." She's putting things away in the little refrigerator.

You pussy is dripping my semen as you arrange yourself on the chair next to me and I button myself up. We both grab the table and slide it back toward us; back to where it belongs.

She's coming to the back of the shop. You lift your coffee cup.

"Thanks for watching the place while I was gone," she laughs as she comes around the corner.

"No problem," you reply and smile.

She looks at the table. She sees my cup is full. Our doughnuts are untouched. She sees your tights slung over the back of the bench. There is a fragrance of sex. She glances at you and levels a look at me. "All quiet while I was away?" She smiles at you mischievously. "Enjoy the -- doughnuts?"

You smile back at her. There is a moment of silence. She says, "Let me get you fresh cups -- those are cold by now."

"Thank you, Kris," you say.

"Any time," she smiles.

I smile. "Thank you, Kristin."

Her eyes are soft and big. Her smile is warm. I think you don't know that Kristin's got a crush on you. She says as she looks me in the eyes, "Really -- any time at all, sir."