Accustomed to Her Face Ch. 30bybill33©
Some Little Girls Do
You were dreaming.
You dreamed we were in our bed. You were lying next to me, facing me. You were small – a little girl – about nine years old. You could feel someone behind you – sleeping. Their arm was draped over your waist. Their scent was so familiar – like roses – like soft, feminine perfume - warm.
You reached up in the dark and touched my mouth with your small hand and said softly, "Daddy, when I grow up, can I marry you?"
I replied, sleepily, "Daughters don't marry their fathers, baby girl."
"It's – um – just not customary. Besides, when you grow up, you'll fall in love with a wonderful man and you'll barely have time for me." You could hear the smile in my voice.
"No, Daddy, I'll always have time for you. – – – Daddy?"
"Shhhh. Go to sleep."
So you whispered, "Some little girls do, Daddy." And you snuggled your face into my chest. "Some little girls do."
In your dream, I wove my fingers into you curly hair. You listened to my heart beating as you drifted.
And as you rose from your dreaming, back to your young womanhood, you felt my fingers in your hair as they were when we fell asleep. When was that? And you felt the warm comfort of our bed and its familiar smells – male, female, sex. You couldn't remember getting in bed. But you could feel the wetness between your legs. And your sweet ass felt stretched and you felt so – fucked.
You smiled and squirmed. Your arm was over my waist. You pulled me closer.
"Some little girls do," you spoke softly.
I stirred, "What's that, my pet?"
You lifted your head to my mouth and answered me with a lingering kiss, your tongue teasing me as you held me – firmly. It was wonderful to be so close and so in love. You pushed me onto my back, climbed on top of me, straddling me. You lay your head on my shoulder. You were asleep in an instant, and although your weight kept me awake, I was so happy to have you there. I drew the down comforter higher over us and smiled. I contentedly listened to your quiet breathing for the hour or so 'till dawn.
As you woke up later, you smiled – memories of the night before began to sift back into your thoughts. You had been drawn to you playroom. You had danced as the mysterious oil had worked its arousing magic. You had embraced me, surrendered to me. I had come deep inside your fertile cunny as we screamed in pleasure.
You squirmed in the dim light of my room – in the deep, soft warmth of my bed – our bed. I was up – you were alone. You were sleepy and happy, and you slipped you hand down between your legs. You were still wet. You dipped your finger between your pussy lips and gently, gently stroked your clitoris.
You shivered in your pleasure and sighed, "Oh, Daddy – some little girls do."
You played slowly and easily – keeping yourself aroused and building just ever so gradually while you thought about last night. Thinking about your secret – or what had been your secret – that you had stopped your birth control. You had fucked me many times since you stopped, but last night you knew you were fertile. You thought about your Daddy making you have a baby. It was so erotic and wonderful.
You remembered crying in joy and release as I fucked you hard afterward – and how you had slid into a dreamy, happy sort-of drunkenness as you held me – so close. Perhaps it was the perfumed oil that put you in that state.
You played with your sweet pussy, looking back to the night before, and began to remember having then been wild and aggressive, riding me and taking your pleasure over and over. You remember me holding you very firmly and tying your arms back. You remember struggling and laughing and me bending you over again, pushing roughly into your ass while you screamed and came.
"Oh Daddy, I love you." Your fingers were moving faster.
You remembered how later, I carried you upstairs and helped you bathe and get into bed. You remembered how I played with you until you came again. You remembered how I entered you and put my seed deep up inside you. You were almost asleep when I did, but you remembered.
That memory pushed you to the edge in our bed that morning, your fingers pinching your clitoris.
You remembered how I had growled in your ear as I pumped my come into you – "Come. Come now." And, as if on command, you had come. It was nearly involuntary. You couldn't help it somehow.
I had purred, "Good girl, Good little girl."
You pinched your clitoris hard. "Good little girl," I had said. "Come for your daddy." And you came, remembering those wonderful moments of our love-making. So sweet. So hot.
You shuddered, gasping. "Oh, Daddy – Oh, Daddy – I love you."
Then you lay quietly. The soft warmth of our bed surrounded you. The room was quiet.
You sat up. You smiled to yourself. "Some little girls do, Daddy."
And so later on, when you went downstairs, wearing your linen nightie under your heavy kimono, you found me drinking coffee and nibbling on divine toast in the living room. I was wearing jeans and a black watch tartan Pendleton, reading the Saturday New York Times.
"Breakfast, little girl?"
You smiled and sat next to me on the couch. "Yes, please Sir."
I poured your cup. Two lumps of sugar. Milk – just the way you like it. "Divine Toast, Koneko?"
You grinned as you took the buttery toast from my fingers. Divine Toast – it was a meme of ours. To cheer you one time, I had invented an origin story... "Tell me the story, Daddy."
I chuckled, you giggled. Our eyes met. I brushed your curls from your forehead. You smiled – lovely, radiant.
"In the beginning the world was dark and without form and Goddess was bored and lonesome so she created the stars and the earth as a hobby. And she created all the creatures on the earth – large and small – but she was still lonesome. So, against her better judgment, but driven by sexual frustration, she created a man to keep her company."
You sipped your coffee and smiled.
"Now, at first all was pretty good. Even though he was smelly and unruly at times – even though he burped loudly (she tried to train him not to) and enjoyed hitting things with sticks (she couldn't understand why), he listened to her talk and he was more than willing to cavort with her whenever she wanted. And she clued him into the kinds of things she liked – so all was well – for a time.
"He was fun to invent things for. Like tea. But greatest of all her inventions – her gifts to mankind – was the invention of slicing bread and heating it over a fire to make it slightly browned and crispy. She would serve it to him with butter and honey and she called it toast. Devine Toast – the Goddess's greatest gift."
You grinned broadly – "Yes, Sir, but tell me again how womankind came to be."
"Of course – it's obvious. When the goddess got tired of man, she made a creature in the likeness of herself to keep him occupied in hopes he would leave her alone. And she called the creature woman and taught her the ways of the Divine Toast that she could ever be man's perfect companion."
We laughed. You buttered a piece of toast for me. "How am I doing?"
"My perfect companion as always, little girl."
You leaned to me and kissed my mouth. Your lips were buttery and sweet.
So the morning passed gently. We read, sitting next to each other. You rubbed my feet while I ranted about stupid politics. I helped you with your homework. You read to me (wearing my grandmother's silver glasses) out of your Women's Literature class books .
The afternoon sun came around to shine in the west windows, made particularly brilliant by the snow outside.
"Let's take a walk, little girl."
"We'd better bundle up then, darling man." You stopped and looked thoughtful.
"What is it, my love?"
You shook you head – "I don't know – I – I've never called you that. 'Darling man'"
"No – no you haven't."
"It feels odd," you smiled, "I wonder why. You know – I had a dream last night – or this morning, really. I can't quite remember it. But I remember telling you – oh, never mind. I'll go get dressed." You kissed me and skipped to the stairs, which you ran up.
I watched you in awed amazement. You were a stunning beauty. Your shape was subtly revealed by the flowing silk. Your girl-cum-young-woman manner was riveting – the grace of your youth.
You constantly surprised and delighted me. You could be so disarmingly innocent and yet so mischievous. You so obviously played to the little girl role – perhaps a natural function of your submissiveness. But you could be remarkably sharp all of a sudden. And in those moments it was plain that your head was full of thoughts within thoughts and layers of complexities.
So you had transformed in that moment from the young lady reading me poetry to the girl skipping across the parquet. I smiled and shook my head.
I thought back to last night. I thought about how you had been so lost in your excitement as you fucked me. You had ridden me roughly and long, digging your fingernails into my flesh as you ground your cunny down on me, biting me on my shoulder so hard that you drew blood. I had spanked you. And that only made you more frenzied. You were incredible. I had finally tied your hands behind you and fucked you hard. You screamed with pleasure and you had fainted away just as I was coming. I pumped my come into you as you swooned.
"My God," I said to the air that still held the fragrant memory of your passing. "My God. You make love to me like the Goddess of Devine Toast herself then skip across the room as if you are a little pixie girl. But – that's right – you are just a little girl. I forget." I chuckled. And I even marveled at that. It had been sneaking up on me... happiness.
I groaned. "No – not that!"
"No?" You were coming downstairs wearing your favorite new wool pleated skirt and sweater. "I thought you liked it."
"What? – Oh – Oh – no – I mean yes – I mean I love it. I was talking to myself."
You pranced over to the sofa and kissed me on the head. "Silly, silly Daddy." You were giggling.
I playfully caught your wrist and swung you around the arm of the couch so you collapsed on my lap laughing.
And when you saw the kind but earnest expression on my face you were suddenly quiet. You smiled gently, but with a kind of open honesty.
"You do that on purpose, don't you?" I asked.
"Do what, Daddy?"
"That – that thing you just now did."
For a split second you looked puzzled – and then you took my meaning. "Yes – yes I do. I love you and I like to play with you. It makes me happy to be your little girl and I think it makes you happy too.
"I'm sure there are all kinds of psychological reasons that would explain – at least in part – why I get the sense of security and belonging from this. I know I'm young. I know you're older than me by quite a lot. The years will pass, but I always want to be your little girl – – –Sir." You grinned.
You took my hand. "Being your little girl makes me feel safe and cared-for. And I love calling you Daddy. And I know you like it when I do." And then you looked down and your voice got quiet. "And then – you see – I am your submissive. I love being your submissive. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but there is a kind of freedom and power in it.
"And also – also – I love you. I love you so much.
"So yes – I do it deliberately. I know when I'm doing it. I'm very conscious of it. It is an expression of my love. I belong to you, Sir."
And so you had done it again. Caught me off guard. Little girl – yes and yet – I thought – not so much.
I smiled. "I have something for you to wear today."
You beamed, "You're such a good Daddy." And we laughed together.
I pulled you to your feet and brought you out to the front hall.
There was a box on the bench. It looked like a large dress-box – a couple feet wide, several feet long, and 8 inches deep. It was made of thin wood and held fast with old canvas straps. The wood was lacquered and hinged.
"What is this? How do I undo these straps – these buckle things?" You eagerly began to fiddle with the straps like a child on Christmas morning. Soon you had figured them out and undid them and carefully lifted the box open.
Its contents was wrapped in thin, white fabric. Something told you to be careful. You folded the fabric back.
It was a coat. It was a fur coat. You had never seen one before. You were shocked.
You put your hand on the fur. It was remarkably soft. And the warmth of your hand was immediately reflected – it was incredibly warm. You gently stroked the coat. It was one of the most wonderful things you had ever felt.
"Daddy – is this real fur?"
"Yes, it is, little girl. It's a very old coat."
"Oh – oh, my. But, Daddy – – I'm not sure – – I don't feel good about wearing it, I think."
"Yes, I understand. I think I know how you feel. But these little animals gave up their lives long ago – before people thought much about how the little animals were being treated. This coat was made seventy years ago, my love. It was my grandmother's. It's like a piece of history.
"I have it kept with a few others of my grandmother's and my mother's in special refrigerated storage. I had it taken out of storage and the lining repaired so you could wear it on special occasions this winter.
"Here, my love, try it on. There's no harm in it." I lifted it out of the box. "I think you'll want to take you sweater off, darling. You'll find the coat very warm."
You silently pulled your sweater over your head. You arranged your blouse. I held the coat as you slipped your arms in feeling the satin lining. The coat was a little heavy – but it fit you perfectly. I buttoned you up.
"My God it is warm," you said.
"And there's a matching hat." I lifted out a beautiful fur hat. I placed it on your head.
I stood back. "Oh my! Darling – take a look."
You turned and looked at your reflection in the tall hallway mirror. A dark-skinned Russian princess stood there. The coat was a rich dark, dark brown with ripples of deeper color. It was slightly closer at the waist, and flared out to below your knees. Its collar was wide and luxuriously beautiful. And there on your head was a Russian hat.
You gasped. "Shujin! Oh – it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. What is it – or – are they – or..."
"Yes, darling. It's Russian Sable."
"Sable – I think I've heard of that."
It feels wonderful, doesn't it? When I was a kid, I used to wear it sometimes – just because it felt so wonderful."
You laughed. "And not because," and you sang, "You wished you was a girlie just like your dear mama?"
I was delighted at your lyrical reference. "HA! How Pythonesque of you, my love!"
You laughed. "OK, Daddy – I'll try the coat. I suppose if the little sables were skinned so long ago, there's no further harm being done by me wearing the coat."
"Yes – " I began to put on my long coat. "I suppose if you wanted to look at it this way, you could think that by wearing it, you are honoring the little guys."
"A perfect justification, Daddy." Your tone was melodramatically wry. "Would you help me on with my boots? I – I don't want to take the coat off." And you giggled.
I smiled. "Of course."
"Sir, are you sure you don't have Lurch or Uncle Fester or Cousin It hiding somewhere around here?"
"Why – do I seem like Charles Addams?"
As I opened the door, its bells jangled.
"Yes – I think you kinda do. Don't forget your hat, Daddy."
I put on my Astrakhan hat. "Come, Czarina." And I offered you my arm.
We stepped out into the frigid mid-afternoon. The snow was piled high. Our breath steamed. It was well below freezing.
But you were completely toasty. It was wonderful.
You held my arm as we made our way long the streets - first down the hill and then beginning up the next. The snow, easily three feet deep, was cleared off the streets and sidewalks. And the couple inches of last night's accumulation made the world look clean and fresh. The bows of the firs and hemlocks, burdened by their frosty covering, swayed gently in the slight breeze. White powder blew off the roofs and chimneys. The sky was Paynes grey and the air smelled like snow.
Wearing your coat was a study in luxuriousness. It weighed a bit, but it was so warm. The satin lining slid past your legs easily as you walked. The hat kept your head completely warm and your ears didn't feel a hint of the 18 Fahrenheit degree day. And you became more and more aware that you were wearing a thing of unusual beauty – and it made you feel like a million bucks – like a princess indeed.
We climbed up the steep University Campus. People hurrying along sometimes cast long glances in our direction. We cut a striking couple.
Inevitably, a group of your friends spotted us and waved. You waved back. The kids made their way toward us, weaving through piles of snow until the half dozen students stood around us huffing and puffing while you held my arm tight, smiling and gaily greeting your friends.
"Hey there," one of the young men spoke out, "We were wondering how you were. How was you Christmas?"
You smiled and spoke warmly. "We had a lovely Christmas. It was great."
One of the young women smiled and took my hand. "Well, hello – remember me? Kristin. The doughnut shop." We had met the day you took me walking – the girl you had played with on the phone back when I was away in California.
I smiled, "I certainly do. How nice to see you again."
The young man put out his had to shake mine. "It's really amazing to meet you. My mom has all your records. Oh – And I really like them too."
I chuckled. I glanced at you taking this in.
"Yeah," said one of the girls. "I used to listen to you when I was little. I really like that stuff."
Glancing up at me, you saw the look of amusement on my face.
"You should hear what he's writing these days," you said and squeezed my arm as you looked back at your friends.
"God, I'd love to," said another of the boys.
"That would be amazing," said another.
There was a pause. You hadn't quite meant it that way, but it gave you an idea.
"I know – you should all come over for dinner sometime." You said, "We could have a dinner party. And we'll get him to play for us after we eat."
You could feel me tighten slightly. All faces were on me – eyes wide. I was stunned. It was just a split second, but an obvious hesitation.
You squeezed my arm and turned slightly toward me. I was staring into space. You looked up at me and said quietly – an aside to your friends. "He's very shy. He's insecure." You were enjoying your slightly authoritative role.
I looked down at you. I opened my mouth to speak, but you beat me to it, saying, "Sir, may I please have my friends come for a dinner party? Afterward, you can play for us."
"But – but – I haven't played for – – for years."
"You play for me."
Yes – that's true. But..."
"So these are friends – a friendly audience – you should at least try."
The young man who had spoken first said. "Please. Please try."
I was stunned. I looked at your friends' eager faces. I looked down at you. It began to snow. You were smiling at me. You reached up and touched my cheek. "Please, you'll be glad you did."
I touched your hair, tucking into you hat. "Yes, of course." I turned to your friends. "Forgive me. I've lived so long as a recluse, I've forgotten my manners." I smiled, they smiled. "Please come to dinner. It will be lovely, really. I would be truly delighted."
One of the girls quietly said, "Wow."
Another said, "Brilliant."
One of the girls said, "Can I bring my boyfriend?" And soon you and your friends were clamoring and laughing.
Kristin was feeling the arm of your coat. She said to me, quietly, "This is real fur. I've never felt real fur. My God – how beautiful."