Amber placed her wet hands on his chest and kissed him back. She felt his chest hair under her hands and rubbed suds on them.
“You’re tickling me,” he purred into her mouth.
She smiled up into his eyes and scooped up more of the bubbles, and rubbed them all over his chest. The way the suds coated his curly chest hairs fascinated her, for some reason. She rubbed him more, using her whole hand, caressing over his pecs. His nipples hardened under her touch, rasping against her palms.
Daddy angled his head down and watched her. “Having fun?” he asked.
Amber looked up at him and nodded. She couldn’t see his erection under the layers of bubble bath, but she could feel it starting to nudge around at her thigh. She snuggled her body closer to his. “I’m going to wash you, okay?”
He smiled. “It would be my pleasure to be washed by you.”
She grabbed up a bath pouf from where it hung on the shower rack and applied a liberal quantity of shower gel. She leaned over Daddy and began washing his body. She took the opportunity to explore his body, paying close attention to the shapes of his muscles and the network of pulsating blue veins under his skin. The way the water and soap ran over his body, streaming and trailing in rivulets, captured her attention so wholly she couldn’t imagine a moment where she hadn’t been in a bathtub with him, soaking in his glory.
“You need to get clean too,” Daddy said, He grabbed the shower gel and squirted some in his hands. He rubbed them together to warm the gel, then brought his hands to her boobies and rubbed it all over them.
Amber gasped as his hands slipped and slid all over her boobies. She arched her back, thrusting her chest to Daddy’s. They rubbed their bodies together, the soap between them letting them glide. Amber propped herself up with her hand on the side of the tub; her grip slipped and she fell with a splash right on top of Daddy.
Something hard bumped her. She tried to move and a shock of pleasure told her the story of what had happened. Daddy’s erection was pushed up right against her kitty, pushing horizontally through her lips. She shifted her hips around and rubbed herself on him, her clitty gliding through a layer of bubbles over his firmness. Another shock pulsed through her. She tossed her head and moaned.
Daddy slid his hands under her butt and brought his mouth to her neck. He kissed her hard, spoke against her ticking pulse. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”
Amber wrapped her arms around his neck and let her head lay back, her long wet hair falling all over their bodies, sticking to them. “Oh, Daddy,” she gasped, rubbing her nub on him. Her hips wriggled and writhed as if of their own accord. “You make me feel so good. My body’s going to explode!”
He kissed her neck hard and tightened his grip on her butt, digging his fingers in. “You know what to do,” he breathed.
She shook out her hair and then tossed it all behind her. Gasping, breathing in lungfuls of sweet steam, she started to follow Daddy’s movements. He pulled her butt back and forth, making her pleasure her clitty on his erection. Each rub had her shaking harder and soon it was as if she didn’t have control over her body at all. She bucked and writhed and slapped her kitty with urgency on his unyielding hardness.
Daddy grinded on her suddenly, pushing back against her clitty. She gasped, pleasure bursting through her; the gasp tore from her, crescendoed into a scream, the sound of which she could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart. Her cummies took hold of her, whisked her away, and brought her back in a whirlwind rush that could have lasted moments or years for all she knew.
Daddy folded her against his chest and kissed her lips. “My Amber,” he purred.
“Daddy…”
He turned and set her leaning against the side of the tub. His hands roamed under the water, searching, gliding over and under her legs and body. He lifted the bodywash and the pouf out of the water. “It’s your turn to get clean,” he told her.
Amber watched him through a sheer curtain of wet hair, dazed from the intensity of her cummies.
Everything was so perfect. She could still hardly understand how that had happened.
Daddy worked the soap into a lather and brought the pouf to her body, gently rubbing the mesh sponge over her shoulders and between her breasts. He washed her tummy, and then the pouf disappeared under the water again. Something rough, yet so gentle, pressed between her legs and rubbed her there.
She jumped so hard her butt bounced up off the bottom of the tub.
“I’m sorry, but I have to clean everywhere.” His eyes sparked.
“Daddy,” she said again, warningly this time, letting him know there were still boundaries.
So many things weren’t perfect after all. She knew they weren’t doing everything Daddy wanted them to do. And that was her fault. She wasn’t ready.
But if things weren’t perfect, then they were close enough for now.
Chapter 19
Nobody understands
Amber swallowed hard, standing on the threshold between the hallway and Daddy’s condo. She faced outward, staring down the wall like it had done something to wrong her.
Don’t be a baby, she scolded herself. Come on. You didn’t used to be so scared of baby stuff.
Goaded on by her own taunts, Amber took a deep breath and leaped out of the condo and into the hallway. Nothing changed except her location. She frowned and smoothed her hands over her hips. Honestly, she was a little disappointed that there hadn’t been something more dramatic. A rush of triumph, or even a pulse of dread; anything that would be appropriate to mark the occasion she left the condo on her own after months being glued to Daddy’s side.
Amber shrugged at herself and trudged to the elevator, now feeling as normal about the whole thing as if she was going for a walk in the woods. Maybe this would be easier than she thought.
No, who was she kidding? This was the easy part.
As she rode down the elevator to the ground floor, she pondered that. How strange was it that something which had previously been so hard for her, like leaving the house alone, was now easy? Maybe that was called growing up.
Maybe it was called having an epiphany. Maybe the worst thing in the world wasn’t to be alone, but to be surrounded by others who hated her thoughts and opinions.
Her hands jittered as she stepped out into the lobby. She busied herself with putting on her gloves to hide the shakiness and continued on her way, stepping outside. A sharp wind hit her and she shivered all over. She tucked her head down and pulled up the hood of her jacket. She hadn’t done anything to hide her hair in months, and now it felt weird to do so.
Arriving at the bus stop just in time, she stepped on with the other shaking passengers and quickly found herself a seat near the front. She sat and pulled off her gloves and huffed on her hands, but even her breath had gone cold.
Her phone buzzed for attention in her pocket. Have a good day at college, teacup, Daddy said. I know you’ll do amazingly.
She gulped and texted back a quick reply. Not even Daddy could comfort her this time. He could do everything except change people’s minds, and that was unfortunately what she was going up against.
College. Cherry. The others like her who sneered and nudged each other with mean, private jokes whenever Amber dared give an opinion that wasn’t the popular one.
She hadn’t gone to college physically in so long, but she had to go now. It was the end of the semester. For days, she’d been working on her big final project, a presentation, writing and re-writing and rehearsing.
She could have sent it in as an essay and that would have been the end of it, but when she told Daddy she was considering that, he flatly refused to allow it. Amber leaned her head on the bus window, feeling the vibrations, almost able to hear Daddy’s voice echoing in her ears as he told her that if she wasn’t there to defend her ideas, no one else would. Her opinions meant nothing if she wouldn’t back them up, stand by them. So she had no choice. She wanted to prove to herself, more than anyone else, that
she had what it took.
The bus pulled up in front of the college and slowed to a halt with a screech of tires. Amber got up and went down the steps. She stood in front of the campus while the bus pulled away, effectively trapping her there. She had no money for a taxi or an Uber, and the next bus wasn’t for at least an hour. The only way to leave was if she walked, and if she walked away, she would hate herself every step for being a coward.
Squaring her shoulders, Amber marched through college and right into class.
Miss Mills looked up at her as she entered and gave a thin smile. “There you are, Amber. You’re the last one to give your presentation, so I hope you’re ready.”
“Yes,” she said, voice tight. She started to head for her usual seat, her heart pounding.
“Where are you going?” Miss Mills questioned, amid rude snickers from the others in the class.
Amber was confused. “You said I was going to be last.”
“Everyone else has already done theirs. Yes, you’re the last. And the only one today.” The professor made a motion to the front of the room. “You are ready, aren’t you? If you’re not, that’s a major portion of your final grade that will be missing.”
The room spun around her. She tightened her grip on the folder in her hands, containing her precious presentation notes. She thought she’d have more time…
No. She shook her head. What would Daddy say? He’d say it was a good thing, that she wouldn’t have time to sit around and get even more nervous than she already was.
Amber straightened up. She removed her jacket and set it on an empty desk. Underneath, she wore a bright pink pantsuit. Some of the others in the room laughed, but she ignored them. She knew she looked good, especially with her hair swishing around at her back.
She strode up to the front of the room and looked at the professor. Miss Mills said, “Whenever you’re ready.”
Amber gripped her folder tightly and turned to face the class. She swept her gaze across everyone, all the others who had laughed at her and been mean to her over the course of the semester. She unfocused, letting herself see faces, but not identities. She pictured Daddy sitting there, in the middle of the class, keeping watch over her jacket, an encouraging smile on his handsome face.
And she began.
As soon as she started speaking, she realized she didn’t need her notes at all. More than something she had written, this was a presentation from the heart.
“Imagine,” she began. “A 1960s housewife straightens her husband’s tie and hands him his hat. They kiss each other on the cheek, not looking each other in the eye. The husband walks out the door of their picture-perfect suburban house, down the driveway to their shiny new Ford Mustang -a model they couldn’t really afford but had to have. The housewife heads back inside and packs a school lunch for her obedient daughter and well-mannered son before urging them out of the house to the bus stop.”
Amber paused to breathe, to judge the atmosphere of the room. It was so quiet and still she would have been able to hear a pin drop. Everyone stared at her, waited for her, uncertain of where she was going or what was the point she wanted to make.
“The housewife goes around her home and completes a list of chores, making sure everything is clean and tidy. She bathes, dresses in the latest fashion, and then she heads out to the bus stop herself. She travels downtown, steps into a modest building with no identifying qualities. A sign outside the door is the only marker. It says psychologist.
“She waits in the waiting room, avoiding the eyes of the other patients until it’s her turn to go into the back. The psychologist has her sit on a comfortable chair, asks her if she needs anything, and then allows her to speak.
“The housewife lets her guard down in the safe environment, and spills her troubles to someone who’s supposed to understand.”
Miss Mills was making notes, her pen scratch-scratching.
“She tells the psychologist that her husband never appreciates her cooking. That he doesn’t pay attention to her or care about what she does around the house. He comes home from work long after the kids have gone to bed and his breath smells of alcohol. He’s probably having an affair.”
“She tells him her children aren’t nearly as well-behaved as she’d like. They, too, don’t appreciate her. They’re cheeky. They talk back to her and lie and steal, especially treats and candy. She doesn’t know where she went wrong.”
“When she runs out of things to say, the psychologist puts down his notepad. He hasn’t written anything on it. He’s seen so many similar cases before he no longer has to think about what he’ll say. He tells her to look at the big picture. She lives in a lovely house equipped with all the latest things. A color television, a washing machine and dryer set. She has access to a cooking range, a vacuum cleaner, and air-conditioning for those long hot summers. All these things make her life easier than it could be. And she has all these things because of her husband. And if her children misbehave, it’s because they’re children. A rude joke here and a cookie after bedtime isn’t enough to cancel out the fact that they make good grades and clean up after themselves, and say please and thank you.”
“The psychologist tells her nothing is wrong with her life. She’s just bored. She should appreciate what she has, and maybe get a hobby. The housewife leaves dissatisfied, because she can tell he didn’t really understand. He didn’t look at the meanings of her words.”
Amber pauses again to take another survey of the room. Her introduction was long, she knows. She tried to cut it down, but every word was too important to give up. At least her classmates seemed interested. Especially Cherry. None of them really knew what she’s working towards.
Perhaps they thought she was exploring the changing perceptions behind the studies of the mind and behavior. Or maybe a criticism of misogyny in relation to mental health. Something profound. Unexpected, at least, to have come from her, since throughout the course she’d showed no inclination of being interested in those topics.
Her classmates were probably using what they learned to judge her, considering themselves sociologists just because they’d read a textbook.
“Months pass,” Amber says, voice hushed. “The wife only grows unhappier. Her frustrations spiral into each other. She becomes controlling of her children, which makes them act out even more. She searches through her husband’s belongings, hunting for signs to prove his infidelity. She sniffs his suits for a whiff of perfume, examines his clothes for lipstick marks.”
“At her next visit with the psychologist, he prescribes her medicine. He tells her she’s delusional, paranoid, that her imagination is overactive. She should count her blessings rather than look for trouble where none exists.”
“But I ask you, is she really blessed?”
Cherry stirs and sits up straighter, looking intrigued. Amber smiles on the inside. Her classmate thinks she knows where this is going.
“Maybe instead of being so emotionally dependent on her kids and her husband, she shouldn’t have had a family in the first place. Instead of getting married, maybe she should have gone to college and then gotten a job. She’d have been free from the burden of motherhood. She could have lived life on her own terms. Gotten an apartment in the city where the action is rather than being stuck in suburbs where nothing ever happens. She could have had a variety of men to go on dates with, explored a variety of relationships rather than be beholden to the whims of one unreliable man.”
“That would have made her happy right?
“Fast forward to the present day and fewer people are getting married. Those who are, are getting divorced at record rates. Either that or they’re just cheating on each other. Some are even opening up their marriages to adventures in polyamory.”
“Having kids is viewed with disdain. The words ‘mother’ and ‘housewife’ are ridiculed. Everybody is free and independent and living life on their own terms. Yet people are more unhappy than ever. Could it be that we’ve just replaced one set of soc
ial norms with another?”
The class stirred. Cherry’s lips stretched into an unfriendly smirk. Amber saw the disgust in her eyes, could almost read her mind. Cherry’s disgust was for herself at having believed for even a moment that Amber could have had a valid point. There was pity in Cherry’s eyes too.
Amber hurried onward, her heart starting to beat faster. She was reaching the end of her introduction. No telling how much longer she had left until she was booted out of the class. “The warmth of loyalty has been replaced by coolness, casualness. The ideal of the modest, self-sacrificing housewife has been replaced with the ideal of the brash, self-aggrandizing career woman.’
And the uproar began. Her classmates started muttering. She struggled to speak over them, raising her voice, laying out her points, that happiness will never be found in the demands of society. She insisted, as she had always insisted, that there were flaws in a system that demands everyone follow the same template. People aren’t textbooks. Just because a person has gone through a certain experience doesn’t mean they will act -or have to act- a certain way. People are made of experiences. Humans are made of memories. No amount of study can ever explain how an individual will -or should- act.
Amber advocated individuality over study.
She advocated happiness over norms.
Deep down, she advocated for her relationship with Daddy, no matter how wrong society might judge it to be.
She laid out all her views, trying her hardest to stress that she wasn’t for or against anything. She simply wanted to convince her classmates that everyone should make their own choices.
Even if that means being a submissive woman and letting a strong man provide and take lead.
And when she finally reached the end of her presentation, Cherry stood up from her seat and yelled, “I have never heard anything more backward or regressive! Do you think the world is flat, too?”
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