by Emily Tilton
When at last Jane turned her attention back to the London household, Delilah felt like she had been standing on pins and needles for the previous fifteen minutes.
“Sorry, Delilah,” Jane began. “Things look… fine with Heather right now.”
Just fine? Delilah looked up from mincing garlic to stare out the window at the backyard.
“She’s at seven,” Jane continued. “Frankly we’d like to see her at nine, and we’d rather you were having to interrupt her just about now, but the good news is there’s no risk of her masturbating before George gets home, as we see it.”
Delilah chewed the inside of her cheek. Would Jane acknowledge whose fault it was? It hadn’t even occurred to Delilah that she might mention the glistening flow of Heather’s pussy juice on her thigh.
“I’ll take the blame,” Jane said simply, then, “if something goes wrong here, but you and George should proceed according to plan. The model suggests that Heather may peak higher because of this little regression, so if we’re all careful it’s going to work out for the best.”
Delilah tapped her implanted mic to acknowledge. She appreciated Jane taking responsibility, but she knew just as well as the assessors that the downside had just increased, too: Heather failing to respond as planned to her first special lesson, with her prospective buyers watching on Oak Street TV—a major setback for Heather’s value and for her development.
“We’re sending George home now,” Jane finished, and now for the first time Delilah detected a hint of anxiety in her tone. “Since Heather isn’t building arousal the way we anticipated, we think it’s best to get things started ASAP.”
* * *
George came through the back door five minutes later. He had a smile on his face that reassured Delilah almost enough to drive the worry away.
“Time to help our little girl feel good at last?” he asked, looking down—though only by a few inches—into her eyes. He reached out and cupped Delilah’s face in his big, strong hand, just under her chin. Delilah felt a flutter down below, just as if she were the little girl with her firm, slightly wicked daddy. Life on Oak Street had many wonderful parts, but she had to confess she probably liked this one the best—getting to be both stern mommy and naughty young lady.
She looked a question back into his eyes, and saw his gaze narrow a little to become more solemn. It made her feel better to know George took the challenge seriously.
“Don’t worry, Delilah,” he said. “Our Heather is an erotic powder keg just like she should be. Tonight we get to set her off.”
Jane spoke over the comm link. “Absolutely. Let’s light this candle. George, go on upstairs. Delilah, you’re right behind him—you’ll be outside Heather’s door until I give the word.”
Delilah and George both tapped once. Then George bent and kissed Delilah deeply, holding her face in both hands.
“Can’t wait to play with both my good girls,” he said tenderly. He kissed her one more time, lightly, and then let go to walk with a measured, heavy paternal step to the stairs.
“Heather hears you coming,” Jane said. “She just got up off her bed. She’s up to seven.”
Delilah let out a little sigh of relief. She couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit envious that the mere sound of her daddy’s step, moving through the house, could have such a strong effect on Heather, while her own efforts had to remain more ambiguous. That was just the way it worked with little girls and their daddies, in cases like Heather’s, she knew very well from both training and experience.
She followed George on the stairs, making sure she walked more softly so that Heather wouldn’t know her mommy, too, had come up. It soothed Delilah’s envy quite a bit to know that her entry had its own decisive role to play, and that if things went well, all the Londons would receive their just rewards of pleasure very soon. Still, she would have to wait outside while Heather’s daddy got things started, only able to listen and to imagine.
George walked through the bedroom door while Delilah waited below, out of view on the stairs.
Over her in-ear comm link, into which Jane had toggled in the audio feed from Heather’s room, she heard her little girl say in a choked voice, “Daddy, I’m…”
George waited for a long moment: Delilah pictured him standing there, arms crossed over his chest, looking at his curvy nineteen-year-old ward.
“Eight,” Jane said.
“You’re what, pumpkin?” George asked in a stern voice.
Heather sobbed. Delilah felt her sympathy almost as a real thing, a force field or a phantom limb, stretching through the door to the conflicted girl. Soon, sweetheart. Don’t worry.
“Take off your clothes, Heather,” George said.
“Nine,” said Jane with satisfaction. Heather clearly had noticed the very important difference between the beginning of this punishment and all the others she had had here in her Oak Street bedroom.
“My… not… not my p-pajamas?” she stammered in a whisper.
“No, pumpkin. Not your PJs. We have to try something new, since you decided to look at those naughty pictures. Mommy says she told you about this: I have to inspect you, down where your wicked feelings come from—where the boy touched you, back at the hostel. Where your husband will take care of you someday. Take off all your clothes and lie down on your bed. Tonight you’re going to have a special kind of lesson.”
“Ten,” Jane said. Then, “Recalibrator.”
Delilah held her breath, because the most important moment lay just ahead, seconds away. Three, two, she counted in her head—not knowing exactly when it would happen but sure it couldn’t take longer than…
“Daddy, what are you doing?” Heather suddenly asked, her gasp audible to the mic in her room. “Not the belt, please! Please, Daddy!”
“No,” George answered, “not the belt, pumpkin.”
“Then…” Heather fell silent as the soft sound of trousers hitting the rug of her room, with a slightly sharper jingle of belt buckle, sounded in Delilah’s ear.
“You decided to take a good look at some penises today, Heather. It’s time for you to see your daddy’s penis, too, and to learn to make it feel good.”
“Eight,” Jane reported. Her voice didn’t sound worried, but Delilah couldn’t press down her own anxiety.
“But… but…” Heather’s voice sounded weak.
Soft sounds of fabric indicated that George had started to take off his Oxford shirt, too.
“D-daddy… please… I don’t…”
“Nine,” Jane said. “Nice work, George.”
Delilah couldn’t see exactly what the assessor meant, but she thought she could puzzle it out easily enough: by standing his ground quietly and firmly, and simply continuing to remove his own clothes until he stood naked before his still-clothed little girl, George had reinforced the idea that he didn’t mean to teach Heather any lesson for which she didn’t in fact already yearn.
“This is Daddy’s cock,” George said in a much gentler tone. “Now it’s time for Daddy’s little girl to take off her clothes, too, and let Daddy get a good look at her lovely pussy and her naughty bottom.”
Heather’s breath panted through her nose in little gasps, clearly audible over the comm link. Delilah pictured her standing with her legs against her bed, biting her lip, sweet face bright red.
“Mrs. Giuliani spanked my bottom with a spoon,” she said in a dreamy voice. “I… I think it’s still red.”
“I heard, pumpkin. I’m afraid I’ll have to spank you, too.”
“Oh, Daddy, please… I…”
“Ten. Recalibrator,” Jane said. “We’re in the clear. Watch this.”
Delilah only had to speculate for a moment on what Jane had seen in the numbers, for Heather spoke again, now, in a very different tone.
“Couldn’t I make your penis feel good instead, Daddy? I want to… I want to…” Her voice fell to a whisper. “Could I suck it, Daddy? Please?”
Chapter Nine
Heather ha
d only the vaguest idea of where these wicked thoughts had come from, and even less idea of why she knew somehow that as strange as it seemed she was right to have them now, with Daddy naked in front of her. The longing to make her daddy feel good, though, by doing the naughtiest thing she could imagine, had taken hold of her heart and her mind completely.
Daddy smiled. “You’ll suck Daddy’s cock very soon, pumpkin. I promise. And I’m not going to spank you hard.”
Heather felt a crease develop in her forehead. It seemed crazy, but this news almost disappointed her.
“But now you need to do as I told you, and take off your clothes so I can have a look at you. And I’d like you to give me your panties, please, so I can inspect them, too.”
She couldn’t, though. Could she? The boy in the dormitory had taken down Heather’s panties, and that had been such a naughty thing that Heather got sent here to Oak Street to live with a strict mommy and daddy. Every spanking she had gotten here in the London household, really, had happened because Heather had let a boy look at what she had inside her panties, and now Daddy said he would do that, too.
And… and he had taken off his own clothes, as if he were one of the men in the Playgirl magazine. Every time Heather’s eyes strayed across the rug to where Daddy stood holding his hard penis, a new wave of heat seemed to wash over her whole body. If she and Tricia had gotten spanked with the wooden spoon for looking at the magazines, how could Daddy be showing her his own cock?
And how could it feel so wrong and yet so right at the same time? Heather closed her eyes and bit her lip. Down between her legs she felt the wetness start again, flowing into the white cotton of her school briefs. She couldn’t give them to Daddy to look at; she just couldn’t.
“Pumpkin, listen to me,” Daddy said in a serious voice—not angry, or even stern, but very solemn. “I know you’re having a great many different kinds of feelings right now. This is a very important moment for you: it’s time for your daddy to take care of you in a new way. You’ll find it very embarrassing, as you should because Mommy and I have made sure that you’ve learned modesty, living here with us. It’s going to be hard to do as I say, now that some of things I say will feel so strange and new. But I’m your daddy, and I get to say. When I take off my clothes to have big-girl time with you, you’ll take off your clothes, too, and show me what I want to see, or I’ll have to whip you with my belt.”
That made Heather open her eyes wide and stare at Daddy in shock and fear. “Please, don’t, Daddy!” she wailed. “Please, not the belt!” She thought, with a hot blush, of Tricia and of Mr. Giuliani’s belt. Was Tricia already lying on her bed with her bottom covered in terrible red marks, sobbing out her contrition for looking at what she shouldn’t?
Surely Tricia’s daddy hadn’t taken off his clothes, though. The idea made Heather give a little whimper as she felt herself clench down there, and felt her panties get even damper.
“I won’t, pumpkin,” Daddy said, “if you do as I tell you. A young woman’s sexual feelings are very complicated, but Mommy and I are here to guide you through your first lessons.”
Lessons. Special lessons. Heather gulped. Her mind grabbed onto the mention of Mommy. She blurted out a new protest without really thinking about it, just hoping to gain time to think, really.
“But shouldn’t Mommy be the only one to… to, you know, see you… like this? Won’t she be… mad at… at us?”
Daddy smiled gently. “You mean because Mommy and I have sex?”
That made Heather gasp, though of course they had sex because… because they lived here and they were the Londons and they slept in the same bed and they were, well, Mommy and Daddy. She couldn’t help nodding, though, despite the shame she felt even in acknowledging that after Heather had gone to bed Mommy and Daddy took off their clothes and Daddy put his penis in Mommy and moved it until his sperm shot into her vagina.
Did Mommy suck Daddy’s penis, the way Heather had wildly offered to do? Did they do… other things, too? The kind that girls at the hostel whispered about? She tried not to imagine Mommy on her knees in front of Daddy, mouth full of the huge thing Daddy now held in his hand, waiting for Heather to take off her own clothes and follow his instructions.
“Pumpkin, I promise you that Mommy will be very happy that her little girl is starting to have big-girl time. Like I said, it’s strange and new for you, but it’s important to both of us that you learn to please a man’s penis, and to let him have his way when he wants to inspect you, and fondle you, and to take care of you in the special way that only your daddy, and the men he decides are the right ones, are allowed to do.”
“Daddy,” Heather whispered, unable to keep the idea from rising to her lips, “are you going to have sex with me?”
“Someday soon, pumpkin. Not tonight.”
Heather didn’t know why she felt both relief and disappointment—much as she had felt when Daddy had said he wouldn’t spank her hard. To that mixture, though, came arousal stronger than she had ever felt it: the news that her daddy did mean to… to… to fuck his little girl made her give a sharp cry as her vagina clenched more urgently than it ever had before.
Daddy spoke again. “Last chance before I have to whip you, Heather. Take off your clothes and give me your panties.”
A sob of shame, of need, of confusion came from Heather’s chest as her hands went down, mechanically, to the button on the waistband of her skirt. She closed her eyes again as her fingers fumbled to unfasten it.
“Good girl,” Daddy said, and the sound of those words made her heart flip-flop. Her fingers figured out how to undo the button, and then to unzip the skirt, and then it was falling to the floor and she knew Daddy could see her panties, or at least a glimpse of them under the tails of her white blouse. The heat came rushing back to her face.
“Now your top, pumpkin,” Daddy said gently. “Show me those breasts.”
Oh, God. Her big breasts, about which Heather felt so very many different things. A little pride, a little shame, a little… well, eagerness, really—because she knew that men like the ones in the dirty magazine sometimes liked to play with big breasts most of all. Heather’s E cups looked so different from her friends’ breasts that she sometimes wondered why none of them on Oak Street seemed to talk about it. Sometimes when they watched TV at Tricia’s house Heather caught the Giuliani girls looking over at her chest, when a show came on with a curvy, seductive sort of woman. That made Heather blush, of course, but neither she nor the Giulianis ever said anything.
She felt her forehead pucker as she started to unbutton the blouse from the bottom. Daddy could see all of her panties now. Heather prayed she hadn’t made a wet spot on the gusset. She had to stop herself from bending over to see: if Daddy saw that his little girl knew that she might have gotten the thick cotton of her schoolgirl briefs that damp, if he saw that Heather felt the need to ascertain the size of the spot… he would know that his innocent little girl hadn’t just gotten aroused when she shouldn’t but had also developed a naughty interest in that arousal.
Chewing on the inside of her cheek, eyes on the enormous bare feet from which Daddy had kicked his loafers and then pulled his navy blue socks, she shrugged the blouse backwards onto her bed. Daddy had seen her in her underwear, she told herself, when she had to change into her PJs before a regular spanking. But that had always happened with her back turned, and she knew he wouldn’t let her turn her back now as much as she might want to keep some shred of her modesty.
She put her hands down to cover herself now: right over the place where her pussy lay hidden under the white cotton, between her full thighs, left across the white cotton of the halter bra that held her heavy breasts. The underwear was so much more modest even than a bikini that Heather wasn’t sure why she felt such a need to arrange her hands like that as she stood in front of her daddy, knowing that his eyes must be roving over her curvaceous figure. Something about its being underwear, though, seemed to make the posture absolutely necessar
y. Daddy shouldn’t see his little girl’s underwear, should he? Or, if he did, she should certainly show him that she had learned how shameful it was for a man to see your bra and your panties—even if a part of her suddenly seemed to yearn for exactly that.
Daddy spoke gently, but again very seriously. “Take your hands away, pumpkin. Daddy will decide what happens with your body now.”
Heather’s breathing sped up and her heart raced. For a moment she seemed unable to move, but then she obeyed, her hands trembling as she lowered them to show her daddy what she looked like in only her underwear.
“Good girl,” he said again, and the same lovely, terrible feeling came over Heather’s body as had seized her before. Daddy would tell her what to do. Daddy got to say. Heather had to be Daddy’s good girl, even if Daddy wanted to put his penis in her vagina. “Now take off your bra and your panties, and give the panties to me.”
Heather made her lips a tight line, and she gave a quick little nod. She had managed not to look at Daddy’s penis for several minutes, but now she couldn’t help it, and her heart gave a little leap when she saw that he had started to stroke it gently, and that motion seemed to make it grow even bigger. Heather cast her eyes down again to his feet. She put her hands to the bottom of the halter bra and she pulled it off the big breasts with the silver-dollar-sized brown nipples that always made her feel funny to look at in the mirror—especially when, like now, they had gotten so pointy and so tingly.
She pulled the bra over her head and dropped it onto the bed.
“Your breasts are lovely, pumpkin,” Daddy said. “I promise I’ll make them feel very good tonight.”
“Oh, Daddy,” was all Heather could say. She couldn’t lift her eyes to look at his face, though she wanted to know what expression he had on it.