Late Blooming Lily

by Bryony Kildare

  After she showered and changed into serviceable jeans, a soft top, and sensible loafers, Lily put on her apron. Looking at herself in the mirror, she could see something eager and delighted there, a good little girl in her apron, ready to do her chores and obey.

  She began at the top of the list and worked her way down, not allowing herself any mental negotiation about the tasks. It didn't matter if painting the shutters was a task she liked and cleaning the upstairs bathroom was one she'd been shuddering over for days. There were no choices now, only a meek girl who did as she was told. She worked diligently for most of the morning, until she had put a neat check next to every item on the list. She was surprised to have gotten through it all so quickly, but on reflection, she realized that she had been magnifying the unpleasant tasks in her mind, turning them into greater time drains than they really were. No more. No more choices, no more worry. Lily warbled like a songbird as she made lunch.

  After she ate, Lily secluded herself in the little, dusty study with her materials and began to work. The press of her bruised bottom on the chair made her feel very centered and focused, and she set the clock for fifty minutes, then began to work. She was surprised to find that the limitation, which she had expected to find difficult and distracting, actually had its advantages. Knowing that she had far less time than she usually allowed herself, Lily didn't waste time doubting or second-guessing her conceptions, just worked steadily, finding a peaceful flow that seemed to transmit itself into her drawings, giving them a sure rightness they sometimes lacked. She took her breaks punctually, according to the clock, taking time to make herself a cup of tea, sit outside in the sun for a few minutes, or otherwise relax. At the end of her allotted time, she stood up and stretched, pleasantly noting that though she was rather tired, her head didn't ache at all, and she had gotten far more done than she expected.

  Lily began preparing dinner, dressed in her apron, since she thought it would please Rob to find his little girl so obedient to his wishes. When he arrived, about an hour later, there was a pot simmering on the stove and cornbread cooling on the windowsill, and Lily was absorbed in an old manuscript cookbook, leaning over to try to decode the crabbed writing. She abandoned it, however, to welcome him with an eager embrace and a dozen sweet butterfly kisses on his face.

  Rob gave a long, pleased sigh, wrapping his arms gently around her waist and claiming her lips for a warm kiss as soon as he could catch them. "Guess that's just about the nicest greeting I've ever gotten, baby. Were you a good girl today?" He patted her butt gently.

  "Yes, Rob. Did all my chores, and I set the alarm while I was working so I'd take all my breaks. And dinner's ready whenever you are—I made chili, and the salad just needs to be dressed."

  "Salad!" he exclaimed in mock consternation. "Feedin' me rabbit food already?"

  "Balanced meals, you said," she reminded him, kissing his chin softly. "And if I have to take care of my health, then so do you." She looked a little tentative at the last quip, for it was the first time she'd pushed back against Rob, even gently, and she wasn't sure yet what was permissible.

  He stroked her hair reassuringly. "I guess that's right, good girl. Let's look over your chores first and make sure you did a good job." Taking her by the hand, he made her show him how well she had performed each task, honestly praising her careful efforts. Lily glowed at the attention and positive reinforcement, and she was very happy and animated as they sat down to dinner.

  Though Rob had been wary at the idea of salad, he found the spinach salad with warm bacon dressing more to his liking than he'd expected, and delighted Lily by taking a small second helping. "Guess Dr. Mitford will be glad to see my new diet at least." He paused. "He's coming out here tomorrow morning. I made you an appointment."

  "What?" Lily's head shot up at the unexpectedness of that. "What do you mean?"

  Rob lifted his eyebrows. "I mean I made you an appointment with the doctor, young lady, and if you take that tone with me again, you'll spend the rest of the evening with a bar of soap in your mouth and your nose in the corner." He fixed her with a stern look, staring Lily down until she dropped her eyes at last.

  "Why do I need to see the doctor?" she said finally, quietly.

  "Because you don't take good care of yourself, little girl, and I want you to have a checkup. Dr. Mitford's a really good man, and he'll make sure my baby stays healthy and strong. No arguments."

  Lily fiddled with her fork. Everything had been so wonderful and perfect all day, and now he had to drop this on her. Lily wasn't scared of doctors, per se, she just didn't care for them. They were all so rushed and brusque and eager to order a battery of tests rather than actually listening. But if getting a checkup was the hardest thing he ever asked of her, she supposed she'd be lucky. "Yes, Rob," she said, finally.

  He reached out and squeezed her free hand. "Good girl. Won't be so bad, baby. You'll like him."

  "Maybe," she said, without optimism.

  Rob changed the subject, nodding at the manuscript cookbook on the counter. "What's that you were looking at when I came in? Looked like someone's diary."

  "It's actually my great-grandmother's housekeeping book," she said, brightening. "I was looking for a recipe for the cornbread, and I found it with the cookbooks, guarded by about fifty years' worth of cobwebs. It's like a combination of an accounts book, cookbook, and set of household hints. She started it in 1897, and kept it all the way through 1921. Every inch of space is written on—cross-written in some places—but it's so interesting! Like a time capsule. You can't really skim it, it's so hard to read. The early stuff is from when she was a young woman, back in Philadelphia. Recipes for punch à la Russe to serve fifty people, and broiled quails, and sweetbreads."

  "Sweetbreads?" Rob inquired.

  "Organ meats—pancreas and glands, I think, mostly, from calves."

  He chuckled. "You want to try out her recipe, I'm sure I could get you a real good price next time I go to market."

  Lily wrinkled her nose. "No, thank you. It's fun to read, though. She has some pretty scathing notes about the quality of the coffee supplied by the general store once she moved out here. 'More like sawmill sweepings than sweet Arabica,'" she quoted.

  Rob gave a shout of laughter. "Now, she would've got on well with my dad. He always said coffee that came in cans was like pencil shavings. He ground his own beans till the day he died."

  "A man ahead of his time," Lily quipped.

  "Yup. I've been in a couple of fancy coffee shops in Billings, and that smell of fresh beans takes me right back to him. Funny how that is."

  "I sometimes think about that—all the things we remember more with our body than our minds. Smells and sounds... movement, too. There are so many things I've forgotten, but I remember I had this professor, when I was first in art school. And every day, before we'd start with different exercises, he'd make us draw this one battered tin kettle. We complained so much about it, but he said we were all too quick and drew before we really saw—that drawing one thing over and over, we'd finally learn to see it. I could draw that kettle with my eyes closed, even now, my fingers know the lines of it so well."

  After dinner, they went into the sitting room, and Lily curled up gratefully on Rob's lap, giving a gentle sigh as she let her whole body relax into him. He kissed her temple, his fingers coming up to trail gently through her hair. "What are you thinking about, sweetheart?"

  "I'm not," Lily said, sounding dreamy. "That's what is so wonderful. All day long, it was like... oh, it was like all along I'd been trying to focus and accomplish things in a room with a noisy radio going. And then... silence. All the ways I get distracted or frustrated usually, none of it mattered. Because I didn't have to worry about anything. Just obey you," she concluded, looking up at him rather shyly. "It was such a good day, Rob."

  He kissed her lips, slow and soft. "I'm glad. So proud of you. Such a sweet, special little girl, just waiting for a firm hand to show her the way."

  She too
k his hand and squeezed it. "Your hand. Yours."

  "Mine," Rob growled low, kissing her again, more passionately, until she was moaning against his lips. "Upstairs time, I do believe."

  "Not yet?" Lily asked, tentatively. She slid off his lap so that she was kneeling before him. "Let me suck you, please, Rob?"

  His eyes went hot and molten. "You like giving head, baby?"

  "Just want to—for you. I want to... to please you. You've given me so much," Lily said honestly, resting her hands on his thighs and squeezing gently.

  Rob nodded. "Go ahead, then, sweetheart." His big hand covered her small one for a moment, and then placed it on the fly of his jeans.

  Lily freed his prick, already semi-hard, carefully from the confines of fabric, smiled up at him, then leaned forward to give it a long, slow, open-mouthed kiss as her hand wrapped firmly around the base. It only took a moment or two of stroking and kissing before it was standing up hard and ready for her. Then she began to really lick, slowly and teasingly, all up the length of his cock, swirling her tongue around the head. She blew on the saliva-slick skin, making him shiver and his cock twitch.

  "Baby," he gasped, but made no move to urge her to speed things up.

  At last, Lily took him in her mouth, just the head at first, giving it slow, loving attention as she laved him with her tongue. She looked up at him, and it was her turn to shiver at the expression on his face, the hot, intent desire, all directed right at her. Lily locked eyes with him, letting him see her submissive pleasure in the act, her delight in serving him as she eased him in deeper and deeper. Lily had never mastered the art of deep-throating—her one serious experiment with it, armed with a book, had led to Lily and Brian positioned like circus contortionists until they finally collapsed, both howling with laughter, and the effort was abandoned. Still, she took him in as deeply as she could, flirting with her gag reflex until she finally found a comfortable spot, then began sucking hard, bobbing her head up and down.

  "Christ, Lily," Rob groaned, one hand coming down to rest on her shoulder, squeezing it tightly. It was a gesture of connection rather than control, and Lily appreciated the tenderness of it. Many men who were a lot less invested in control would've been fucking her throat by that time. Lily would have accepted it, from him—she was beginning, indeed, to wonder what she wouldn't accept from him—but she liked being able to delight him with her own decisions and actions, not merely submit to rough handling. Her tongue worked steadily at him, moving from slow, teasing swirls to a busy, almost rough scrubbing motion as the rocking of his hips indicated he was getting closer.

  "Fuck," was his commentary on that, and his movements grew a little less controlled as he thrust up, eager to sheath himself in her hot mouth again and again. "Close, baby," he growled. "Swallow like... nnnh... like a good girl."

  Lily nodded just a little to show she understood, and soon he was spilling, hot and salty into her mouth, his hips thrusting up sharply. She gulped slightly, and then eased her ministrations, just sucking softly to ease him down until he was sprawled against the sofa, eyes closed. Then she sat back on her heels, looking up at him with the pride of a job well done.

  "Mmm," he sighed finally. "Come here, baby, want to hold you." She was eager to sit beside him and be held, settling into the circle of his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. "So good," he whispered. "Don't guess I've come that fast in a couple of decades. You make me as horny as a kid, Lily."

  "Me too," she whispered, kissing him lightly. "I was wet all day—just knowing that I was yours, that I was obeying you."

  "You were, huh?" Rob grinned. He fixed his jeans, and stood up. Before Lily could rise to join him, he leaned down and picked her up, sweeping her into his arms. "Well let's see what we can do about that, sweetheart."

  Chapter Five

  Lily was feeling rather resentful and sulky the next morning as she waited for the doctor—what kind of doctor had little enough to do that he made house calls for a routine checkup? But Rob, damn him, was right. Dr. Mitford was about sixty, with silver hair and an infectious laugh, and soon, he was sitting at the kitchen table with Lily, telling her a story about the farmer who'd called him out to treat his dog's diarrhea.

  "What?" Lily sputtered. "Why didn't he call the vet?"

  "A very good question! I asked him, and he said, 'Well, Doc Hirsch is so damn busy, and I figured you were almost as good.'" He roared with laughter at the memory of his own humiliation.

  "I still can't believe you make house calls. Surely that's not common, even out here."

  "Well," he said, "not so much anymore. But when I took over old Dr. Victor's practice out here, he had a lot of older patients who weren't much for change. They didn't see why I couldn't come out to 'em, like he always had. Most of my elderly patients are even more of a menace on the roads than I am. Plus, my receptionist makes terrible coffee." He sipped the mug Lily had already filled for him and gave a happy sigh.

  "I'm glad—I hope you won't mind that there's not much wrong with me. Rob is just being... cautious," she said, though "silly" was the first word that wanted to come.

  "Well, maybe you'll let me be the judge of that. How long since your last check-up?"

  "I see the OB-GYN every year," Lily hedged.

  "Not what I asked." He finally wrested out of her that it had been five years, and a little frown marred the genial good humor of his face. "Lily, you may have the figure of a teenager, if you'll forgive the impropriety, but you need to be in communication with your doctor at your age. Do you even have a primary care physician?"

  "Sort of?" Lily ventured. "I just... what's the point? They look in your ears and listen to your heart, and that's all. I can buy a stethoscope myself, if it comes to that."

  "Hmm," was all he said, then launched into questions. She answered him honestly, and when she told him about the frequency of her headaches, his frown deepened, even after she assured him that the neurologist had given her a clean bill of health. "Just because you don't have a tumor is no reason to destroy your health. You said you take aspirin—how many a day?"

  "Three or four?" Lily put forth timidly.

  He shook his head. "That's not okay, Lily. If nothing else, you're destroying your digestion." After several more questions, he nodded finally, making some final notes in his little memorandum book. "All right—time for your examination. We'll go in whichever room makes you feel most comfortable, but I need you to undress."

  "What? Why?" Lily's voice rose sharply. Though her butt was doing better, there were still some unmistakable bruises there.

  He narrowed his eyes. "Because that's my job, Lily. Is there something you're hiding from me?"

  "No—I—I, uh, just don't see why I have to undress. Can't you just..."

  "Look in your ears and listen to your heart?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "I may be old-fashioned, but I'm thorough. If you'd prefer to do this in my office with another woman in the room, that's absolutely fine—"

  "No," she said, just as quickly. That would be even worse! In a gossipy small town, everyone would know. "Do you have to?" she pleaded.

  He looked at her for a long time. "No, I don't have to. You have every right to refuse treatment if you wish. But I'm beginning to be concerned, and I don't think I'm going to be as shocked as you imagine by whatever you're hiding."

  Lily groaned softly. If she did refuse the examination, she'd have to tell Rob, even if the doctor didn't. And she had no illusions that he'd be sympathetic to her worries. He'd been quite stern as he left that morning, making it very clear she was to be a good girl for the doctor. "Fine." She rose, twitching closed the curtains over the kitchen sink, then began to strip until she was standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, quite naked, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest. "Happy?"

  He didn't answer, but took a few tools out of his bag. "I was going to start with your blood pressure, but I doubt I could get a fair reading right now." He walked behind her, stethoscope in hand, while Lily stood with he
r head bowed, eyes closed in shame, still in her protective posture. "I see," he said, rather mildly.

  "It's not abuse," Lily said immediately, strongly.

  "All right," he said. "I guess we'll talk about what it is, but I think that can wait till you're dressed again." He conducted the examination very professionally, and if Lily hadn't been so miserably ashamed and ill at ease, it would have been the best doctor's visit she had ever experienced. He was thorough and gentle, listening to her body as carefully as he'd listened to her words. Once she was dressed again, he pulled out the chair for her to sit down. "I don't pry into people's lives much, Lily, but I need you to realize that as a doctor, I'm a mandatory reporter in cases of suspected abuse. You tell me this isn't abuse, but I need to understand what it is."

  "I asked for it." Lily blushed, realizing how that sounded. "I mean literally! He—Rob wouldn't ever hurt me, not really. But, I told him about... things I liked, things I wanted, and he did them. That's all it is, I swear."

  "And the reason he's making appointments for you? I'd thought it was a convenience, but now that I've spoken with you, I don't think you'd have seen me on your own."

  "It's true," Lily said slowly. "I wouldn't. But, I asked for that too. I... he takes care of me. He makes the decisions. I obey." She started crying, overwhelmed by the stress of talking about something so new and precious she hadn't even fully processed it yet.