by Anais Ninja
* * *
Chapter Ten - Annie Get Your Gun
It was nearly dawn when I woke up. I slithered out of the sleeping bag like a snake shedding its skin. My father’s cock had slipped out of me during the night, and he was softly snoring. I wrapped his jacket around me and walked out of the shack, into the cold air. The fire had faded to a pile of smoldering branches and embers, but it still gave off a bit of warmth, and I held my hands over it, rubbing them together.
I peed in the bushes behind the shack, and went back inside, slipping back into the sleeping bag behind my father, clinging to his warm body. He murmured something and stirred, but he didn’t wake up. The dream was still etched in my mind, and I tried to make sense of it. But, as always, my dreams were impenetrable, their meaning eluding any rational analysis or explanation. I gave up trying to figure it all out and fell back to sleep, lulled by my father’s gentle snoring.
* * *
“Wake up, kitten,” he said, squatting next to me, gently rubbing my shoulder.
“Daddy...,” I said, still half-asleep.
“Sleep well?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I said, sitting up and wrapping the sleeping bag around me. “I had a weird dream.”
“That’s funny,” my father said. “I’d always have strange dreams when we’d come out here. What was yours?”
“I was riding a horse,” I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “And then there was this man, he was an Indian but his skin was so white...”
“Makya,” my father said.
“That’s his name! How did you know?”
“He worked for my father when I was younger,” he said. “In the warehouse. Hopi, he was, and some of the other laborers said he was a medicine man. One day he didn’t come to work. Rumor had it that he just walked into the hills. Never heard from again.”
“He showed me something,” I said, remembering the vision I’d seen, the young man on the carpet, lying perfectly still. The rest of the dream had started to fade from my memory, but that image was still vividly etched in my mind.
“You can tell me about it over breakfast,” my father said, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek.
I didn’t want to leave the warm embrace of the sleeping bag, but I was hungry, too. I managed to get dressed without leaving the bag, struggling into my jeans within the warm nylon and flannel womb, and I stepped outside the shack. My father had built another fire and was heating up water in the bean cans by placing them on top of heated rocks. He poured some instant coffee into the water and stirred it with a spoon he’d pulled from his pack, handing me one of the hot cans. I pulled the sleeves of my sweater over my hands to keep from burning myself, inhaling the steam from the can before taking a tentative sip. Then my father picked up a small brown pouch and poured a coarse yellow powder into one of the chili cans, adding water and stirring the mixture with a stick. He poured the yellow slurry on to a heated stone and it began to bubble as it cooked.
“Where did that come from?” I asked my father. We hadn’t bought it at the store on our way out here.
“It was in the shack, in that pile of broken furniture,” he said. “I guess I didn’t notice it yesterday.”
“Weird,” I said. I sipped my coffee, feeling it chase the chill from my bones, and then we ate our improvised cornbread and some dried fruit. The bread could have used some salt, but it tasted pretty good all the same. As we ate breakfast, I told my father about my dream, the cave, the vision I’d had, the flood waters that chased me. He sat quietly and listened.
“You don’t know who that boy is?” he asked me after I’d finished.
“I couldn’t see his face,” I said. “But I felt like I knew him.”
“Could be just a weird dream, Annie. I’d dream about flying when we camped out here. Not in a plane or anything, but as a bird, a big bird, like an eagle or a buzzard.” He stirred the fire with a branch, making a shower of sparks rise into the cold morning air.
“It seemed so real,” I said. “I want to write it down before I forget.” I headed back into the shack and pulled my journal from my backpack, jotting down whatever I could remember before I lost these fragments forever. I had just closed my notebook and was holding it against my breasts when I heard a loud crack outside, followed a split-second later by a metallic “ping”. I put my journal away and stepped outside.
My father was standing next to the fire, pointing something at the trunk of a fallen tree, upon which he’d placed a row of six of the old beer cans I’d swept from the shack the day before. As I came closer, I could see that the object in his hand was a pistol. He pulled the trigger and one of the cans tumbled backwards off of the log.
“Daddy, I didn’t know you had a...”
“It was my father’s,” he said, firing another shot, sending another can back into the dirt. “His old Ruger .22, the one I learned on. Come here, I’ll teach you how to use it.” He handed me the gun, showing me the safety catch, how to hold it, how to aim. He stood behind me as I held his gun at arm’s length and pulled the trigger, instinctively closing my eyes when I heard the bark of the shot. The bullet whizzed off into the distance, missing the row of cans. I expected the recoil to be more forceful, like in the movies, but the gun just kicked a little when I fired it.
“Keep your eyes open, princess,” my father said, correcting my grip. “Line up the sights, take a breath, and just squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull so hard.” I did as he said, re-wrapping my hands around the grip, and fired. One of the cans spun backwards off of the log and clattered against a rock.
“I did it! I did it, Daddy!”
“Good shot, baby,” he said, hugging me, giving me a wet kiss on the cheek. I fired four more shots, hitting three of the cans before the gun clicked on an empty chamber. My father took the gun from me and ejected the empty clip, pulling another from his pocket and sliding it into the grip. He walked over to the fallen tree and set up the cans again, and we took turns knocking them over. I only missed one, prompting my father to call me “Annie Oakley”.
We spent the rest of the morning talking, sipping coffee, smoking one of the joints Krystle had given us. I asked him about Betsy, his second wife, the one who had run off with that cult. He seemed reluctant to talk about her at first, the pain of her leaving still with him, like a wound that refused to heal. But he began to open up, telling me about their life together, Dana’s birth, how happy he’d been. My father said that when she left, he could have sent David off to live with his grandparents, Becky’s mother and father, but he didn’t.
“As much as I love you and Dana, I always wanted a son,” he said. “Didn’t matter to me that he was another man’s child, or that he’s half black. I didn’t care. He’s a good kid, he makes me proud when I watch him play ball or he brings home an ‘A’ on his report card.”
“He’s a handsome young man,” I said, leaning my head on my father’s arm.
“He is,” my father said, putting his arm around me. “Mia said that you’ve been with him.”
“She did?” I’d told her, or rather I’d confirmed her suspicions, but I didn’t tell her any details of what we’d done together. “Don’t be angry, Daddy. Please...”
“I’m not, princess,” he said, kissing the top of my head and caressing my shoulder. “Make a man out of him.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” I said, snuggling against his body.
As noon approached, my father smothered the fire with some sand and dirt, and then he dug a notch in the ground with a stick and we buried our garbage. We returned to the shack and rolled up our sleeping bags, tying them to our packs. I took a last look at the shack before we headed down the steep trail that led to the dry river bed.
The hike back to the Jeep seemed shorter this time, and we only stopped to rest once, at the Shell Rock. Maybe it was because my pack was lighter, or perhaps it was due to the fact that I knew how far we had to walk this time. Either way, we reached the Jeep a few hours later and drove back up the dirt roads to
the highway, arriving back at the house just as the sun was starting to set. I figured that this might be the last Arizona sunset I’d see for a while and I lingered outside for a few minutes before heading into the house.
“Annie, how was it?” Mia asked me, giving me a hug.
“It was wonderful,” I said. “A lot of fun.”
“You didn’t mind sleeping in the dirt?” she asked.
“There was an old shack there,” I replied. “It wasn’t as rough as I expected. I do need a bath, though.”
“Use the tub in our bathroom,” Mia said. “You can stretch out.”
“Thanks,” I said, heading towards Dana’s bedroom to unpack my bag. Neither she nor David were around, but Schultzie was there, curled up on the floor. He got up and started sniffing my backpack, curious about the strange scents it had picked up on the mesa. I took off my jeans and sweater and wrapped myself in a towel, heading into my father’s bedroom. He was sitting on the bed, inspecting a blister on his foot.
“Mia said I could take a bath here,” I said.
“Oh, okay,” he replied. “I was going to shower, but that can wait.”
“You could use the one in Dana’s bathroom.”
“Yeah, maybe I will,” he said, taking off his other sock and looking at the sole of his foot. “Go ahead, enjoy.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” I headed into the bathroom and began to fill the tub with warm water and bubble bath. It took a while to fill, but I slipped into the bath when it was about two thirds full. I had just leaned back against the side of the big tub when I heard the door open. It was my father, dressed only in his boxer shorts.
“I came to see if I could scrub your back for you,” he said, kneeling next to the tub.
“Please,” I said, leaning forward. My father took a soapy washcloth and began to gently rub my back.
“I remember it now,” he said.
“Remember what?”
“The baths I used to give you when you were younger,” he said. “I’d forgotten about them, but you reminded me the other night.” He made me lean back against the tub again and he began to wash my breasts with the cloth, squeezing warm water over them, gently washing my nipples, making them stiffen.
“That feels good, Daddy.”
He began to scrub lower, down my belly, reaching between my legs, the way he’d done when I was just three, his fingers grazing my cunny, parting my lips. I leaned back and smiled, closing my eyes, letting him play with my pussy. Then I felt him reach for my hand and place it on the front of his boxers, where his hardness was straining against the fabric. I slipped my hand inside his shorts and fished out his cock, stroking his shaft as his soapy fingers found my clit.
I’d wanted him to fuck me one last time before we left the mesa, but we’d had too much fun plinking cans with his gun. I’d really enjoyed shooting; it was much the same feeling as when I’d throw a strike when I pitched in Little League, seeing some kid in a baggy uniform and an oversized batting helmet swing at the ball and miss. And there was something more, something almost sexual about shooting, a feeling of power, of control, the way the gun kicked in my hand as it ejaculated, spurting hot lead from the barrel, sending another empty beer can into the dust.
That’s what I was thinking of, shooting, the way the gun felt in my hands, as my father rubbed my clit under the froth of bubbles that covered the bath water. I felt a tension in my belly as I began the ascent to my mesa of pleasure, and I let go of my father’s cock, cupping my breasts with my soapy hands, flicking my fingers over my slippery nipples.
“Oh, Daddy,” I moaned. “I’m gonna come...”
“Come for me, princess,” he whispered, rubbing my pearl faster, urging me to my release.
“Daddy...” I gasped as that feeling surged up from my belly, spreading through my whole body, down my limbs, making my toes curl under the warm water. I stiffened, lifting my ass up from the bottom of the tub, riding my father’s fingers as I came. Another wave of pleasure washed over me, and as it receded, I relaxed against the back of the bathtub, reaching for his hand and pulling it away from my cunny.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” he said, leaning over and kissing my lips.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I said, reaching for his cock again, my fingers gliding over his veiny shaft. “Why don’t you get in the tub with me?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, skinning off his shorts and stepping into the bath. It was almost full at this point, and he shut off the faucet, letting just a trickle of hot water drip into the tub, keeping it warm.
“I’m not wearing my diaphragm, Daddy,” I said. I had taken it out before stepping into the tub, and it sat drying next to the sink. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” he said, leaning forward to kiss me again.
“I want to make you feel good,” I said, wondering if I should just put it in anyway, even though the spermicidal jelly was back in Dana’s room, in my backpack.
“We’ll have time for that later,” my father said.
“I know, but...” I wanted to give him pleasure anyway, to let him know the love I felt for him. Reaching for the soap, I got up on my knees and leaned over him, scrubbing his broad chest and strong arms, his torso, his thighs, reaching between his legs to take his cock in my hand again. He smiled as my soapy fingers slid up and down over his hard shaft, and he brushed the hair away from my face with a wet finger.
“That feels so good, kitten.” My father began to rock his hips as I stroked his hard tool. It had been a couple of months since I’d given a man a complete hand job; the last time had been that night when Bradley and Helen had found me on the street, when a tow truck driver had paid me to jerk him off in the cab of his rig while parked on a side street. I’d done it quickly and efficiently while he squeezed my little tits through my sweater.
This was different, though. This was my father’s cock in my hands, and I wanted his pleasure to last. I stroked him slowly, methodically, reaching under his balls with my other hand and cupping them, hefting them, feeling the weight of his heavy testicles. His breathing grew heavy, sending little ripples in the water beneath the bubbles with every heave of his chest. I cleared some of the foam away with my hand so I could see him, his cock bobbing in the water with every stroke.
I could feel him stiffen slightly, a telltale twitch that let me know how close he was. I sped up my strokes, gently squeezing his balls, adding to his pleasure. His hips moved faster now, splashing water against the side of the tub as he fucked my fingers. I heard him gasp softly, and then he twitched again and let out a deep breath as he began to come, thick ropy jets of semen pouring from the tip of his cock, milky strands that drifted through the soapy water. My father relaxed, leaning back against the side of the tub as I milked his shaft with my fingers, squeezing out the last of his sperm. After I released his cock we shared a passionate kiss, his slick hands sliding over my skin as we sucked and nibbled each other’s lips.
“Please stay, Daddy,” I said, seeing him start to get out of the tub.
“I gotta help Mia, baby,” my father said, reaching for a towel. “She’s got a surprise for you.”
“Surprise?”
“Don’t ask me what,” he said, drying his chest and arms. “I promised not to tell.”
“Okay, Daddy,” I said, leaning back in the tub. The water was beginning to cool, but it still felt delicious, soothing my aching muscles and tired feet. My father wrapped the towel around his waist and knelt next to the tub, kissing me on the cheek.
“I love you, princess.”
“I love you, too, Daddy.” He kissed me again and left the bathroom to get dressed.
Despite the trickle of hot water, the tub began to cool after a while. Just as I was about to get out and dry myself off, there was a knock on the door and it opened. It was Mia, holding a fresh towel.
“Here, Annie,” she said, kneeling by the tub. She leaned in and kissed me on the lips.
“Thank you,” I whis
pered, pressing my lips against hers again. After spending the last day with my father, her mouth felt wonderfully soft, yielding, pliant, like the petals of a rose.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” she said.
“Daddy told me,” I said. “He wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
“I’ve laid out some clothes for you,” Mia said. “Take your time getting dressed. We’ll be in the living room.” She gave me a quick kiss and stroked my hair before getting up and leaving the bathroom. I stood up and used the shower massage wand to rinse the remnants of the bubble bath from my skin, and then I dried myself with the towel and wrapped it around me, picking up my diaphragm from the sink and heading back to Dana’s bedroom.
There were new clothes laid out on the cot, a burgundy velvet mini-dress with a high empire waist, a wine-colored bra and panty set, and opaque black thigh-high stockings. Before getting dressed, I fished the tube of spermicidal jelly from my backpack and went into the bathroom, lifting one foot on to the side of the bathtub and slipping my diaphragm back inside my sex. I noticed two bathing suits hanging on the shower curtain rod, still wet and dripping chlorinated water. David and Dana must have just returned from the clubhouse pool while I was in the bath.
Mia must have remembered my size from our shopping trip earlier that week, because both the underwear and the dress fit perfectly. It was a lovely dress, the sort of sexy but formal frock one would wear to a Christmas party. Thinking that we might go out to a restaurant for my last night here, I sat at Dana’s desk and put on some makeup, just a bit of mascara, eye shadow, and lipstick. I thought about asking Mia for some burgundy nail polish to match the dress, knowing she’d surely have some, as it was her favorite color, but there probably wouldn’t be enough time for my nails to dry before dinner. I slipped into my black pumps and headed to the living room.
The room had been festooned with streamers and balloons, a banner with the words “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” on it hanging over the fireplace. On the coffee table was a birthday cake with fifteen unlit candles. My father, Mia, David, and Dana were all seated on the couch, and when they heard my heels on the wood floor they all stood up and shouted “Surprise!!!”
