by Kitt, Selena
She lifted her shirt higher, then higher still, never having seen herself from such a vantage point. Her breasts weren’t much more than buds, her pink nipples hardening as the cool air moved over them. She was slightly disappointed that they looked even smaller when she was lying down.
She had given up hope she was going to develop something to fill the bras that had been waiting in her drawer since her thirteenth Christmas. Her mother had seen her just beginning to develop and had insisted on buying them, and they had sat there for years, embarrassing her. Other girls got curves, breasts, while Darla watched longingly, hoping for those things for herself.
She wondered at the mirror again. Probably her stepmother, she decided. Had to make sure she looked good, even at night. She hopped off the bed, going to explore the rest of whatever was down this hallway. She glanced in their bathroom, which was right off their bedroom. It was huge too, of course, with a corner Jacuzzi tub surrounded by unlit candles, and there was a separate shower with a showerhead at each end. The mirror and sink and vanity ran the length of one wall. His and hers sinks even. She saw her father’s shaving stuff on the counter.
She was about to leave the room to continue her exploration when she glanced in their closet. Her stepmother had expensive tastes. There were dresses galore in the walk-in closet, a whole wall full. She ran her hands lightly over the fabrics—silks and satins and velvets. A shimmery green dress called out to her, and she plucked it from the hanger. It was short, with a plunging neckline, completely sleeveless, the top of it just two pieces of material that tied behind the neck. The skirt would probably have come to her tall, long-legged stepmother’s mid-thigh. Maybe. It was completely backless.
Darla carried it over to the mirror at the end of the closet. It was one of those three way things, like they had in department stores, so you could see yourself at every angle. In the light, it really sparkled, like the dress was made of thousands of iridescent emeralds. She was mesmerized. Suddenly, she was pulling off her t-shirt, unzipping her skirt and sliding it down over her white cotton panties. Considering for a moment, she slid those off too, standing there completely naked. She turned this way and that, admiring her slight figure in the mirror.
She turned, liking the view from behind, it was at least one place she had curves, in the soft rounded cheeks of her bottom. From the side, if she exaggerated and stuck her chest out, she could imagine her breasts were fuller and rounder instead of the barely emerged nodes they really were. She looked at the dress in her hands again, glancing at the tag inside. Versace. She slid it up the long length of her thin frame, moving her hair out of the way so she could tie it, gasping at the feel of it against her skin.
She piled her hair up on top of her head, admiring herself. The dress was too long and the front simply hung on her—her nascent breasts did nothing to fill it. When she turned, she giggled, seeing the crack of her butt appearing above the back of the dress. It shimmered deliciously when she moved.
She danced, sylphlike, her reedy arms stretched above her head, swaying willowy, back and forth, pursing her lips, widening her eyes at the mirror. Irene had hundreds of these dresses and she wore them out every weekend. Darla felt suddenly very jealous. Her daddy, who she now only saw a few times a month at the most, spent hours with the woman who filled these dresses. Who filled this dress.
What’s he ever given me? Darla fingered the heart-shaped locket she’d had since she was little, the one thing her adopted father had left behind. She sometimes imagined she had captured his real heart in it, keeping it like a secret from anyone else. Closing her eyes, she began to dance again, holding her father’s heart in her hand.
What would it be like, she wondered, to have a man hold you, press you against him, kiss you? She closed her eyes and imagined dancing with a boy—no, a man. She found it was her daddy she was imagining, his large, strong hands guiding her, his eyes bright and full of love as he looked down at her. She was so lost in the fantasy she could even smell his aftershave.
“Kiss me, Daddy,” she murmured, her eyes still closed, tilting her head up like she saw in all the movies.
“Darla.” The sound of her name made her whirl around and stumble over her discarded clothes. She landed bone-jarringly hard on her bottom and she whimpered, leaning back on her elbows. Her father stood in the doorway, his large frame filling it completely. She felt her whole body flush with embarrassment.
Oh no, oh god, this can’t be happening.
They didn’t say anything for a moment and Darla found herself trembling. He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you get your own clothes back on, sweetheart? I have to take you back to your mother’s tonight.”
She forgot what she was wearing, what she had been caught doing, she forgot everything at those words. “But… I thought I was going to stay here tonight, Daddy! You said…we were going to go to the movies tomorrow!” She struggled to contain her tears and lost, but at least she did it silently. She swallowed around the hard lump in her throat.
“I know, honey, but Irene isn’t feeling well. She’s downstairs lying on the couch. I’m glad she didn’t come up here first,” he chuckled. “I’ll make it up to you, angel. I promise.”
She nodded, looking down at his shoes, his dress shoes. They had gone to a play tonight. Taming of the Shrew. She didn’t want him to see she was crying.
“I’ll get dressed,” she said, wanting him to go before she really started sobbing. “Be down in a minute.”
“Ok…and Darla, honey…don’t forget your panties.” He turned around, his voice sounding strained.
She snapped her slim thighs closed, her face burning. She had forgotten entirely she wasn’t wearing any.
* * * *
Darla put the dress back and hurriedly pulled on her clothes. She stopped in the bathroom to smooth her hair into a ponytail and wash her face, still wet, and gave herself a good talking-to in order to stop the tears. There was no way she was going to go downstairs crying. Now she was putting on her coat, and she smiled, pleased, as her father helped her while she pulled her hair out from under the collar.
“Lee, did you pay her? Darla, thank you for watching your sister,” Irene murmured from the couch where she was lying with her arm thrown over her eyes.
“She’s not my real sister!” Darla hissed, surprising both of them and herself.
“Money’s in your coat pocket, sweetie.” Her father looked sideways at her. “And you did a fine job too. I told you she would, Irene.”
There was a snort from the couch.
“Come on, let’s get going,” he said.
She followed him out the door, shouldering her backpack with all her school work and a change of clothes for the weekend she wouldn’t be needing anymore. Tears stung her eyes again at the thought. The two-seater Jaguar was still warm from their ride home. Darla turned the radio station first thing. He always let her. She turned it up loud. She didn’t want to talk.
When they pulled into the driveway half an hour later, the house was dark and her mother’s car was gone. Her father swore under his breath and Darla looked at him sharply. He grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, hitting the “talk” button. She heard the phone ringing, and the answering machine with her own voice saying, “You’ve reached the Somers residence. We’re not here right now…”
“You didn’t call her?” Darla sighed.
“I called her.” His mouth was a thin line. “She said she’d be here.
“Figures.” Darla shoved the door open and ran up the walkway. She fumbled in her coat pocket for her keys, finding the money her father had left there to pay her for babysitting. It was far more than she’d really earned. She was crying in earnest now, and she tossed the money angrily into the snow. She got the door open, the warmth and familiar smell of home a dubious welcome, shrugging off her jacket and throwing her backpack in the foyer.
“Hey, Darla.” Her father peeked his head inside and she turned her back to him, not wanting h
im to see her puffy eyes. “You dropped this, honey.”
“I didn’t drop it.”
“Isn’t this your babysitting money?” His voice was right behind her now. She could feel the chill from the outside he carried with him.
“Yes, but I didn’t drop it. I threw it there,” she snarled, moving away from him and flopping onto the couch, crossing her arms over her chest and lowering her head to let her hair hide her face.
“Why?” He sounded genuinely confused. She struggled with a response, trying to speak around the tightness in her throat.
How can he not know, how can he not see?“I don’t want your money.” It was barely a whisper.
“What was that, sweetie?” He was sitting next to her on the couch, moving to brush her hair away from her face.
She jerked away. “I don’t want your money!” She shoved at him and moved to stand. She was off balance and he grabbed her arm to help steady her.
“Hey, hey.” He held both of her wrists now as she struggled to get away. “Come here.” He pulled her toward him and although she resisted at first, she finally relented and let him settle her onto his lap.
She repeated it over and over under her breath, like a mantra to keep her from breaking down entirely. “I don’t want your money.”
“Okay, okay,” he murmured. “What do you want, honey?”
“You!” she wailed, leaning into him and putting her arms around his neck. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Daddy. I never wanted anything else.” She feathered little kisses on his throat and collarbone, rubbing the smooth skin of her cheek against the whiskers on his chin.
“Oh, angel,” he whispered into her hair, stroking her back. “You have me. You’ve always had me.”
She was trying to get as close as she possibly could, wrapping her bare legs around him. He helped her, unbuttoning his coat so she could sidle closer, enveloping her in his arms.
“I’m so sorry it’s turned out this way, sweetheart. I never meant—” His voice was hoarse, pained.
“Hold me, Daddy,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his. He did, rocking her gently, stroking her hair. “I miss you so much, you don’t know…it makes me hurt all over.” She wiggled in his lap and she heard him gasp and let out a small groan. His face was buried in her hair.
“Sweetie, maybe we better—” he started, but she lifted her face suddenly and kissed him just like she had fantasized about in front of the mirror earlier that night.
It wasn’t a sweet innocent little girl kiss, it was a real kiss, the way she imagined kissing Tommy Keys who sat behind her in math, the way she imagined kissing Simon Cowell from American Idol, the way she’d practiced kissing with Katie, pressing their tongues together and swirling.
He didn’t stop her, he seemed too stunned to try, holding perfectly still as her small tongue tentatively licked at his lips, his teeth. He tasted like peppermint and smelled like Old Spice. It was a familiar Daddy smell and it made her tingly.
She felt something between her legs, and it took her a moment to realize what it was. His dress slacks hid nothing, and she realized the bulge pressing against her panties was a very large version of what they’d seen illustrations of in health class a few years ago. She’d never seen one up close, had never had the opportunity. Her mother was so overprotective, and the boys, well—they wanted girls with big breasts and curves.
She locked her legs behind him and squeezed, kissing him harder, and he moaned, his hands beginning to roam over her, slipping underneath her shirt in back. The feel of his large, warm hands on her skin made her shiver. This was just what she imagined this would feel like, even down to the pulsing ache between her thighs. Especially that.
He broke contact suddenly, looking wild-eyed and panicked. He tried to push her away, but her long, slender legs were locked too tightly around him. She bit her lip, pleading with her eyes. He cleared his throat and said sternly, “Darla, this is very, very wrong. We can’t do this.”
“It’s not wrong to love me, Daddy,” she whispered. “Please love me. Please.”
He shook his head, but she saw his eyelids flutter when she moved against him, shifting his hardness between them. It rubbed against the crotch of her panties, and she felt moisture there, like she’d wet herself. His response made her bolder, and she reached down between them to investigate, her searching hand indeed finding wetness.
Oh, it felt so good when she rubbed herself like this! Sometimes she would do it for hours and hours at night, twisting and turning the covers between her legs, aching for some sort of release that never came. She felt like that now.
“It feels good when I do this,” she confessed, tucking the crotch of her panties between her fleshy lips, and moving her fingers over the material. His breath was coming faster, eyes half-closed as she rubbed herself, the back of her hand nudging the solid heat between them.
“I know,” he said reluctantly, his voice tight, but then he relented. “Darla, baby… you’re so beautiful when you do that.”
She glowed, soaking in the praise, eagerly kneading her flesh faster, arching her back. His hands moved under her shirt, his fingers meeting at her spine and his thumbs nearly touching at her navel, wrapping almost entirely around the narrow expanse of her waist. He pressed her gently down against his crotch, against the rigid heat there, and she smiled at him. He slid his hands upward, lifting her t-shirt, his thumbs moving over the small girlish protrusions there. She gasped when he thumbed her little nipples.
“Ohh! Daddy, I can feel that right between my legs,” she whispered, her eyes widening and then half-closing again in pleasure. He made a low sound, unlike anything she’d ever heard, and she felt him lifting her skirt higher.
“Here?” He moved her hand from between her legs and pressed a thumb exactly there, where it felt the best. She nodded, shivering, opening her legs a bit wider. He eased her panties aside, and the cool air over her skin made her whimper.
“So tiny, so pretty…so wet!” he murmured.
Her pussy lips were swollen and pink, and he spread her open with two fingers. She watched him inspect her, his fingers moving the dainty folds of flesh to and fro. He seemed transfixed, and she tried to hold her breath so as not to break the spell. Then he did something very surprising, something she had never done to herself. He slid one finger between her soft, slender lips and curled it upward, pressing into her flesh. His finger was inside of her!
He started moving it, his eyes focused between her thighs, slowly in and out of her. It felt funny at first, but the more he did it, the more she felt her flesh move and give, the better it was. She started rocking with him, her breath coming faster and faster. His hand was huge between her legs, his palm rubbing over her young, delicate mound. She heard a wet noise between her legs, as if someone were smacking their lips.
“Do you like that?” he asked her softly.
She nodded, riding his hand now, her narrow hips moving in circles. He slowed, almost stopped. She whimpered.
“Tell me,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.
She hesitated. His thumb gently rubbed that spot at the top of her little crease and she shuddered, straining against him.
“Come on, Darla, tell Daddy how much you like it.” He started rubbing it harder, and slowly began to ease another finger into her. She felt stretched open there somehow and she gasped.
“Oh Daddy, yes,” she moaned. “Yes, I like it, I like it, please don’t stop!”
“Good girl,” he urged, moving his fingers faster to reward her.
She felt something tightening in her lower belly. Her thighs were spread as wide as they could be now, and she was grinding herself against his hand, making small, high noises that came out almost as squeaks.
“Come on, Darla, that’s good… fuck Daddy’s hand!”
She gasped at the harshness of the word, her eyes flying open, but the jolt it sent through her, centering and radiating out from between her legs, was incredible. His thumb rubbed her, his fingers mo
ving in and out of her very quickly. She couldn’t tell where he began and she ended, and the sensation of floating she always got when she rubbed herself there was intensified beyond anything she’d ever known. She felt like she was flying.
“Ooooo Daddy, it feels so good,” she panted, putting her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.
“I know,” he murmured, using his other hand to tweak her hard, pink nipples, so small they were like pebbles, back and forth between them. She moaned and rocked, her whole body begging him for something. “I’m gonna make you come, sweetheart. Let Daddy make you come for the first time.”
Her only thought was how did he know? but her body finally obliged, and she shuddered all over, the ache between her thighs released in a little flood of pulsing fluid she was embarrassed might be all over her daddy’s pants. The shock at the overwhelming sensation must have shown on her face, because he chuckled.
“Oh sweetheart, I love you so much.” He leaned in to kiss her mouth, easing his fingers out of her and she sighed. It sort of hurt between her legs, and it was all swollen and wet. She watched, wide-eyed, as he put his fingers to his mouth and licked them.
“You taste fantastic.” His eyes were dark with something. He fumbled between them, unzipping his pants and revealing himself to her.
She’d never seen a hard one. She’d caught him naked out of the shower a few times, but the small dangling thing she’d glimpsed held no resemblance to the throbbing rod of steel he held in his hand. It seemed impossibly huge to her.
“Do you like Daddy’s cock?” He watched her curiously. She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded.
