What Good Girls Do

by Jonathan Butcher

  But My Daddy’s sleeping now, so he can’t tell me not to be silly.

  I ignore how shaky I am and go to the door.

  4. Serenity

  “Declan!” I call, for what feels like the trillionth time. “Will you please get up and help the twins with their bath? We’re going to be late!”

  Despite this morning’s aggravation, Declan is currently at the perfect age. At 12, he’s old enough to be left responsible for Phillip and Lilith, but young enough and naïve enough to fail to grasp why Stuart and I insist that he keeps them bathing for a full half-hour, with the door closed. We tell him that it’s to “make sure they are totally clean”, or “because they love their bath times, and it’s unfair to stop them playing”.

  I’m stood on the landing in my lazy-day, faded dressing gown – Shiraz-coloured lingerie hidden underneath – with my arms crossed, ready to pound on Declan’s door. Before I resort to that, though, I hear footsteps.

  My sleepy-looking son Declan opens the entrance to his dim pit, swarmed by early-morning body odour. He yawns. Yellow sleep crusts his eyes beneath the darkness of his wild fringe. He’s got a little caterpillar of bum-fluff on his upper lip, and the other day I heard his voice squeak for the first time. I’m starting to anticipate the teen angst that’s no doubt to come, but for the moment he’s paused at an adorably gawky stepping-stone between childhood and adolescence, like a crude and incomplete copy of his father.

  “What time is it?” Declan asks.

  “It’s 10 o’clock, sweetie,” I say, forcing the word. I’m keen for Stuart’s hand on my hair again. It always feels awkward when I’m aroused but have to speak to the kids. “The twins need their 30 minutes in the bath, but you’ll be happy to hear that the weather is good, so we are going to Castle Land.”

  Declan beams a dopey smile, no doubt considering Castle Land’s gravity-defying rides. “Okay, cool.”

  I tell him, “Now get in there and start running the water. I’ll bring up the terrors.”

  Declan shuffles past me to the bathroom. I head downstairs, following the sounds of laughter and tears, which in this house are generally inseparable. My husband still stands at the lounge window, looking out across our garden into our neighbour’s front yard. Lilith has her arms hooked around Stuart’s neck and is bawling dramatically, while my little survivor Phillip sits on the floor, hanging onto his daddy’s feet, rocking and giggling.

  “All under control here, then,” I say, noticing the white, lumpy spray on Stuart’s shoulder that Lilith had almost certainly coughed up.

  “What?” Stuart asks calmly, over the sound of Lilith’s whines. Even standing there, amidst the warzone of our twins’ morning mischief, Stuart epitomises reassuring authority. “Ssshhhh, princess,” he tells Lilith, and pecks her rosy cheek.

  Lilith calms, which only means that my little survivor will start crying again soon, at which point Lilith will no doubt start laughing instead.

  “Here,” I say, offering to take Lilith. “My little puke-bag.” I take her from Stuart, cradling her bottom and hugging her warmth to my chest. She chuckles, a wriggling parcel of kid-smells. Down on the floor, Phillip starts to snivel.

  I hear Declan say, “Bath’s running. Let’s get this over with.”

  Declan pads into the lounge, scoops up Phillip from the carpet and then takes Lilith from me into his other arm. He’s perfected the technique for holding the two toddlers simultaneously, aided no doubt by the fact that he has inherited his father’s broad frame. The twins gaze at him in awe, one on either side, forgetting their habit of trading laughter for tears. Sometimes I think that they have more hero worship for their big brother than they have for their own dad, which makes me wonder if the two men of the house will clash at some point.

  I had hoped that as soon as Declan had carried the twins upstairs I would see that look of achingly stern lust pass over Stuart’s face, but instead my husband keeps staring through the window at next door’s lawn.

  “Haven’t seen Mr Crisp,” Stuart says. “I’ve been here for almost an hour, and he hasn’t taken his morning walk.”

  Our cul-de-sac is empty and the sun has conjured a golden veil over the morning.

  From behind him I wrap my arms around his firm stomach and press my cheek to the back of his shoulder – the one without the baby puke. “You’ve been trying to spy on our kindly old next-door neighbour?”

  Stuart grunts a laugh. “No. But he’s usually like clockwork. Leaves the house at 10:30 to pick up his newspaper and whatever else he needs, and always back by 11. You think he’s sick?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, sliding a hand down to cup Stuart’s balls. “But what I do know, is that we have a little spare mummy and daddy time…”

  “Perhaps I should go round and make sure he’s okay.”

  I squeeze Stuart gently through the fabric. He muffles a groan.

  “I can think of a more interesting way to spend the next 30 minutes.”

  “Well, maybe if I…” His words become a gasp as I reach into his pyjama pants and rake my nails down the shaft of his thickening cock.

  I tell him, “Can’t you make sure that I’m okay first, and then maybe call round to see Mr Crisp?”

  He whirls on me, and there’s the expression I’ve been seeking. “You need to be reminded of one or two things, young lady.”

  I freeze as I feel his hand behind me, scaling my spine. It comes to rest amongst my tousled hair before wrenching it sideways, hard enough to make my eyes water. I keep my eyes defiantly open, though, and grip his wrist in one hand.

  I say, “Maybe you need to be reminded of a couple of things, boy.”

  Stuart’s lips twist as if he’s suppressing laughter. “Really?”

  I take his balls in one hand and squeeze, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to carry the message. His body language softens and he releases my hair. I smile, trying to summon some confidence, and lead him by the wrist upstairs.

  5. Girl

  Daddy always says, “Don’t be silly,” when I ask him about other Girls and other places. He points around My Room and says, “This is what you get.” Then he says, “I bring you food and films and books, and I keep you safe and I fuck you Good. A Good Girl should always say thank you to her Daddy, for keeping her safe.”

  And if I ever ask him a second time, My Daddy spanks my face and says, “See, that’s what you get.”

  Now, I’m standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of My Room, outside for the first time ever. There is a long bright light high above me, and a door at the top of the stairs.

  What if I get up to the door and open it, but there’s just another wall? What if there is no “outside,” and this is all there is – this, and my other Daddies who sometimes appear and disappear? Or, what if I open the door and there are just more doors that carry on and on and on, and never end?

  I wonder if these steps will be as easy to climb as they are for the Daddies and the other Girls who sometimes climb them in the films. I lift one foot up and put it on the first stair. I push, and bring my other foot up too. It’s easy, but I hold onto the long piece of wood at my side.

  The stairs feel cold and hard under my feet. My chest keeps thumping and my head feels tight and I keep thinking that I’m going to puke.

  I have a film where loads of Daddies stand around a Girl, pissing on her. While they piss, they say 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, all the way up to 15. So, as I climb, I say 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and it makes it easier. I reach 15 but then I don’t know what to say next, so I go back to 1 for the last few steps.

  Everything gets darker when the stairs stop. Something feels warm and soft under my feet, like My Daddy’s clothes. Is this … floor-clothes?

  I look away from my feet and away from the floor-clothes and up to the door. I hold the handle and twist it and pull it open. There is just darkness inside. It smells different though. It smells Good.

  I count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, up to 15, and then I step inside. The long light fro
m above the stairs only brightens up this new room a little bit. I nearly start to cry, but instead I push against the wall on the other side. There is suddenly too much light, so I squeeze my eyes shut.

  It isn’t cold up here, and it smells like something that would taste Good in my mouth. I open my eyes, just a bit.

  I’m standing somewhere that’s bigger than My Room. There are two really, really bright square lights on one wall. I can’t see much, but I think that I can see what smells Good. It’s a small, brown circle that’s sitting on what looks like a big flat shiny bed.

  I want to eat it.

  The brown circle has been cut open, and inside there is some darker brown stuff that looks like shit. I scrunch up a handful and when I eat it, I almost start to cry again. This round, brown circle tastes better than porridge and water and bread and cheese and My Daddy’s cock, so I don’t stop eating until it’s all gone.

  When I’m done, I don’t feel as shaky as before. I still feel different, though, and my throat is all tight, as if there’s a cock in it.

  The bright lights don’t seem so bright now. When I look around, there’s some of the same stuff that I have seen in the films, and everything is square and bright and white and smooth and smells Good. I think about going back through the little dark room and down the stairs to My Room, and then maybe sitting down next to My Daddy to see if he wakes up. But I’m not going to.

  I want to find another Good Girl.

  In the corner, something big, shiny and square goes all the way up to the ceiling. The ceiling up here doesn’t have any pipes, like the one in My Room, and next to the big shiny square thing there is a bright door made of screen.

  I think that I want to go through it, but what if that’s where my other Daddies are?

  On the other wall, below the two big bright screens, there is something metal and deep and wet. There are two taps above it, just like the sink in my bathroom, but it can’t be a sink because it’s metal and looks too big.

  Something shines in the light from the screens. It’s a metal thing, and its shape makes me think of the bits of screen sticking out of My Daddy’s face. I pick it up, but then I yelp and drop it when it touches the place on my hand that was cut by the piece of screen in My Daddy’s face.

  I take the long metal thing into my other hand and go to the door made of screen. This door doesn’t have a handle like the one in My Room or like the one at the top of the stairs, but there is something small and round at the same height as my eyes.

  I twist the small round thing and everything goes white.

  6. Serenity

  Stuart smiles almost sarcastically as he lies down naked on our bed. He looks huge, lying on his back with his head on the pillow and his feet reaching the end of the mattress. His erection teeters like a Jenga stack.

  “Don’t you fucking dare move,” I tell him.

  As much as I adore the feeling of being directed, guided, when we have sex, another part of me likes to resist the same roles every time. I swing a thigh over Stuart’s face and kneel above him on the bed, my vulva an inch or so from his lips.

  “Push out your tongue, boy,” I whisper. If I speak any louder the kids might hear, even over the splashing, giggling and crying coming from the bathroom across the landing.

  Stuart is expressionless as I slip and gyrate against his tongue, raising myself up an inch to give him time to catch a breath before plunging back down and smothering his red face again. Even after giving birth to three kids, even after hearing me use the toilet through the bathroom door a thousand-and-one times, even after my breasts have started to droop and my stomach has attained a ruffled, post-pregnancy sag, Stuart still likes how I taste.

  “Yeah, you love that slit, don’t you?” I tell him, ignoring how awkward the words sound to me.

  Stuart tries to nod but I have him clamped between my thighs. I can feel his arms tense as he struggles to keep them at his sides. I’m pushing his boundaries a little, and even feel tempted to press a wet fingertip between his buttocks. When I slide downwards again, sticky and wet, Stuart sucks my clitoris between his lips. His eyes meet mine and their gaze hardens. I hesitate. His tongue flicks the hood and he sucks harder. I’m tempted to pull away; too much stimulation there feels more irritating than arousing, but I don’t want to surrender yet.

  “You know what happens if you keep doing that, don’t you, boy?” I say, but my voice has weakened.

  I lift my hips but Stuart keeps his mouth encircling my clitoris. He’s known to be a somewhat bratty submissive, but this is real disobedience as he draws the pink flesh further between his lips. If I’m not mistaken he even lets his teeth brush my labia. He knows how I hate that and I can feel my sexual authority waning, slipping back into our usual roles.

  It feels more natural when Stuart is in control anyway, so with a touch of reluctance I pull back. My flesh slips from his mouth with a soft plop. Perched on his chest, staring down into his juice-soaked face, I try not to feel deflated.

  His lips are a twitch away from that satisfied smile again.

  “My turn, then,” I say. “Cuff me and fuck me while we still have time.”

  “Cuffs?” he asks, but I know he wants to. He loves having me at his mercy.

  I listen to the kids splashing and laughing in the bath, and again thank the world for Declan being such a trustworthy lad.

  “We’ve got 10 minutes,” I tell Stuart.

  7. Girl

  It’s bright and warm outside. The air is moving and everything is really, REALLY big. There’s green and blue and yellow and white and all the colours I’ve seen in films and in pictures, but it’s not on a screen or in a magazine or in a book – it’s all around me.

  I want to scream.

  I sit down onto some tickly green stuff and hold one hand over my mouth. I shuffle backwards on my nice tight ass until I’m backed up against a wall. It is lumpy and nothing like the red bricks in My Room. I put my head on my knees and squeeze the metal thing.

  Even though I only said that I liked it and didn’t really, I wish that My Daddy was fucking my nice smooth cunt in My Room. I wish that he was telling me that I’m a Good Girl, even though the things he does hurt. Like he always says, there’s only “Good” and “different”, but being outside like this is maybe too different.

  I shut my eyes, thinking about the red stuff all over My Daddy’s face. I think about the long metal thing in my hand and I think, maybe I should scratch the Bad away. Maybe I should make the red stuff come out of my belly or my face or my cunt, but then I get shaky again and think about my other Daddies, about putting the metal thing into them and the Daddies in my films, and even into My Daddy, too.

  There are noises all around me, whistling and groaning and whispering and buzzing and sounds that might be cars, like the ones from the books and the Other Film. It’s big and loud and REALLY DIFFERENT, but if I keep looking at the tickly green stuff on the floor I might not scream.

  My mouth goes wet like a nice smooth cunt and I bring my head up off my knees. I puke. It goes down over my tits and my belly, yellow and stinky.

  This room is too big and bright and I want to be somewhere small again.

  I look up from the puke and from the tickly green stuff. There’s a wall and a big green thing in front of me, and there are bugs on the ground like the ones I get in My Room sometimes, except bigger and with more colours. I look up past the big green thing and up past the wall. There’s a really, really bright light above me where the ceiling should be, and even though it looks far away I think that it must be bigger than anything in My Room. I think it must be even bigger than 15 of my rooms, all put together, and a thought like that makes me want to puke again.

  I keep holding the metal thing and get onto all fours and crawl with my ass pushed out, just like I do when Daddy fucks me from behind. Daddy always says, “Don’t arch your back, push your ass out, Good Girl,” so that’s how I crawl. Then I think, no. I’m not going to get fucked today because My Daddy
is asleep, so instead of pushing my ass out I just crawl, looking at the tickly green stuff and the metal thing in my hand, and not looking up at the big blue ceiling.

  Something drops in front of me. It’s the size of a hand or a cock. It’s black and it has a long yellow nose, and it looks at me with its twitchy head. I almost scream, but then it jumps and disappears into the bright blue light above me.

  I look back at the ground again and keep crawling, and then reach something wooden that looks like a wall or a door. I get up onto my knees and pull down the handle using the hand holding the metal thing. Nothing happens, but when I lift it up, it opens.

  Behind the wall-door, there are more green things and more walls. Everything smells like piss. I crawl and my hand hurts from where I hit My Daddy’s face. I turn my head and see that the walls go on, in front of me and behind me.

  There are sleeping cars at one end, real cars, like in the Other Film, and there’s something else, too.

  There’s a little Daddy.

  Even though he’s really little, I know he’s a Daddy because he has short hair. I stop crawling and just look at him.

  The little Daddy is sitting on the ground with his back to me. He has a yellow car in his hand, like the kind I saw in the Other Film. He moves the car across the ground, forwards and backwards, the same way that a cock moves when it’s fucking. I still feel shaky but I don’t feel too different right now, and I don’t want to puke or sleep.

  The little Daddy moves the car in a circle, following it round. He’s got golden hair and a small nose. His white top-clothes say “YUM YUM DONUTS”. He’s sticking his tongue out. When he sees me, he smiles.

  I get up onto my knees and the little Daddy looks at my tits and my cunt. He stops smiling. Suddenly, he screams like a Bad Girl in one of the films. I don’t want any big Daddies to come, so I jump forwards and grab his face and press my hand over his mouth.