Just Like Daddy
by
H.B. Berlow
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
H.B. Berlow on Smashwords
Just Like Daddy
Copyright © 2011 by H.B. Berlow
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JUST LIKE DADDY
She wore many outfits and played many roles. It never bothered her; it was something that she had to do. It was less like a game and more like a performance. In fact, you could say it was all in the performance.
At times, she was the nurse, starched white uniform a half size too small so that her firm breasts could protrude while she offered the “patient” an “examination.” She could become the Indian maiden, a black Pocahontas wig and tight leather tunic made her more compliant and willing to partake in Thanksgiving. The Elvira look was good for a few laughs, especially for those who were into biting. Of the whole lot, her favorite role was that of the schoolgirl.
Her shoulder length auburn hair would be trussed up in pigtails with little white ribbons. She’d wear a blue plaid Catholic school dress held up by a black patent leather belt. A thin white shirt still allowed her white lace bra to show through. With her head drooped so that her chin touched her chest, her eyes raised in obedience, and a well-formed pout on her lips, she was the epitome of innocence.
He was in town for a convention, or so he said. It didn’t really matter to her; they needed to play their little roles as well. She wasn’t concerned about his business or his family or his financial status, except if he could pay he required fee. They sat quietly in his hotel room for several moments. He patiently listened while she explained the various levels of indulgence and their respective fares. He wound up making an excellent choice.
She lay on the bed curled up in a fetal position as though she were taking a nap. Like a good little girl. He came into the bedroom with his tie barely loosened after a long day of work. Just like daddy.
As he leaned forward on the bed, she became startled, and then, seeing who it was, jumped into his arms and held him close while he stroked her hair. Kneeling up on the bed, she unbuttoned her blouse, still with that pout and those upturned eyes. The belt was slid off slowly and laid by her side.
“I hope you’ve been a good girl,” he said, his voice breaking a bit due to nervousness. “I’d hate to have to give you the strap.” He didn’t say it meanly but rather with concern, the care in his voice sounding just like daddy.
He was doing everything right, nibbling on her breasts, sucking on her fingers and toes. She was doing everything she had been trained to do, bringing him close to the edge and then backing off ever so slightly, bringing him a little closer each time, letting him finish the way he wanted to, the way he paid for.
But suddenly he rolled her over on her stomach, pushed her hair up off her neck, and began digging into the flesh of her shoulders with his teeth. It brought back the feeling she had a long time ago.
He ripped her panties as he savagely tried to remove them. He kneaded the mounds of flesh on her buttocks strongly with his hands, grabbing them and separating them, then pushing them back together.
She had told him right from the start what she would do and what it would cost. She had also told him what she would not do, what she absolutely would not do. But his animal lust seemed to make him forget. In his mind, he’d simply pay her a few extra dollars and that would be that. What he didn’t know is that he was acting just like daddy.
She felt his tongue go from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine, back and forth in that fashion, tickling her and exciting her at the same time. It was going that way for less than a minute when he quickly spread her buttocks wide, entered her hard, held one hand on her waist and the other pushing her head down into the pillow. In her mind she cried out, “Not there! No, not there!”
She tried rolling him off her but he had her impaled to the bed. She groaned loudly into the pillow but that only seemed to spur him on more. She felt him stiffen and explode. In that moment, when he seemed paralyzed with ecstasy, she pushed him sharply off of her. She jumped to the other side of the bed, looking around the room quickly like a rat searching for food. A large marble ashtray was on the night stand, right near her hand.
He came toward her with a “What-the-hell!” look in his eyes and seemed to want to finish off his time in his own fashion, regardless of her rules. He didn’t see the first blow. It came sharply across his left eye, drawing blood as it sent him backwards onto the bed. His hands instinctively went for the wound. He pulled them away to see the blood, and then looked up in time to see the next blow crash squarely down between his eyes. After that, he didn’t see anything anymore.
She looked down at the body on the bed with the bloody caved-in face, smashed almost beyond recognition. But she knew full well who it was.
It’s funny, she thought, how he wound up like everyone else.
Just like daddy.
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H.B. Berlow writes crime and transgressive fiction, loves to cook in his newly remodeled kitchen, and does his best keep his wife Shelia and the three cats---Mongo, Camille, and Rupert---happy and well fed.
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