Good Little Girl

“So sore,” I whispered. “You’ll remember this for a long, long time, won’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I wandered my touch down her thighs, tracing the pink patterns over her skin. She shifted her legs apart, offering me passage to the dainty folds of her cunt. She was glistening wet, and the scent of her bludgeoned my senses, pounding through my brain. I pressed my thumb against her hungry slit, sinking inside her.

“Please,” she murmured. “Please.”

“Is this what you need, dirty girl?” I stepped right up and ground my crotch against her ass and she rolled her hips like a seasoned whore. “I knew you were a filthy little cock dolly. How many men have been in this tight little cunt, Aimee?”

“I don’t know,” she wheezed. “Some...”

“Don’t make me pick up that belt again,” I hissed. “How many, Aimee? You’d better tell me.”

“Thirty... forty... I dunno.”

“Forty?” Jesus Christ.

“I love sex, Kyle. I need sex. It’s all I think about.”

I took a handful of curls, twisted her head to face me. “What did you call me?”

“Sorry, Daddy,” she smiled. “I love cock, Daddy. I want yours.”

We both jumped, startled as her phone screeched from the floor. It whirred around, vibrating in noisy little circles across the tiles. Caller display punched me hard in the groin, crushing my excitement in a vice of pain. Mother.

“Shit,” Aimee said. “Mother bitch calling. Impeccable timing.”

I backed away as reality crashed down. What the fuck was I thinking? What the fuck, you stupid horny sonofabitch? What the actual fuck?

Aimee kicked the handset away, reaching around to finger her clit.

“Where were we, Daddy?” she asked, but I was done. Senses crashing firmly back in.

I retreated to the sink, dowsing my face with cold water. “Enough,” I said. “This was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t,” she said. “You want me, I know it now.”

“This is fucked up. Really fucked up.”

“So?” she snapped, eyes wide and angry. “Nobody has to know.”

“We’ll know,” I said. “I’ll know.”

That seemed to trigger her. “Oh, right. So, I’m not worth it now? Not worth the risk? I’m not a baby!” she hissed. “I’m a grown woman, I can fuck who I like!”

“Watch your mouth,” I snarled. “Or I really will pick that belt back up.”

“Good,” she pouted. “And after that you can fuck me. I know you’ll fuck me hard, Daddy. I think about it every night.”

“Stop,” I said. “Just stop.”

“Why?!”

I groaned in frustration, balls aching like a bastard. “This is so fucking wrong.”

“I like wrong,” she said. “And so do you. I know it.”

“Show’s over,” I snapped. “I mean it.”

Her eyes turned dark, hurt and angry. “Are you fucking serious, Kyle? For fucking real?”

“Deadly,” I said. “Please, Aimee, do as you’re told for once.”

Her mouth slammed shut, a tight little line of rage. She pulled up her panties, smoothing down her nightdress. “Asshole!” she yelled. “I thought you wanted me!”

I sighed. “That isn’t it, sweetheart.”

“Fine, whatever,” she snapped. “I’ll go get fucked by someone else, someone who does want me.”

“Jesus, that isn’t it.”

“Six fucking months!” she screeched. “I’ve thought about this the whole time!”

My temples were pounding, senses in overload. “It’s not me you want, baby face. You only want what you can’t have. That’s the thing with being spoiled. You want the toy just out of reach.”

“Fuck you, you patronising prick.”

I stalked over in a heartbeat, pressing my face into hers. “Don’t you dare use that tone with me. I could beat you again all day long, a hard-on isn’t compulsory. It’s not all about sex, you know.”

“You’re kidding yourself,” she said. “I felt how hard you were.”

“I’m sick of your spoiled little tantrums, Aimee, sick to fucking death.”

“This isn’t a tantrum!” she raged. “I really want this!”

“Sure,” I smiled. “Wanted this enough to make my life hell for six months. You can kid yourself, sweetheart, but don’t kid me. You hated my guts on sight when I first turned up here.”

“You don’t know me at all,” she said. This time her eyes took me aback, they were pooling, heavy with hurt.

I mustered all the resolve I could manage, holding myself firm until she accepted defeat. She grabbed her phone and stormed away, a hurricane of slamming doors and thumping footfalls.

It was a long time before I moved from that kitchen, staying out of her way until I heard her leave the house. I called her name once, twice, three times to be sure, and then, finally, when I was certain she gone, I made my way up to her bedroom.

Aimee’s diary was easy to find. Too easy. It ate further at my unease. It was thinly disguised under a stack of paperbacks, its pink satin cover jutting out underneath like a deadly beacon. Maybe she’d wanted me to find it the whole time, only I’m not a sneaky fucking snitch.

I sat down on her bed, flicking through the pages. Yesterday’s entry was bookmarked, as good a place to start as any.