Daddy's Here(28)

“Well what?”

“Are you going to get undressed?”

“Not with you watching me.”

“Fine,” he said, looking as if he was wrestling with his decision before crossing to the bathroom. “You’ve got two minutes.”





TWENTY-ONE



ISABEL





I did undress before climbing into bed. I told myself it was because I wanted to but I knew the truth. I was doing it because he’d told me to. Laid under the covers with no clothes on, I felt just as exposed as if I’d been standing naked in front of him. It was much tenser than last time but what had changed, really?

When he came out of the bathroom, he was wearing just his boxer shorts and he looked good, he looked really good. I did my best to only glance at him out of the corner of my eye as he crossed the room and climbed into his bed. “I hope you did what Daddy told you,” he said, turning his head towards me.

“I did, Daddy,” I replied, lying on my back and feeling my nipples stiffening, rubbing against the blankets while my pussy began to throb with desire. I could throw back my covers and show him my body, beg him to fuck me. Would he do it? Or would he tell me that wasn’t how little girls were supposed to talk? Or act?

I closed my eyes, refusing to look at him any longer lest I do something really stupid. This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to be running away to the love of my life.

Was Ben the love of my life though? That was the big question. I was torn in two different directions and the crying out of my pussy for attention wasn’t helping me to think, nor was knowing that a cock that could solve that problem was a few feet away, hidden from me by a single layer of clothing.

I had been so sure I wanted to go and see Ben before I met Jake, or at least that was what I told myself as I lay there. But was I only doing it because if I didn’t then I had no clue what I’d do otherwise? Ben was part of my past and was I just trying to return to my past? To a time before all these problems began.

He’d been the one beacon of light in a shitty childhood. Sure, I’d had money, for the most part. But what good was money when you were stuck at a boarding school you hated? Whenever I came home for holidays, I could tell my father resented me being there. “Why spend money on an education if you’re just hanging around the house?” he used to say.

I wanted to tell him what was happening at school. I tried three times, three times that I remembered vividly, to tell him what had happened to me but every time he was called away by a phone call or a meeting or some bullshit reason that meant he didn’t have to listen to me any longer.

So I didn’t tell him about Mr Villiers, the French teacher with the wandering hands. I didn’t tell him about every lesson of his, that I dreaded going into his classroom because I was scared he might do it again. The way he singled me out, telling me what a big girl I was compared to the other students. The way he held me back after class and made me dictate verbs to him, his hands sliding down my body as I froze in place. The way he whispered to me to keep what he’d done to myself.

Between being bullied by the older girls and being given lessons in things no one my age needed to learn about, I had an awful time at school and no better a time at home, ignored by my father who thought throwing money at me to keep me occupied was better than spending any actual time with me.

But when the new caretaker moved on site and brought his son with me, a ray of light burst in on my existence. Ben found me crying on the back of the field after one French lesson, and best of all, he didn’t take advantage of me. He sat with me while I cried, he didn’t even ask me what was wrong, he just sat there. That was a good start.

We liked the same films, the same music, and best of all we both hated the school. Two years I put up with Mr Villiers and two years I took to realise I’d fallen in love with Ben. That first love is one everyone remembers and mine most vividly for how wretched I felt when we were torn apart.

Ben’s Dad was only trying to do the right thing. When he walked into the French classroom and found Mr Villiers reaching into my shirt, he couldn’t realistically keep quiet. He had to tell the head. But doing that had repercussions he could never have imagined.

Yes, Mr Villiers took an early retirement and hopefully never touched another teenage girl again. But Ben’s Dad was sacked for trumped up bullshit less than a month later, for making waves, as Ben called it.

Ben had to go with him and I was distraught, blaming myself for what happened. We kept in touch by letter, me telling him how sorry I was, how it was all my fault. Through it all, he didn’t blame me. He told me he loved me too and always would but the gaps between the letters got longer and longer as the years went by. It reached the stage by the time I graduated from school that my drunken texts and his replies were the only times we ever contacted each other.