Chapter 3
Angela tiptoed back to the kitchen and out of the house, and for a long moment leaned against the side wall, closing her eyes and shivering as she tried to pretend that what she had seen and heard must certainly have been a dream. But the trembling of her inner thighs and the soft moist weakness which attacked her tenderest, most intimate virgin nook told her that it had not been a dream. And she was stricken by the troubling knowledge that when she went to confess, she would have to admit having played with herself ... not once, but twice.
Feverishly, even then she began to make up the story she would tell the listening, unknown priest; she must be sure not to mention Betsy or her father and mother and surely not Father Edmund.
Still dazed by the incredible discovery that her father not only knew Betsy but had been naked and done sinful things with her best chum, Angela at last retraced her steps back home. When she entered the house, she breathed a secret sigh of relief to find her mother, dressed this time in a glossy blue housecoat and sandals, busy running the vacuum cleaner. That had to mean that Father Edmund had left.
Stopping the appliance, Mary Carruthers demanded, "Are you back from seeing Betsy already, Angela?"
"Y-yes, M-Mother. She-she wasn't home, so-so I went for a walk, and I ran into Annie and we talked for a while," the glib lie came quickly to her, but after she had said it, Angela despondently knew this would be still another sin to have to unburden herself of at the confessional.
However, her opulent blonde mother seemed to accept it.
"Oh, that's fine. Well, you may as well take off your best dress and maybe clean up your room. I'll be making supper in about an hour, and your father ought to be home by then."
"All right, Mother."
"That's a good girl. You know; Father Edmund had a lot of nice things to say about you this afternoon, Angela. You just keep doing what your parents tell you, and you'll grow up to be a very great credit to us all."
"T-thank you, Mother," the svelte brunette teenager quavered.
She found herself suddenly wondering if, when Daddy went to church this Sunday, he would have confessed what she had seen him doing with Betsy this afternoon. Or maybe, grown-ups had special dispensation which she didn't know about. It was certainly true that her mother scolded her for many things which she noticed it seemed to be quite proper for her mother to do, like putting on makeup and wearing short skirts. Sometimes it was very hard to know just what your parents expected. And even the sisters over at the parochial school told you all the things you were forbidden to do, but it was funny they never talked about the nice things that were permitted. It was all very puzzling.
Slowly she went to her room and took a shower, hanging up her pretty dress. When she saw that her little panties were suspiciously moist, she turned a very becoming scarlet and hastily shoved them into the laundry hamper in her bathroom. Then she put on a new bra and panty set, and since the weather continued to be oppressively warm and certainly her parents weren't going to ask what she had on underneath tonight, she settled for yellow anklet socks, loafers and her blue middy blouse and matching cotton skirt which just covered her soft dimpled knees.
To satisfy her mother, Angela straightened up her room and then, waiting to be called to supper, sat down at her writing desk with one of her schoolbooks. But even as she flipped the pages, trying to find something interesting to keep her mind on, she couldn't help seeing once again what she had seen through the closet peephole and then through the slightly open door in Betsy's house.
By the time her mother called out "Time for supper, Angela!" the lovely teenager was beginning to squirm uneasily in her chair, aware of secret tinglings between her long satiny legs, and even the snugness of her panties seemed to intensify these sensations.
Hesitantly, she left her bedroom and went into the dining room, where her parents were already at the table. Fred Carruthers looked up with a smile.
"Well, dear, how cool and sweet you look! Enjoying your Easter vacation?"
"Yes, thank you, Daddy."
Her mother looked up from serving the tuna fish salad.
"I meant to tell you, Fred, Father Edmund called this afternoon about the church social in May - you remember the one I mentioned."
"Oh, yes, my dear. How is he these days?"
"Oh, he's a fine upstanding man, Father is. And you'd have been proud about what he had to say about Angela. He sent you his warmest regards."
"I'll reciprocate them when I see him in church Sunday, Mary. Pass the biscuits, please. Thank you. Er - harumph - I brought home quite a bit of work from the office, so I'll be keeping my nose to the grindstone here tomorrow, Mary."
"That means I get the marketing chore, doesn't it, Fred?" Angela's mother uttered a heartfelt sigh.
"Never mind, I'll make it up to you one of these days. Besides, Angela can take care of the house and her old father. My goodness, I haven't had a heart to heart chat with my little girl in a long time, so I'll welcome the chance, indeed I shall. Pass the pitcher of iced tea, if you will, Mary my love ... ah, thank you."
Angela ate listlessly, but her mind was wary all through the meal. She was wondering if her mother would mention to Daddy that she had gone to Betsy's to play during Father Edmund's visit. To her great relief, not a word was spoken on that disturbing subject.
After dinner, there was television, and finally, at nine-thirty, Fred Carruthers yawned and glanced at his wristwatch.
"I think I'd better get a good night's sleep if I'm to get any real work done tomorrow, Mary. Angela my dear, it wouldn't hurt you to go to bed early. That way, you'll be fresh and ready for the weekend."
"Yes, Daddy."
Angela dutifully rose, walked over to her father in the armchair, and bent to give him a goodnight kiss on the cheek. His hands for an instant grasped her sides just above the hips, and she couldn't help blushing, remembering where he had put his hands on Betsy.
"G-good night, Daddy," she stammered and straightened, then went over to her mother on the couch and kissed her on the cheek too and repeated her respectful leave-taking.
Once back in her bedroom, Angela decided to read herself to sleep with the history book. It was much too early to think of falling asleep on such a warm night, and besides her mind was being crowded by all these incredible images which had passed before her innocent eyes. Finally, a little after ten, she closed the book, went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and to undress and put on her yellow cotton pajamas. Then, holding her breath, she tiptoed to her closet and very carefully shifted the jagged chunk of plaster. But the room was dark. Mother must have gone to Daddy's room to sleep tonight.
Fitting the chunk back into its exact place, Angela turned out her light and got into bed. But it was dreadfully hard to fall asleep, because now that her eyes were closed, those naughty pictures came swirling back into her mind as vividly as when she had first seen them. Finally, almost in self-defense, she edged a forefinger down to the crotch of her pajama pants and began to tickle herself. And then at last, shivering and squirming, she felt the waves of hot girlish excitement take hold of her and leave her quivering and soothed and released ... and then at last sleep came.
To Angela's pleasant surprise, her mother didn't wake her as was customary on a school day, and so Angela enjoyed the healthy luxury of deep sleep till well after ten the next morning. She put on the same pretty blouse and skirt outfit she had worn the night before, and went to the kitchen to get her breakfast.
Her mother was there, seated at the table, making out a grocery list for the afternoon shopping. Mary Carruthers wore a red cotton dress, flesh toned nylons and black pumps, and looked fresh and youthful. Looking up at her daughter with a gracious smile, she greeted the pretty brunette teenager by saying, "Good morning, sleepyhead! I'll get your breakfast as soon as I'm finished with the shopping list."
"I can get it myself, Mother," Angela volunteered, somewhat uneasy at her mother's unusual cheerfulness.
Invariably her mother lost no opportunity to sermonize to her lovely virginal daughter over the most insignificant faults, from having a sloppy room to coming home late from school.
"No, darling, I'll do it. There, now, I'm done. Now let's see - my big girl needs a good breakfast so she can grow up to be a strong, healthy young woman. A big glass of orange juice, toast and jam and milk. You sit down here, and I'll have it ready in a jiffy."
Angela decided not to protest, though a sensation of being fattened like a sacrificial lamb passed vaguely through her young, impressionable mind. It was certainly more discreet to humor her mother than to start an argument. But things were so strange, she wasn't sure what was happening at all.
After breakfast, Angela volunteered to help her mother do the marketing, but her mother would have none of it.
"No, it's still your school vacation, dear, so I want you to enjoy it. Don't worry, you'll run plenty of errands starting next week. But for today and tomorrow, just relax and be happy. Oh, one thing more - your father is going to be working in his room, so try not to disturb him when I'm gone this afternoon, dear."
"I won't, Mother," Angela dutifully murmured.
She took her dishes to the sink to wash and put them away. Again her mother stopped her, insisting that this was her day of recreation, not work. Mystified, the girl thanked her mother then asked, "Would it be all right if I go visit Betsy?"
"I saw her going to the store just before you came out for breakfast, dear," Mary Carruthers quickly replied. "Why don't you go out and enjoy the garden? Maybe you can pull up some of the weeds. It'll do you good to get out into the fresh air."
"Okay, Mother, then I better change my clothes to work in the garden," Angela sighed.
"That's a good idea. Of course, when people visit us the way Father Edmund did yesterday, I like to see my little girl looking like a grown up young lady. I'm very pleased with you, dear."
Angela's mother again surprised the lovely young brunette with smiling flattery.
Back in her room Angela was more puzzled than ever. She changed into snug jeans and a light pullover sweater over the cotton bra and panties, then went into the garden and began thoughtfully pulling weeds. There were more weeds than she had imagined. It was well past noon when she at last finished. When she went back into the house, her mother had left a note thumb-tacked up on the wall.
Angela - there are sandwiches in the refrigerator for your lunch. I probably won't be back till four or five, so you can take a nap or watch television. Be sure not to disturb Daddy. Love, Mother
Angela sat and ate her sandwiches and had a Pepsi. She decided to take a shower and change back to her skirt and blouse because the garden work had made her dirty and sweaty. As she was getting out of the shower and toweling herself, she heard her bedroom door open.
"Oh g - gosh !" she gasped, turning scarlet and grabbing her green cotton bathrobe from the wall hook.
Hastily she put it on, just tying the knot of the little belt when her father appeared.
He was in his bathrobe, pajamas and slippers and hadn't shaved, as she could see from the dark stubble at his jaws and cheeks. He stood staring at her, blinking his eyes, a foolish little smile on his lips.
"Well now, Angie honey, this is a nice surprise!"
"H-hello, D-Daddy. D-did you finish your work?"
He waved his hand in a sweeping gesture.
"Sure, Angie. Lotta work, jus' finish, that's why I said to myself, I said, Fred boy, time you looked in'n saw how cute l'il Angie's doing, all my herself 'n'everythin'. Thass zactly what I said, honey. Mmm, you look sweet 'n'cute, right out of the tub, I bet, hm?"
He moved towards her, and the black-haired young girl swallowed hard, her cheeks reddening at the foolish smile deepening ors his lips, the glitter in his eyes. Suddenly she remembered that she had seen him naked with Betsy across the street, doing sinful things.
"Hey now, don't run 'way from your of father, honey. Just gimme a li'l kiss. Father's got a right to kiss his own daughter, I always say. C'mere now, baby. Be nice or Daddy spank."
Trapped in the doorway of her bathroom, Angela could hardly escape without pushing her father away. Besides, trained as she had been all these years to respect and obey her parents, such an act would have been unthinkable. Resignedly, she tilted up her lovely face to be kissed. Fred Carruthers chuckled thickly, moved still closer, put his hands on her waist and pulled her to him, giving her a long, hard kiss on the mouth.
"Ouff - y-you're h-hurting me, D-Daddy !" she gasped.
His lips had bruised her mouth and, besides, there was a strong odor of whiskey to him. She put her soft hands against his chest, gently trying to disengage herself, but her father kept hold of her, then kissed her on the mouth again. This time, his right hand moved round her, and Angela started and gasped as she suddenly felt him squeeze her buttocks through the thin robe.
"D-Daddy - don't, please-"
"Aw, c'mon, honey, don't be that way. Y'see, baby, your mother'n I made a li'l deal. Mary'n I, well, we've been good churchgoing folks all our lives, 'n now it's time we had a li'l fun fer ourselves while we're still young enough to enjoy it. Swinging fun, baby. 'N it's time you started havin' fun along with us, get me, Angie ?"
Owlishly he blinked at her, his grin lecherous and drunken, and then as she kept staring at him with uncomprehending, widened eyes, he clamped his left arm round her shoulders, plunged his right hand into the folds of the bathrobe and pressed his palm against her bare belly.
"Hey, Angie honey, you haven't got panties on - mm, such nice soft skin, you're growing up just right, honey!"
"Oooh - D-Daddy - please - d-don't - take your hand away - OH - NOO!"
Angela's voice rose to an anguished wail. In wriggling away from his probing hand, and while pushing at his chest with both of her hands, she had unwittingly given her daddy the opportunity to press his hand down between her squirming bare thighs and rub the black curls which framed her adorable pink-lipped virgin cunt.
"Don't yell like that, honey, I'm not gonna hurt my little darlin' Angie," Fred Carruthers mumbled, his face red and contorted. "Now you be nice 'n put your arms round me and gimme a nice hug 'n kiss, or I'll be real angry with my big girl!"
All the while he spoke, his palm was rubbing back and forth over the delicious plump mound of Angela's sex mound, and the frantic young girl, beside herself with shame, kept squirming this way and that, reluctant to strike or kick her own father.
"Ohhh, Daddy, please - I - I'll kiss you - but please do take your h-hand away - it - it's not right. You're my father, please take it away!" she pleaded.
Through her distraught mind flashed the awareness that this, too, was perhaps the greatest of all mortal sins, one she would be honor bound to confess in the curtained booth.
"All right, gimme that nice sweet kiss then, 'n I'll take my hand away," her father bargained.
He drew his arm back, though tightening his hold round her slim shoulders with his other arm.
Panting and shivering, feeling strange tingling sensations where his palm had rubbed so salaciously, the young girl locked her arms round his neck and, closing her eyes, gave him a surrendering, naive kiss on the cheek.
"Aw, c'mon, that's no kiss, Angie," Fred Carruthers complained in a slurred, husky voice. "Now you lissen good. Hear me, your of dad has something real important to tell you - like I just said, Angie, your mom 'n me, we worked out a nifty l'il deal and you're in it. We're all gonna be real lovey-dovey, 'n that means you gotta coop'rate, see, Angie sweetheart?"
"N-no, I don't, Daddy - please - get out for a minute, anyhow, so I can put some clothes on, won't you please, Daddy?" Angela piteously quavered, still struggling against her father's relentless hold.
Then she uttered a shrill wail of consternation; taking her by surprise, he had plunged his right hand into the open top of her bathrobe and grabbed one of her firm, young pear breasts and was squeezing it lovingly as he leeringly approached his red, swollen face to hers and stifled another plaintive outcry with a hot, moist, greedy kiss.
In his intoxicated state, Fred Carruthers pinched Angela's pink nipple more painfully than he realized. Angela uttered a cry of mingled consternation and anguish; in a defensive reaction her little fist struck against his wrist and he dropped his offending hand, stumbling backwards with a rueful and startled expression at this sign of filial disloyalty.
"Angie - you'd hit your own father! Oh, you naughty girl you!"
"Daddy - I have to get some clothes on. Please - you - you sit down and I'll go outside and dress, and then - and then we'll talk - will you, please?" she pleaded, very close to tears.
Vaguely, through the fog of liquor and lust, Fred realized that he had perhaps gone too far too quickly and, mumbling an incoherent apology, he staggered to her bed and slumped down on the edge, rubbing his face. Angela profited from this pause to snatch up her white cotton bra and panties, the middy blouse and matching skirt, her anklets and loafers, and, her face turning scarlet as the none too securely fastened bathrobe suddenly swung open to reveal the breathtaking glories of her budding titties and the suave, dimpled belly and the thick black triangle which marked her virgin pussy, hurried out of the room and made for her mother's bedroom, where she swiftly clad herself.
In her mother's bathroom, she seized a comb and combed her glossy black cascade of hair straight back, twisting it into a thick single braided pigtail and securing it with a rubber band. Surveying herself in her mother's dressing-table mirror Angela uttered a sigh of satisfaction. The pigtail made her look charmingly juvenile. Naive though she was, Angela's instinct told her that perhaps if her father saw her now, he would realize that, after all, she was still only twelve.
As she went back to her room, the sudden thought assailed her that Betsy was only a year older, and just look what Daddy had been doing with her! As she entered, Fred Carruthers looked up and brightened.
"Angie, hey, you look just fine, dear! Come sit on my lap and give me a nice hug and a kiss and say you're sorry for having hit your own father!"
"I am, Daddy, but you oughtn't to have - to have felt me that way," she blurted.
Very slowly and warily, Angela moved to the edge of the bed. Fred Carruthers chuckled softly, reached for her, and pulled her onto his lap, shifting her sideways so that he could circle her waist with his left arm and have his right hand free.
"Now kiss me nice," he muttered thickly.
"Yes, Daddy," the black-haired teenager obediently murmured.
Her smooth, satiny bare arms wound round his neck and she again kissed him on the cheek.
"Not that way. Do it right, honey," her father urged.
He demonstrated what he meant by forcing his mouth against her soft lips. As Angela squirmed and gasped, she suddenly stiffened and her eyes want very wide. Against her jouncy bottom she had unmistakably felt a hard, jabbing protuberance - his rigid prick was roused by the frictioning feel of her delectable, resilient behind in his lap. And at the same moment, profiting from her distraction, Fred Carruthers slyly slid his right hand under her skirt all the way up to the crotch of her dainty little white panties and began to poke and rub the soft plump virgin cunt mound with a forefinger's knowing tip.
Frantically embarrassed, Angela reacted with a wild squeal, clenching her legs together fiercely while she tried to wriggle off his lap. But the constricting fetter of his left arm and his renewed hot savage kisses on her panting young sweet mouth, together with his insistent poking finger which pressed the thin cotton fabric in between her twitching and now involuntarily moistening cuntal lips, prevented her escape. Finally, twisting her mouth away, she gasped almost hysterically, "Oh don't do that. Please - you mustn't touch me there, Daddy. It's not right!"
"Not right? Why, you sweet little cherry you, that's where a girl ought to be touched before she does it the first time, to wake her up. Didn't I tell you that your mother and I had made a cozy little arrangement, Angela baby? Relax now, stop trying to get away, baby. Your mother won't care if you show your old father some nice sweet young love and affection. Kiss me again and open your lips. I'll show you why!"
"N - ohh - stop. it - oh don't touch rime there. Please, you just mustn't!" Angela sobbed.
With a last despairing effort she pushed with all her might against his heaving chest. At last she managed to scramble off his lap and run sobbing out of the house. She knew what she had to do - she needed someone's advice, because what was happening to her had become too much to cope with. She would go to confession right now and perhaps one of the old priests would comfort her and absolve her of the sin of playing with herself ... down there ... after she told him what she had seen within twenty-four short hours of her chaste and innocent. young life.
Sniffling and trying to control her tears, she slowed down as she reached the stone steps of the old church, and, glancing fearfully back down the street, began to climb them.
It was as well for her peace of mind that she had no way of knowing that her father had hurried to the telephone and was, even at this moment, talking in a low, confidential voice. When he hung up, he rubbed his hands together and chuckled, a lewd glint in his narrowed eyes...