Chapter 3
Barbara was still sound asleep in the depths of the armchair when her parents came home. But they didn't see her right away.
"I'm going straight up to bed," said Harriette, stifling a small moan, "my head..."
She moved unsteadily up the stairs and Neil watched with a small line of annoyance creasing his forehead. Why did Harriette have to drink so much tonight? He'd had his share of drinks, too, but liquor made him feel happy, not sad, sick or bitter like it did Harriette. Or, he amended his thought, he would have felt happy if he hadn't had to look after Harriette all the time. Neil gave a deep sigh of resignation. He wished that Harriette was more like Barbara.
He walked into the living room, feeling his drinks but still steady, and decided to have a nightcap. He swung open his liquor cabinet- then froze in small shock. Why was it unlocked? Neil turned them and saw Barbara, curled up like a cat. "Barbara-puss!" he murmured out loud. Then he was hurrying to her side. "Baby," he whispered, leaning down, stroking her cheek. "Are you all right, Barbara baby?"
She stirred, half awakened. "Daddy," she mumbled, "What-where?"
"You fell asleep," he said smiling. Then he straightened up. "What were you doing up so late?" He glanced at her face, feeling anxious, but trying not to show it.
She yawned a wide smile. "Ooh, I don't know," she dimpled her cheeks like a ten-year-old. "Just waitin' 'til you came home." Her lips curved into a little-girl smile. Neil's eyes flickered to the empty glass at her side. "You had a drink, too, Barbara-puss." He sounded almost coy, chiding yet coy. "Why did you take a drink?"
She giggled. "Just felt like it, Daddy." She blinked her big eyes. "You don't mind, do you? I mean it's all right?"
He shook his head, ponderously now, half drunkenly. "You shouldn't've, Barbara-puss, you're only a little girl."
"Nineteen," she said very softly.
"Too young-still too young!"
She smiled at him, then lowered her eyes as though she was ashamed of herself. "Sorry, Daddy-forgive me. D'you forgive me?" Barbara looked up, blinking her eyes and pouting her lips appealingly.
Neil sighed. "Of course I forgive you, little girl." He moved to the liquor cabinet, poured a drink for himself.
"You're a sweet daddy," Barbara sighed, drowsily, then she became more awake when she said: "Where's Mommy?"
Neil grunted. "In bed."
"And you just got home?" Barbara was trying to wake up, appraise herself of the time.
"Yeah," said Neil. He drained his glass. "She went straight up to bed. She's feelin' sick." He frowned, added: "Drunk, more like."
"Oooh!" Barbara's lips pursed in disapproval. "How awful!"
"Yeah," said Neil, "how awful is right. And I don't want you to get like that. So don't drink, eh?" Then the severe expression faded from his face. "Just stay a sweet little girl." His voice softened. "Barbara baby-don't drink or do anythin' you shouldn't. Anything with a man-a guy-anything not nice. You know what I mean, what I'm tryin' to say."
Barbara nodded her head very seriously. "You know that I wouldn't, Daddy!" Her voice was small but sincere.
"Sure," he said, his voice hoarse with the drink or the emotion. He glanced down at her; she was sprawled in the big chair like a limp, baby doll. He smiled: "I know you wouldn't. His hand dropped down onto a naked thigh, he stroked it gently for a brief second, then he dragged his body upright. "I know you wouldn't do nothin' not nice!" he said.
"Anything not nice!" Barbara corrected him sweetly.
Neil stood very still with the glass in his hand and a vacant look in his eye. "What?" he asked, as though he'd been thinking of something else.
"You know that I wouldn't do anything not nice," Barbara repeated.
"Yeah," he said, staring at her, through her, beyond her. "Like I said-I know that!" He went to the cabinet and refilled his glass.
Barbara was stretching herself when he turned. Neil admired her lissome movements for a fragile second. She looked like a kitten! A soft, cuddly kitten! Then he spoke: "Jerry will be back in San Francisco next week."
Barbara blinked, frowned. "Jerry?"
Neil paced up and down as he spoke. He seemed nervous, too tense, anxious. "You remember Jerry Daniels! He stayed with us for a couple of weeks last year."
Of course," Barbara said, her face clearing. "Shy Jerry," she said, smiling. "Blushing Jer!"
Neil gave her a grin. "Maybe he isn't so shy now-he'll be nearly a year older."
Barbara shook her head. "I can't imagine him any different!" she remarked.
Neil let his face become serious. "He's going to be a damned good engineer. I wouldn't mind having him work with me when he's finished his training."
Barbara moved herself; crossing her legs, squeezing one satiny tight-muscled thigh over the other. "Is he going to stay with us this time?" she asked, her voice very low.
"Sure," said Neil. He sipped at his drink, then looked at Barbara sharply and asked: "No reason why he shouldn't, is there? Is there, Barbara-puss?" His voice became anxious. "He never bothered you, did he, baby?"
"No, oh no!" She smiled. "Shy Jerry!" Her eyes flickered up to her father's face, and she laughed: "You worry about me too much, Daddy. You don't need to. I'm a big girl now!" Her face laughed up at him.
"No, baby girl," he shook his head. "No. There's too many men-guys-who'd take advantage of a sweet, young morsel like you!"
Barbara blinked her eyes. "Well, you don't have to worry about Jerry!" She stood up, moved to her father, placed her arms round his neck lightly. "Bed," she murmured. "I must go to bed." She kissed him on the cheek, softly, affectionately, then turned-and he was watching her clean, young limbs flash as she shimmered up the stairs.
Neil poured himself another drink, sank down heavily into the armchair that Barbara had vacated. He was conscious of the warmth of her flesh as he sensed the tiny trace of body heat that caressed his neck when he leaned his head back.
Barbara! He thought about her-and he thought about Harriette, too. His wife and his daughter, Harriette and Barbara: how could two people be so different? If he hadn't known it, he wouldn't've believed that Harriette was Barbara's mother!
Harriette! She used to be kind and affectionate-still was, at times, rare times. So very rare! But she was hard, too, with a mean streak showing itself when she was drunk, or angry at him for some small, inconsequential thing, like being too nice with Barbara, or calling her an affectionate name-when it didn't mean anything at all! He was soft with her, she'd tell him, still treated her like a baby! What was so wrong with that? She didn't know how lucky she was to have a daughter like Barbara. Harriette didn't appreciate her, but he did. He knew what a sweet prize they had, and was grateful!
He wrinkled his brow. Why did Harriette hate it so much when he showed his affection for Barbara? Was she jealous of Barbara? Not jealous because of him; he didn't think Harriette cared about him anymore, not much, anyway; but jealous because Barbara was young and fresh while she was getting old and tired. Neil stopped right there. Harriette wasn't old! She was still under forty, two years younger than he was. Even though, sometimes, she seemed too old for him, or acted too old for him.
It was crazy, but there were times when he felt closer to Barbara than Harriette. Closer in a mental way, in their thoughts, emotions, and closer in their ideas, their reactions. He drained his glass, seeming to see Barbara as she had looked when she was shimmering up the stairs to bed, then he got up, tiredly, and locked his liquor cabinet. A wry smile crossed his face as he dropped the key in its hiding place in the vase. Some hiding place! His clever little Barbara must know where it was, but he left the key there, just the same, then turned out the lights and went upstairs.
The light was still on in Barbara's room and the door was ajar. Sometimes she closed and locked her door when she went to bed, and other times, like she used to when she was small, she left it ajar with the light on, as though she was still a little girl, afraid of the dark. Neil smiled, tenderly. Sweet little baby. He closed the door, leaving on the light in case she awoke and was scared, then he went to his bedroom- and his wife.
He hoped that Harriette was asleep. He didn't want to see her, so he left off the light. He didn't want to talk to her, so he was quiet, hoping she wouldn't waken. Seeing Barbara lying asleep, so peaceful, beautiful, and so pure, made the idea of Harriette, and her carnality, seem repellent, revolting.
He climbed into bed with stealthy care. Harriette was lying still, asleep, he thought-but before he could close his eyes, she turned her body, lifted a leg, and rubbed a thigh on his, then mumbled: "Neil-I feel like..." She made a sound that could have been a sleepy giggle or a gasp.
Neil lay very still, hoping she'd think he was already asleep. But she persisted. "Come on, Neil!!!" Her voice became drunkenly passionate. "Screw me-why don't you screw?"
He made a strangled sound. "I'm tired-I-" She moved her thigh on him and he could feel the wet lips below the hairy bulge opening.
"Come on," she mouthed. "Screw!"
He wriggled himself, pushed her leg off him with his hand. "I can't, Harriette." He took a draught of air. "Let me go to sleep."
She twisted her body away from him, then half raised herself on an elbow. "Can't or won't?" Her voice was vicious. "What is it, Neil? You haven't made love to me for-how long, eh? How long? It's so goddamned long that I've forgotten!"
He lay there silent, his heart thudding, and he tried not to think of Barbara. Tried not to hate Harriette. "I-I don't know. I can't help it." His voice trailed off.
Harriette placed her lips close to his face and he could smell the liquor on her breath when she spoke: "You don't screw anymore, Neil? Don'cha, eh? What d'you want? Someone sweet an' young and pure?" She spewed out the last word as though it were something obscene.
He lay very still, very quiet, hoping she'd turn away, go to sleep, and let him sleep. She didn't know what she was saying! Someone young, sweet and pure-Barbara! No! he screamed soundlessly within his body. That wasn't true! He felt the muscles tensing in the back of his neck. It wasn't that way at all. He'd never thought of it like that. Never. Not ever!
He heard his wife drawing in her breath. "Sweet, young and pure!" She was so close to him that he was aware of the melange of woman-smell, gin-smell and sex-smell. He groaned. "Someone like," venom was in her voice, "just like Barbara!" She heaved her breasts, jerkily, unevenly, as though it was a painful thing to do, then she said it again, with hate: "Barbara!"
He tried to say No, but his lips seemed frozen with fear that filled his veins. He wanted to breathe out a denial of the monstrous accusation, but the motion of his lungs seemed suspended, and the air seemed to choke in his throat.
"Barbara," she said once more, then she fell back on her pillow, as though her own emotion had exhausted her. And Neil found enough faint strength to turn his back to her, press his cheek against the pillow and let the sweat slide down his forehead onto his eyelids, blow down his cheeks and wash away the sour bitterness of his wife's words.
With an act of will, he pushed his wife and her words out of his mind. Barbara, he softly and sensuously whispered as the mists of sleep caressed his body. His limbs relaxed, his breathing slowed but before his consciousness ebbed, he slurred it again like a prayer: Barbara!
In his dream Neil sat down on the edge of his daughter's bed, his hands pinning her white shoulders to the blanket. With gentle fingers on her soft throat, he let his other hand run lustfully over the curves of her ripe tits, pinching the neonlike nipples, then palming the firm flatness of her ivory belly.
His fingers slowly ran down the supple thighs, running towards her knees and then tauntingly, slowly, yet demandingly up the inside of her legs, squeezing the soft plumpness just below her virginal hole. Then his dream's eye looked down at his big cock sticking stiffly out from underneath his pajamas and he could feel the gigantic prick jerking up against his belly, the head red and throbbing with desire for his young Barbara. Even in dreaming, he wondered why he wanted so badly to hurt her, to rape her. Yes-he wanted to sink that cock into his own daughter and feel her submit painfully to him.
So clearly he could see her naked body, and seemingly without effort he pinned her to the bed and stripped, feverishly, of his own clothing. She dream-slowly lay back on the bed, as if too feeble to resist. One part of his mind wanted to take her fast, the other part demanded he take his sweet time. His hand moved over her tits, kneading and pinching while the other cupped the soft pubic bush between her lovely young legs. His fingers worked slowly, demandingly through the soft down, spreading the lips of her sweet pussy until he found her clitty. He rubbed it hard until it stood up, answering his silent message.
His forefinger continued to rub her clitoris while his other fingers searched for the tight chaste slit of her cunt. He found it and pushed and prodded at the soft, fleshy lips, easing one finger in slowly. Barbara bucked helplessly under his touch and she moaned.
Now she was part of the dream with him and he pushed harder until his finger slipped wetly into the moist warm hole between her outstretched legs. He could feel the walls of her cunt cling tightly around his finger and he teased it slowly within her, trying to force the young juices of love to flow. She was becoming completely open and wet, readying for him to ram it into her. Finally he inserted another finger into her slippery cunt. It was tight-and yet slippery. She was smiling! Wanting her father to fuck her!
But now Barbara cried out in pain as he continued to work his fingers around and around her cunt, trying to stretch it. He could feel a shudder run through his daughter's whole body and he could hear her tiny little whimpers coming through his mind as a vague, muffled moaning sound. Barbara squirmed and writhed with desperate energy and he steadied her by clutching one hand around her waist. He moved forward and pinned her undulating, gyrating body tightly into the deep mattress.
So actual now was the feeling of the strong erection as it jerked against the flesh of the inside of her thigh. He moved his pulsing prick higher up between her thighs and, even in sleep, he gritted his teeth. He felt it probing, slipping at her between his guiding fingers. And then... and then... he was forcing his weight, moving his way into the tight, unyielding hole. He could sense her body screeching in every pore as he tried to enter her, to take his daughter's cherry.
Her stretching cunt felt as if it were a raw wound, and he thought of his prick as soothing that wound. A groan spiraled from the depths of his chest, exploding from his mouth, and resounding from every corner of the room. Barbara's cunt gave and opened wider as the head of his cock pushed harder and harder against the elastic ring of her womb.
His cock gushed into her like a great tide, bursting and smashing all before it, deeper and wetly deeper through the thin membrane of her cherry until his hips smashed hard against the roundness of her ass cheeks. He felt the fleshy globes flattening against the mattress as he squirmed his loins tight down between her spread thighs. He placed his hands convulsively on her shoulders, drawing them up her back as he thrust deeper and deeper into that juicy cunt. He drew them down her back and held her waist for a moment, then clasped her hips so that his fingers fit into the crease of her thighs and loins and his thumbs reached out for each other against her buttocks.
He pulled the cheeks of her ass hard back against his onrush and held his prick inside her to its fullest extent while he revolved his hip around and around, the giant blood-filled head ready to burst. Rocking back and forth on top of her, fucking into her like a wild stallion, watching that smile of hers slip from one side of her face to the other, his cock moist along her cunt's whole length, moist with his daughter's juices, her involuntary secretions, her tiny drops of blood. And in the last glimpse of his dream he saw the ragged pink edges of her flesh drawing back with it and swallowing it whole again like the lips of a child eating a foot-long hot dog.
Coming in great globs, back-cracking convulsions, he awoke, sweating and groaning openly, eyes wide, staring up at the ceiling. His breath came back to him, and he looked down to the feel of his soaked-with-come pajamas. Then he looked beside him. Harriette was snoring her gin-drenched breath directly in his face.