Chapter 2
"That'll be all for today, Miss Henshaw," David Ainsley nodded to his prim, svelte, tall, bespectacled black-haired secretary. He reached for a cigarette, then leaned back in his swivel chair as he heard his private office door close behind him. He was looking forward to Kristina's birthday dinner tonight, almost as a desperately needed distraction from the frustrations and denials which had been building up in him the past six months.
Six feet tall, wiry, with almost crew-cut dark-brown hair, he hardly looked his 43 years, but this afternoon he'd begun to feel them. If only Helga had played fair with him, he morosely thought to himself as he puffed angrily at the cigarette. After seventeen years of marriage and two kids, she'd suddenly taken it into her head-or rather, into her cunt-to go traipsing off with a 28-year-old garage mechanic. She was even going to marry the guy as soon as the final divorce decree was issued, which ought to be any day now. And the only explanation she'd given him was that she was bored from the lack of excitement in their going to bed together and that Jirka-that was her lover's name-knew how to domineer a woman and make her feel all woman. What a hell of a note that was-to say nothing of what it had done to his cocksmith's pride.
David Ainsley was the director of a media research firm which did business with the big ad agencies. They wanted to know what TV shows, radio programs and newspapers and magazines could guarantee their clients the best sales results for moneys expended. He'd started as a junior copy-writer out of journalism school, worked his way up to account executive and then discovered he liked research better than the daily hassle with grumpy clients who thought they could write better ads than he did. He'd met Helga Berndtsson at a cocktail party thrown by his agency. She'd come there as the distantly related cousin of one of the artists on his agency's staff, and it had been love at first sight. Tall, willowy, with golden hair almost down to her waist, she'd been a kind of Nordic goddess who'd awakened all his romantic lusts. Maybe that had been the trouble, treating her reverently like a goddess rather than as a hot-pussied floozie who wanted rough fucking, which apparently was what Jirka had been giving her.
An only child and strictly brought up, David Ainsley had had very little erotic experience prior to his marriage. A few necking parties with a senior coed who had turned out to be a genuine prickteaser, then the quickie and not too thrilling loss of his male virginity to a plump coppery-haired young waitress from the coffee shop across the street from his ad agency late one night when he'd been working overtime on a deadline full-page newspaper ad for a new deodorant, and then Helga. In the seventeen years of their marriage, he'd been unbelievably faithful. After all, his golden-haired wife had been exactly the type of bed partner he'd always dreamed of as a thwarted, tortured adolescent. With her silky long blonde hair, pale carnation-tinted skin, full breasts and thighs and buttocks and a gentle sweetness to her face she was ideal. Yet, in spite of his adoring her, it hadn't been enough.
Now he'd lost her for good, but with that thought came the knowledge that he was free. He could have an affair, or remarry, or do whatever he wanted to, within reason. Briefly, his mind dwelt on Rita Henshaw, whom he'd hired just about the time Helga had split. She had a kind of subtle boldness to her, a slinkiness that suggested hot fucking. But long ago he'd decided to rule out any liaisons with females working at the same place he did. It was too risky, and besides, once you slept with a file clerk or secretary, she figured she had it made and didn't have to worry about doing her job. No, Rita Henshaw was hors de concours for that reason alone.
He might have revised his thinking if he could have known that Rita Henshaw, 24 and on the rebound from being jilted by a muscle-bound gymnasium instructor from a South Side high school, entertained secret fantasies in which she saw herself the helpless, but very willing captive of her handsome, mature soft-spoken boss. As a freshman at college, Rita had been a sorority pledge bound to a dominating "Big Sister" who had introduced her to the paddle and the dildo. Breaking away from lesbian supremacy in her sophomore year, she had purposely seduced her assistant English professor if only to prove that she preferred being fucked by an honest-to-goodness male instead of a simulacrum wielded by a butch dyke. But that first sadistic experience had left its indelible mark on her passionate psyche, and what she really craved was a combination of virile cocksmith and tyrannical master who would force her to lose all her inhibitions and to perform the most self-demeaning acts upon him. A few subsequent affairs had convinced her that she was a man's woman, but that the men who had thus far fucked her had lacked that mastery which she so masochistically craved. So she had transferred her burning frustrations to her unsuspecting boss, David Ainsley, with even more ardor now that her latest lover had proved to be a rather impotent dud.
His work done at last, he opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a tissue-wrapped box from Peacock's, Kristina's birthday present. It was an attractive Swiss ladies' watch. Of course, he'd have to suggest she not wear it when she played ball with the boys. And that was another problem Helga had saddled him with: having to teach Kristina the difference between being a tomboy and a young lady who shouldn't get quite so familiar with the opposite sex till she was old enough to control her own emotions. He and Kristina had never talked about sex. He'd always assumed Helga had taught the girl the rudiments of the differences between boys and girls. But from some of the broad hints old Mrs. Weidman had dropped earlier this week, Kristina would be having her first period any time now, and she certainly ought to be prepared for it so she wouldn't get hysterical when it happened. Maybe he ought to let the old housekeeper have a talk with her. He'd certainly be embarrassed to have to discuss such a thing with the girl.
With a sigh, he walked out of his office, just in time to see Rita Henshaw standing with her back to him, her right leg posed on the seat of her chair, her dark-brown skirt lofted almost to her crotch, inspecting a run in her charcoal-brown nylon hose. He couldn't help seeing what a luscious long, yet curvaceous thigh she had and a high-set, sinuous, calf whose muscles flexed entrancingly. He felt a sudden aching twinge in his balls, and forced himself to look away as he bade her good night and wished her a pleasant weekend. As the outer door closed behind him, he heard her husky, "Same to you, Mr. Ainsley." What he didn't see, of course, was her staring forlornly after him, then slipping her right hand up to her white nylon panty briefs and, closing her eyes and shivering, beginning to tickle her cunt with her forefinger as she conjured up images of his dragging her by the wrist off to bed and ordering her to strip naked and be quick about it.
David Ainsley had done a double-take at the dinner table when Kristina, blushing prettily and with eyes demurely lowered, had slipped into her chair with a whispered, "Hi, Daddy." Her brother, slyly remembering her incredible transition from tomboy to sexy young siren-and a naked one at that-had vented his admiration for her new look with a loud wolf-whistle.
"Well now, small fry, I don't recall buying you that outfit," her father had said when he'd recovered from the startling revelation of how his daughter had unexpectedly become an alluring young Lolita capable of reminding him painfully of his enforced continence the past six months.
"It-it's from Mother. The delivery man brought it this afternoon, just after I got home from school, Daddy," she quavered, nervously glancing up at him, half-afraid to mention that word which was so rarely used in this household these days.
"Oh, I see. That was nice of her," David Ainsley pursed his lips, then brightened as he reached into his lapel pocket to take out her watch. "Well, mine's something to wear too, honey, though it's certainly not so attractive. And I think you ought to save it for when you go out, like to the restaurant or a movie. You know."
Kristina hastily unwrapped the little box, opened it, then beamed with joy. "Oh, it's lovely, Daddy. Thank you ever so much! It's a super watch, and I'll be awfully careful with it, I promise. Thank you again."
"You're quite welcome. Ah, Mrs. Weidman, I see you've made her favorite brown betty and-what's this, a little birthday cake too, with thirteen candles? Well now, that was very thoughtful of you," he chuckled as the plump gray-haired housekeeper carefully set the little round white-frosted cake in front of the excited blonde teenager.
"Betcha she can't blow all the candles out on the first puff, Dad," Donald slyly volunteered, his eyes fixing on his younger sister's delightfully swelling round firm tits which the bodice of her birthday dress so snugly emphasized.
"I bet I can, too," Kristina irritatedly retorted, with an angry glance at her smirking brother.
"Okay, Kris, I'll betcha double birthday spanks you can't, how's that?" Donald Ainsley proffered with a jeering little snigger as he looked to his father for approbation.
"That's right, that's the tradition, Kristina," the latter chuckled good-naturedly. "A spank for every year of your age and one to grow on."
"Oh no!" the pretty blonde teenager breathed, furiously embarrassed. "I've never been spanked, you know that, Daddy!"
Then, as if to eliminate the threatened danger, she sucked in her breath, leaned forward and blew with all her might. Twelve of the candles flickered out, with tiny wisps of smoke rising, but the fateful thirteenth, though wavering and bending towards the level of the cake, remained steadfastly burning.
"Yahh! You lose, Krissie, double swats," her brother gleefully exclaimed.
"No, I didn't bet with you, so it doesn't count-does it, Daddy?" Tears of mortification glistened in the pretty teenager's widened dark-blue eyes.
"Technically, you're right, honey. Tell you what, I'll give you your birthday spanks myself-but it'll be private between us. That lets you out, Don," her father indulgently decreed.
"Aw, lemme watch you paddle Krissie, huh, Dad?" Donald avidly begged, and Kristina again turned imploring, humid eyes towards her handsome father.
"I said no, Don, and that's enough of that. Now, honey, are you going to let me have a piece of your birthday cake?"
"Oh, sure, Daddy-a nice big piece," she gratefully breathed.
But her brother, though discomfited by his father's refusal, maliciously persisted, " 'Course, Dad, you oughta give her, her birthday spanks on the bare so she'll really feel 'em!"
"Ohh-you-you hateful boy you!" Kristina was close to tears.
"I don't want to hear another word on the subject, young man," his father said sharply, and Donald quailed before his angry look.
They had stayed up to watch a movie on TV till ten o'clock, and then David Ainsley had said goodnight to his brash young son, who was obviously reluctant to leave the living room, still hoping he might be privileged to watch his pretty blonde sister's birthday spanking. But when the mature grass widower had irritatedly remarked that there might be someone else spanked if he didn't follow orders, Donald hastily excused himself and hurried to his room.
Kristina squirmed uneasily in her chair, eyeing her father with no little embarrassment. Gee, I never have been spanked-is he really going to do it or is he just teasing me, the way Don does? I'm sure he won 't do it hard, 'cause I've been a good girl, my school grades are fine, and even Mrs. Weidman says I help with the chores. Oh my, I'd just die if Daddy did what Don said-g-give it to me on the buh-buh-bare!
David Ainsley glanced at his wristwatch, rose with a congenial smile. "Time for bed, honey. You want to get your beauty sleep. Maybe tomorrow night we'll all take in a movie, if you like."
"T-that would be nice, D-Daddy," Kristina stammered as she meekly rose.
"Then that's what we'll do. Okay now, you get ready for bed, and I'll come in and kiss my big girl goodnight," he told her as he lit a cigarette. "You look very grownup and lovely in that getup. It was thoughtful of your mother to send it to you."
"Y-yes. D-Daddy?" she glanced nervously at him, then looked down at the floor, flushing hotly.
"What is it, honey?"
"Is-is Mother ever coming back?" she dared, in a tiny, fearful voice.
He frowned, puffed at his cigarette. "Not to stay for good, no, honey. I'm sorry. But I'm sure she'll come visit you every so often. Now you'd better get to bed."
"All-all right, Daddy. I-I'm sorry if I said something I shouldn't have." Out of both contrition and a forlorn need to be reassured and loved, she ran over to him, put her arms round him and hugged him, then tilted her face up for his kiss. His hands grasped her waist, and the startling resilience and suppleness of her burgeoning young body sent a sudden, unexpected shiver of lust through him, made him scowl at the awareness of that forbidden reaction. He kissed her on the forehead. "Now run along, honey," he said gruffly, trying to cover up the emotion she had roused. It had been much too long to have gone without feeling his prick dig to the hilt in a warm tight arden cunt, he irritatedly told himself.
After she had left the living room, he lit another cigarette and noticed that his fingers were trembling. He swore under his breath, angry with Helga for having walked out on him to leave him so unnerved. If she'd only come out and told him what she really wanted in bed, things could have been different. As it was, if this kept up, he'd have to go find himself a call girl, just to make sure he was still virile and capable. Damn Helga anyway!
As he crushed out the cigarette, David Ainsley felt himself powerfully drawn to Kristina and that silly birthday ritual. Baffled at his own furious carnal response to the girl's hugging him, he rose slowly from his chair, glancing down to find his prick in agonizedly full erection. This was crazy-what was the matter with him, anyway, thinking of a thirteen-year-old girl as if she were an available piece of tail? He'd go give her, her birthday spanks, just to prove to himself that he had complete control, the way a rational adult should have.
Meanwhile, in her bedroom, Kristina had slowly and thoughtfully taken off the pretty blue frock and the glossy petticoat, standing in bra and panties, garter belt, hose and pumps, her back turned to the door.
Clenching her thighs together as tightly as she could, the distracted blonde teenager thrust her hands behind her, trying to push his face away, gasping faintly, "Nno-you-you mustn't do that, D-Daddy! Puh-please, no!" But by this time the lure of Kristina's satiny, palpitating flesh, warm and crimsoned from the spanking, the scent of her delicate femininity, the pentup agony of his long fuckless nights, had pushed her father over the edge of rationality. Keeping her pinned down with his left arm, he now thrust out his tongue and lingeringly rubbed it over her contracting, quivering bare butt cheeks.
"Oooh-w-what are you d-doing to me-oh it tickles so-Daddy-no-puh-please pull my p-panties back up-oh, don't-" she tremulously begged.
Suddenly, he rolled her over onto her back, and the frantic young girl tried to clap both hands over the pink, temptingly fleshy lips of her virgin cunt. The tangled panties round her slim ankles acted like a fetter, partly immobilizing her. Now, his eyes blazing, David Ainsley grasped her ankles in both hands, bowed his head, and applied a passionate, wet kiss on the very center of her soft twitching cuntal lips.
Daddy's kissing my little spot-ohhh, I never dreamed he'd do a thing like that-oh, I'm going to faint-the tickling's driving me just crazy-my bottom stings and smarts from where he spanked me, and now-ohh, I feel so strange, it doesn't hurt, I can feel my hips jerking, as if-ohh no, it can't-as if I was trying to push-to push my spot right up to him to kiss it more and make it well! Ohhhh-
"Sweet little Krissie, don't be frightened, darling, I'm just kissing your darling little pussy to apologize for spanking your lovely bottom," David Ainsley gasped. He was beside himself as his eyes feasted on the delicious miracle of his young daughter's near nakedness, at the wet, twitching, pouting cuntal lips framed by the sparse dark-golden curls that so lightly fleeced her virgin aperture, at the spasmodic flexions that shiveringly rippled along her writhing thighs, at the tumultuous heaving of her firm round young tits straining against the sheer nylon bra.
Face twisted to one side, eyes closed so as to hide this shameful abandon of herself, Kristina had pressed her fists hard against her tits, flattening their exuberant apple-rounds. "My p-pussy?" she echoed, the word being exquisitely new to her, and her cheeks flamed.
"Yes, darling, your sweet pink little pussy-does it feel nice when I kiss it? Does it make you forget the spanking, Krissie?" he hoarsely insisted.
"Oooh-y-yes, D-Daddy-ahh-but-but you shouldn't-oh, please, I-I shouldn't be n-naked like this for-for you to-to see me-ohhhhh, Daddy-" she moaned deliriously, writhing convulsively as his tongue flicked over the apex of her cunt, brushing the dainty nub of her clit and sending violent sensual waves of intoxicating excitement deep into her innermost feminine nerves.
Now, shifting himself on his knees, he had forced her knees back up against her panting young tits, and, whisking off the tangled little panties, bowed his head against the gaping, moist, palpitating coral-tinted crevice of her distended young cunt. He applied a long sucking kiss, then furled his tongue all over the rims of the labia majora, then brushed her clit, then gouged the tip of his tongue against the closely set, delicate petals of her maiden vulva.
Beside herself, reeling under the lascivious tumult of her first-time-awakened, budding senses, Kristina moaned and sobbed, distraught, forgetting the shamefulness and the potent taboo against such surrender to her very own father. "Ohh, Daddy-ahh-ohhh it's so exciting when you do that with your tongue-ohhh Daddy, I can't stand it, it tickles so-mm-ahh-ohh Lordie-ouuuooahhhhh! Oh, something's happening to me-whatever are you doing to my p-pussy to make me feel this way-ohh, Daddy-ohh Lordie-ahh-ouuu-aiiiiiii!! " Her body leaped and threshed, her hips jerking wildly from side to side as David Ainsley, stealthily rubbing his bulging crotch with his left hand to quicken his own maddened fulfillment, kept his right palm pressed against the upturned back of one nylon-sheathed thigh. He quickened the prodding of his tongue all over his daughter's twitching, moistening cunt as her feet kicked frantically in the air and her face twisted back and forth, contorted with the sweet delirium of her first hot, total cum.
"Jeez!" Donald Ainsley was whispering to himself, dazed by the unleashed lust of the scene he had just witnessed, sinking down on his knees, his face damp with lust-sweat, his hand stickied with his own violent outpouring in tribute to the Lolita-magic of his exquisitely awakened younger sister. Dazed though he was, there nonetheless began to burgeon in his inventive young mind the inspiration which would enable him not only to force Kristina to accord him the same libidinous delights she had just surrendered to her own father, but even more erotic gratification to his precociously virile young prick.