Darla's secret wish

He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you get your own clothes back on, sweetheart?

I have to take you back to your mother’s tonight.”

She forgot what she was wearing, what she had been caught doing, she forgot everything at those words. “But… I thought I was going to stay here tonight, Daddy! You said…we were going to go to the movies tomorrow!” She struggled to contain her tears and lost, but at least she did it silently. She swallowed around the hard lump in her throat.

“I know, honey…but Irene isn’t feeling well. She’s downstairs lying on the couch. I’m glad she didn’t come up here first,” he chuckled. “I’ll make it up to you, angel. I promise.”

She nodded, looking down at his shoes, his dress shoes. They had gone to a play tonight. Taming of the Shrew. She didn’t want him to see that she was crying.

“I’ll get dressed,” she said, wanting him to go before she really started sobbing. “Be down in a minute.”

“Ok…and Darla, honey…don’t forget your panties.” He turned around, his voice sounding strained.

She snapped her slim thighs closed, her face burning. She had forgotten entirely that she wasn’t wearing any.

* * * *

Darla put the dress back and hurriedly pulled on her clothes. She stopped in the bathroom to smooth her hair into a ponytail and wash her face, still wet, and gave herself a good talking-to in order to stop the tears. There was no way she was going to go downstairs crying. Now she was putting on her coat, and she smiled, pleased, as her father helped her while she pulled her hair out from under the collar.

“Lee, did you pay her? Darla, thank you for watching your sister,” Irene murmured from the couch where she was lying with her arm thrown over her eyes.

“Half-sister!” Darla hissed, surprising both of them and herself.

“Money’s in your coat pocket, sweetie,” her father said, looking sideways at her. “And you did a fine job, too. I told you she would, Irene.” There was a snort from the couch.

“Come on, let’s get going,” he said.

She followed him out the door, shouldering her backpack with all her school work and a change of clothes for the weekend she wouldn’t be needing anymore. Tears stung her eyes again at that thought. The two-seater Jaguar was still warm from their ride home. Darla turned the radio station first thing. He always let her. She turned it up loud. She didn’t want to talk.

When they pulled into the driveway half an hour later, the house was dark and her mother’s car was gone. Her father swore under his breath and Darla looked at him sharply. He grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, hitting the “talk” button. She heard the phone ringing, and the answering machine with her own voice saying, “You’ve reached the Somers residence, we’re not here right now…”

“You didn’t call her?” Darla sighed.

“I called her,” he assured her, his mouth a thin line. “She said she’d be here.

“Figures.” Darla shoved the door open and ran up the walkway. She fumbled in her jacket pocket for her keys, finding the money her father had left there to pay her for babysitting. It was far more than she’d really earned. She was crying in earnest now, and she tossed the money angrily into the snow. She got the door open, the warmth and familiar smell of home a dubious welcome, shrugging off her jacket and throwing her backpack in the foyer.

“Hey, Darla.” Her father peeked his head inside and she turned her back to him, not wanting him to see her puffy eyes. “You dropped this, honey.”

“I didn’t drop it,” she said lowly.

“Isn’t this your babysitting money?” His voice was right behind her now.

She could feel the chill from the outside that he carried with him.

“Yes, but I didn’t drop it. I threw it there,” she snarled, moving away from him and flopping onto the couch, crossing her arms over her chest and lowering her head to let her hair hide her face.

“Why?” He sounded genuinely confused. She struggled with a response, trying to speak around the tightness in her throat. How can he not know, how can he not see?

“I don’t want your money.” It was barely a whisper.

“What was that, sweetie?” He was sitting next to her on the couch, moving to brush her hair away from her face.

She jerked away, hissing. “I don’t want your money!” She shoved at him and moved to stand. She was off balance and he grabbed her arm to help steady her.

“Hey, hey.” He held both of her wrists now as she struggled to get away.

“Come here.” He pulled her toward him and although she resisted at first, she finally relented and let him settle her onto his lap.

She repeated it over and over under her breath, like a mantra to keep her from breaking down entirely, “I don’t want your money.”

“Ok, ok,” he murmured. “What do you want, honey?”

“You!” she wailed, leaning into him and putting her arms around his neck.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Daddy. I never wanted anything else.” She feathered little kisses on his throat and collarbone, rubbing the smooth skin of her cheek against the whiskers on his chin.

“Oh, angel,” he whispered into her hair, stroking her back. “You have me.

You’ve always had me.”

She was trying to get as close as she possibly could, wrapping her bare legs around him. He helped her, unbuttoning his coat so she could sidle closer, enveloping her in his arms.

“I’m so sorry it’s turned out this way, sweetheart. I never meant-“ his voice was hoarse, pained.

“Hold me, Daddy,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his. He did, rocking her gently, stroking her hair. “I miss you so much, you don’t know…it makes me hurt all over.” She wiggled in his lap and she heard him gasp and let out a small groan. His face was buried in her hair.

“Sweetie, maybe we better-“ he started, but she lifted her face suddenly and kissed him just like she had fantasized about in front of the mirror earlier that night.

It wasn’t a sweet innocent little girl kiss, it was a real kiss, the way she imagined kissing Tommy Keys who sat behind her in math, the way she imagined kissing Simon Cowell from American Idol, the way she’d practiced kissing with Katie, pressing their tongues together and swirling.

He didn’t stop her, he seemed too stunned to try, holding perfectly still as her small tongue tentatively licked at his lips, his teeth. He tasted like peppermint and smelled like Old Spice. It was a familiar Daddy smell and it made her all tingly.

She felt something between her legs, and it took her a moment to realize what it was. His dress slacks hid nothing, and she realized the bulge pressing against her panties was a very large version of what they’d seen illustrations of in health class last year.

She locked her legs behind him and squeezed, kissing him harder, and he moaned, his hands beginning to roam over her, slipping underneath her shirt in back. The feel of his large, warm hands on her skin made her shiver. This was just what she imagined this would feel like, even down to the pulsing ache between her thighs. Especially that.

He broke contact suddenly, looking wild-eyed and panicked. He tried to push her away, but her long, slender legs were locked too tightly around him.

She bit her lip, pleading with her eyes. He cleared his throat and said sternly,

“Darla, this is very, very wrong. We can’t do this.”

“It’s not wrong to love me, Daddy,” she whispered. “Please love me. Please.”

He shook his head, but she saw his eyelids flutter when she moved against him, shifting that hard thing between them. It rubbed against the crotch of her panties, and she felt moisture there, like she’d wet herself. His response made her bolder, and she reached down between them to investigate, her searching hand indeed finding wetness.

Oh, it felt so good when she rubbed herself like this! Sometimes she would do it for hours and hours at night, twisting and turning the covers between her legs, aching for some sort of release that never came. She felt like that now.

“It feels good when I do this,” she confessed, tucking the crotch of her panties between her fleshy lips, and