Two of a Kind

This piece was originally penned for the Troublesome Musings contest and some, maybe even most, will find the content offensive. The words "morally repulsive" have been tossed out a few times already. LOL Please rate the writing and not the morals of the tale. Thank you!


John sighed as the front door closed behind him, relieved to be free of the smothering clutches of his socialite wife. A sardonic smirk twisted his lips, Praise God for beepers, he thought. Strolling through the opulent foyer, he stripped off his bow tie. He wasn’t one for public functions, preferring instead the sanctuary of his own less than modest domain. He paused, pouring himself a generous splash of scotch before continuing up the stairs. He swirled the amber liquid idly as he made his way to the master bedroom, unbuttoning his white shirt. Kicking polished, black dress shoes haphazardly in the direction of the walk in closet, he downed the last of the scotch, setting the crystal glass on the dresser. Shrugging the classic Versace jacket off wide shoulders, he draped it over the chaise.

Deftly unbuttoning his pants, he ran a hand over the top of his smooth, shiny scalp, rolling his neck to ease the tension. Leaving pants, socks, and briefs in a pile on the floor, he walked back to the dresser and pulled out a pair of silk pajama bottoms. Catching his reflection in the dresser top mirror, his eyes narrowed. The hair on his head was long gone, the crisp whorls on his chest now salt and pepper. Six foot two, two hundred pounds, he still ran five miles every morning. The six-pack of his twenties and thirties was now a comfortable four. Never what one would term “classically handsome,” at forty-eight he was still physically fit. Shrugging, he turned and exited the bedroom.

His bare feet slapped against the hard wood as he took the stairs to the third floor two at a time. The faintest click broke the silence as he turned the doorknob. Slipping into the room, he stole across the floor, stopping beside the white, princess canopy. Carefully he reached out a finger, stroking the soft curve of her cheek. Tucking a strand of the child’s dark tresses behind a dainty ear, he leaned down to brush a kiss across her forehead. A smile curved his lips for a moment, and then he turned and left as quietly as he had come.

Padding down the hall, John cracked open the door at the far end. Entering on silent feet, he eased the door shut behind him and turned. The moonlight spilt through the window, illuminating the wrought iron bed with its sheer, decorative swags. She lay on her stomach, one knee bent, arms tucked under her pillow. Her soft, Tinkerbell nightshirt rode up, leaving long, pale legs exposed to the chill of the air conditioning. Easing down on the edge of the bed, he ran a light hand up her cool calf. She stirred in her sleep, her pert nose rubbing into the pillow as long strands of ebony tickled it. He waited until she settled once again before stroking her satiny inner thigh, his knuckles brushing pink panties at the junction. Pushing her nightgown a bit higher, a frown creased his high forehead at the pink and black Hello Kitty bikinis stretched taut over the round globes of her ass. His palm itched for a moment, but he put that aside for later. Leaning over her, he nuzzled her ear softly as he edged a finger inside the elastic leg band. Slowly he traced along her slit whispering,

“Daddy’s home.”

She tried closing her thighs with a whimper of protest, drawing a low chuckle from him as she only succeeded in trapping his hand. Wiggling his forefinger into the tight confines of her dry pussy drew a muffled cry, her young body tensing at the intrusion. Instinctively, she inched up the bed, trying to escape his probing fingers. His arm snaked under her belly, dragging her back to him.

“Now, now little girl, you know better,” he murmured.

She shuddered at his words, slowly rolling to face him. Her eyes were wide and luminescent in the moonlight, their indigo depths holding experiences beyond her years.

“What color panties does a good girl wear?” he asked, his voice all the more chilling for it’s conversational tone.

“White, sir,” she whispered, fresh tears flooding pale cheeks.

His nod was almost regretful as he pressed the cotton nightshirt up her ribs until it bunched under her chin. Goose flesh broke out over her soft skin as he trailed the backs of his hands down her sides, dipping his head to suckle a dusky nipple for a moment. Hooking his forefingers in the waistband of her underwear, he tapped her hips in a silent order to raise them. Taking his time, he rolled the pink scrap of cotton down her slender legs. Holding the removed article in his hand for a long moment, he locked eyes with her in a silent promise, before balling them in his fist and setting them aside.

Gripping the backs of her knees, he parted her quivering thighs. She whimpered as he lowered himself between them. Her knees squeezed his broad shoulders as he slowly licked her baby smooth pussy lips. His tongue probed between them, snaking up and down her slit. When she pressed down into the bed in an effort to escape him, he nipped her clit sharply. Her narrow hips snapped up with a pained yelp. Sliding strong hands under her buttocks, he tilted her pelvis for better access. Lapping hungrily, he teased her tight hole, rolling his tongue to spear into her.

Impatient, he moved up her, one hand shoving his silk pajamas down. His lips crushed hers, tongue forcing entry so their flavors mingled. A groan rumbled from his chest as his throbbing cock rode the slick cleft between her thighs, then drawing back, he thrust deep into her. Swallowing her scream of agony, he reared back, driving into her again until her tight tunnel took his full ten inches.

Her breath came in gulping sobs, tears streaming down pale cheeks as he continued to plunge into her. He squeezed the flesh of her flat breast, tweaking a nipple until her back bowed and her pouty lips opened in a perfect agonized circle. She was breathtaking in her torment. His feral gaze drank in every detail, reveling in the beauty of her suffering. He could feel his balls beginning to tighten and had to close his eyes for just a moment to regain control. No need to rush. Catherine would not be home for hours. He had all the time he needed to teach the little slut her place.

Slowly he drew back until only the head of his cock was still imbedded in her tight little cunt. For several tense moments, he held her gaze from under hooded lids before slamming back into her. A ragged scream tore from her lips drawing a glare. Her blue eyes flared with fear. She clamped her lips shut, barely emitting a whimper as he seized her cheeks in a cruel grip, squeezing until her lips pursed grotesquely.

“You brought this on yourself,” he hissed, pushing into her again, “Don’t forget that.”

With a sob she tried to turn her head away. Fingers dug into her chin, forcing her eyes back to his. Snapping his hips forward, he picked up the pace until he was pounding into her hard enough to draw a grunt from his own lips with each thrust. Her muted cries of pain, his animalistic grunt, the protesting squeak of the bedsprings and the slap of damp flesh filled the room until his body tensed in crescendo. A primitive growl of completion rumbled from his throat and he slumped over her.

His breath was ragged and loud in the silence. Rising on his elbows he looked down into her crumpled, tear stained face. She sobbed silently, her slender body shaking with the effort. Shaking his head in resignation, he pulled from her. Hitching his pajama’s back up, he rolled to the edge of the bed and stood. Crossing to the dresser, he picked up the antique hairbrush. A low wail of protest sounded behind him and he met her pleading indigo orbs in the mirror. Fresh tears flooded her face as he turned, hefting the heavy wooden implement in his hand. She curled into a pathetic little ball as he approached the bed, trying desperately to disappear.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, John didn’t have to say a word. With a pat to his thigh, Monique slowly crawled from the bed. She fumbled with the wrinkled nightshirt riding up under her armpits, finally pulling it over her head. She stumbled as she moved on shaky legs to bend over his firm lap. Digging her toes into the carpet, she tried to position herself correctly like a good girl. Her teary face pressed against his other leg and she held her breath. The first blow landed with no warm up and they continued hard and fast. Her slender hips wriggled desperately as she tried to avoid the punishing hairbrush to no avail.

“You brought this on yourself, young lady. You are nothing but a naughty little slut,” he said coldly.

John felt a dull ache begin to spread through his arm, but continued the rapid succession of blows. Monique's creamy skin, now infused with glaring red, radiated a searing heat. His eyes narrowed into thin slits as he felt her shift against his thigh. Feeling the first hint of telltale moisture seep through the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms, he shoved her to the floor in disgust. Standing, he dropped the hairbrush to the bed and walked out the door without a word.

Monique flinched as the door clicked shut in dismissal. Her slender body curled into a ball of shame and misery. Rocking slightly she clenched her eyes shut against the scalding tears. Covering her ears, she fought to block out the haunting litany that taunted her. You are worthless! You’re a bad girl. You should thank me. You are nothing but a dirty, little whore. You asked for it. This is your fault. You bring it on yourself. You are a naughty little slut. Her breath came in gulping sobs, the pain in her chest nearly unbearable as twenty years of her mother’s words mingled with John’s in her ears.

~*~

An uncharacteristic tremble afflicted the surgeon’s hands as she turned the door handle. A knot of expectancy, dread and fear tightened her belly as her gaze found her husband’s sleeping form in the gloom. Easing the door closed behind her, Catherine held her breath. Slipping from her scrubs, she crept to the bed clad in a simple white camisole and panties. Inch by inch she slid between the sheets, careful not to disturb John. A small sigh left her lips as her head finally touched the pillow.

“No kiss goodnight? I’m wounded.”

The biting sarcasm in her husband’s tone made Catherine’s blood run cold. Closing her eyes for a moment, she drew a shuddering breath. Leaning over she found his lips in the dark and kissed him softly.

“Good night, John,” she said smoothly, praying it was enough.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, darling?”

Catherine let out a startled scream as the plug in her ass buzzed to life. Contracting her anal walls painfully, the butt plug sent a conditioned jolt of desire through her weary body. Humiliated color flooded her cheeks as a low chuckle sounded from her husband.

“Seems you are ready to graduate to a larger plug, darling. Your ass must be getting as sloppy as that gaping cunt of yours. On your knees.”

Mortified tears welled in her eyes as Catherine rolled to her belly, bringing her knees up under her. A shiver wracked her trim form as John pulled back the sheet and comforter. She knew with her chin resting on the mattress the kneeling position pulled the simple white panties tight across her ass, outlining the plugs handle wedged between her cheeks. The vulgarity deepened her embarrassment and pleased her husband. She held her breath as John's huge paw roamed over the curve of her ass, whimpering as his fingers bit deep, his thumb pressing the vibrating toy deeper into her and giving it a twist. She muffled a cry into the pillow, her back arching in pain as her dry insides twisted with the unyielding rubber. After a moment he let up, his hand caressing once again.

Two long fingers followed the crack of her ass down between parted thighs, tracing her pussy lips through her panties. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks and Catherine bit her lip as John closed his fingers, pinching her clit between them. A low whine sounded in her throat as he rubbed his fingers back and forth, working the bit of tortured flesh between them. Her hips rocked as he teased mercilessly, alternately rubbing, pinching, and tugging until her panties were wet with her desire. Catherine tensed as he tsked in chiding disapproval.

“You are so easy darling, nothing but a cheap whore.”

A retort died on her lips as he yanked the offending clothing down and rammed his cock home. Her body stretching to accommodate him, a scream tore from her lips. Her teeth sank into the pillow as he reared back to slam into her again. Tears flowed from beneath clenched lids as John settled into a measured pace. Every thrust nudged the plug in her raw ass, adding to her agony. A keening moan shuddered from her as the vibrations intensified. She prayed the added stimulation would speed her husband’s release. Twenty-three years of experience taunted her with the unlikelihood.

‘Please Please Please’ The mantra whimpered as clearly in her thoughts now as it had spilled from her lips at seventeen.


He stood at the foot of the bed. Back lit with the hall light, his face in the shadows. She choked on a scream, terror closing her throat. A movement at the door caught the attention of both. Relief flooded through her at her father’s familiar bulk. Her visitor seemed unconcerned. Catherine recognized him now. Her father labeled John Merrick as a real go-getter, the company’s newest vice president. The door started to close.

“Daddy?” she squeaked. The door stopped but did not reopen. Her father’s voice sounded weary but firm.

“Be a good girl. Do as he says.” The door clicked shut.

The moonlight outlined John’s imposing frame, making his eyes glitter malnovently. Only a tie draped around his neck covered his bare chest. She watched in disbelief as he deftly released his belted dress pants. They dropped to puddle at his feet. She assumed he stepped clear of them. Her gaze riveted to the heavy cock protruding sinisterly from between muscular thighs. Her hands flew up in a mixture of defense and entreaty. Gripping her wrists easily in one huge hand, he made short work binding them to the headboard with the tie. She screamed, her baby doll nighty shredding is his grip.

“Please don’t do this. Please!” she whimpered. She nearly pissed the bed as he pressed his face close to hers, his voice chilling in its softness.

“Shut up.”

Wrenching her panties down slender hips, his fingers probed experimentally, brushing her dry clit. Terrified, she clamped her legs shut. A stinging slap to the outside of her thigh brought fresh tears to her eyes, yet gained her compliance. She winced as long fingers pushed into her.

“Please,” she begged. “PLEASE!” she cried as he shoved another finger into her dry tunnel.

Angrily he ripped her bikinis the rest of the way down her legs, wadding them in his fist as he brought them to her lips. She struggled, whipping her head back and forth. Catching her chin, his fingers bit deep into her skin. When her lips pressed together in defiance, he twisted a nipple until she bowed off the bed in agony, her mouth opening in a scream. She gagged as he stuffed the silk underwear into her mouth, trying to spit it out as he turned away a moment. Stars danced before her vision as he tied a handkerchief behind her head, holding the makeshift gag in place.

“Whores wear silk,” he said.

The gleam in his dark eyes as he looked down at her was at odds with the soft, conversational quality of his tone. A vicious slap to her left breast made her arch off the bed, crying behind the gag. His voice never lost its melodic tone as he callously delivered slap after slap to her full breasts.

“The saying goes, careful what you wish for, darling. If you wish to dress the whore, then I will treat you as such.”

Catherine choked on her sobs, tugging on her bonds in an effort to cover her throbbing tits when the blows stopped. He cupped them in his palms; his hands cool against the enflamed flesh. Her cheeks colored in humiliation as he gave the globes a cruel squeeze.

“I’m really not into farm animals, darling. The udders are going to have to go.”

Probing fingers parted her pussy lips, slowly stroking over her clit. She jumped as something hot and wet ran the length of her slit. John’s eyes met hers as his tongue continued to lap slowly. She clamped her eyes shut in embarrassment only for them to fly open as he bit down on her clit.

“You will learn to appreciate any stimulation I grant you, darling,” he drawled. “I believe in natural lubricants or none at all.”

His point was punctuated with two fingers burrowing into her dry heat. They were replaced a moment later by his spearing tongue. After several moments without positive reaction, he shrugged.

“Dry fucks are not my favorite. However, it is your choice.”

Catherine screamed until her throat was raw. Young, inexperienced, and dry she had no hope of accommodating a man of John’s length and girth. When blood slicked the way it was a godsend in disguise.


A sharp pinch to her clit brought Catherine back to the present only to tumble over the precipice. Agony and pleasure warred as her body tightened around the plug and John’s plunging cock. Ramming hard into her, a roar heralded John’s release.
He pulled from her, leaning back on his heels for a moment to catch his breath. An anguished scream clawed at her throat, feeling as if she were being turned inside out as he pulled the dry plug from her ass. A stinging slap and the plug landed beside her on the pillow.

“Put your toy away like a good girl.”

Biting her lip, Catherine forced her weary, tortured body to obey. Crawling from bed she made her way to the master bath, step by step. She cleaned the plug with clinical detachment before gathering what she needed and stepping into the shower. Closing her eyes wearily, she leaned against the shower wall. Memories of that night clung close. Turned over to a sadistic animal, because her father lost at cards. The casualty of a gentleman’s bet. A wry smile twisted her lips. The term was laughable for either man. Considered the lesser of evils, in her father’s estimation, Catherine was sacrificed to save controlling interest in his precious company. It was a short termed victory. Catherine's father died before she graduated college and John inherited his company. As always, he got the last laugh. Knowing John’s patience would wear thin soon, Catherine methodically set about her ritual, cleansing her body inside and out. It was too bad her soul was not as easy.

~*~

Little girl chatter wafted through the French doors, shattering the oppressive silence that hung over the breakfast table. Katie and Monique stepped onto the terrace hand in hand, their puckish pigtails and infectious smiles making the corner of John’s lips quirk in genuine pleasure. Nanny and charge could have been sisters with their inky tresses, ivory complexion and wide, blue eyes. They were adorable in nearly matching uniforms. Though he had to admit Monique’s kilt and simple oxford looked anything but innocent.

“Good morning, daddy,” Katie bubbled, kissing his cheek and giving him a squeeze.

“Good morning, poppet.”

“Good morning, Sir, Ma’am,” Monique greeted softly, her nod respectful as she pulled out the little misses chair.

John nodded in return, sipping his coffee as he watched her easy interaction with his five-year-old daughter. Monique had scarcely been Katie’s age the first time he had seen her. In her green, plaid jumper and lace tights the little one had been the picture of holiday cheer at the company Christmas party. Kneeling to straighten one of her hair ribbons, he had brushed the back of his fingers down her silky cheek. Guileless blue eyes gazed trustingly up at him and he knew then she would be his.

John believed in working smart, not hard, and in opportunity. Both had served him well in his lifetime. When opportunity presented, he was quick to seize it. This ability had spearheaded his rise from the mailroom to the boardroom, his marriage to the boss’s daughter and trust fund, and eventually to owning a fortune five-hundred company. Not bad for a kid out of the foster system. The untimely death of Monique’s father had just been another moment to exploit.

The widow was a lovely little nymph with a Peter Pan complex. She was no more prepared to face life on her own than her seven-year-old daughter. Quick to accept both John’s condolences and financial assistance he had enjoyed her simple charms while molding Monique. She had been a pleasant enough diversion, even if infuriatingly stupid at times. He had been pleased Monique had not shared her simplemindedness as she had her mother’s ethereal childlike beauty.

Looking at her now, the quintessential schoolgirl, he remembered the first time he had seen her in a school uniform. His cock stirred and he was grateful for the cover the table and napkin provided. Preparing for her first day of third grade and a new school, she had been so proud posing and primping before him. Twirling, her pleated skirt flaring, chaste white cotton panties taunted him. He had drawn her up to straddle his lap, his hands slipping under the skirt folds to tenderly caress her soft cheeks. Cerulean eyes had gazed up at him with understanding beyond her years. Deliberately she started to rock, riding the ridge of his arousal. His hands had nearly spanned her tiny waist, gripping her tight, grinding her down as his desire heightened.

“I’ll be late tonight.”

John gritted his teeth, his wife’s voice cutting into his memories. Shifting in his chair, he forced his thoughts back to the present.

“Say goodbye to your mother, poppet. It is time you were heading for school as well.”

Katie gulped the last of her juice and slipped from her chair to hug her mother.
John watched his daughter’s discarded napkin flutter to the cobblestones. He raised his gaze to meet Monique’s, an eyebrow quirking in challenge.

“Give your father a hug and get your backpack, Katie,” Monique instructed.
Watching the little girl disappear inside, she bent smoothly at the waist, her fingers hovering over the prize as his roamed over her ass.

“Good girl.” He murmured, dismissing her to her duties with an affectionate pat.

~*~

Catching the flash of Monique’s bold, red Volvo in the drive, John leaned back in his chair and waited. Even in the silence of the empty house the click of the front door was barely perceptible. His eyes drifted shut as he listened for her soft foot falls.

“Glad you could join me, little girl.” He drawled with a touch of sarcasm.

She had nearly made it past the library door. He looked up to watch an impassive mask fall over her porcelain features. The wariness in her wide blue eyes spoke volumes. Still, crossing the room, she hitched a hip onto the corner of his desk. She was a sassy little thing. He admired that about her, having about as much tolerance for the meek as the stupid of the world.

Catching her about the waist, he easily moved her to sit center desk before him. Folding back the pleats of her skirt, his gaze rested on the pristine cotton camel toeing between her pale thighs.

“It would seem last evening has reminded you of simple rules if naught else,” he murmured. “However, further discipline is warranted to remind you I will not tolerate you playing the whore. I have not invested thirteen years in you to have you spread your thighs for every pimple-faced punk who pants after you. Nor will I accept phone calls to my home at all hours like a common brothel.”

“Do you not think I would have been intelligent enough to give him my cell phone number had I been encouraging…” Monique’s hot rebuttal was cut off by a sharp slap.

Surprise lit her eyes as she slowly turned back to him. Tears clung to long lashes and trembling fingers touched stinging lips. Humiliation flooded her pale cheeks and she lowered her gaze at his questioning eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You are old enough to remember your manners, Monique. You know I do not abide disrespect, and you KNOW you are mine.”

“Yes, sir,” she choked. A tear, losing its battle, made a slow trek down her cheek.

“Take off your panties.”

Her eyes sought out John’s in soft pleading as she raised her bottom to remove the undergarment. He wasn’t budging. She couldn’t quite bite back a whimper as he removed his riding crop from the desk drawer.

“Skirt up around your waist, young lady,” he ordered. The even measure of his voice was more terrifying than any bellow. “Feet on the edge of my chair, hands behind your back. Lean back, thighs apart.”

She was beautiful, opened up before him in a wanton display. Fear and anticipation danced in wide, blue eyes and John felt his desires stir.

A startled yelp exploded from Monique’s lips as the crop marred the pale skin of her inner thigh. Anticipating the blows did little to ease the searing pain as the crop struck time and again. Her sobs were interspaced with screams as the random smack found her swollen pussy lips. She trembled with the effort to hold position, abdomen muscles burning, yet insignificant compared to the pain between her legs.

“Did he touch you?”

Monique almost missed the soft question in her haze of pain. She squealed in agony as the crop slashed across her pussy.

“Did he touch you?”

Her head shook in desperate denial, an anguished howl ripping from her throat as the leather cracked down harder.

“Nooo,” she cried, her hands coming forward in her panic. The sting on her fingers heralded a chiding,

“Position, girl.”

Her hands flew back behind her as she squirmed helplessly on the desk trying to defuse the burn. Monique whimpered as the leather parted her raw lips, prodding the hard nub of her clit.

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you, girl?”

Fear closed her throat. Vivid memories flashed through her mind like techno color snap shots.

Shock. Revulsion. Unimaginable fury. The continuous thud of his fist. Endless screams. Calm questions. Sobbing denials. ‘You wouldn’t lie to me would you, Elise?’ More lies. Chiding tones. Stupid. Lying. Worthless. Whore. Screaming. Sobbing. Silence.

“No.” The single word broke her lips in a whimper.

Heart hammering, she struggled to catch her breath. Memories of that night, of John’s reaction to seeing her dressed in lingerie, still haunted her. It lurked in her mind, coming to the forefront at times like this, times when John felt deceived and disgusted as he had then. The nudge of the stiff leather brought her back to the present and she bit back a groan of pleasure and pain. Pressing her fingers into the desk behind her, she lifted her hips pleadingly. He flicked the swelling button tauntingly then tapped it, first lightly then with increasing firmness. Monique writhed, eyes closing and breath coming in a harsh pant as the blows came harder. She gasped as he repeatedly alternated harsh strikes to her reddened thighs with more teasing ones to her swollen clit.

Losing all track of time, the mixture of pain and pleasure kept her on the edge. An agonized cry ripped from her as she was abruptly impaled. The thick, phallus shaped crop handle was unforgiving as it battered deep within her. The marble did not hold the heat of his hand, feeling cold and foreign inside her. Twisting in misery she prayed for a quick end as his skilled fingers started manipulating the flesh between her legs and he drove the toy harder and faster. She squalled in pain and need as he pinched her clit, pulling sharply until she mewled pitifully, her hips lifting to their limit. A sob escaped her as he removed the toy leaving her aching and empty.

Buttons flew haphazardly as John ripped open the front of her blouse. Pushing down the straps of her camisole, he eased her small breasts over the top. His palms rubbed over the stiff peaks, his gaze narrowing in desire. Crushing her down to the desk his tongue ran reverently over the pale buds, licking and nipping sharply, a growl of arousal rumbling from him. Hands slid down, gripping the cheeks of her ass painfully as he ground against her. She whimpered in pain as the friction chafed her raw thighs.

The rasp and pant of their breath all that broke the library’s silence, the clunk of her shoes hitting the floor sounded unnaturally loud. The feel of legs wrapping about his waist and heels spurring him on drew another tortured growl from John. Fisting her hair he wrenched her head back to kiss and lick over the column of her throat. A gurgling moan escaped her as he bit down hard, momentarily disrupting her flow of air. Raising his head, he stared down into her glassy eyes with a proprietary smirk. She shuddered, reaching for him. Gripping her wrists he slammed them above her head, kissing her with bruising intensity. Monique returned his lust with an animalistic ardor of her own that never failed to fuel his fire.

Unzipping his pants, John jerked her hips to the desk edge and drove into her. She bit back a scream, his size stretching her no matter how prepared. Forcing her to accept his full length John hammered her mercilessly. Even after all these years the awed panic that widened her blue eyes when he took her, turned him on. He stared into those eyes as he fucked her, seeing the pain, the terror, and the need. His grip tightened and a wince twisted her features. She would have bruises within the hour. He knew the coarse hair of his thighs rasped agonizingly against her raw skin. The crop’s handle and now his own cock bruised and battered her cervix. She belonged to him. If the girl was smart she would heed this gentle reminder.


Monique bit her lip on a yelp as a hard smack to her pussy lips yanked her from afterglow. Looking down her sweat slicked body, she met John’s cool gaze. Lounging back in his chair, he toyed with the crop once again.

“Shall I continue?” he asked softly.

The crop’s kiss was not so soft as he gave each thigh a welting blow. Monique hastily sat up.

“No, sir,” she whimpered.

John raised a brow as she slipped from the desk but nodded as she knelt between his thighs. She instantly started cleaning his softening cock with fastidious kitten like sweeps of her tongue. He curled a finger in one of her pigtails, enjoying the silky texture of her hair as she worked to please him. When she was done and had tucked him away, he offered the marble phallus to her for cleansing. His own cock stirred as he watched her lips stretch over the toy. Grinning, he pushed it deeper, slowly thrusting it in and out of her mouth. She gagged, but gamely started sucking.

“John?” Catherine’s voice sounded from the doorway, tight with displeasure.

The phallus didn’t falter. Monique did. Gagging, she struggling to catch the rhythm again, heat flooding her face. Unflappable, John reclined in his chair meeting his wife’s gaze.

“Catherine,” he replied levelly.

“I have a meeting with the board today and forgot the information from the fund raiser,” she said coolly.

“I sincerely doubt it is in the library,” John drawled in response.

Catherine’s gaze was drawn back to the disheveled young woman at her husband’s feet. The ripped blouse and the tear tracks on her pale cheeks spoke volumes. The look in her sultry eyes told a different story. Once she had thought of Monique as her own daughter. Now — now she was hard pressed to see the frightened twelve-year-old John had brought home in this tousled beauty. It took everything she had at the moment to turn away from the lewd display.

“We will talk about this tonight,” she said in a beleaguered whisper and walked away.

John’s dry tone followed her down the hall.

“Undoubtedly.”

~*~

Catherine toyed with her food, unsure what was worse, oppressive silence or her daughter’s incessant chatter. A dull throb behind her eyes heralded an oncoming migraine, the perfect ending to a hellish day. She had come face to face with her greatest fears as a woman and as a professional today. Walking in on John and Monique’s kinky games had only been the beginning. Losing a patient on the table never got any easier. To have to stand before the Hospital Board Finance Committee afterwards had been the final straw. Breaking down in front of them had been the humiliated icing on her cake.

The low rumble of John’s amusement grated on her nerves. She felt her world crumbling around her and he sat at the other end of the table flirting with his paramour. The irresistible tinkle of Katie’s giggles ripped at her heart. When had she become the outsider here? The little girl squealed in delight as she was enveloped in a hug between John and Monique. Smug triumph blazed from the younger woman’s gaze as she met Catherine’s eyes over the child’s head. Bile burning the back of her throat, Catherine backed from the table. Her chair crashed to the floor, drawing curious stares. Pain stabbed through her head and she stumbled, pressing a trembling hand to her forehead.

“I have a migraine,” she whispered. Her mouth opened to say something else and then fell shut as three pairs of eyes continued to regard her impassively. Turning, she fled the room.

“Mommy promised to take me to the movies. She said it would be special, just the two of us.” Katie said, tears welling.

“If you don’t mind, poppet, I will take you to the movies tonight.” Monique offered, using John’s pet name for his daughter.

“Will daddy come or just us girls?” the little one asked, brightening already.

“Daddy has his card game tonight, so it will be just us girls,” Monique leaned forward and continued in a loud stage whisper. “And we will get the BIG bucket of popcorn with extra butter!”

Katie squealed, bouncing excitedly in her chair. Laughing, both adults gently shushed her exuberance, reminding her of Catherine’s migraine. Order restored, they returned to their meal.

~*~

Never bet what you can’t afford to lose. It was such a simple rule of thumb, and yet one so many of the upper class had difficulty grasping. John shook his head as he reset the house alarm. Jogging up the stairs he bypassed the second floor and headed to the third to check on his girls. A genuine smile curved his sardonic features finding them curled together in Katie’s princess play tent, Mr. Panda sandwiched between them. ‘Lucky bastard.’ A dry chuckle escaped him as he quietly left the room.

Kicking his shoes in the closet’s direction, John emptied his pockets onto his dresser. He glanced at the bed as he removed his Rolex. She didn’t move. His brow furrowed a moment until he recalled the migraine. The painkillers usually knocked her out. The good Doctor made sure her peers prescribed her the good stuff. Finishing stripping down, he stretched as he approached the bed. Pulling back the comforter, his fingers brushed something damp. Rubbing his fingers together, he brought them to his nose. A faint coppery smell assailed his nostrils and he jerked his head back in surprise. Flipping on the light he blinked.

“Fuck,” he breathed in disbelief.

~*~

John rubbed a hand over his smooth scalp and down over weary eyes as the police and medical examiners people swarmed his bedroom. A sheet covered Catherine’s body now but her crimson blood soaked the champagne sheets and comforter. Suicide, the cause of death was confirmed with sad certainty. Catherine had sliced deep into both wrists, cutting vertically with a scalpel, leaving little to chance. There had been whispers between the paramedics and the police. It seemed she had been the subject of hospital scuttlebutt for a while now, exhibiting mood swings and showing signs of burn out.

John flinched at a light touch on his arm. He stared questioningly down at the female officer.

“The detectives have finished their questions for now. I helped your daughter and nanny to pack a bag. They are waiting down stairs for you, sir.”

John looked back to the blood soaked bed.

“It would be best if you took your daughter and her nanny to a hotel and get some sleep, Mr. Merrick. There is nothing else you can do tonight, sir.”

Turning slowly, John nodded, more to himself then the officer. He allowed her to help him pack a bag, going through the motions, his mind churning. His steps resounded hollowly as John descended the sweeping staircase in a daze. While Catherine had always been one for the melodramatic, her ending had surprised him. It seemed he had overestimated her strength.

Barely had he cleared the last step and his girls were in his arms. Sweeping Katie up in one arm, he held Monique close with the other, stroking her dark hair. The police had kept them separated for questioning. Procedure or not John could tell by Katie’s teary eyes she was terrified.

“It’s going to be ok, poppet,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment. Gathering Monique he ushered his girls from the house.

~*~

John’s deep baritone rumbled in the house’s silence. Monique paused in Katie’s doorway to listen as he read to his daughter. He had spent nearly every waking moment with her in the week since Catherine’s death, work and school forgotten in the family’s grief. He looked up and their eyes met for a long moment, tension crackled. Monique walked away without a word.

~*~

Legs stretched in front of him, his thoughts lost in the past, John stared into the dancing flames. He flinched as warm lips brushed behind his ear. Monique came around him and settled uninvited in his lap. The swivel of her hips was blatant, grinding sensually against him. His body, too long denied, responded strongly. His hands slipped under her skirt, molding her bare cheeks, pressing her down against him. Kissing her savagely he was a bit taken back to feel the hunger of her response. Eyes narrowing, he pushed her forcefully from him.

She sprawled awkwardly as she hit the ground, looking up at him with a mixture of hurt and confusion. A glimmer of apprehension danced in her sapphire eyes as he stood, moving menacingly over her. Nervously she pulled herself to her knees. Straightening her skirt, she lowered her gaze submissively. He smiled coldly down at her. Fear and longing coiled in her belly as seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness.

“Daddy?”

Katie’s tearful call broke the tension and he turned from Monique, leaving the room without a word. Watching him take the stairs two and three at a time, Monique settled back and pulled her knees to her chest. Rocking slightly, tears rolled down her cheeks as jealousy, fear, and rage warred within.

~*~

Cuddling his daughter close, John stroked her dark hair.

“Everything will be ok, poppet,” he reassured her, his lips brushing her soft cheek. “You are daddy’s little girl and I will never leave you.”

Katie pressed herself tight to her daddy’s chest, clinging for dear life. Tears wet her cheeks and his shirt, soft sobs escaping the frightened child. John’s big hand stroked comfortingly up and down her back, patting her bottom softly through her cotton nightgown.

“That’s daddy’s baby. You are daddy’s beautiful girl,” he crooned, kissing her softly.

~*~

The dip of the mattress pulled John from his doze. Glancing down, he made sure it had not disturbed Katie and then looked in annoyed question at Monique.
“You risked everything for me,” she whispered. At his perplexed eyebrow quirk she continued. “First it was Catherine’s father. He was standing in your way, both professionally and personally. With her daddy gone, everything was yours and no one could say no. Did my father try to say no? My mother was never smart enough to put two and two together but you raised me to not only watch and listen but to think, to question what seems obvious. My mother wasn’t a difficult one to figure out. She betrayed you. She died. Your predatory nature does not allow for weakness. Remember when you taught me to play poker? You have a tell, my love,” her blue eyes sparkled. “You are like a satiated big cat gloating over its kill when their names are mentioned. It is extremely sexy. Sometimes I cry for my mother just to see it,” she confessed in a conspiratorial whisper.

A slight frown creased John’s forehead. His little girl knew more than he had given her credit for. She had always been a smart one. Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he almost missed her next words…almost.

“After everything that you have done for me, for us, how could I do any less?” she asked with a sly smile.

The silence in the room was deafening as Monique watched her words sink in. The disbelief was gratifying. Stroking Katie’s dark hair, she broke the silence.

“Too many people won’t fight for what they want. You and I, we are two of a kind. We don’t sit back and wait for fate, but rather we make our own luck. Most would say thirteen years is more than patient. I am your baby girl and nothing or nobody is going to change that,” Monique promised, twirling a lock of Katie’s hair. “No one.”

{ WC ~ 7,133 }