Jacob
Tonight, I came home with a plan to kill two birds with one stone.
I would ease my conscience by helping Penelope, but not before I delivered the long overdue punishment she deserved.
How I intended to execute this plan: trap her like how she tried to steal my freedom, humiliate her like how she stole my dignity.
The second she got down on the floor and looked up at me with those pretty brown eyes, my dick took control of the situation. Lust hit fast and it didn’t pull any punches.
It feels like a demonic possession, an unnatural energy in my body, deviant whispers drowning out my moral voice. I want my cock between Penelope’s lips. I want a lot more than that.
The sick fantasy playing in my head is that I’m pushing her down on the floor, ripping everything off below her waist, and earning more of her tears as I make her take every inch of me.
You’re fucking disgusting.
“Don’t you think this is going too far?” she says, an anxious look on her face.
I do, but I can’t turn back now. If I admit that we’re definitely on the wrong track, she’ll think whining enough will get her way.
I won’t allow that.
For the next two weeks, she’s under my control. She has to obey my every order.
After all, I was once like a father to her.
My will be done.
“I think you’re not as sorry as I’d like. You’ll say your apology six more times.”
She parts her lips, obviously about to protest, then closes them with a resolute expression on her face. She shuffles backward to give herself room.
“I’m sorry I was a dirty fucking liar. Please forgive me.”
To her credit, she sounds genuinely apologetic, but the contrast is disturbing. Such an angelic face, such a sweet voice, such ugly words.
They’re true.
After a moment’s hesitation, Penelope bends and kisses my right instep. Her soft lips against my bare skin and her hair brushing my toes sends a thrill up my leg.
My body stiffens. I grip the edge of the table as my cock pulses. She slowly pulls away, her kiss lingering on my skin. She says her apology again and presses a firm kiss to my left foot.
Fuck.
I can’t keep my eyes off her or my mind out of the gutter. When she bends over, the neck of her shirt dips and exposes the heavy swells of her breasts spilling forward in her bra.
Her hips and ass are tantalizing curves. The view from behind would be spectacular. I wish I could see it, wish I could hold on to those hips and press my cock or my face against her.
She rights herself and her lips are moving. So full and pink. I barely register the words coming out of them, only a gentle voice urging me to taste them, and a harsher one reminding me of the facts.
She’s my ex-stepdaughter.
She’s a traitor.
She’s a—
“—dirty fucking liar. Please forgive me.”
Another kiss.
Three more to go.
This was supposed to be her punishment, but it’s sweet torture for me too.
“I’m sorry—” she begins then abruptly stops.
Penelope’s line of sight and shocked expression tells me she finally noticed.
I can’t hide it. I’m wearing sweatpants, and covering it with my hands will only make this more awkward. Warmth fills my ears and my tone is sharper.
“Keep going.”
She snaps her gaze up to mine and recoils.
“I don’t think I should.”
“I say you should.”
“But you’re—you have an…”
She becomes flustered, her cheeks growing pink. Huh. If she’s struggling to say “hard” and “erection,” she probably doesn’t have much sexual experience.
Maybe she doesn’t have any.
I highly doubt that. Look at her. Some fucker would’ve made it his sole mission to have her.
“You’re stimulating my body with physical contact. That’s just biology. It doesn’t mean anything.”
I’m a dirty fucking liar too.
“Yes, it does! This is inappropriate and we should stop.”
I scowl. “You must really want to lose that ten grand. Keep whining and you will, or finish your apology.”
Penelope hesitates then continues in obvious reluctance. She speaks faster and drops quicker pecks instead of the lingering, subservient presses that started the trouble. Thank fuck when she delivers the last kiss on my left foot.
This wasn’t just inappropriate. It was dangerous. While she apologized for falsely accusing me of a crime I didn’t commit, I struggled not to actually attempt it.
I let out a long exhale through my nostrils.
“I accept your apology.”
Yet, I’ve never felt more dissatisfied.
She bites her lips together then speaks in a quiet voice.
“Do you forgive me?”
“That’s not something that can happen in one night.”
Her shoulders sink, her expression crestfallen as she nods.
“Can I stand?”
“Go ahead.”
She rises, a light blush spreading across her cheeks as she stares at the result of her kisses. The whispers return.
Do you want to touch it?
Come sit on Daddy’s lap and feel how stiff you made him, babygirl.
I stand and Penelope quickly backs away, flitting a nervous gaze down past my navel then up to my face again. Her retreat makes me want to grab her even more.
Get away from her.
I stride to the coat rack, put on my jacket and boots, and head out into the cold night to escape my immoral thoughts.
* * *
This walk isn’t working.
The memory of Penelope kneeling for me and her soft lips against my skin is lodged in my brain. Not even the sturdy, chilling breeze can knock it loose.
I grapple with disgust and anger with myself, then I redirect my irritation at Penelope. Sure, I was turned on as soon as she got on her knees, but what if she knew and purposefully manipulated me?
Her kisses were a little too devoted at the start, if you ask me. Maybe she tried to take a page out of her mother’s playbook. Get me riled up enough to attempt something, then trap me with blackmail.
The flaw in that plan: unlike her mother, she didn’t have a “witness.” It would’ve been her word against mine, and there’s past proof she’s a liar.
Paranoia starts to suggest she probably hid a camera somewhere. I come to a stop, my deep exhale fogging in the air.
“Get a fucking grip.”
At this point, I’m not leaping to conclusions. I’m strapped to a glider and soaring to ridiculous theories.
I fucked up. That’s the plain truth. Controlled by lust, I took things too far, and now I’m trying to pin the blame on Penelope because I’m ashamed.
Still, I trust her even less now. She’s not as innocent as she seems. Penelope might not have hidden motives but she’s like a demon sent to torment me again.
By my sister, who hasn’t returned my call or even texted.
An hour later, I return home. Penelope sits cross-legged in my couch, holding a tablet in one hand and a drawing pen in the other. I’m tense at the sight of her. That’s likely going to happen often for the next two weeks.
Solitude and routine. I value those the most. Penelope, however, is unwanted company and chaos.
She doesn’t belong in my space. It’s strange she looks like she does. Earlier, it was unsettling that I liked coming home to her sitting at the table waiting for me, along with the delicious smell of a home-cooked meal.
“Someone came by while you were gone. She said her name is Ruth.” Penelope points at a see-through food container with cupcakes inside it on the kitchen table. “She brought those to thank you for yesterday.”
There’s a glob of white icing stuck to the side of the container. Pass. My fortieth birthday was a few months ago and the metabolism I had in my twenties is long gone. A little sweet treat is fine now and then. Excessive sugar is my enemy.
“They’re yours if you want them.”
On my way to my bedroom, I glimpse an in-progress painting on her tablet. A glowing, horned creature rises out of fire while characters in black hoods raise their arms to the sky. She came a long way from the simpler pencil drawings when she was younger.
I almost pause to admire her work but I keep going. While the walk cleared my head, the fucked up thoughts I had about her still lurk in the back of my mind. Being near her tonight might bring them to the forefront and even attract more.
I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m in my bedroom. My bedtime isn’t for another two hours and Penelope’s bed is exactly where I’d be sitting right about now.
Something has to be done about that.
She can’t sleep on the couch for the next two weeks. Where am I going to put her? This house was described as “cozy” on the listing. No kidding. It takes me three steps from the kitchen to the living room, and it only has one bedroom.
I resort to reading a book I started a while back. It passes the time until my eyes grow too tired to continue. As I lie in the dark waiting for sleep to come, the memory of Penelope apologizing to me with worshipful kisses arrive instead.
I’m sorry I was a dirty fucking liar. Please forgive me.
Do you forgive me?
Penelope doesn’t just want my money. She wants my forgiveness too. Since she literally got down on her knees for both tonight, it makes me wonder what else she would do.
How low is she willing to go to please me?
That’s a disturbing question I shouldn’t even consider, but my mind won’t let it go. The answer lies in another question that’s just as terrible.
How low am I willing to take her?