Two “Rock-a-Bye Babies” and four “Bears over the Mountain” later, Darla finally tucked her baby sister in and turned out the light. There was a Barney nightlight by her bed that glowed an eerie purple. It was cold outside, snowing lightly, and it was cold in here. Only Carrie’s blonde curls, shorter and a shade lighter than Darla’s sleek mane, peeked out from above the pink covers.
   “Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Darla whispered, easing the door closed.
   That’s what her dad had always said to her, when she was around Carrie’s age, and it came out of her mouth automatically. It made her suddenly sad.
   “Not all the way,” Carrie piped up, her voice muffled. Darla left the door open a crack and went to see what her dad had to eat in the kitchen. She was hoping for ice cream, and hit pay dirt, a pint of Haagen-Dazs. It was probably Irene’s, and Darla took a great deal of pleasure in knowing that she might be eating the last of her stepmother’s favorite Rum Raisin as she settled in front of a rerun of the OC.
   She glanced at the clock when the show was over. Only ten. They said they were going to be gone probably until midnight. She fantasized for a moment about what she was going to do with the babysitting money, doing the math in her head. The longer they stayed out, the more she would get paid. She might finally have enough to get the Ipod she wanted. Her mother had told her at Christmas that maybe by her next birthday but February third had just come and gone, she’d turned eighteen, but no Ipod was forthcoming. Of course, her mother blamed it on her father. He had all the money. Why didn’t he buy her one of the damned things, her mother wanted to know.
   Darla sat and looked around the room, which was probably bigger than their living room and kitchen combined. The whole house must have been at least five thousand square feet. She had never even seen the whole thing.
   That was something she could do. Time to do some exploring. Carrie’s room was down a long hallway that included Darla’s room, when she stayed over, and a separate bathroom. She had seen all of that. There were several guest rooms, another bathroom, her dad’s office, and Irene’s scrapbooking room at the back of the house. Upstairs beyond her dad’s bedroom, though, she had no idea what was back there.
   Their room was spacious and white. Everything seemed white-the rug, the bed, the furniture. She glanced at the bed, which was made but kind of rumpled on one side, as if someone had been sitting there. She lay down on it, gasping at the softness of the down comforter, the sinking of the mattress underneath her. Her eyes closed, and she let herself drift for a moment, feeling like she was lost and floating on a cloud in the darkness. She thought she could smell her daddy, his aftershave maybe, lingering on the sheets. When her eyes opened, she gasped again, seeing her reflection staring back at her. There was a mirror over the bed!
   She lay looking at her own stunned expression, her long hair spread out beneath her head over the whiteness of the comforter like a gossamer river running through drifts of snow. What would you need a mirror on the ceiling for?
   She looked at her soft belly, exposed now with her arms flung carelessly above her head, a pale, white expanse of skin between her “American Idol” t-shirt and the black miniskirt her mother kept having a fit about her father buying her for Christmas, which she insisted on wearing, even out in the snow. She rubbed her tummy somewhat self-consciously. It was smooth and flat, her navel the only dip in the surface, no other hint of a softening curve.
   She lifted her shirt higher, then higher still, never having seen herself from such a vantage point. Her breasts weren’t much more than buds, her pink nipples hardening as the cool air moved over them. She was slightly disappointed that they looked even smaller when she was lying down.
   She had given up hope that she was going to develop something to fill the bras that had been waiting in her drawer since her thirteenth Christmas. Her mother had seen her just beginning to develop, and had insisted on buying them, and they had embarrassingly sat there for years. Other girls got curves, breasts, while Darla watched longingly, hoping for those things for herself.
   She wondered at the mirror again. Probably her stepmother, she decided.
   Had to make sure she looked good, even at night. She hopped off the bed, going to explore the rest of whatever was down this hallway. She glanced in their bathroom, which was right off their bedroom. It was huge, too, of course, with a corner Jacuzzi tub surrounded by unlit candles, and there was a separate shower with a showerhead at each end. The mirror and sink and vanity ran the length of one wall. His and hers sinks, even. She saw her father’s shaving stuff on the counter.
   She was about to leave the room to continue her exploration when she glanced in their closet. Her stepmother had expensive taste. There were dresses galore in the walk-in closet, a whole wall full. She ran her hands lightly over the fabrics, silks and satins and velvets. A shimmery green dress called out to her, and she plucked it from the hanger. It was short, with a plunging neckline, completely sleeveless, the top of it was just two pieces of material that tied behind the neck. The skirt would probably have come to her stepmother’s mid-thigh. Maybe. It was completely backless.
   Darla carried it over to the mirror at the end of the closet. It was one of those three way things, like they had in department stores, so you could see yourself at every angle. In the light it really sparkled, like the dress was made of thousands of iridescent emeralds. She was mesmerized. Suddenly, she was pulling off her t-shirt, unzipping her skirt and sliding it down over her white cotton panties. Considering for a moment, she slid those off too, standing there completely naked. She turned this way and that, admiring her slight figure in the mirror.
   She turned, liking the view from behind, it was at least one place she had curves, in the soft rounded cheeks of her bottom. From the side, if she exaggerated and stuck her chest out, she could imagine her breasts were fuller and rounder instead of the barely emerging nodes they really were. She looked at the dress in her hands again, glancing at the tag inside. Versace. She slid it up the long length of her thin frame, moving her hair out of the way so she could tie it, gasping at the feel of it against her skin.
   She piled her hair up on top of her head, admiring herself. The dress was too long and the front simply hung on her-her nascent breasts did nothing to fill it. When she turned, she giggled, seeing the crack of her butt appearing above the back of the dress. It shimmered and shined deliciously when she moved.
   She danced, sylphlike, her reedy arms stretched above her head, swaying willowy, back and forth, pursing her lips, widening her eyes at the mirror. Irene had hundreds of these dresses, and she wore them out every weekend. Darla felt suddenly very jealous. Her daddy, who she only saw a few times a month at the most, spent hours with the woman who filled these dresses. Who filled this dress.
   What’s he ever given me ? Darla fingered the heart-shaped locket she’d had since she was little, the one thing her father had left behind. She sometimes imagined she had captured his real heart in it, keeping it like a secret from anyone else. Closing her eyes, she began to dance again, holding her father’s heart in her hand.
   What would it be like, she wondered, to have a man hold you, press you against him, kiss you? She closed her eyes and imagined dancing with a boy-
   no, a man. She found it was her daddy she was imagining, his large, strong hands guiding her, his eyes bright and full of love as he looked down at her. She was so lost in the fantasy she could even smell his aftershave.
   “Kiss me, Daddy,” she murmured, her eyes still closed, tilting her head up like she saw in all the movies.
   “Darla.” The sound of her name made her whirl around and stumble over her discarded clothes. She landed bone-jarringly hard on her bottom and she whimpered, leaning back on her elbows. Her father stood in the doorway, his large frame filling it completely. She felt her whole body flush with embarrassment.
   Oh no, oh god, this can’t be happening.
   They didn’t say anything for a moment, and Darla found herself trembling.
   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 moving her fingers over the material. His breath was coming faster, his eyes half-closed as she rubbed herself, the back of her hand nudging that solid heat between them.
   “I know,” he said reluctantly, his voice tight, but then he relented. “Darla, baby… you’re so beautiful when you do that.”
   She glowed, soaking in the praise, eagerly kneading her flesh faster, arching her back. His hands moved under her shirt, his fingers meeting at her spine and his thumbs nearly touching at her navel, wrapping almost entirely around the narrow expanse of her waist. He pressed her gently down against his crotch, against the rigid heat there, and she smiled at him. He slid his hands upward, lifting her t-shirt, his thumbs moving over the small girlish protrusions there. She gasped when he thumbed her little nipples.
   “Ohh! Daddy, I feel that right between my legs,” she whispered, her eyes widening and then half-closing again in pleasure. He made a low sound, unlike anything she’d ever heard, and she felt him lifting her skirt higher.
   “Here?” He moved her hand from between her legs and pressed a thumb exactly there, where it felt the best. She nodded, shivering, opening her legs a bit wider. He eased her panties aside, and the cool air over her skin made her whimper.
   “So tiny, so pretty…so wet!” he murmured.
   Her lips were swollen and pink, and he spread her open with two fingers.
   She watched him inspect her, his fingers moving the dainty folds of flesh to and fro. He seemed transfixed, and she tried to hold her breath so as not to break the spell. Then he did something very surprising, something she had never done to herself. He slid one finger between her soft, slender lips and curled it upward, pressing into her flesh. His finger was inside of her!
   He started moving it, his eyes focused between her thighs, slowly in and out of her. It felt funny at first, but the more he did it, the more she felt her flesh move and give, the better it was. She started rocking with him, her breath coming faster and faster. His hand was huge between her legs, his palm rubbing over her young, delicate mound. She heard a wet noise between her legs, as if someone were smacking their lips.
   “Do you like that?” he asked her softly.
   She nodded, riding his hand now, her narrow hips beginning to move in circles. He slowed, almost stopped. She whimpered.
   “Tell me,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.
   She hesitated. His thumb gently rubbed that spot at the top of her little crease and she shuddered, straining against him.
   “Come on, Darla, tell Daddy how much you like it.” He started rubbing it harder, and slowly began to ease another finger into her. She felt stretched open there somehow and she gasped.
   “Oh Daddy, yes,” she moaned. “Yes, I like it, I like it, please don’t stop!”
   “Good girl,” he urged, moving his fingers faster to reward her.
   She felt something tightening in her lower belly. Her thighs were spread as wide as they could be now, and she was grinding herself against his hand, making small, high noises that came out almost as squeaks.
   “Come on, Darla, that’s good… fuck Daddy’s hand!”
   She gasped at the harshness of the word, her eyes flying open, but the jolt it sent through her, centering and radiating out from between her legs, was incredible. His thumb rubbed her, his fingers moving in and out of her very quickly. She couldn’t tell where he began and she ended, and that sensation of floating that she always got when she rubbed herself there was intensified beyond anything she’d ever known. She felt like she was flying.
   “Ooooo Daddy, it feels so good,” she panted, putting her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.
   “I know,” he murmured, using his other hand to tweak her hard, pink nipples, so small they were like wee pebbles, back and forth between them. She moaned and rocked, her whole body begging him for something. “I’m gonna make you come, sweetheart. Let Daddy make you come for the first time.”
   Her only thought was how did he know? but her body finally obliged, and she shuddered all over, the ache between her thighs released in a little flood of pulsing fluid she was embarrassed might be all over her daddy’s pants. The shock at the overwhelming sensation must have shown on her face, because he chuckled.
   “Oh sweetheart, I love you so much.” He leaned in to kiss her mouth, easing his fingers out of her and she sighed. It sort of hurt between her legs, and it was all swollen and wet. She watched, wide-eyed, as he put his fingers to his mouth and licked them.
   “You taste fantastic.” His eyes were dark with something. He fumbled between them, unzipping his pants and revealing himself to her.
   She’d never seen a hard one. She’d caught him naked out of the shower a few times, but the small dangling thing she’d glimpsed held no resemblance to the throbbing rod of steel he held in his hand. It seemed impossibly huge to her.
   “Do you like Daddy’s cock?” He watched her curiously. She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded.
   “You can touch it,” he urged.
   It seemed to wink at her. She reached for it hesitantly, wrapping her hand around it, mimicking him. Her slender, delicate fingers encircled its girth. He groaned and thrust gently, almost imperceptibly, into her hand. He moved her fingers up his shaft, so she was holding onto the mushroom-like tip, and showed her what to do, his hand covering hers at first, moving it up and down, again and again. He moaned when he let her hand go and she continued the motion.
   Excited by his response, she went faster, matching her movement to his breath.
   “That’s it, baby, god, yeah… good girl… faster,” he urged.
   Her arm was tired, so she switched hands and he shifted and threw his head back when she did. She found the tingly feeling coming back between her legs and she longed to touch herself there, but she didn’t want to stop pleasing him. She found a quick solution, pulling her wet panties aside again and stroking him against her. The tip of him rested right against her tender button, and she rubbed it there.
   “Oh no,” he moaned, looking down to see his cock pressed against his daughter’s little pussy. “No, no.” His denial was weak, and she pressed him harder against her.
   “Yes, Daddy,” she whispered, her hand slick on him. “I want to be all yours, forever and ever.”
   “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said, his breath ragged. “What are we doing?”
   “Please, please,” she whispered, her hand tugging awkwardly at his firm flesh.
   He growled, relenting, grabbing his cock out of her hand. He positioned it at her tight, virginal hole, spreading her lips with his fingers.
   “Don’t move,” he told her sternly. She obeyed him. He was using his daddy voice. He pressed his hips upward, easing her open. She whimpered, feeling a sting, a slow burning between her legs. He let the tip rest just inside of her, putting his hands on her hips.
   “Honey,” he whispered. “This may hurt, just a bit at first… but it feels so good for Daddy… god… are you sure?” His eyes, dark with lust, convinced her.
   She so wanted to please him.
   “Yes, Daddy, yes,” she said. “Put it in me.”
   He used his hands to ease her hips down, sinking slowly into her flesh.
   Darla felt tears sting her eyes. He was stretching her so wide open! It felt as if she might tear in two! He did it slowly, inch by inch, watching her face the whole time, seeing her biting her lip, squeezing her eyes closed, and then held her still for a moment when he was as deeply into her as he could go.
   “Ahhhhhhh god, you’re so tight,” he gasped, looking down at her smooth pussy lips wrapped around his shaft. “Oh Darla, it feels so good. I have to fuck you!”
   “Yes, Daddy.”
   It was she who began to move, rocking gently on top of him. His eyes widened at the sensation, jammed into that too-narrow fold that somehow was making room for his enormous hardness. She saw his hesitation, and she said something she thought might encourage him, although her face flushed and the words felt too big in her mouth.
   “Fuck me, Daddy!” She wrapped her thin arms around his neck and pressed her little breasts toward his face.
   He turned into an animal then, nipping at her breasts with his lips, thrusting up into her with abandon. Darla was taken aback at first at the violence of his movements, the way it made her teeth jar and her ponytail bounce, but she soon found herself overwhelmed with feeling, the sensation between her legs an achingly sweet cross between pleasure and pain, something beyond comprehension as her daddy’s big cock moved in and out of her tiny sheath, impaling her hairless pussy again and again.
   He was grunting, growling, fucking her harder now, and he hissed, “Ahhh fuck I’m gonna come. God help me, oh, no, yessss, I’m gonna come in my daughter’s pussy! Darla! Fuck!”
   She held him tightly, arching her back, and she saw a splash of headlights on the ceiling above. She knew instinctively it was her mother’s car. Her heart lurched.
   “Oh Daddy, hurry, I don’t want mommy to catch us!” she urged, and he arched up to meet her with a yell, coming hard, his body convulsing. Her tiny cunt simply couldn’t hold it, and it seeped back out of her immediately, pooling on his lower belly and running down his scrotum.
   She jumped off him quickly, tugging her skirt and shirt down. “Daddy, hurry! Mommy’s home!”
   His startled look was almost comical, his cock and balls bunched up over his zipper. She could see what had impaled her still pulsing in a wet nest of black hair. He tucked everything back in, zipping himself up, and quickly buttoned his long coat.
   “Oh god, oh my god, what have we done?” He sat forward on the couch, putting his head in his hands. Darla heard her mother coming up the walkway.
   She moved to sit next to her father, slipping her hand into his.
   “It’s ok, Daddy,” she told him. Her heart was racing, knowing they didn’t have much time. “I love you. I won’t tell.”
   He gave her a pained look, swallowing hard and closing his eyes briefly.
   “I love you, too, Darla,” he told her, his voice barely a whisper.
   “I promise.” She kissed his stubbly cheek just as her mother came into the house. She slipped upstairs, letting them argue it out, why her mother hadn’t been home, how he constantly inconvenienced her like this, how she had a life too, you know. Darla sat at the top of the stairs, her panties still wet with her father’s cum. She knew she had him, now, in a way she never had before, in a way she’d always wanted. She’d wanted him completely, had watched with envy how he looked at Irene, even at baby Carrie, had ached to have him all to herself. She’d never understood his leaving, and now it felt as if he had finally come home.
   Only she heard the tremble in his voice when he called up the stairs to say goodnight to her before he left, and she eagerly called down to him, “Goodnight, Daddy!” boldy standing and lifting her skirt, pulling her panties aside so he could see her put her fingers deep inside like he had done. She was unbelievably sore there. His face reddened, but his eyes glazed over slightly and he looked at her in a way he never had before. It made her flush, too. She blew him a kiss and turned, hurrying off to her bedroom to bury her hot, red face into her pillow.