Daddies Brat

Julia’s robust plea that desecration was never her intention seemed only to inflame the sisters’ wrath. Still, she feared her parents’ reaction even more. Julia was surprised to be told that the school would not be notifying her ‘poor’ parents. She was strongly encouraged to keep the matter from them, too, since ‘they’ve enough on their plate without the shame of your sins adding to their burden.’

It was years later when she was going through her mother’s papers, that Julia discovered some old photostats of a parents’ guide to the convent school rules. It was evident from those rules that Julia’s desecration, as the nuns had seen it, should have led to her immediate expulsion. It occurred to Julia that the nuns had been even more attached to her school fees than they were to the idea that the blue of their habits represented purity. Perhaps they’d enjoyed stripping and caning Julia? The rules were also clear that corporal punishment, where needed, was to be delivered with pupils fully clothed. Julia shivered as she recalled bending naked in the stable, feeling the eyes of every nun burning into her. Perhaps, given their deviation from the rules, they’d chosen the stable to be as far away from their precious religious buildings as possible. Julia mused on that thought for a moment but doubted the nuns had that kind of compunction or self-awareness.All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

Julia briefly considered divulging the story to Richard. But she found an intoxicating appeal in the idea of him caning her that was in sharp contrast to the aversion she felt at the memory of the haggard nuns having done the same. It didn’t feel appropriate to burden Richard with the baggage of her past quite so early in their acquaintance. Besides, she’d prefer not to feed the rising anger she felt as she recalled her ecclesiastical chastisement.

‘Miss Jenkinson?’ Richard brought Julia snapping back to the present.

‘You’re distracted. Do you need to go?’

‘No, sorry, I, err, thought someone was at the door, but, no, it’s all, err, it’s fine, Sir.’ Julia blushed a little at her fib.

‘Where?…’ Richard started to speak, but Julia cut him off.

‘You could come here. If that’s okay, Sir?’

It was a risk, of course. She didn’t much know him at all. But, since

Julia was renting the cottage short-term, it felt like an appropriate solution. And she could get a friend to call and check on her about an hour after he’d be due to arrive.

They finalized arrangements to meet the following day. ‘It’ll be a pleasure to see you again, Julia.’

‘I look forward to it, I think!’ She was fibbing once more. She was desperate to see Richard.

She noted that he’d dropped the ‘Miss Jenkinson’ once more, and Julia found the sense that she had somehow pleased him so utterly thrilling that she winced at what felt like a rather deep and sudden attachment to Richard’s approval. Where did that sit with Julia’s feminist principles? But she’d worry about that another time. Right now, her hands were sliding deep into the thoroughly wet gusset of panties.

Julia rose at 7 am sharp the following morning. She ate a quick breakfast, and before she even took a shower, she set about messing up the cottage so that it fitted with the story of domestic neglect. Her early attempts were hopeless: like a third-rate film set. Julia was astonished at just how much of her storytelling imagination it took to falsify slovenliness convincingly.

The kitchen proved to be especially taxing, and she was partway through scraping deliberately burnt toast into counter crumbs around the toaster when the front doorbell rang with its piercing trill. Julia looked at the clock and froze. It was 10:30 am, the time she’d arranged for Richard to arrive. ‘What!’ She was talking to herself out loud. ‘There’s no way this can have taken more than three hours!’ But the clock wasn’t deceiving her. Having not even stopped to put on her watch, Julia had entirely lost track.

She was horrified. She’d fully intended to be showered, very well dressed, and made up for Richard. But then it dawned on Julia that her look, while mortifying, fitted her story perfectly.

Julia opened the door gingerly, mostly concealing herself behind it. Richard was looking clean and sharp in chinos, a tight-fitting navy jumper, and a smart bikers’ jacket. His eyes flashed with surprise and, she hoped, desire. Those eyes moved between the disheveled Julia, clearly naked under her dressing gown, and the unkempt cottage beyond.

‘I can see I have my work cut out!’ Richard struck a slightly theatrical note of concern, tinged with relish at teasing her.

Julia moved a little to the side, widening the opening. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’

Richard stepped inside, took the door from Julia, and shut it in one slow, firm movement. Their eyes locked.

He placed his jacket on the hall table, stepped forward, and pulled Julia into him, embracing her firmly. He kissed the side of her neck, breathing deeply to draw on Julia’s unshowered musk. Richard’s crotch was tight against her hip, and since she felt she was rather disgusting, Julia was relieved at his evident arousal. He brushed a hand across Julia’s face, held her by the side of the head, and parted her lips with his. She dared only to breathe in; she’d not even cleaned her teeth that morning. Richard’s long tongue explored her mouth. He pulled away to speak.

‘I can hardly believe it,’ he whispered through a wandering smile, ‘the unkempt, unwashed Miss Jenkinson looks and tastes even more appetizing than the neat and fragrant Miss Jenkinson.’ Richard brushed her fine cashmere dressing gown across her bottom, patting it lightly in admonishment. ‘You’ve been neglecting yourself,’ Richard chided, ‘I’d better inspect you properly.’

Julia shuddered in nervous anticipation. She was not expecting an intimate inspection, much less receiving one in her current state.

‘Where’s your bathroom?’ Richard sounded purposeful.

‘There’s a loo just there. Sir.’ Julia gestured to the door beneath the somewhat crooked staircase.

‘No, I didn’t mean the loo. You do have a bathroom?’ Richard was teasing again.

‘Yes, of course, it’s the room further back, behind the stairs. Sir.’ The cottage was compact, and the upstairs was even tighter than the ground floor. Julia could see that a downstairs bathroom, though less than ideal, had been the only practical option. As Richard disappeared into the bathroom, Julia’s heart skipped a beat. It suddenly occurred to her that it was the one room she’d not gotten around to staging.

‘It looks as though you haven’t been in here for days!’ Richard chided. Julia was relieved. Even her lack of staging was working to support her yarn. Julia heard the squeal of the old taps as Richard began to draw a bath.

He emerged with a steaming flannel and, taking Julia by the arm, led her to the small sitting room that overlooked the rear garden. He stood her against the back of a low, soft armchair. She felt him reach around from behind and undo the belt of her dressing gown with his free hand. It swiftly slid down to the floor, leaving the cool air to tease at Julia’s flesh. Her nipples hardened.

Richard pressed Julia’s back and bent her over the chair, sliding his hand between her knees to part her legs. ‘Let me take a proper look at you, Miss Jenkinson.’ Julia’s face reddened. She pondered which was more excruciating: was it her unwashed state or her all-too-obvious arousal?