Stranger

I woke up to the sensation of crushed silk heaped around me, soft pillows under my head and feet. I stretched luxuriantly, one hand grazing the rich mahogany headboard above me, the other curling around the edge of the plush bed. I pulled until my shoulders clicked in their joints. It was a silly habit, but it was my nightly routine and besides, it felt good.

Around me, the cool night air swirled, a hint of vanilla if I chose to take the effort to breathe. For a moment I bundled the silk sheets together and gripped them between arms and legs, trying to steal a last vestige of sleep. But there was none left.

With a defeated sigh I slipped out of bed, dragging the sheet with me and slinging it over my naked body. It trailed behind me, meters of rich crimson material; I liked the dramatic effect it had. I twirled a bit, wrapping the loose sheet around my legs, then tired of the silly game and dropped the thing altogether. I ambled over to the brooding closet.

What to wear! The closet was filled to swelling with all sorts of clothes, made only of the finest materials by the most renowned tailors; black, red, white and purple predominated. It took a while to choose something that fitted my mood; I decided tonight was a night for feeling cheeky and frisky. I found a stiff black corset with white ribbon, and a tiny white skirt to go with it; no panties tonight. No stockings either. I slipped on the clothes, divided my hair in two and tied it up in girly pink ribbons. Then I poked at my uninspiring, 16-year-old breasts, pushed up as high as they could go in the tight top, barely bulging at all! I vowed again to eat more steak and cheese, to grow some real cleavage from all the hormones they put into food nowadays.

I went back to the closet. I chose a pretty pink cashmere sweater, very sensible, and an unflattering knee-length skirt, and put them on over my outfit. I knew Daddy wouldn’t like it, so I figured I’ll save him some grey hairs and save myself the annoying pretense of trying to please him.

I trotted up the stairs from the cool cellar up into the balmier air of the ground floor. Daddy was sitting at the table already, working on whatever important business he had; I never bothered asking. I walked up behind him, placed my hands on his shoulders and gave him a big, loving-daughter kiss on the cheek. He chuckled and put his arm around me.

He wasn’t my real father, naturally. But he liked to think he was, or at least took great satisfaction in my calling him Daddy. Maybe he had ‘issues’, but whatever, it kept him malleable. He paid my way and mostly didn’t interfere. And anyway, I never said I didn’t have ‘issues’.

I leaned over the table and pulled out two one hundred dollar bills from his wallet, making sure he saw it. He glanced up at me from below his brows, disapproving.

“Kitten,” he warned sternly.

I clutched the money to my chest, stuck out my lower lip just a little and smiled hopefully. “But Daddy, it’s almost time for my allowance! How can I have fun with my friends if I can’t pay for the same things?”

This was all just a spiel. His stern look would give way, he’d say “just this once” and clap me on the rump, sending me off on another debaucherous romp through town.

“Ah, just this once, then,” he laughs. “Make sure you’re home early!”

I rolled my eyes privately and chirped, “Yes daddy!”

And then I was out, discarding the frumpy sweater and skirt casually onto the street, slinking along and ignoring the hooligans idling on the corner. By now, they were cautious of the ‘vixen bitch with one hell of a bite’ (long story...).

Tonight I’d go right, and cruise some of the neon-light goth-metal clubs. I was feeling a bit peckish, but not so much that I wouldn’t be discerning. Loser just tasted a bit stale, like the blood didn’t get around enough or something.

One of the usual haunts looked busy, so I strolled in. Some idiot tried to feel me up as I squeezed past, and I memorized his face so that I’d know whose wallet to steal when he was passed out drunk later. I checked his hand – married. Hmm, I might throw some incriminating polaroids into the bargain...

At the bar, I took my usual place, crossing my legs to reveal the milk-white thigh all the way down. It shouldn’t be long before –

That guy. What a creep. Something about him just didn’t feel kosher, but I was intrigued. He was a bit old, even for me, but I sidled over and demanded he buy me a drink.

Worst fucking idea ever.