The Naughty

"We're just leaving, Daddy!" Aimee gave me the finger on her way out as her "boyfriend" put on his pants in a hurry.

She slammed the door but I let it slide, loosening my tie as I headed back downstairs. I'd been flying high with that Friday feeling, knocking off work early to the call of a cold beer straight from the fridge, but my high had dissipated into nothing. I grabbed the beer anyway.

I slumped backon the sofa and flicked through the TV, pondering again just how I'd ended up in this situation. I'd met Louise Rowley at a conference out in Kefalonia six months earlier. In some team, the men in senior management claimed would lead to ‘improved corporate communication'. For me it led to a sight more. A beach wedding and a brand new family of three in the heart of London suburbia. Peachy, or so it seemed.

Louise appeared to be just the woman I wanted, career-focused, sharp, confident... non-hysterical. She'd seemed to be a lot of things, and at thirty-nine and two years her junior I'd happily signed up for the experience. Why not? I had no ties, no better options... why not give family life a shot?

I didn't count on Louise having a daughter like Aimee. A daughter I craved to discipline, educate, and shape to my filthy twisted will. I didn't count on my new bride having a daughter who was a hot little mantrap, the kind of girl who lived for shank but didn't yet know it, who danced around idiot young men because she didn't know any better, didn't know what arealman could do for her.

You'd think she was an angel, with her bouncy blonde curls and baby blue eyes, the light dusting of freckles high across her cheekbones, but she was anything but angelic. The glint in her eyes said dirty girl, and I've always desired a forbidden fruit. It doesn't get much more forbidden than hot, tight stepdaughter pusy.

The wedding spell had broken quickly once Louise and I were back in England, and I suspected by now that we'd both long since recognised the error of our ways. Louise's agenda had been clear once we gothome, and after doing the rounds of trophy husband I'd soon been discarded. Show over, she was off again, with another big corporate event to co-ordinate. More places to go, more people to see. She'd barely even waved goodbye to either Aimee or I, and I'd wondered whether, deep down, she'd ever reall cared about anyone but herself.

She'd admitted when we met, after sinking too many sangrias, that she'd never set out to be a mother at all. An accident, by all accounts, just like our impulse marriage was turning out to be. Now her two accidents were holed up under the same roof, locking horns at every opportunity.