NORMAL FOR NORFOLK

BY PENNY LEE
penny_s_lee@hotmail.com

They say still waters run deep, and if that's the case, my brother, Ken, is a bit like the Marianas Trench. Ten years my senior; I still know so little about him and he's only just getting used to the idea that I'm not his little kid brother any more.

I'm thirty-one, for goodness' sake, and have spent the last eight years as an engineer, working in power plants all round the globe. Now I'm back, and as I'll be staying in the old family home for a while, until I sort out a job in the UK, he'll just have to get used to having me around.

And after what I discovered when I arrived home, it may be some time before I choose to move out.

I need a few more minutes to get my breath back, so I'll explain what I mean.

Ken is an enigma. He's a nice enough chap, but unlike me, he's never had any ambition to see the world that exists beyond the windswept Norfolk fenland where we were brought up. He's been out with the odd girl - some were distinctly odd - but he was always too idle or complacent to consider marriage.

That was a blessing really, for when Mum became sick, Ken was at home and he looked after her magnificently until the end, and I am genuinely grateful. I sent money of course, but was of no practical use, thousands of miles away. I came back just before she died, staying for the funeral, and that was what spurred me to forsake globetrotting. So late last night, I bowled up at the little cottage, and moved back home for the first time in years.

I thought Ken would be a bit put out, but he behaved even more strangely than usual. He has his own life here, his routine, and he loves the solitude, stuck out as we are in the dunes between the North Sea and the unending fields and drainage ditches of the Fens. He's been the local postman for ages, knows everyone, knows their business. I'm an unwelcome intrusion.

I slept until lunchtime to rid myself of jetlag, and it was as I was preparing lunch, hoping to ingratiate myself with Ken by having some food on the table for when he finished his delivery round, that I received the first clue. There was a dog bowl under the sink, next to the plates. We've never had a dog - as a postman, Ken can't stand the ruddy things.

We ate in awkward silence, my attempts to get him to open up failing each time, and by the time I was washing up, I'd made up my mind to leave the silly old sod to it, and get out of Norfolk as soon as possible.

Then he disappeared. For an hour. I wasn't checking up on him, but I wanted to ask him how to work the ancient washing machine, and I couldn't find him anywhere. His van was still outside. It was a typical autumn day, windy and wet and so I didn't bother checking the yard or outbuildings.

I heard him downstairs, where he was hanging up his coat. He looked flushed and I assumed he'd been for a walk along the dyke or over on the sands.

'Need a pee!" he spluttered and dashed upstairs.

The next clue was sticking out of the inside of his coat. What the..? I had to pull it out to be sure I had identified the object correctly. A riding crop it most certainly was. Old, but pliable, with a hint of neatsfoot oil. I stuffed it back, when I heard Ken on the stairs. Surely he hadn't taken up horse riding?

He likes to nap for a couple of hours before supper, to compensate for his early starts, and whilst he did so, I thought I too could do with a bit of fresh East Anglian air. I visited several boyhood favourites: the groynes out on the headland, the pumping station where we used to go for crafty smokes, the sheds where the farmer next door kept his sugar beet trailers. It was as I was taking the shortest way back, over the garden fence and past the crumbling sheds at the bottom of the garden, that I spotted clue number three. Why had Ken put a new, expensive padlock on the garage door? He didn't have a car. I'd read about a local farmer who had recently been convicted and jailed for shooting a burglar and I supposed that even in a remote a spot as this, it was nowadays necessary to lock everything away.

But when I rattled the door, I could have sworn I heard a startled shuffling inside. The wind was blowing - I couldn't be sure, and anyway, I wanted a cuppa. Decent tea had been the best thing about coming home so far.

I had a chuckle - perhaps he had a secret horse in there!

I doubt that even Sherlock Holmes would have divined the great mystery that lay behind this trail of hints and giveaways. I eventually discovered it last night, not long after I had gone to bed.

It's an old house. The floorboards creak constantly. But at midnight, they shouldn't have. So I got up to investigate.

And saw my brother sneaking along the upstairs landing towards his room. With a very small girl. Who was naked. And wearing a collar, to which was attached a leash, which in turn was attached to Ken.

There was a comedy moment when we all looked at each other in horror, then Ken bundled the girl into his room, mumbled something and came out with a pained, resigned expression.

"We'd better talk," he said, gesturing for me to precede him downstairs.

I was speechless whilst he made a pot of tea. How the heck was he going to explain what I had just witnessed? I waited.

"Remember Five Yard Drain?" he asked.

In spite of my shock, an image assembled itself in a dusty corner of my brain. A godforsaken spit of marshes up the coast, where one of the main drainage channels, the Five Yard Drain, met the sea. There was a lock and a scruffy group of farm buildings screened behind a line of stunted pines. I nodded.

"Akenfield's place," he added, as if it should mean anything. Hang on; the name rang a distant bell. I recalled Mum gossiping about it with the vicar - I must have been home from Uni at the time - Akenfield was a farmer who went doolally when his wife left him. Sold his animals for next to nothing and refused to let anyone in his farm. It kept local tongues wagging for weeks.

"The nutter?" I responded.

Ken's mouth tightened.

"That's the one. Recluse is perhaps a kinder description, but yes, that was Akenfield. He died last month."

OK. But what the fuck has that to do with a naked schoolgirl in your bedroom?

Ken shifted awkwardly.

"I delivered his post about twice a week. Never anything personal, just bills. Not even junk. In all weathers, year in, year out. Rarely saw the bugger, but he would sometimes grunt hello. I think I was one of the very few people he ever spoke to. Tried to grow asparagus I seem to remember. It's not the right conditions up there..."

He was wandering. Avoiding the subject. I put my mug down heavily on the kitchen table and he realised.

"Sorry. Yes, well I was up there about four weeks ago, Wednesday morning, it was. He had one letter, from the Ministry. Course his place don't have no letter box or nothing, so I would always put his post in a flowerpot in the porch. Only I noticed his door was open, and there was a radio playing. Loud. Bloody strange, I thought, him being inside during the day. So I called hello and there was no answer. I peered round the door and there was a burning smell, so I went in. The radio was blaring in the kitchen and a pan had boiled dry on the stove. I turned the wireless off and moved the pan and I called out. Maybe he was sick, I wondered. Or had burglars even."

I sighed. This was not going to be a quick explanation.

"There was nobody in the house (goodness, it was in a right old state, that place), so then I went back out into the yard. His old Landrover was there. I shouted a few times, and I was going to check the barn when I saw a boot. And a leg, sticking out from under a sodding great heap of timber. Well, I did what I could, pulled some of the wood away, but it was plain to see the poor bastard was dead. Looked to me like he'd gone out to fetch some for the stove and the whole shooting match had come down on him."

"So what did you do?" I asked, hoping to prompt another step closer to the point of this rambling tale.

"I rang the police, of course," he replied with exasperation, as if his little brother had asked the most stupid question in the world. "We get issued with mobile phones these days, you know. They said they'd have to send a car over from Lynn, and it would be at least an hour, but I was to stay put until it got there.

Ken's face had become drawn again, and he couldn't look me in the eye, like a kid who has been caught out.

"It was a bit brisk outside and as I couldn't do anything for him, I went back inside the house. And I, sort of, had a look round. Just to kill time, really."

"I see," I said, "and just in case there happened to be a stash of twenties under the mattress?"

He looked up, a sly grin making a subtle appearance.

"Something like that," he admitted.

I had to smile back. We were getting to know each other quite well, really.

"Did you find any?"

"Nah. The place was a tip. He'd been living on his own for a decade. Junk. Heaps of it everywhere, but sweet Fanny Adam worth, um, salvaging. Apart from the farm itself, which ain't worth much, I don't think old Akenfield had anything left."

I sipped my tea. "The girl?" I said, pointing to the ceiling. When would he get to the sodding point?

"Ah, her. Well, after I'd had a good look around, I still had ages until the cops arrived, so I had a wander round the yard, poking about in the old pigsheds. Fuck me! That's where I found her. I nearly died of fright, I can tell you.

"At first I thought it was a pig, which would have been odd, because he didn't keep livestock, so I thought. But no, it was a girl, buck naked, squeezed up in the corner of one of the old pens with a pile of blankets and some kid's toys. Of course now I've worked it all out, I realise she's old Akenfield's daughter. She'd have been a baby when her mother walked out, and whereas everyone thought she'd taken the kid with her, in fact what must have happened was that she left her behind and then for whatever reason, that old sod Akenfield kept her like an animal sever since."

I was about to finish my tea, but I put down my mug, untouched. This was getting really interesting. Here was my brother, prattling on in his casual Norfolk way, as if this was a perfectly normal occurrence.

"She was a bit surprised too, of course. I tried not to scare her, poor kid, so I gave her a big smile and offered her the Mars bar I had in my pocket for elevenses. She snatched it and scurried back to the other corner of the pen, and wolfed it down. Nearly made her puke, actually - turns out she'd hardly ever had chocolate before."

This was fine - part of the puzzle was solved, but why was the girl now upstairs?

"Ken? I'm getting a bit lost here. Surely when the police arrived, you told them. Why isn't she safely tucked away with Social Services or something?"

That sheepish, yokel look again, dear God!

"Hmm. Well I suppose I should have done that, in retrospect. But there was one other thing."

He paused for my impatient prompt.

"Which was?"

I swear his ears turned beetroot red in the space of two seconds.

"When she had finished the Mars bar, I tried speaking to her again. I said my name and told her that there had been an accident and that Mr Akenfield had been hurt and that I was there to see she was all right. She thought for a moment, then scampered over and bright as a button, she said, 'So you're My Daddy now?'’. I was flustered and replied that I'd make sure she was safe and taken care of, and she thinks, then gives me this great big grin and says, 'New Daddy. I like you. You give me food. You want to fuck me now?'."

I was trying to have that slurp of tea, but I choked and sprayed the kitchen floor.

"I beg your pardon? Jesus! She must be all of, what, ten, eleven?"

Ken's whole face was now a highly embarrassed shade of red. He couldn't look me straight in the eye, just sat there, examining his own untouched tea.

"Eleven. I found her birth certificate in Akenfield's dresser. Her name's Pauline."

It took a moment to digest this. "I don't believe it. So what then?"

"What the Hell do you say to a question like that?" exclaimed Ken. "I pretended not to have understood, so I opened the pen and said 'C'mon, let's get you in the warm.' and she followed me back to the house, skipping along without a care in the world. The cold didn't bother her at all. She's backward and a bit wild, but she's not stupid, you know.

"I avoided going past Akenfield's body. Inside, I asked her where was her room, so that we could get her some clothes. She said she didn't have a room - she lived in the pigsty. She speaks like a little kid - she can't read or write neither. I took her upstairs to find something to cover her up and we went into what I suppose was Akenfield's room. Suddenly she pushed past me, gets up on the bed and sticks her bum in the air. 'You fuck me, please, New Daddy,' she says."

I think I'm beginning to get the picture, brother.

"So I says, 'No, I don't think that would be right' and she looks real hurt, so I smile a bit, then she leaps off the bed, kneels down in front of me and start's pulling at my flies. 'I suck you off now, New Daddy?' she asks, looking up with those lovely big eyes of hers."

Ken glances up. He knows the question I'm thinking.

"Well, what would you do?" he blurts, guiltily, after half a minute's contemplation. "You've seen her. She might be young, but she's bloody pretty, and the thing is she really wanted to..."

"Fuck me, Ken. Don't tell me you let her?"

His silence answered that, but he added.

"I couldn't help myself. The kid's beautiful, and she's bloody good at it too!"

I spluttered again.

"So anyway, let's leave it at that. I did it. She liked it. And afterwards, I found her an old pullover of Akenfield's and told her to put it on. And she was sitting there on the bed, happy as Larry, licking her lips, if you will, and I looked at her skinny little legs and her cute face and I thought to myself, what's gonna happen to you now? You'll be taken to hospital then you'll spend the next umpty-ump years in a children's home, where you'll just be a number. People won't understand what happened to you and you'll be frightened and..."

"So you decided she'd be better off coming home with you!" I interrupted gobsmacked by my brother's naivety. "Christ, Ken, you could get into incredible trouble! I bet you have fucked her too?"

His tone was defensive.

"So what if I have? That's all she knows! Akenfield kept her like a caged animal all those years. I think he sort of blamed her for his wife's leaving, but anyway, seems he'd been screwing her since she was seven or eight, and beat the crap out of her most days. That's what she thinks she's for - to be hit and to be abused. At least here she's fed and warm and safe, and if she wants to please me in her own way, then where's the harm in that? She likes doing it - expects it even!"

"Because she is eleven. That is illegal, Ken. It is not permitted to fuck the arse off little girls in this country, no matter how much they might seem to want it!"

It was getting heated. The silly bugger just didn't seem to comprehend that sticking the girl in his post van and smuggling her home was not the cleverest thing he had ever done.

I didn't hear her creeping down the stairs.

"This is Pauline," said Ken, looking at the girl with a softness that I took to be pride. I swung round. She stared at me for a moment, and when Ken nodded to her, she beamed and said, "Hello, Other New Daddy. Do you want to fuck me now?"

A burning shudder gripped my guts: could that tiny girl really just have asked me that? 'Out of the mouths of babes' and all that, although I suspected the Book of Psalms would be unlikely to offer any useful advice on how to handle that question.

The first thing that struck me was just how incredibly small the girl was. Not just short, but so slim and narrow, in her hips, her ribs, her legs. Fragile. She had the merest hint of breasts, enough to cast a tiny shadow, and a waist so small, it looked as it you could encircle it with your fingers. Her thighs you certainly could. Over her fine, sinewy neck, her beautiful face peered up at me. I had to admit, I could see how Ken was taken with her. There was no spare fat, puppy or otherwise, anywhere about her - her body was so smooth and pert, her skin unblemished and, well, tanned would be a fair description. And she was undeniably a looker: big, sparkling grey eyes, which complemented the tousled, mousy hair that was trimmed just above her shoulders, strong cheekbones, small, narrow nose, and a cheeky mouth full of a remarkably even set of the whitest teeth - the product of years without luxuries and harmful food, no doubt.

And I couldn't help it. My eyes kept straying to her crotch: a perfect little mound; baby smooth, baby pink - a soft, succulent fruit ripe for plucking. I hadn't had my leg over for a month or two, but that was no excuse for the unhealthy stirrings the sight of it was provoking beneath my dressing gown.

"Come over here, Pauline," Ken told her.

I was relieved at not actually having to make a response to her unexpected invitation. She sidled over to my brother, who picked her up and placed her on his lap. Immediately she tilted her head affectionately on to his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and toyed with the short leather leash. The girl beamed adoringly.

I shook my head. Wrong, wrong, wrong!

It was so disconcerting, trying to talk some sense into him, whilst there was this cute little naked child perched on his knees. An enchanting petite beauty, whose incongruous studded leather collar was shamefully erotic.

"This is beyond words, Ken," I sighed. "You'll have to find a way to hand her over. I know you meant well, but can't you see that the longer this goes on, the more impossible it's going to be to resolve without you ending up behind bars?"

The girl looked up, and gave me a worried look.

She slipped off Ken's knee and tiptoed over to me. Her round, grey eyes were watering.

"Please. I want to stay with my New Daddies. Please. If I'm a bad girl, I must be punished, but please, I want to stay. Am I a bad girl? You want to hit me, please?"

And with that, she promptly bent right over and gripped her ankles, presenting me with her sweet little backside. Quite enchanting, with that soft young quim framed between the tops of her thighs. The tracery of red lines, old and new across the skin of her taut buttocks was yet another unexpected revelation. I gulped involuntarily. What kind of life had this exquisite little girl had to endure that she readily offered herself, and expected to be beaten, or worse? I had finally made the mental link between the weals on her bottom and the crop in Ken's pocket. Surely not, Ken?

It wasn't a conscious thing. Had I thought about it, I'm absolutely positive that I wouldn't have done so. But whatever, my hand reached out and stroked over the faint ridges. She was so warm, and soft and alive. So utterly vulnerable. Under my dressing gown, I had become uncomfortably hard.

"Do you use that crop on her," I asked my brother, not really wanting to hear his response.

Guiltily, he nodded his head.

"It was with the stuff she had in Akenfield's shed. Some toys, the bowl, the blanket, some ropes and straps..."

"What?" I interjected.

"She's told me what he used to do. He'd usually tie her up somehow when he did her, either in the shed or back in the house. He thrashed her most days, just for being her. Not too hard - you know, to bruise her and the like, but he liked to hear her crying, apparently. He was happy when she cried, was what she told me. He'd swear at her, accuse her of being the reason his wife walked out. Then he'd use the crop on her when he was in a bad mood. Course she didn't know her Mum, and till I came along, she'd never spoken to another human being. Akenfield and the occasional company of the radio was all she knew, and she just accepted it. Didn't know no different. To do what he wanted meant she got fed. To keep him happy, so he would still want her.

"Despite everything, she adored him. It's what she's been used to all her life. She needs it. God knows, I can't explain it, but she expects to be spanked and poked - that's normal for her. Food, pain, sleep, sex, and a bit of manual labour round the farm after dark. That was the sum total of her life."

He saw my incredulous expression and sighed heavily.

"How can I convince you?"

"Of what?"

Exasperated, he leaned forward and spread his hands.

"That we should keep her. Here!"

Suddenly I realised that my hand was still wandering across her rear. I told her kindly to stand up, but she wheeled round, and with real fear, asked me if I was angry with her. I put my arm around her waist and pulled her against me to reassure her.

"No, no, Pauline, I'm not cross with you. We're just talking about what's best for you and who should be looking after you."

She was so innocent, so trusting. Immediately her face relaxed and I was treated to a brilliant display of those big, white teeth. I had to cuddle her; she was irresistible. And I swear, when she nuzzled her head into my armpit, she was purring like a feral kitten.

I experienced a wave of emotion, although precisely what, I couldn't say. The scent of her hair, wild, raw, filled my nostrils. Her tiny waist flexed under my hand and she felt so good, exuding contentment. I reached across her with my other hand, cupped her jaw gently and lifted her chin until she looked up into my eyes.

There was no more fear, no concern, just trust, and, well, joy!

That was no fucking use at all. There was me, trying to inject some common sense into this farcical situation, and I was finding myself intoxicated by this peculiar, sexy little girl. I prayed that my dressing gown wouldn't choose this moment to fall open.

Ken watched me with a wry smile, then spoke what he had obviously been mulling over.

"Bruv. I hear all what you say. And I can also see that bulge in your dressing gown. Don't deny it!" he added as I began to protest.

"Listen. The facts are these. One, Nobody knows about her - as far as people round here are concerned, she disappeared with her mother years ago. Two. We have her birth certificate, so when she's old enough, she'll be able to rejoin society, if you get me. Three. She's clearly delighted to be here, and no-one's forcing her. She likes it. Because Four, we complement each other: she gives me what I need, and I do the same for her. As far as I can see, there's no reason why that can't go on for as long as it takes. I'll give her a sort of education, I'll protect her, and if and when she wants to leave, then I won't stop her."

He had it all worked out.

"The big question, little brother, is whether you are going to spoil it all and go ratting to the Police and Social Services."

And with a conspiratorial leer, he added, "Or would you like to have a piece of the action? You'll never know, if you don't try."

How much Pauline understood of all that, or how much see simply sensed, I don't know, but with impeccable timing, she hauled herself up on tiptoe and kissed me on the cheek. So warm and light, so indescribably sensual, it almost destroyed my resolve there and then. I looked down, studying her button nipples, tiny yet quite firm. Her slim shoulders. And the tantalising pout between her legs. No. I couldn't. I'm not a paedophile, for Christ's sake.

But my hands were not so perplexed. They ranged greedily up and down the sides of her warm body, marvelling at her slightness - the way her shallow flesh stretched over her ribs, the subtle flaring of her girlish hips beneath her waist. The remarkably palm-shaped swelling of her fabulous little backside.

The leash dangled loosely between her buttocks. Absently, I took it in my hand and raised it until I had taken up the tension. I was fascinated by the way the thick, worn leather of the collar lifted up about her neck and tightened against her throat. Her eyes flickered and she gave out a tiny gasp of anticipation. There was something else now in those gorgeous grey eyes, and if she weren't an eleven-year-old girl, I'd have identified it as lust.

Then the thing I had feared happened. Her leg pressed against my thigh, and tugged at the towelling of my dressing gown.

The loose knot gave way and the two halves parted each side of my thighs, leaving my straining erection curving upwards in plain view.

Her lips had closed around it before I had a chance to think straight.

And it felt so good. You cannot image how abso-fucking-lutely fantastic it felt!

Her mouth had a tenderness, a lightness that was unlike anything I had experienced. From the way her lithe tongue danced about my frenulum, to the taunting thrill as my shaft chafed against her teeth when she took me right inside her small mouth. This was surely wrong, but to have this tiny, naked girl's head bobbing up and down between my legs, was an experience I could no longer resist. I threw my head back and groaned, my cock erupting explosively, emptying itself against the roof of her mouth in helpless convulsions, I luxuriated in the thickening warmth as waves of semen filled the void around my penis, and the slither of her soft tongue against it each time she swallowed. I held her head until every last drop had been delivered into her enthusiastic little mouth.

Only when the waves of sheer ecstasy had subsided did the enormity begin to sink in of what I had allowed to happen. Wrong, perhaps, but Ken had a point - the child seemed to come alive when she was pleasing me. That twinkle in her fabulous pale eyes was nothing short of unadulterated joy.

I caught Ken sitting back, draining his mug, grinning like a smug idiot. I had succumbed to this fantastic little girl's charms just as weakly as he, and for all my sensible worldliness, was as unable to resist as had he been. OK. I fucking admit it - that was utterly unbelievable.

As for Pauline, she settled back on her haunches, as delighted as could be, and when she flashed me one of her incomparable smiles, the strings of my fresh semen between her lips just made me feel so ashamed,

How could I have done that? I had just pumped her lovely mouth full of spunk and already I was lusting over her hot, skinny little body and yearning to fuck her sweet little brains out. That's how.

I was in a real pickle.

All my high moralising had been cast aside in a moment as I took advantage of this poor kid. In front of my brother, no less. Ashamed and angry with myself, I couldn't face any more of this madness. I wrapped the robe around me and dashed back up the stairs, calling back almost hysterically to Ken.

"This has to stop! Now! Soon as you get back from work tomorrow, we'll sort this out once and for all!"

---

There was a note pushed under my bedroom door. Ken's early morning scribble before he left on his round.

I had slept fitfully, troubled by my conscience. The lingering ache of satisfaction in my balls did nothing to simplify the dilemma. My brother's note made it worse.

It was his last ditch attempt to persuade me not to insist we hand the girl over to the authorities. An invitation to sample more of her delights first. This was surreal. I read the page three times as I shaved. And decided to do it. To do whatever I had, to get closure.

Pauline's eyes sparkled, genuinely pleased to see me. She was no longer in the garage, but in the nest Ken provided for her in the understairs cupboard. She immediately threw off her blankets and stood. Her new transistor radio was playing quietly in the corner. Ken had told me last night that he had bought her some clothes, but she hated to wear them and sulked if he forced her to keep them on for more than an hour or two. I stood aside to let her out and I don't know whether Ken had primed her, but she bounded out into the hall and threw her arms around my chest and hugged me, refusing to let go until I peeled her off. Great! My resolve was weakening already.

"Bathroom please, New Daddy?" she asked, wide-eyed. He had so far failed to get her to wear clothes, but at least Ken had successfully house-trained her. I nodded.

"I'll be in the kitchen," I informed her.

Her bowl was on the drainer - an ugly stainless steel affair, dented and scratched from years of being pushed around the floor of the pig pen. I filled it with breakfast cereal as per Ken's instructions, but I couldn't bring myself to make her eat like a dog. I set it on the table next to mine and laid a spoon beside it. Yet as soon as she skipped in from her ablutions, she barely paused to frown before putting it down on the cold lino and thrusting her face into it. It was cute to watch her gorgeous naked bottom waggle as she ate but at the same time was disquieting - a human child should not be doing that.

My brother had been busy before he left. He had made everything ready, so that I would have every chance to see for myself why Pauline should remain. Despite myself, I was already horny with anticipation.

Unlike Akenfield, who was apparently content to leave the girl all day, with nothing more than wireless and some broken dolls for company, Ken, to give him his due, was trying to make her existence more meaningful and fulfilling. She had her chores to perform, and by all accounts, was so deliriously happy to be doing something different, and which made New Daddy happy, that she readily took on any task she was set, learning quickly and ecstatic if she earned praise for doing it well. There were practical limitations - her knowledge of domestic equipment, for example, was rudimentary.

The girl knew her routine and so I let her get on with it. She wrapped her leash loosely around her shoulders and darted about the house, tidying, gathering washing, dusting and the like, always with a cheerful smile that genuinely warmed the heart.

Half way through the morning, she brought me a tea. I was in the parlour, finishing the Times crossword (the easy one - I am an engineer after all).

I liked that. I imagined her in a year or two, with a cute little bust, nipples peeking through a tiny lace pinafore and curtseying coyly when she presented a mug on dainty tray. I was hard again. She stood patiently, eager to see that I was pleased with the drink. I had an irresistible urge to fondle that little naked body, with its incongruous collar and small, but temptingly accessible private parts. And I wanted to talk to her anyway. There were things I had to know.

But if course it was impossible to concentrate with her hard little bum pressing down on my lap, and with her soft, warm chest under my hand, and her willing thighs parting automatically when my fingers slid between them. Her hair was against my cheek, and she stretched and snuggled contentedly against my body.

Ken had made some suggestions, but frankly, I was sceptical.

His note was quite specific though and so I, trying once again to be fair-minded before I got the problem sorted, did exactly what it said.

I closed the tips of my fingers over her nipple and pulled it out from her body. Then I slowly squeezed and twisted it.

I purred in her ear.

"Does that feel nice, Pauline?"

Tightly she replied, "Yes."

I applied the same technique to her other nipple, albeit more forcefully. Her backside pressed satisfyingly against my erection.

"Do you like it when I do that?"

"Yes"

"Why?" I asked.

"I like it when my New Daddy holds me and touches me."

"But it hurts, doesn't it?"

"Oh yes," she grunted in a matter-of-fact way, trying not to be distracted by the renewed pressure I was applying to the first nipple. "That means New Daddy must love me."

"You don't mind New Daddy hurting you?" I responded, not sure I had understood.

"I like it mostly. When I'm a very bad girl and I have to be punished properly, then it is not so nice. Old Daddy was very angry and he made me hurt bad sometimes, but I knew he loved me really, so it was all right.

"And besides, nasty, bad little bitches have to be punished hard," she added, mechanically, a phrase I suspect she had heard from Akenfield many times in her short, sad life.

"Afterwards, though," she continued with a refreshed grin, "he always fucked me or let me suck his cock."

No matter how bizarre this was, I still couldn't get accustomed to her language. Her vocabulary was limited, but it was the way she spoke about such things so normally that was the most striking. I stroked a fingernail lightly along her slit, to remind myself this was really happening, that the person cuddled on my lap, talking with such pride and excitement about being routinely raped by her own father, really was just an eleven-year-old girl. The intimacy was electric. She smelt hot; her skin was like a warm, ripe peach beneath my fingers.

"And do you like it? Sucking cocks and being fucked?"

Just talking to her like that made my own cock swell. I was actually rubbing her girly cunt and asking this tiny child if she liked being fucked!

Pauline nodded and smiled.

"But you are a small girl. Doesn't hurt at all?"

She nodded again, her brow creasing as she said, "Sometimes. Quite a lot when I was a small girl. But it doesn't matter, because it means Daddy loves me."

This was not what my sensible side needed to hear. How could I force a rational decision against such innocent, hugely erotic, reasoning?

However the other side of my tormented persona, the one represented by the dryness in my throat and the growing impatience inside my trousers, just went wild! The more naive she behaved, the worse I became, the further I wanted to go.

"So do you think it would be nice if I spent a little time with you now, as you have finished your work? I think you need to have your bottom spanked, and I shall have to tie you up to give you a proper spanking. Actually, I want to cane you, to show you how much I'm getting to like you, and of course you haven't cried for me yet, have you?"

Her willing nod and air of childish expectation simply fuelled my rampant desire to abuse her.

"Then let's go upstairs, and when I've finished, if you do well, then I might let you suck my penis or if you really please me, perhaps I'll fuck you for the first time. Would that be good?"

I really couldn't cope with this. The dear girl was actually grinning with pleasure.

As Ken's note had promised, he had left some bits and pieces in the spare room.

That lingering, twisting knot of guilty excitement churned in my guts.

And on the subject of knots, I had just finished some real ones and she now dangled by her wrists from a long rope that Ken had fixed up in the attic, fixed around a rafter then passing through the open ceiling hatch down into the room. I had ensured that her heels were off the carpet, to put more strain down her arms and shoulders.

Once more the peculiar sensation of having her so helpless, completely at my disposal, thrilled me to the pit of my stomach.

This was make or break time. A one-time piece of lunacy before we did the right thing and handed her over. After last night's loss of control, the only way I could recover the moral high ground with Ken was to be able to remove any possible objection that I hadn't given the alternative due consideration, namely by doing just as he asked and spend a while with Pauline. For research purposes, one might say. I could then say 'yes, I grant you it is good, but it is still wrong and we are taking her to the council now'.

So there she was, naked and available. Could I really try what Ken had suggested? I'd never had leanings in that direction before.

There was only one way to find out.

"Are you a bad little bitch, Pauline?" I asked, rousing her from her daydream.

"Sometimes, Daddy, but I try to be good."

The cane was lying on the chest of drawers.

"But you're not good all the time, are you?"

She bit her lip and looked down sadly.

I had never done anything like that before. Anything remotely like it. I had no idea how hard to do it, or where on her to bring down this vicious length of bamboo. I settled for the back of her thigh.

Her body jerked and bounced, and she let out a squeal. A second, slightly harder blow to the other thigh produced a louder, longer moan, then her lip trembled, her face reddened and the first tear rolled silently down her cheek. I moved more to the side of her body, to get a better swing, landing a second pair of strokes amidst the pale lattice of old crop marks on her taut buttocks. She spluttered and began to cry properly.

I looked her in the eye. There was real hurt there. But not exclusively.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she bubbled.

There was a stool under the dressing table and I had her lift her left leg and place her foot up on it. Now I had access to her cute young cunt.

For a full five minutes, I watched her face closely, whilst my spit-wettened fingers gently teased her open, probing her vagina and anus, and found the nub of her tiny clit, and rubbed and massaged her until at last I could detect the slipperiness of her own mucus on my fingertips. There was a steady thump of my pulse in my ears and realised that I too was shaking.

She smiled through her tears. Then I gave her another four lashes with the cane, to set her blubbering again. She danced about on tiptoes, wailing at the hot stinging in her strained muscles. Once more I put an arm around her impossibly small hips, holding her still against me, slowly masturbating her shuddering, pained young body, and whispering in her ear as I nuzzled and nibbled it.

"Do you feel nice, Pauline?"

She sniffed and gave me a tight grin, a large fresh tear dripping to the floor from the tip of her trim nose.

My rigid middle finger slid methodically in and out. Her hot, tight vagina grasped it appreciatively and in return I needed to possess her. Totally.

"Kiss me."

She giggled.

I told her again and she bobbed forward quickly and pressed her lips to my cheek.

Then it dawned on me. She may have been sexually active since a small child, but it had always been as just a tool to provide her father with passing sexual satisfaction. Passionless masochism. I abandoned Ken's script. It was time for this beautiful little submissive to experience something new.

Unfastening the rope, I supported her as she gratefully stood back flat on the floor. Her face was at my waist level, I held her bony little shoulders, steadying her until she got her balance.

She found it funny. Lying on her back on the creaky old bed, whilst I looped rope around each knee and pulled her legs apart, tying off to the ancient metal frame. Then I stuffed a pillow under her back, to lift her off the mattress enough so that I could slide my own knees beneath her legs.

It was spellbinding.

I was fascinated. How my thick, hard cock could fit inside her. It looked impossible, but as I inched closer, leaning insistently against that tiny pussy, she seemed to open up suddenly and I slid in, the puffy softness of her smooth labia yielding then embracing my stiff tool. Pauline bit her lip and closed her eyes. I pushed more, paused and pushed again. She grunted. I was intrigued to find out if her tiny body could accommodate my whole length. The resistance became greater. Almost there: my hairy crotch not quite touching her smooth, soft inner thighs.

With a stifled yelp, she took all of me. Had no choice. I leaned down and kissed her fondly on the lips, stroking the inside of her upper lip with my tongue when I had finished.

This was very new: Daddy hadn't ever done that, nor had her other New Daddy.

But it seemed nice to her - she was calm, serene, contented, the tiniest hint of a smile playing over her face as she relaxed back to the bed, eyes closed. Then I thrust suddenly, wickedly, hard against her until the tip of my cock could go no further and I pressed the base of my penis down into the top of her crack and her eyes opened and her brow creased in distress as I bore down on her.

She was panting, fighting the pain, so I gave her another soft kiss, and pushed the tip of my tongue between her teeth.

Fuck, this was good.

Could I really give this up?

---

I was dozing when Ken got back.

We didn't need to speak. He looked at me and I at him and we both knew the answer. My brother winked and we exchanged nods.

Pauline would be staying. Indefinitely.

I gestured to Ken to follow me up to the spare room. The little girl was still where I had left her, knelt on the hearth rug with a straight back and wide open legs. She had managed to keep the end of the candle inside her and her whole body tightened as she strained her head to see. The taut strap between the back of her collar and the ropes around her ankles limited her movement and she grunted with the effort.

Her broad grin belied the constant aching of her straining young muscles.

My brother and I stripped off our clothes. Pauline's eyes grew large and her lips fell open, as two large, hard, erect and very purposeful cocks advanced upon her.

Now she too knew she would be staying here. And she was thrilled.

Now she has two New Daddies to love her.