Tor Kung: My Mother Taught Me

Mesmerized, Gunilla reached her own hands up to her breasts and began to lightly stroke the edges of the buds with her fingertips, then resting her hands on his, she guided their caresses.

“So my little girl did miss her daddy a little, did she? My baby missed this and this, did she?”

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…” Gunilla muttered over and over between open lips as she writhed in his lap.

Father was aroused by her excitement. Suddenly he reached his hand down and slid it under her skirt. His action had pulled the garment up and I could see that he was stroking her thighs. Gunilla threw her head further back as she continued to murmur over and over:

“Daddydaddydaddydaddy…”

Now he reached further up, then even further, finally moving his arm back and forth, although what he was actually doing or why I could not tell.

At each motion of his arm Gunilla let out little cries and moans. Her giggling had ceased altogether and her face seemed to be undergoing some great inner struggle, coupled with a rising pleasure. I had gotten an intense cramp in my stomach so bad that I could not have moved, even if I thought they might discover me there.

Father was moving his arm back and forth with a rhythmic motion now and with each stroke Gunilla moaned louder. Her voice had become a sing-song whine crying only “Daddyohdaddyohdaddyohdaddy.. .” while he rubbed and caressed inside her skirt.

With a rising feeling of power he was crooning. “Did my baby miss me, now? Did my little girl miss her daddy, after all?”

But then, as Father opened his mouth and bent forward as though to take her left breast in it, Gunilla suddenly leapt out of his grasp and onto her feet. She pulled her open blouse together and dashed for the door! Before I could move, or Father raise a hand to stop her, she was gone.

I was so astonished that I was unable to get my bearings. Father sitting where he had been, but with a puzzled and-somewhat angry expression on his face. Then, just as I had sunk down out of sight and was striving to collect myself and to consider how best to leave the room without being seen, I heard the door connecting the hall to the kitchen open and, to my amazement, Annie entered the living room. She walked over to Father and said:

“Miss Gunilla said you wished something, sir.”

Father blinked, looked at her a moment, then said, “Why- uh-yes. Yes, Annie, I did. You'll do fine.”

He ran his eyes slowly over her and moistened his lips with his tongue. Annie stood awaiting his instructions.

“What would you wish, sir?” she asked.

“Why-uh-some champagne, Annie, and two glasses.”

“Yes sir,” Annie said and moved across the room to a sideboard of finely carved mahogany, opened it, removed a bottle, two fine long-stemmed glasses, placed all three on a silver tray and returned to the couch, placing the tray on the low table. Then she straightened once more.

“You are lovely tonight, Annie,” Father told her as he took the bottle, exploded the cork and poured champagne into both glasses.

“Thank you, sir,” Annie said formally. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Well, yes, perhaps there is,” Father replied. “Everyone is resting and I am a bit lonely. Here, have some champagne.” He picked up a glass and proffered it, but Annie didn't move.

“No, thank you, sir. It really isn't fitting. Should I send Miss Gunilla back to keep you company?”

“No, she is tired and has gone- to lie down. Besides, you are older, a woman. You are better company for a man who has just had a long, exhausting trip and who is home at last and needs some-relaxation. But honestly, Annie, you are quite lovely tonight. The way your skin catches the light is enchanting. Here, let us see

…” And he reached up, changing slightly the focus of the funnel-shaped lampshade so that the light fell more fully on Annie's face. “… there. That is magnificent! Now, if you would turn just a bit, so…” He reached toward her shoulder as though to turn her, but she anticipated his movement and turned herself. “Yes, that's it. I love to watch the effect of light on you. The way it catches in your hair and falls upon your face. But here, let us unpin your hair a little and let it fall around those fine shoulders of yours.”

Annie's face had become tense and indecision was clearly written there.

“Please, sir, if there is any service I can do, let me do it for you. But all these things are most irregular, sir. I don't know just what to do, nor what you wish.”

“Calmly, calmly now, Annie!” Father remonstrated. “You will see, you will see. We shall discover all that together in a moment. For now, just do as I tell you. Take the pins out of your hair-the cap off first, then let your hair down.” His voice was still sophisticated and debonair, but now there was an unmistakable tone of authority in it.

Annie flushed pink under her freckles. She stood straight before him hesitating, seeming to be confused by these strange requests of Father's, torn, it seemed to me, between her shy embarrassment and her duty as a servant.

“Well?” Father demanded, raising his eyebrows slightly and looking up at her.

“Y-yes. sir.” Annie lowered her eyes, took off her cap and hesitated again.

“Come, come; my lovely, the hairpins now. I want to see that wealth of yours spread flaming red in the light-not pinned and pushed away out of an ardent admirer's sight. Take it down, my dear!”

Again Annie looked confused. Then she slowly (and was it a little demurely?) began to remove the coral-colored hairpins from her flaming hair, which gradually began to fall in ringlets on her shoulders. Father, meantime, continued to observe her with a rapt expression.

Finally he said, “Annie! How beautiful! How incredible is your hair!” It was all down the back now and over her shoulders in a thousand tiny ringlets and Father had stood up and was running it through his fingers, holding it to the light.

“Really, my dear, your hair is titian, the true color of Venetian glass! Here, stand more in the light. There!” In a lower, more intense tone, “You are gorgeous! That hair is a flame of the devil. It turns men to devils for you, doesn't it, Annie?” He took her chin and tilted her face up to him. As he caught her eye and held it, he smiled broadly, released her and sat down. Annie remained standing, staring at him, petrified before him.

“I-I don't know what you mean, sir, I just don't! I…”

“Yes, you know, Annie, my love. Yes, you know! You know what fools you make of us with your red hair long and flaming for us-how we react when it touches us, falls across our faces or along our arms, or heaven of miracles, when you have it on our chests, our stomachs, or just running deliriously over our thighs and pelvis. Can you imagine, Annie, the thought of driving a man mad with just your hair? Of drawing it softly across the best of him 'til he screams for you! His cock growing hard and red and hungry for you- red as your hair and tangled in it and maybe finally being so overpowered that he comes in it! Can you imagine, Annie and desire?” Father's voice had become insinuating as he talked of these things I didn't understand, but which Annie was obviously disturbed by.

“That is the power of your hair, Annie, and you do know it.” Kindness entered his voice now of an almost fatherly benevolence. “But, darling, I will teach you about it-you can be sure of me and trust me. You can't be allowed to go on without knowing your own power.”

“Sir, please, sir, don't go on like this-saying those things to me. It isn't right, sir, that you should talk of these things to me. You know, sir, you shouldn't!”

“But, Annie, I certainly should. Every girl has a right to know how attractive and bewitching she is, what her special power is.” He lit a cigarette and continued in this debonair manner while punctuating his remarks with the cigarette.