Honestly, I don't know what the heck happened in her room. She was obviously struggling with something, then very embarrassed when the towel fell. But, the look in her eyes in the living room was different, I think. My God, she looked like she wanted me to throw her down right in the middle of the floor and fuck her for goodness sakes! Could I have imagined that because it's what I want? Okay. This is ridiculous. She wasn't making any pass at you, David. She couldn't have been. You are Daddy, that's it. You are imagining shit because you are a sick fuck. It's not her. It's you and just you. You'll just have to find a way to get over this obsession with her. Don't make your problem, hers." Trying to resign myself to finding a way to stop these sick thoughts, I refocus on the road ahead of me. Letting out a long breath and gripping the steering wheel much tighter than necessary, I notice the tension in my shoulders. My erection has gone flaccid and not having a stiff one is helping me. Agatha’s hand was shaking so badly she could barely dial the phone. When the ring sounded in her ear, she felt like she might throw up.“Hello?”It was him! That deep voice had to be him. She knew there was only one man living out there on that old farm.“Y-y-yes,” she stuttered.“Hello?”“M-m-mister Dalton,” she forced out.“Yes, this is Bobby.”“M-m-my floor squeaks,” she gasped.“That’s too bad,” said the calm voice in her ear. “I’m sure that’s very annoying.”“Can you f-f-fix that?”“I don’t know,” he said. “It will depend on why it’s creaking and how hard it will be to get access to the underside of the floor.”“I need ... an estimate!” she barked, finally remembering what she was supposed to say.“I’d be happy to take a look at it. Who is this?”Terror gripped her. On pure will power alone she managed to clear her throat and gasp into the phone: “Agatha Roberts.”“And your address?”A strange, almost surreal calm descended on Agatha. This was the final step. She’d have to tell the pervert.
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