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Though he did not let it show on his face, Carmine D'Addio was both amused and fascinated by the internal struggle of the young lady who stood before him. Compared to his powerful build and his 6' 3" frame, the young lady was quite small. There was an age difference as well. The young woman was half as old as the 48 year old Carmine, but her appearance and demeanor suggested she was but a young schoolgirl.

The girl/woman stood before Carmine, fidgeting and unable to look up at him as her right index finger played nervously with one of her two pony tails. The short skirt she wore was loosely cut and rippled with the girl's nervousness. A casual observer would think Carmine was the girl's father and the girl was nervously agitated about her situation. The relationship was far different, but the anxiety was real, and that anxiety was a delicious morsel for the powerful Carmine.

The woman standing before him like an errant schoolgirl before the Principal was indeed quite anxious. She was now considering his earlier question and what she did, and how she replied, could very well shape her entire future. Truth to tell, it could just as easily determine the length of her future.

The woman who seemed the young school girl was June Robinson and despite her youthful appearance and demeanor she was a robust young adult woman who possessed a college degree and held an important government job. It was her job, and the incredible opportunity it offered, that had led June to this moment with Carmine D'Addio. Her mind tossed her situation about as her heart flip-flopped with the same agonizing question. Her brain told her to find a graceful way to back out of the situation, but her heart, for several disparate reasons, urged her to take the leap.

"Well, June," said Carmine patiently, "I asked you a question and expect an answer." His face was a mask of seriousness, the tenor of his voice firm, insistent, yet wholly without malice. His eyes did sparkle with a mischievousness that belied his amusement only to the closest observer. When words would not come to her lips, the big man sighed. "Let me help you find the answer that you know lies within you," he said kindly. "I asked you to call me Daddy, did I not?"

She nodded and then looked up and barely uttered the word, "Yes."

"But you can't bring yourself to call me Daddy, even though I asked you."

"It feels funny," she said, instantly knowing it was a lame excuse.

"I don't know why it would feel funny, June Bug," he said, watching her cringe as he used the nickname he had so recently given her. When he first said it, he noticed that it bothered her and suspected he knew why it did, so he continued to use it. "Daddy is just a play on my last name, 'D'Addio' ... everyone calls me Daddy," he rationalized for her.

Bright, beautiful, and brilliant, the Headmaster's new wife, Alexis, blew into the venerable old girl's school like the proverbial breath of fresh air.

Everything about Alexis seemed revolutionary. The Headmaster was in his sixties, and seemed to be a bit doddering to some, although those in the know realized that was merely a role he played to no small advantage. Alexis, in contrast, was much younger, although her elegance, confidence and style made her the match for any of the old codgers who taught at the school.

The venerable old institution had a reputation for being able to reform young women aged 18 - 22 into entirely respectable young ladies. However, in her mind it was the reformatory that needed reforming.

In Alexis's busy day, time was never wasted. On her very first night Alexis broke tradition by dining with the Headmaster and the other teachers at the front of the dining hall, looking very smart in her red dress and pearls. Say what you want, she and the Head were very much in love, and some of the old hens scowled to see the Silver Fox laughing like a teenager as his wife playfully spoon fed him a bit of his soup.

In a school built on tradition and routine, her vibrant presence and ringing laugh brought the cavernous and stuffy old dining hall to life. However, the biggest shock was yet to come. Unable to feign interest in Mr. Jeffries's endless lecture on the evils of taxing inherited fortunes, Alexis stood up, walked across the room, and with total aplomb sat down and joined the students at one of the long wooden tables.

The faculty was speechless. Alexis was not, and chatted amicably with the stunned students, asking them about their day, moving from table to table every few minutes, and even shaking hands.

"It's like she's running for bloody Parliament!" Professor Fertwell complained.

"And beating all of us, I'd say," Mrs. Jones added wryly.

By long standing tradition, only the teachers talked and the girls dined in silence. However, with Alexis leading the conversation, soon the whole room was awash with girlish chatter, much to the consternation of the school's old guard. In truth, the acoustics in the old hall did not lend themselves to conversation, and the noise quickly became deafening. The Headmaster pounded his mug on the table several times to warn the girls to "talk in low voices" lest the echoes bring the venerable old hall's ceiling down on their heads. But much to the dismay of the hide bound traditionalists sitting around him, the Headmaster did not object to his wife's outrage, or prevent Mr. Newman or Mrs. Jones from joining her at the student tables.

And so it was that Alexis effortlessly flicked the centuries old ban against the students talking during meals into the dustbin.

The food was next on her list, for Alexis discovered that eating with the girls meant eating their food, and the pasty porridge they were given each night was a far cry from the yummy entrees and vegetables the staff enjoyed.

Chapter One
Mariah sashayed up the low stone steps of the restaurant. She grinned, not having to look around to know that every man within sight of her was drooling, and their women were shooting daggers at her with their eyes. Southwest Florida was quite warm, even in October, and that was yet another excuse for her to go with her slinkiest dress.

She opened her little clutch purse, diamond-studded (of course), and pulled out a tiny mister of the latest Chanel fragrance. Actually, that wasn't quite true; the bottle was beyond merely their latest creation, it wasn't yet available to the public. Amazing what a little judicious application of good old fashioned bribery can achieve. She also had to chuckle to think about the inverse relationship between the size of the bottle and its price. The stuff cost a mint! A little spritz to her neck, more to her left wrist, which she rubbed against her right, and she was ready.

"Table for one," she said to the host.

"I... y-yes, Miss. I mean, it'll be about ten minutes," he stammered. "Would you care to wait in the lounge?"

She looked where he was gesturing. It was a fine place: marble bar top, mahogany paneling and glass shelves full of some truly top of the line liquor.

"That'll be fine," he replied with a smile.

She gave her name, got a pager, and headed into the lounge. Yeah, between her looks and intoxicating aroma, she had him under her spell. She almost needed a step-stool to park her firm little ass on the high leather seat, but she made it.

"Well, well-well, as I live and breathe heavily, it's the 'Powerful Pixie'," a familiar voice said.

Mariah spun to her right and gasped. "Chris? Holy shit, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I live here, ever since my company went belly-up. You?"

"Vacation," she said, licking her lips.

Okay, it wasn't entirely true, but she wasn't about to tell a former rival her personal business. He sat next to her. Given his height, he easily slid down to the seat, and turned to the bartender.

"The lady will have a Cosmo, straight up, Grey Goose Citron, and make it a double."

She grinned. "You never forget. So, you here with anyone?"

"You mean am I seeing anyone?"

"Why, I have no idea what you're talking about, sir. Your personal life is of no interest to me!" She rotated her stool so as to give him a great profile view, which accentuated her breasts, stuck her nose in the air, and did the classic humph.

He smirked and held out her drink to her. "You never change, Mariah. Attitude that can cut steel and a figure that can melt it."

"Thank you for noticing," she replied, turning and taking the glass.

Chapter 1
April Langthorpe looked sorrowfully round the dark, squalid dungeon and weighed up her dire predicament. The cold cobbled floor was damp and slippery. Even after three days, she still could not get used to the awful smells that percolated though the slimy stone walls. Traces of bodily fluids were evident amidst the green oozing slime and the timeless graffiti scored into the old Yorkshire stone.

"Oh what is to become of me?" she mused woefully.

Dressed only in a dirty grey dress, she dreaded what she must look like after three days of squalor. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was matted and lacklustre. Her skin itched all over from the dirt and infestation she'd had to endure. Her dirty face was streaked with the tracks of her salty tears, which had flowed freely and often during her incarceration. The condemned woman began to look back on her life and analyse the events that had led up to this latest and most drastic of fixes.

The eldest of nine children, April had led a hard life from the outset. She never really had a childhood at all, having spent most of her adolescent years looking after her brothers and sisters, helping work in the fields or scrub the family house clean and do never-ending laundry. A clever girl, she had an uncanny knack of predicting the future, and being left handed too, was viewed with suspicion by her peers and other members of the village community. But she worked hard and never complained, always doing her best to look clean and attractive. However, because of the local gossip mongers, and her huge workload of chores, April found it hard to mix with others of her own age group, and was relatively old when she eventually met a boy who had time for her.

Alex was also a hard working lad, and after a short courtship, the pair of them were married, and managed to get a small tenancy on the edge of the village, where they kept chickens, goats, and sheep. For the first time in her life April felt happy, building a home and tending her animals, while Alex worked as a woodsman in the nearby forests. Her happiness was soon to be compounded when she realised she was pregnant, and the pair made preparations for the forthcoming birth.

Alas, tragedy struck poor April. Her child was stillborn, and two days later Alex was struck by lightning while at work in the woods. He died instantly. The news of these events spurred further speculation among the superstitious villagers, and April became isolated in her cottage on the edge of the little settlement. Nevertheless, being clever and industrious, the young widow quickly overcame her grief and managed to become self-sufficient with her animals and garden.

The next year was a black one in the history of the village. Crops failed and chickens refused to lay.

Kelly-Ann's Request
My name is Tom. I'm 35 years-old. Like most men my age I've been around the block a few times with the fairer sex: high school, college, a five year stint in the navy. I finally settled into a fairly conventional career in the telecommunications industry. I had at various times during that journey shared my life with a number of women of different types, some on a long term basis, some short; and like most men probably, I was actually naive enough to think that after all that, women couldn't surprise me anymore. That's when Kelly-Ann Flynn came into my life.

We met during a party at the house of a mutual friend and clicked from the first moment. It was one of those rare times when the conversation was so engaging that I didn't really start to notice her looks until we were well into our talk. Six years my junior she was of average height with beautiful red hair worn in a shoulder-length bob. She had fair skin and green eyes and she was just a little plump for her frame, but it was arranged quite nicely - 'all buns and boobs', to use her own words. That was a typical female exaggeration of course. The overall effect was very pleasing to the eye. Well, to the male eye anyway.

We started dating. Things went well as the relationship progressed through the usual stages. We learned all about each other. The mundane things. She was from a large Irish-American family - four brothers, three sisters, she was the next to youngest. Eventually the intimate subjects were discussed, all of our little secrets, or so I thought at the time.

Before I knew it, five months had gone by and things couldn't be better. We had survived our first out of town trip together, a big milestone for any couple. 'I love you' was regularly exchanged. Sleepovers were now common, usually at my place where a number of feminine products had taken up residence in my bathroom. Not that I was complaining. She really was one heck of a girl. I'm not just talking about the physical stuff either, though like so many apple pie, wholesome, girl next door types, she was a real tiger in the sack.

No, the thing I really love about Kelly-Ann is that she has heart. Do you know what that means, heart? It means she would rather die than let down a friend in need. It means that she won't back down when she's sure that she's right. It means she would move heaven and earth to keep a commitment. It means that no matter how outmatched she might be she's always in there swinging with everything she's got.

I like heart. Heart is important. I stress that point because I want you all to understand that Kelly-Ann is not some simpering, mush-pot of a girl who wants the man in her life to make all of her decisions for her and tell her what to do.