Little Girls Always Look Up to Their Mothers

Delihla is in her room. She’s currently playing with her favorite doll – Miss Barley – while she’s waiting. She knows her mother will come get her soon. The voices downstairs have stopped. Silence is hanging lightly in the air.
Miss Barley, in her fancy, boudoux dress, goes to the grocer’s to buy some peaches. She loves peaches. So does her dog. Her dog doesn’t have a name. Not yet, anyway. Delihla wants Miss Barley’s dog to have the perfect name.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Delihla, honey?” Her mother’s soft face appears next to the door, which is slightly ajar. Delihla smiles.
“It’s time, sweetie-pie.” Delihla quickly gets to her feet and walk over to her dresser where she carefully sets down Miss Barley in her bed in the drawer. Miss Barley loves having her own bed.
Delihla draws a blanket over Miss Barley, before she skips across the room over to her mother. She grabs her mother’s waist, and her mother kisses her head before they walk down the narrow hallway.
The floor boards creek as they walk over them. The house is old, but Delihla’s mother likes it, and then so does Delihla. She loves her mother and she never wants to leave her. They have fun together.
The steps of the stairs creak more than the floor boards, and Delihla knows exactly where to step to make them noise as much as possible. Her mother only laughs along with Delihla.
They walk across the hall at the bottom of the stairs and out the front door, which Delihla’s mother has left open. It is cold outside. The year is only two weeks old and winter is upon them. But they do not have to walk far. The door doesn’t make a sound as Delihla’s mother closes it behind them.
Delihla’s mother holds her daughter close to her warm body as they walk across the faded green front porch and down two, small steps. They follow the small stone path around to the side of the house. It is surrounded by clear, white snow. Delihla would love to go play in it, but it is too cold.
The hatch to the basement is left open. There is light flickering up the stairs from down there, and Delihla goes first. She focuses on walking carefully, since these steps easily get wet. She hears her mother close the hatch behind her, and soon thereafter Delihla is at the bottom of the stairs.
The heat from the numerous oil lamps heated up the stone-walled basement. Delihla pulled her shoulder up and enjoyed the heat as she slowly lowered them again.
Delihla’s mother placed a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder, before they both went over to the solid wooden table in the middle of the room. Delihla always admired all the shining metal, which was spread out of the table – lined up neatly. Delihla was short – still only being at the age of 6 – so she had to tip-toe to see the table top.
Delihla’s mother grabbed one of the smaller pieces of metal. Delihla liked the bigger ones better, but she always let her mother choose unless she was allowed to.
Delihla’s mother went over to the wall to the right from the stairs they descended. She ran the piece of metal, which was formed as a small blade, over the palm of her hand, as she slowly moved closer to the piece of wood that was attached to the wall.
She then ran the flat side of the blade over her cheeks and lips, still moving closer to the chains hanging from the wood.
She ran the tip of the knife down her neck and collarbones – careful not to cut her own skin. She moved as close as she could, before she stopped in front of the half-naked man.
She ran the knife down over her bosom and settles it in her cleavage. She then placed both her hands on the man’s chest, before she ran one up each of his arms and let them settle on the lead constraints around his wrists. Her breasts were pushed against his chest – her lips close to his ear.
“Do you like this, Mr. Williams?” she asked. Her voice was innocent at first, but the name was said with such a heavy mixture of lust and spite.
She bit his ear lobe softly, but Mr. Williams did not seem to enjoy it. His face hadn’t changed. His brows were furrowed upwards over the bridge of his nose, and his eyes looked horrified towards Delihla and the table of instruments, tools and other pieces of shiny metal – all of which were home-melted and formed by Delihla’s mother herself. Delihla has always been proud of her mother.
Her mother pushes herself off the man and walks back over to the table – swaying her hips as she walks the small distance.
She smiles down at Delihla, who smiles back. She strokes a hand over Delihla’s soft, black hair, before she softly and briefly taps a finger on the tip of Delihla’s nose. Delihla loves the attention her mother gives her.
Delihla’s mother turns her attention back to the table to choose the next piece of equipment to use.
Delihla really wants to choose, but she knows her mother will ask for her opinion when she wants it. Her mother has never punished her, but Delihla does consider her mother’s disapproving looks a punishment, which she does not want to endure.
Delihla’s mother picks up one of the larger tools. Delihla smiles with content.
“You’re a big boy, Mr. Williams,” Delihla’s mother says, before she turns around and walks over to the man – swaying her hips once again. She stops about three feet away from him.
She brings the glistening, bright metal spike up with her arm stretched and pokes the point of it to his chest. He’s trembling slightly.
“And I am no little girl,” Delihla’s mother says as she lets the point of the spike slide over the man’s bare chest until it has reached his left nipple.
“And though my daughter is only 6 years of age.” Delihla’s mother leans forward – her arm still stretched.
“She is no little girl either.” The man screams when the spike pierces the skin of his sensitive nipple. An evil glare is set in the eyes of Delihla’s mother.
She pulls the spike back out – only the very point of it being red. She turns around with a determent look in her eyes.
She walks over to the table and lays the spike on the table. She then turns back around. She waits until he looks up again.
She smirks at him and cocks an eyebrow. Then she reaches in between her firm breasts and takes a hold of the knife still wedged in between them. She slowly shoves it forward until it reaches her dress. Then she pulls it up – cutting the fabric covering her breasts. The strings break apart as the knife slowly makes its way out of her top. She keeps her stare at his horrified eyes and watches them as they slowly change.
The knife is fully out, and her breasts are barely still covered. The fabric of her top is hanging off to each side and is only just covering her nipples.
She leans back against the table and puts the knife back onto the table. The blade is completely clean. She never cut herself. Delihla always admires this – her mother’s amazing control.
The eyes of Delihla’s mother are locked on the man’s, but his eyes are locked on something other than the eyes of Delihla’s mother. Delihla’s mother smiles.
“Delihla, sweetheart?” Delihla’s mother asks and holds an empty hand out towards Delihla. Delihla’s eyes widen and she smiles wide. She then tip-toes to see all the shiny pieces of metal lying spread out on the table. She already knows her favorite and exactly where it is.
She grabs a hold of the table to pull herself up, and stretches far to reach the big, shiny metal-piece. It’s not the biggest on the table, but she loves it the best no matter what. It is the piece that always causes the best expression on the men’s faces – both before, during and after. And her mother enjoys its effect as well.
It takes all the power of her arm muscles to lift it off the table and over into her mother’s hand.
Her mother doesn’t even look down at what has been put in her hand, because she already knows what it is. As said, she has made all the metal equipment herself, and she knows every piece like the back of her hand. She cares for every piece. She is proud of them all.
She clutches her hand around the metal bar of this particular piece and smiles when the man’s expression changes once again. Her teeth are still not showing, but Delihla knows they will show eventually – once she enjoys herself too much to care if they are shown or not.
Delihla’s mother moves closer to the man – this time slower and with more hip. The man seems to be in a dilemma. His eyes keep shifting – keep changing their focus point.
Delihla’s mother comes up close to the man – closer than before – and stands between his legs. His eyes show that his dilemma has grown.
Delihla’s mother places her free hand on the man’s abdomen and slowly slides it down into his pants. The man suddenly closes his eyes and throws his head back a little – exposing his neck.
A spiteful grin spreads across Delihla’s mother’s eyes and lips, and she swiftly brings the jagged blade up to his throat. She doesn’t move it, and her other hand is still as well.
A joyful look runs through the eyes of Delihla’s mother as the man’s face freezes up with fear – his eyes wide open as they stare at the ceiling. He doesn’t even dare to gulp.
Slowly Delihla’s mother start moving the hand she’s got in his pants, but the man is still frozen. Delihla’s mother bites her lip.
The man suddenly exhales and closes his eyes again. Delihla’s mother puts more pressure on the blade before she stops moving her hand. Little drops of blood appear under the blade’s sharp points. The man freezes up again, and this time he does gulp. He squeezes his eyes shut and a drop of blood streams down his neck. Delihla’s mother smirks again.
She starts moving her hand again while a new drop of blood runs down his neck. His eyes stay frozen – looking down over his cheek at Delihla’s mother. She only smirks back – her eyes filled with venomous joy.
He doesn’t enjoy the rest of it. He doesn’t let go and enjoys the feeling in his pants. He’s still hard against the hand of Delihla’s mother. She keeps rubbing him. He doesn’t enjoy it. He stays frozen – his every muscle tense. His hands are clenched into fists, and a small drop of blood falls onto the floor from his hidden palm.
Delihla’s mother enjoys it, though. Her eyes are glistening with venomous and spiteful joy and amusement. Her mouth is no longer just a smirk, but a wide, evil grin – her teeth completely exposed. Her tongue keeps running along the edges of her teeth as her breath is slow and hot.
He whimpers. And not out of pleasure. He’s afraid. Petrified. Horrified. And Delihla’s mother loves it.
She slowly lets the jagged blade run over his skin – the move of her hand in his pants continuing to move. She smiles even wider and exhales deeply as blood trickles down the man’s neck. The wound is only superficial.
She pulls the knife away from his neck. The movement of her hand stops. She pulls her hand out of his pants and kisses his jaw – leaving a thick lipstick-imprint – before she turns around and walks over to the table again. She puts down the knife.
She smiles down at her daughter, before she leans over the table to reach a piece of shiny metal at the far end. She rolls the tool in her hand – the light sound of metal against metal resonating throughout the room. The stone walls absorb no sound, whatsoever.
She smiles down at Delihla again, then winks at her. Delihla’s smile is big and wide, as she enjoys the attention of her mother. She’s a bit disappointed that the knife – her choice – has been put down, but she doesn’t think about it for long.
Her mother turns around and approaches the horrified man. He’s got tears in his eyes. Delihla’s mother lifts her head up with a smile spread across her lips.
Her steps towards the man are slow and heavy – her high heels dangling in the air for a few seconds before each, heavy step. She licks her lips.