A few weeks ago, the wife and I got divorced. We had been together for a good thirteen years. It came very much out of the blue. I had just come home from my usual job as a sanitation worker. Yes, a garbage collector was also the most prestigious job one could ever wish for. So what? The pay, however, was worth it. It was a tough job but a well-paid one, especially if you took extra garbage routes. But enough about that.

When I came home from work one day, the bitch, aka my ex-wife, wanted one of those adult talks, which I wasn't very good at. I blamed my gender and pretended it must be a man thing. But to make a long story short, the conclusion was that she was still really happy for me but needed a break from us. I thought it was a bit strange, but I went along with the idea, doing whatever I could to save our marriage and give it a chance. The house was in my name, so luckily, I didn't have to go through the trouble of moving. She didn't take all her stuff, just the most essential things and cases.

The first week was very frustrating but, in a way, also lovely. It was nice to come home and throw myself on the sofa without listening to a chattering female human being and dealing with her frustrations. However, it had its costs, as I had to do the cooking, cleaning, and the remaining housekeeping tasks that she always used to do. Hell, it was here that I became aware of all the little things a woman does to make a house a home.

This went on for a few weeks. We didn't see each other and only talked when I called her. She didn't even take the initiative to take her damn phone out of her pocket and give me a call. I got frustrated, and it only got worse day after day. Especially when I found out that, at one point, she had been home to pick up more things. After all, she still had her key. I chose to investigate what the heck went wrong. This is when I found out she was with a real Dario boy who looked like one of the typical Paradise hotel attendees. Muscular, young, zero body fat, and generally just a giant sex bomb. If it had been a female participant, I would have taken the chance, too. But what a shitstorm it turned out to be when I stood out in her terraced garden in pitch darkness at shitty o'clock in the evening and discovered the bachelor entered the living room naked to pounce on my wife like a hungry bull.

A few weeks after this episode, we added our signatures to the divorce contract. My wife hadn't moved very far away—just a few kilometers. We occasionally bumped into each other in the local supermarket. It wasn't a problem, but it became one when he was there too. It took me a while to get over it, but I did. However, the frustrations surfaced in time and out. They were both good and bad.

The lousy part made me so angry inside that it threw me into male chauvinistic stress mode. I went down to the local bodega and fucked all the women, then staggered home in a depressed state. Occasionally, there was an offer for the fishing rod, despite my dysfunctional state. I wondered why the few bitches that I brought back with me came at all. I thought it was probably offering a little pity sex. Whatever the reason, it was nice, but still, fucking bitches.

During the divorce, my wife also ran into another challenge that she hadn't considered—namely, her daughter, Mathilde. Mathilde was a young, annoying, and beautiful teenager. She was a natural brunette with long, full locks that twisted like slightly elongated spirals. She was just four years old when I met her for the first time and told her I would be her papa. I clearly remembered how she looked up at me uncomprehendingly with her grey-green eyes and responded by raising her arms welcomingly in the air so that she could give me a friendly hug and welcome me to the family.

Mathilde and I have ever since been incredibly close and had an inseparable bond together. It, therefore, came as a massive shock to her when her mother and I had to divorce. First, the mother had divorced Mathilde's biological father, and now she was about to divorce again. It was too big a mouthful to swallow for the poor teenager. Mathilde could not handle the situation in any way and reacted by cutting the contact to her mother, which was a big problem. Mathilde had no contact with her biological father either, and since I wasn´t her biological father, I had no right to her. Mathilde mostly went home to her friends. Sometimes she notified Mom, but other times she didn't, and when that happened, it always ended up in a giant shitshow, with the police getting involved. It had been like that since the beginning.

Mathilde had only been at my house once since the divorce. She still had her room, which I had promised she could keep. But it didn't look like the room she used to have. It used to be decorated with posters of various boy bands and male singers, but all these had been ripped off, and only the Harry Styles sign remained. Her LED light chains, glued to mirrors, table legs, paintings, and all edges, had been torn up. In a few places, small pieces were hanging that had broken in the middle and been left in the storm of her race. The desk, which had always been cluttered, had its surface exposed. Only the transparent substrate and a box with various writing implements were visible. The bed's comforter and pillow were dressed with a dull set of blue bedding, and all four walls had been stripped of their adornment.

I sat on a Wednesday evening on my extended corner sofa. On the living room table were two beer bottles. One was empty, while the other still had half the required liquid. I sat and streamed a random movie I had on. "6 Underground" was the title when I scrolled through the many channels. I only put it on because Ryan Reynolds was in it. You couldn't possibly go wrong when he was in it. I was only half an hour into the movie before being utterly engrossed. I had just gotten to the scene where Ryan Reynolds was in a Middle Eastern city being bombarded by planes when the front door cut me off.

The handle was brought down hard, but when the person on the other side found the door was locked, there was a violent knock. I was taken aback, hastily grabbed the remote control to pause the movie, and stood up reluctantly, heading for the front door to find out who was knocking at this time of night. I just managed to turn the lock and pull the handle down before Mathilde, my bonus daughter, stormed into the house and was close to plowing me down with her large sports bag over her shoulder.

"Well, finally come inside, my darling," I exclaimed, slightly annoyed, before she disappeared up the stairs without a word. She stomped into her room and slammed the door shut. I smiled big, and deep down, I was thrilled to see her again. I had only written and called her, and it was the first time in a very long time that I had seen her in person. I sighed in despair before closing and locking the front door again. I knew very well that if her mother got wind of her being with me, all hell would break loose. I shook my head, not wanting to expend any more energy on that thought, and sat on the couch to continue watching my movie.

About three-quarters of an hour later, I could hear heavy footsteps on the stairs, which continued into the living room. Mathilde came forward. She had changed and was wearing her typical nightwear, which consisted of a pair of shorts and a matching T-shirt of the same grey-blue color of soft silk fabric. The T-shirt was in itself more of a shirt than a T-shirt. It had a collar and four buttons, as well as a chest pocket on the left side.

"Has it been a rough day?" I asked in my warm, fatherly voice as she approached. She nodded sullenly and down on her way. I unfolded my arms to receive my beautiful baby girl and hugged her tightly as she crawled up to me on the couch and laid her head on my chest. She bent her legs and shrunk so that she was lying in the fetal position next to me. I kissed her lovingly on the top of her head and breathed in her wonderful scent that reminded me of my cursed ex-wife. But Mathilde's natural scent was unique and still different in a good way. I gratefully tightened my grip on her and was happy she was with me again. I had missed her—a lot, even. We lay for a long time without saying anything to each other, and I knew that was precisely what we both needed at this moment.

"Why did you and Mother get divorced?" I had just turned away from the film's subtitles and switched to another channel when Mathilde asked me.

"It's probably best you talk to your mother about it." I sighed to avoid the conversation and was nervous about where it would lead.

"I already asked Mother!" Mathilde half sat up. Her eyebrows narrowed thoughtfully, and she stared at me seriously. I sensed a stubbornness in her, the same determination her mother had.

"So what did your mother say?" I had no interest in Mathilde becoming part of all that adult talk. But she was, after all, quite old and very gifted for her age, so I could not avoid that one day it would come.

"She said you no longer felt for her, so you ended your relationship."

A roaring rush of anger spread from within me and out to the tips of my fingers. I was indescribably close to exploding like an all-destructive volcano. I wanted to screw the shit out of a woman in the crudest verbal language at my disposal. What the hell had she imagined? Not only did she first distort the truth, but she also tried to manipulate Mathilde with her made-up story to her poor advantage in the hope that she would take her side. I was shaken.

"The only thing I can say is that there are two sides to the same story," I focused on my breathing and had to take five long and deep breaths before I could continue the conversation.

"But is it true?"

"Yes, you could say that," I lied.

"What?! You loved Mother!” Mathilde was shaken and confused about what had gone wrong. She remembered how I came home every Friday with yellow and light blue tulips, the ex-wife's favorite flowers. I pampered her mother like she was a goddess; I was still newly in love with her and did everything I could to show it. The home oozed with love.

"Mathilde, leave it alone."

"No! Tell me what went wrong!” She raised her voice, and her face turned red.

“I lost my feelings for your mother, dammit!” I shouted brusquely and curtly. I made an averting movement with my hand, but Mathilde saw right through my big fat lie and knew there was more to it. She looked at me with her adorable, cross-teenage expression and sent a trace of distrust at my words.

"Listen, whatever happened between your mother and me, then it's not something you should become a part of; it's a matter between me and her," I sighed and was about to get up so I could end our conversation. But before I knew it, Mathilde was straddling me. She landed on my crotch under my beer belly and pushed me down with her hands on my ribcage. Mathilde was a small thing and did not weigh very much, but one should not underestimate her strength.

"Say it now," she stared pleadingly at me with quivering eyes.

"Is it because of him, the douchebag she's with now?" I tried to wriggle free of her grip but failed. It got to me, and I concluded that it must be the mixture of laziness, fatigue, and alcohol that prevented me from getting free. I sighed deeply and had to admit my defeat. I would be fooling myself if I thought that Mathilde would ever abandon her search for the truth.

"Yes, it's because of him," I finally admitted. I shook my head disapprovingly at myself to break my moral musings. "Your mother was with him before we separated."

When the words came out, Mathilde let go with her hands. It was nice. I was finally able to sit up without her resisting. We broke eye contact and stared blankly and silently into the air for a long moment.

"Have you ever thought of revenge?" her voice was whispery and hoarse, and I couldn't recognize it. It was a side I had never seen before in her. I was torn. It pleased me, but at the same time, it was also worrying. In the middle of it all, Mathilde began to make small, secret movements with her hips. I couldn't understand her uneasiness as she straddled me and, unfortunately, discovered all too late what she was up to.

"What are you doing?" I asked warily, touching her slender hip bones to stop their seductive dance. Mathilde's abdomen had deliberately teased my old man's dick. I started to panic and tried to flip her off me, but she read my mind and put her hands on my chest again to stop me.

"Shhh. I want revenge on Mother, don't you too?” her voice was hoarse, unpleasant, and with malicious intent. I couldn't recognize her and felt torn. I was glad she had taken my part instead of her mother's and wanted revenge. But not this way. No. Absolutely no!

"Yes, but..." I could feel her putting more weight on my lap. Although I fought hard, she still accelerated the ongoing process between my legs.

"Then it's settled; we'll take revenge on Mother," she interrupted hastily and smiled up to her eyes so that her white teeth were exposed. She let go of me, straightened up, and looked deep into my eyes. Her tiny, short fingers slowly caressed her slender body, stopping when they reached the top button of the nightgown. She gently bit her lower lip and quickly undid the first three buttons of her shirt. The dome of one breast came into view, and I immediately widened my eyes. An unpleasant shudder of arousal stirred, causing my cock to react further.

"Stop!" I ordered in horror, staring up into her burning eyes with a pleading look. How could she be so cynical?

"Why, though? You seem to want this as much as I do.” Mathilde wiggled her hips, alluding to my stiff cock that had bulged out from under my pants. She was right. I wanted to, but how wrong it was.

"Oh God!" I gasped loudly as if I'd had the stomach flu as my darling bonus daughter undid the last button of her nightgown. She giggled fondly at my reaction, looking down at me with dark eyes as she moistened her lips. Rocking her hips from side to side, she grasped the opening of her shirt with each hand, tilting her head back slightly as she tugged at the fabric. Shit. I gasped heavily, and my body ignited like fireworks. It was wild, and I almost roared over the naughty show. The soft silk fabric rubbed up close to her small but plump breasts, pressing them down.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked softly, teasingly. She had her mouth slightly open and gently bit her tongue. I nodded with small, quick movements and moaned without answering. I was utterly lost in the irresistible beauty before me. Mathilde's smooth, young skin was pale and radiant like the sun, while her flat and taut stomach called longingly to me. Unable to hold back, I leaned forward toward her swiftly.

"Oh," she moaned softly as I put my hands around her waist and planted my lips above her belly button. I kissed her and breathed in the beautiful scents of that young teenage body that also reminded me of her mother. Damn. Everything about Mathilde reminded me of her fucking mother. It was unbearable and, at the same time, mega-exciting. As my dear bonus daughter suggested I take revenge, she finally convinced me. It was precisely what I had in mind when she offered herself to me like that.

I parted my lips and let the tip of my tongue out on her soft skin. Oh, she tasted delicious. I flattened my tongue and let it loose. Licking and kissing, I made my way north until I reached her ribcage and could feel her beating heart under her sternum. It was beating fast and violent, just like my own. I was torn, and both wanted to stay with her breasts and explore them more closely, but at the same time, my eyes also focused on her full pink lips. I had to have them, and I sat up on the sofa with my back straight. Utterly enchanted, I followed the exposed line from her stomach to the groom's aisle, finally meeting her adorable, cheeky face, far off with mischievous passion.

"You are fucking beautiful, my dear baby girl," I blurted out after I had taken a slow elevator look at my delicious bonus daughter.

"I know," she said confidently and proudly, biting her bottom lip excessively. I shook my head in amusement, not intending for her to get away with the flabby comment.