Perverted Daddy System

Chapter 156 - 146 - Playng cupid

Morning. I sit at the kitchen table with my coffee and run through the day.

Delaney's on my mind. English Lit — the young teacher with the blonde ponytail and the glasses, the one who lights up when she talks about Keats. Paul's been building the staff list, name by name, and she's near the top of it. Good addition, high potential — fresh, pretty, and enthusiastic, everybody likes her. If I get her, the next one gets easier.

*System, Miss Delaney's stats.*

[Miss Delaney — trust: 60]

Sixty. Better than I expected. The pin's been on her since that first week, ticking away. But sixty isn't ninety-five, and if the pin really adds one trust an hour, she should be maxed by now. Something doesn't add up.

*System. Why hasn't the pin pushed her higher?*

[The Pin of Trust functions only within fifty meters of the user. Beyond that range, the pin is dormant.]

I frown. "Fifty meters? Why the hell wasn't I told this before? You've been running this thing since week one."

[You never asked, user.]

"...What?"

[In vernacular, user — I am your system, not your mom.]

I sigh and shake my head. "You're becoming more and more like the little sister I never had."

[Thank you for the compliment, user.]

"That wasn't a compliment, system. It was an expression of abject terror."

[...Noted.]

With the system chastised and the new info it provided, I return to the matter at hand. Fifty meters. I frown. I've been to the school maybe a handful of times this month, and never stood near her for more than a few minutes. Sixty is more than I should have gotten. Which means—

[Proximity to a follower operates the pin at ten percent efficiency.]

I sigh, exasperated. "System, would you be so kind as to give me all the information together when you are so thoroughly intent on fucking up my plans?"

[Of course, user. My pleasure.]

"...Thanks." I sigh again.

So, Paul. He's at that school every day, his office down the hall from her classroom. He's been ticking her up for me without lifting a finger. My own man, doing my work for me without either of us realizing it.

And it's not just her. The pins on Chen, Vargas, and Keller crawl along at ten percent too — Paul walks past their rooms a dozen times a day. At home, my presence covers the whole building, so any pin on any of my tenants runs at full rate, at least when they're at home. I'd been counting on hours, instead of proximity. That changes the scheduling, not the plan. The school is the only place most of these women are reachable, and Paul is the only one who has access all day, every school day. Fine, I guess I will have to be more proactive with my visits.

*System, show me all the "pinned" people at school.*

[Mrs. Higgins — Secretary — trust: 88]

[Mrs. Albright — Homeroom — trust: 44]

[Miss Delaney — English Literature — trust: 60]

[Mrs. Chen — Art — trust: 12]

[Mr. Vargas — Gym — trust: 12]

[Mrs. Keller — Librarian — trust: 12]

Higgins is nearly done — she sits outside Paul's office all day, so that tracks. Albright's creeping along. The other three barely moved; not worth the effort — though Chen might rise if Delaney shares my thoughts about art in my prep school. Delaney at sixty is the one worth pushing. One or two real visits and she's in conversion range.

I finish my coffee and grab my jacket. I was going to see Paul anyway — it's time to give him the word about Mary.

At the school, Paul's in his office with a cup of coffee at his elbow. He looks up when I knock.

"Ben. What brings you here?"

I close the door. "Mary."

He sets his pen down. "Mary Hudson?"

"The one you were promised. She's willing, Paul. But take it slow. Honestly."

Paul blinks. "Willing?"

"Willing. She's a good woman, a single mother, just like you're a single father. You court her properly and let the town see it. It looks good on you, and it looks good on the school. Genuine. No games. Plus, her body is to kill for."

He sits back in his chair. "I haven't done that in a while. Courted anyone, I mean."

"Then it's about time. You're a vice principal, a father, a man with a steady job and a clean record. She'll see that if you let her."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then she doesn't. But she will."

He nods slowly, taking it in. "When do I—"

"She'll be here this afternoon. I'll arrange it. You just be ready to be a gentleman." I lean against the doorframe. "And before that — Delaney. I want a word with her."

"Delaney? English. Young, sharp, already warming up to you."

"She's the best of the batch. We get her, and the next one gets easier. I'll handle her; you keep building the list."

Paul nods, then gestures back to the first topic. "She's coming in this afternoon, then? Mary, I mean."

"The twins angle. Mary comes in about Dana and Gina's progress. You and I will be there. You do your part — be the man she deserves, and let it happen naturally."

Paul clears his throat. "Right."

I leave him to it and head down the corridor to Delaney's classroom. The door's open. She's at her desk grading papers, a strand of hair falling across her face. She looks up and smiles.

"Mr. Roberts. Back again?"

"Passing by. Hope mentioned she enjoyed the lesson on Romantic poetry."

Her face lights up. "She did well on the worksheet. She has a real feel for the imagery."

We talk for a while — Keats, negative capability, the way a poem can hold a feeling without naming it. She's passionate, animated, her hands moving as she speaks. Lonely, too. She doesn't get much real conversation around here.

"...and I keep telling them, it's not about the rhyme," she says. "It's about the compression. You take a whole storm of feeling, and you fold it into fourteen lines. Anyone can write a hundred pages. It takes a poet to do it in one breath."

"Keats did."

She grins, and it transforms her whole face. "Keats did. 'Ode to a Nightingale' — he's listening to a bird, and suddenly he's writing about mortality, about escape, about every ache he ever felt, and it all fits in eight stanzas. That's the craft."

"Poetry's underrated." I nod. "It's a shame."

"It is a shame. The kids glaze over when they hear the word 'poem.' I spend the first two weeks just convincing them it's not a punishment."

"And the arts always get cut first," I say, picking up her thread. "Math and science are safe. Poetry's the first thing to go when budgets tighten."

"That's exactly it."

I let that sit a moment. "Funny you should say that. I've been looking at a property. A preparatory school. If it goes through, I intend to make sure the arts get their due — literature, poetry, the full weight they deserve."

She blinks, caught off guard. "A preparatory school?"

"In the works. Still early. But I believe in the arts, Miss Delaney. A school that starves its English department isn't worth the name."

"Though if you want raw passion," she says, "the modern Hebrew poets leave the Romantics looking tame. Amichai would gut a feeling while Keats was still polishing it."

I smile. "After you left me, I let a dog smell at my chest and my belly. It will fill its nose and set out to find you."

*And I hope it will tear the testicles of your lover and bite off his penis. Or at least bring me your stockings between his teeth.*

She goes still. "...You know Amichai?"

I leave the second stanza unsaid — but it hangs between us. She doesn't complete it either. Her ears burn red as she looks back down at her papers.

She recovers, smiles at me. "Good thing I have no lover, then."

I turn to leave, waving a hand at her. At the door, I fire my answer without turning around. "Then I would be more than happy to get your stockings."

She's frozen, staring at my back as I walk out.

[Miss Delaney — trust: +10]

[Miss Delaney — love: +6]

[Miss Delaney — horniness: +8]

---

The afternoon rolls around. Mary comes through the front entrance, the twins' angle working just as planned — Paul called her about Dana and Gina's progress, and here she is. She's in her work clothes, hair pulled back, a little nervous in that familiar way. Paul greets her at the door, all professional warmth, and leads her to his office where I'm waiting.

"Mr. Roberts," Mary says, surprised but pleased. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Paul called me in. Your girls' progress is worth talking about — the numbers speak for themselves."

She sits across from Paul's desk. They talk about Dana and Gina — the math scores, the homework habits, the Saturdays. Paul is warm and easy. Mary relaxes into it.

I watch them. Two lonely people, both raising kids alone, sitting across a desk from each other. The pieces are already there. They just need a nudge.

*System. Honey trap on Paul and Mary.*

[Honey trap activated. Targets: Paul Paulsson ↔ Mary Hudson. Duration: 2 hours.]

It takes. Paul's voice catches mid-sentence. He clears his throat and looks at Mary differently — softer, a little uncertain. His hands find something to do with a pen he isn't holding. Her cheeks go pink. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and the gesture isn't nervous anymore. It's shy.

"So, um," Paul says, "I was thinking. Since the girls are doing so well—" He clears his throat again. "Would you, uh, like to get a coffee sometime? I know raising a child alone isn't easy. It's not easy for me, either. I thought maybe—"

He's stumbling. It's working.

Mary looks at him, shy, flustered. "I— yes. I'd like that."

Paul's face relaxes. "Saturday? There's a place on Main Street. Nothing fancy—"

"That sounds lovely."

The two of them smile at each other as neither can quite believe it. The trap does its work quietly— to them it'll feel like a thing that just happened, two single parents finding an excuse to talk.

I lean back in my chair, watching it happen. The town will see a respectable courtship. Nobody will see me.

---

Afterward I walk back to the car. I sit in the driver's seat a moment, watching the school in the rearview. Mary's in there, still talking to Paul, and it's all finally moving. Evening's coming on. I start the engine and head home.

Mary's going to ask Katie to take the twins for a while. The public reason will be her workload — it'll be the woman-to-woman ask, one mother to another, so it looks natural. The real reason is the courtship with Paul; she'll need space to let it grow without the girls underfoot. The real, real reason is that I can't wait to get my dirty paws on them. Hehe. That brings Dana and Gina under my roof. However, that's when the space problem hits. Ben, Katie, Hope, Hester, plus the twins — six people in a two-bedroom is a squeeze. The penthouse is the answer: the whole fifth floor, three apartments interconnected, plenty of rooms, and my dungeon already up there.

I picture the layout. Master suite for Katie and me. Hope gets one of the big rooms, Hester the other. The twins take a shared room with a double bed — they've never slept apart, and they don't want to start now. The den stays mine, and the dungeon stays under lock. Mary keeps #6 on the third floor for now — a tenant first, a guest later, a mother-in-law someday if she and Paul make it real. The building's mine, so every door I open stays open.

The move itself needs no explanation — the penthouse is already my home, and the family moving in with me is nobody's business. Mary's request about the twins comes after, and by then it just looks natural: her workload, my spare rooms, a courtship that's clearly going somewhere. By the time anyone notices the arrangement has become permanent, it's already normal.

I smile, pulling out of the lot. Paul gets his pussy, Delaney's is getting wet, and the twins' are getting closer. What a nice day...