So, I was shallow. By twenty I'd tried just about everything sexual a college girl could try, and with a few exceptions I'd loved it all. From being fingered in the back of a taxi to sucking off a virtual stranger with an audience, I'd done a hell of a lot for a girl who wasn't considered to be a slut.
But I didn't suffer fools well. I could be callous and dismissive, a prize bitch if the circumstances dictated. We had such fun ganging up on guys who 'didn't stack up' in our immature, college girl opinions. When they asked to buy us drinks or asked for dances, we always had something practiced, something that would not just reject, but humiliate.
Oh, yes.
We did that.
We even rehearsed responses and planned what to say if a conversation took a particular course. You don't really think we concocted that stuff on the spot, do you?
And yet, somewhere deep inside, I felt like I was being naughty... that I shouldn't really be that way.
I was a fraud.
I didn't fit the profile of 'well-heeled bitch'. I didn't have the passion or the ambition. I certainly didn't have the virtually unlimited funds. Being good-looking and aloof was enough to get me in with the 'beautiful people' for at least a semester or two, and I took full advantage. But in the back of my mind, I always knew.
There were bits hanging out. Bits I tried not to think about. Bits that if my friends knew, they'd think I'd lost my marbles. Ugh... It's not even as serious as all that. I mean, it seems like it, but the difference between them and me was so small... so minute. It was ludicrous to even bring it up. It didn't happen all the time. Only sometimes... And only with certain guys... 
Only with certain types of guys.
The difference was, I had buttons, and if you knew how to push them, I'd turn into a kitten in a blink of an eye.
The white knight fantasy never appealed to me. I had the 'gentleman/tiger' fantasy. A gentleman till he got me in the sack, and a tiger till I was satisfied. At the time it seemed like sound feminist ideology. 'It's about time we turned the tables on this 'lady in public, whore in the bedroom' bullshit.' We even laughed about it.
Even before that, I was pretty bent I guess. Back in high school I submerged myself in the shapeless, androgenous Goth culture. Dying my hair and doing my best to ignore everyone who wasn't wearing black made high school bearable. Besides, that way I could ignore the curvy young woman I was becoming. My parents freaked when they discovered my tattoos, but they never cottoned on to the tongue stud. Thank God. I couldn't have explained it truthfully. "Well, Mom, I actually fancy myself as a good cocksucker, and thought the guys would really like it."
I don't think so. As weird as my parents were, they were 'straight-weird', and not 'bend-weird'.
By the time high school graduation rolled around, I was due for a change. My turd of a boyfriend broke up with me and I spent summer vacation getting a makeover, thanks to Mom. When I arrived at college, I'd shed everything but the aloof attitude, becoming suddenly and insanely popular, partying with the 'in' crowd of cheerleaders, football players and the faculty themselves.
I don't know if it was the partying or what, but my grades suffered and within a year and a half I'd decided college wasn't really for me. I dropped out, taking a job in a company where a girlfriend worked. By this time, apart from the barbed wire tattoo on my upper arm, the Celtic tattoo across the top of my ass, and my pierced tongue, I was like any other office girl. I worked from nine to five, kept my eye out for a rich partner and partied on the weekends with my buds.
It was the best of both worlds, really. I still partied on campus with my college friends and I also bar hopped with the girls from work. They were good times. I enjoyed quite a few guys over those couple of years, progressively pushing the ones I liked into treating me more and more firmly. It was entirely unsatisfactory of course. Dominating men in order to be dominated simply attracted the wrong type, and on more than one occasion I had to throw a guy out. I was just glad I was strong enough to do it.
By the time I turned twenty-two all I was interested in was shopping, wearing the latest styles, and whether my next fuck would be rich enough to keep me interested. Back then, if they weren't up to standard or they didn't have the right attitude, I started looking elsewhere.
One night on my way home after working late, I decided on a whim to stop at a cocktail bar for a nightcap. It looked like a really nice place, and while I almost never went anywhere alone, something told me to stop and get a cocktail. As soon as I'd walked in the door, the handsome, well-dressed older guy talking to the barman caught my attention. I sauntered up and slid a barstool under my ass, ordering a daiquiri and wondering why I hadn't dropped in sooner.
He was both sober and funny which was great. Before long I was getting horny and wanted to fuck him, but something told me just to let it play out. We talked and joked and God I had fun. Three drinks later I couldn't drive my car, but I only lived around the corner. Like a gentleman he didn't pressure me at all, offering to walk me home. I slipped my arm through his and we walked quietly until we approached the front entrance to my apartment building, where he told me how much he'd enjoyed the last couple of hours, kissed my forehead, then turned to leave. Oh, my God! I thought. He's not even going to get my number!
I took a risk and told him the truth. I said I liked him and wanted to get to know him better. He turned on the pavement with his hands in his pockets and looked into my eyes. I swallowed as five seconds of silence ticked by.
"All right," he said, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile.
I remember fumbling with the key in the lock and looking up at him. He seemed so much taller when I was close to him. It was weird. Yet here I was, falling over my words and trying to keep my hands from shaking. He took my keys from me and opened the door for us. Inside I made coffee and we sat on either end of my couch, talking all night, and I couldn't help but smile when the sun finally came up.
We spent almost all the next day together. Around mid-morning we decided to go to the zoo where we had a scream naming the animals after famous people. Ugh... maybe you had to be there... Anyway, we met up with a couple of my girlfriends for coffee at about three in the afternoon, and it was clear they didn't like him. I became defensive more quickly than I ever had, wondering why they couldn't see what I saw. We left after twenty minutes of uncomfortable banter, walking back to the cocktail bar to find our cars, swapping numbers then heading our separate ways.
But like I said, I was shallow back then, and after a week of shit from my friends about Stephen's wrinkles and receding hairline, I'd started to wonder myself. I mean, don't get me wrong. He was a good-looking guy. The premature grey over his temples gave him a very distinguished look, particularly in a suit, and though he was ten years my senior, he was definitely fit enough to keep up with me. I doubted there was much more than a few ounces of fat on him. Oh, I don't know what was wrong with me. I just didn't think it would work out, even though the lump in his pants intrigued me.
See? Shallow.
Little did I know I was playing with fire. Stephen had a budding interest in kink of his own, having investigated the BDSM lifestyle for an article he wrote and finding himself progressively more involved in it. He had pretty firm ideas about the woman he wanted, and while I had caught his eye, he hadn't really considered me seriously, particularly after I started putting off meeting him again. My friends hadn't helped either.
I wished I knew what it was about him. When I was talking to him on the phone, it was like we'd known each other for years. But as soon as I got off the phone, I was able to fortify myself for his next call, committed to defying him again. Eventually I fucked up with my 'previous engagements', and found myself agreeing to a meal at his place.
Ugh... fuck. Okay, 'shallow alert' again.
I was impressed. He had a top floor apartment that was huge and amazing and hired help and God knows what else. I wondered how a journalist could afford such a place until he chuckled at my slack jaw and explained, "The books paid for it". When he pointed out a couple of large, hardcover books in his bookcase, I still had no idea. I picked one up and was wondering what I was looking at when it finally dawned on me. "You are the Stephen Cavanaugh? The photo-journalist?"
He chuckled and said, "One and the same."
All I could do was shake my head. Stephen Cavanaugh was cooking me dinner. The Stephen Cavanaugh. Wait till I tell my girlfriends! I thought. NOW they'll be impressed. God. I was so clueless. Here I was, wondering how Cavanaugh sounded as a last name, while he was planning to shock the crap out of me, and if necessary, kick me out with a few choice words ringing in my ears. He was having fun with me!
He turned on the charm and I teased him mercilessly. It was like two prizefighters dancing and sparring, snapping jabs and taking a couple to the body. Only he was a heavyweight, and I was cannon fodder. With the benefit of hindsight I now know he felt like there was nothing to lose. Quite frankly, I was thinking the same way, especially as the magic of our first night together seemed to rush back at us. I saw it in his eyes too. Something changed. Years later, when he clued me in on what he'd been thinking, he said he saw something in my eyes that was 'worth the gamble'.
After a bottle of fine wine, good food and music, we danced right there in his apartment. I was pretty excited feeling his big prick pushing against my tummy. I hadn't had a decent reaming in months, and the way he was taking charge was exciting and strangely liberating. Swaying slow and close, he was telling me what he was going to do to me as he danced me into his bedroom. I had no idea whether he was trying to shock me or not, but he was certainly 'pushing my buttons'.
Suddenly I was eager, but oh how he teased me, pinching my nipples and blindfolding me, then tying my hands behind my back with a scarf before fucking me into oblivion with his baseball bat of a cock.
From that night forward I knew Stephen was more than I could handle. Here was a man I could look up to, who wouldn't take my shit and who knew way more than I did about truth and honesty. The following year was a tough one for me and I stumbled and took plenty of spankings before I learned to control my temper and be the way I wanted to be. Plus my friendships took a beating. They just weren't fun any more and only a few of them survived.
After a year of intense fucking, and I mean 'better than I've ever had' intense, I figured I couldn't be blamed for saying 'yes' when he asked me to marry him. What I can say is, I changed a lot during our engagement.
Less than twenty-four hours after proposing, he dropped the bombshell. He was into D/s and S and M and BDSM and God knows what else. My head spun and I wondered what the hell I was getting into, not to mention the supposed need for honesty this 'Lifestyle' apparently required... something he had conveniently forgotten during our courting.
Amazingly and quite calmly, he explained that he wouldn't be upset if I called it off. Taking away my first defence left me, well, defenceless, and I had to deal with it head-on instead of skirting around it and blaming him for lying to me. Seeing as there was no pressure, and that he was willing to let me go if I couldn't handle it, really hit me out of the park. On the one hand it irked me that he could just give me up like that. Like I didn't mean anything to him. Like he didn't love me. He said he wanted me to choose with full knowledge. I couldn't argue with that, even though I was a bit frightened. But he didn't seem like a sadist or anything.
Somehow he convinced me to 'just try it'. Damn, I don't know why I didn't run a mile. But I was so thankful I didn't. That 'something in my eyes that was worth a gamble', turned into so much more.
I was no fool. I knew I showed my blondeness on occasions, which may or may not have been 'really me', depending on my mood, but hey, I kind of liked being allowed to be silly. I liked having an excuse if I 'just didn't get it'. I liked being able to say, 'I'm sorry but I really don't understand what you mean, even if I thought I did.'
There was something about me that liked exactness. I LIKED knowing exactly what to do to turn him on. I liked being told what to do. When he said, 'Show me your cunt.' I knew lifting my skirt and spreading my legs pleased him. It was written all over his face! He was getting exactly what he wanted, and he was getting it from me! And that turned me on!
Okay. Okay. So, what happened to the girl who was more concerned with what she got than what she gave? Okay, well, she got fucked. There was no way I was going anywhere. I was 'cock-whipped'.
The day after I said I'd give it a try, he told me I could only wake him with kisses. No words. Ever. I didn't even think about it. Well, that's not true. I thought, if I had to be woken up, that's how I'd like it too, so to me, it wasn't illogical in the least.
Lo and behold, I haven't been woken any other way since. Whenever he's been up first, and had to wake me, I've had the delightful and repeated experience of being woken by someone softly kissing me.
Then I got spanked. And that changed everything.
About a month into our engagement we had an argument. It was stupid and I flew off the handle over nothing, like forgetting cream for my coffee or something pathetic. I actually think I was hormonal, but I didn't want to admit that.
Why did simply getting into position across his lap make me wet? Why did the anticipation of correction affect me sexually? Maybe it was turning my back on everything my family and society expected of me... I don't know. I mean, today's women were not expected to be in this position.
And yet, I was more excited than I'd ever been, which scared me. For about sixty seconds. Yep, sixty seconds was all it took. One minute. One whole minute of biting my lip and worrying needlessly.
Of course he was going to make it good. One slap every five seconds, and not too hard, is good. I recommend it!
So, that was it. That was why I was here. Almost nine years later. A gamble taken over 'something in my eyes', a startling confession, and a realisation that I enjoyed structured domination. Simple as that.
My hair was back to the dirty blonde I was born with and though I slept with it out, I usually had it in a braided ponytail until the lights went off. I really liked having my hair held when I was getting it from behind, but it tugged too painfully for me with just a handful. In a ponytail the pain was spread more evenly over my scalp and it hardly even hurt, even when it was yanked, which I also kind of liked sometimes.
I also liked low-cut blouses or loose t-shirts with no bra so my nipples bounced like mice under a sheet. Being a great big tease, I loved seeing the leering looks guys gave me, and the red faces on the ones I caught doing it. I loved putting them in their place too, asking if they needed a flashlight or something. I wasn't really a full-blown exhibitionist. I just got a charge out of showing a little skin. I've always liked the admiring looks I got from women too, and funnily enough, even looks of disapproval revved me up for some reason. I was pretty competitive and I knew I looked good in just about anything. Maybe I just liked having a reputation, even if it was unjustified. Anyway, it was a free country and I could wear what I liked.
Well, as long as Stephen approved. And he approved of just about everything. He didn't have an insecure bone in his body. Which was great.
And of course, he also turned out to be the kind of guy who would have sex almost anywhere, anytime. At home, I mean. We wouldn't do it out in the open, I don't think. But he certainly didn't feel the need to take me to bed if he wanted to fuck me, which was why I'd taken to wearing the ponytail most of the time.
So, I knew I looked good, even if I looked my age. If you could get me into pigtails and makeup, I'd be lucky to pass for twenty-five. I have a little tummy despite my workouts. I call her KIM, short for 'keep in mind'. It doesn't really bother me, as long as my tits stay nice for a few more years. The point is, I'm a mature woman in my prime, and I'm proud of it. I don't wish I were younger.
There's something else I should explain. Unfortunately, as we found out a few years ago, God passed me by when he handed out the functioning ovaries. When it became clear I couldn't have kids, Stephen was so supportive and reassuring. Of course, I was devastated and thought myself less of a woman for a couple of months, but Stephen's consistent love and care soon brought me out of it. He has been a pillar for me, and has helped me open up and more honestly express what's on my mind. We've spent countless hours discussing needs and wants and I really couldn't be happier.
Even so, in all our discussions and all the reading we'd done, there was just one thing that had caught my eye that I hadn't confessed to him.
I didn't really know how I'd go about telling him, either. I knew I should. And I knew he had some knowledge of it. I'd seen a couple of dog-eared pages in chapters of books dealing with the subject. But I didn't know what he'd think of me if I confessed, and I'd given it a lot of thought.
I'd convinced myself he would think it was some kind of bizarre fulfilment of an incest fantasy revolving around my dear old Dad. Which was preposterous. I don't have an incestuous bone in my body. No one in my family has ever turned my eye that way. So I knew it wasn't that, even if Stephen suspected it.
So, either that, or I figured he'd think I'd developed into some kind of weirdo, filling in the blanks left by not being able to have children, by playing the role of a child myself. But it was only three years ago that I found out I couldn't conceive. And I've had these fantasies for about five years now. But would he believe me?
The odds seemed stacked against me, even though Stephen was a really good listener. Hell, it took me all this time to finally bring it up. What set me on the trail of confession was something Stephen always said. 'I'd take that gamble.' It was a phrase he used regularly, which sweetly harked back to our beginning days. I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me before, and I can't even remember what it was used in reference to, but it got me thinking that telling him was 'a gamble I should take'. After all, I was pretty sure I could show him it wasn't about my Dad or about filling some void in my life.
One lazy Sunday morning, while sharing the paper in bed, for some reason I put down the television magazine and blurted it out in the least cohesive manner possible. "Can you call me 'baby girl'?"
"Hmmm?" he asked, putting down the sport pages. "You want me to call you what?"
"Um, 'baby girl'," I replied, biting a nail and trying to look as cute as I could on the outside, while preparing to back-pedal a mile-a-minute on the inside. Before I knew it I was talking again. "And um, I want to call you, 'Daddy'." God, I thought, I've fucked this up so bad. I held my breath, wondering what he might say.
He stared into space, scratching the stubble on his chin for what seemed like minutes. "Well, yeah. I guess I can call you that," he said finally. "I've called you worse." He chuckled and I blushed. "But I'm not so sure about you calling me, 'Daddy'."
"Ohhh... " I whined, pouting. "Please let me, it'll be fun!" I don't know what I was thinking. Sometimes Stephen was much too quick witted for me. I was trying to recall all my thoughts on the subject while watching him in case he was making fun of me. My original plan was to make it a game, but I got derailed as soon as I opened my mouth. I'd hoped to somehow avoid talking about 'why'. It's just... Oh, I don't know. It's complicated!
He looked me in the eyes. "I don't know about that. What would your father think if he overheard you calling me, 'Daddy'?"
"I wouldn't call you 'Daddy' when he was here."
"I imagine that would be hard to explain."
"Um... Yes."
"How about you try."
Ohhh! This wasn't going how I wanted. I hardly had time to think! "Um... I'm not sure if I know what you mean."
"Why don't you pretend I am your father and I just overheard you? Now, explain it."
"Oh. Sorry. Okay." I got comfortable, kneeling on the bed beside him and cleared my throat. "Um, Daddy?" Oh, my God. My jaw dropped as soon as I realised he had just turned the whole thing into his idea. A huge smile busted out on my face and I just sat back on my heels, shaking my head and blushing madly. I whispered, "That was very clever."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, winking. "Go on. I haven't got all day."
"Yes, D... Daddy," I said, blushing even harder, looking down at my hands and tingling all over. I couldn't believe it was actually happening. "Well, I um, I don't want to replace you, Daddy. And I don't want to... Um, you know... Do it with you."
"I should hope not. The poor guy is what, sixty-five?" Stephen's laugh didn't last long when he realised I didn't think his joke was very funny.
"I can't do this if you don't take it seriously."
"You're right, baby. Sorry. C'mon, tell your Daddy what it's all about."
"Oh... It's not about you and me at all, Daddy. It's about an ideal. About bringing something ideal to what is already a special relationship. It's about a relationship I never had, with you or anyone... Where, um..."
"Where what, baby girl?"
Oh, man. It was like all the air got sucked out of my lungs. I gasped just hearing it. "W... Where it's the total. It's the everything. Everything I need or want. Without guilt. I can think in straight lines and I don't have to be clever... I... I can be innocent... Oh... I don't know how to explain it!" I looked into his kind brown eyes, realising with surprise that my own were brimming with tears. God, where did tears come from? "Please, this isn't about me and my father. I could never talk to him about this!"
Stephen nodded slowly, then turned toward me and crossed his legs. Resting his elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands together, and in a soft voice said, "So it's not about incest."
His nose was inches from mine. "No," I whispered.
"You have absolutely no desire to sleep with your father."
"None at all."
"And you never did."
"N... No, Sir."
"You hesitated. Are you sure?"
"Um. Well I certainly can't recall ever wanting to do anything more than see his dick. But I wanted to see everyone's dick, so I don't think that counts." My cheeks were burning. Where the hell did that come from? It was true of course, but I'd forgotten about it. "Um, but..."
"But, what?"
"Well, I... it's... Ohhh..." I squeezed my knees together as hard as I could. My pussy was so itchy it was unbearable.
"Knees apart, hands on top and lean on them."
"Y... Yes, Sir." He knew me so well. When I leaned forward, the cut-off football shirt I was wearing fell forward, revealing a deep cleavage. And my damned shorts cut into me.
"Come on, tell me why you like the idea."
Oh, no. This was exactly why I shouldn't have brought this up. "I... I..." I was practically hyperventilating! It's not right to want this. He's going to think you are sick! "I... I like it because it's so nasty and nice at the same time!"
"What do you mean, 'nasty'?"
"I... I like being your nasty girl. Y... You know that."
"Hmmm. All right. I can see this has a physical effect on you," he said, his eyes drifting to my chest. I didn't need to look down to know my nipples were hard. They'd been aching for a few minutes and felt like they could cut glass.
"Oh, yes," I said, biting my lip and trying to hold his gaze.
"You really want to do this?" he asked. I nodded in agreement, wiping away a tear. "Okay. Well, I'm open-minded enough to indulge you a little, baby girl," he said, grinning.
"Really?" He nodded. "Oh! Thank you!"
"You can call me, Daddy, but just for today. We'll talk about this after dinner, and go from there. The jury is still out."
"Oh, wow!" I cried, jumping into his arms and wrapping mine around his waist. "Thank you so much!"
Tugging my ponytail gently, he said, "Yeah, okay. But any funny business and I call a halt, all right?" He let go of my hair and caressed my cheek.
I gulped and nodded quickly, whispering, "Yes, Daddy."
"Why do you suddenly seem cuter?"
I giggled and batted my eyelashes. I was still so nervous. "I don't know, Daddy. Maybe because it's all I know?"
Stephen just shook his head. "This is very weird."
"It's not going to work if you keep going in and out of character, Daddy."
"What if I have questions?"
"Oh. Well, in that case you should probably just ask them." He withdrew his hand from my hot cheek and I sensed the importance of what he was about to say. I kneeled up again, leaning back on my heels, sighing and watching his eyes.
"I don't want you to be 'my daughter'," he said. "You can be my 'baby' or my 'baby girl', or something similar, but I don't think I can do this, thinking about you as my actual daughter."
"I don't want to be your daughter. I want to be your baby girl, your innocent, nasty little plaything, Daddy. It makes my vagina all hot and wet, see?" The skin on my scalp prickled as I pulled down the front of my shorts. "See, Daddy?" My nipples were throbbing like mad.
Stephen tut-tutted before saying, "Daddy's little girl sure is excited. Now pull those pants back up, you naughty thing."
I shuddered, squishing my thighs together again. "Sorry, Daddy. That was bad, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was. It wasn't the kind of behaviour I expect from my good little girl. And I do expect you to be my good little girl. Now pinch your nipples before I take you over my knee..."
"Ohhh..."
Thoughts of how wrong this was had been pushed aside by the inexplicable joy I felt as I slid deeper and deeper into this bizarre subspace. Blood pounded in my nipples as I squeezed them and closed my eyes. My tummy was fluttering almost uncontrollably. I couldn't believe Stephen didn't think I'd gone stark raving mad. And yet here I was, making one of my most outrageous dreams come true! "Oh, God," I moaned, my head lolling on my shoulders. "Thank you, Daddy!"
Taking on a juvenile role was effortless, like it was made for me. My lurid fantasies burst into life and I wallowed in how depraved I felt. Fragments of memories seemed to bombard me. Like the fractured memory of wanting to see what a dick looked like, others assailed me as I rode down deep into my space. The chill of anticipation of an ass caning from my father, the only one I ever had... The wonder of sex, before I knew anything about it... The thrill of the power I felt, knowing I could make things happen if I was cute and sweet... Wonderful memories, suddenly turned into an exciting game.
Stephen slapped my hands away from my nipples, jarring them free. I shuddered even as my eyes flew open, ready to protest.
He held up his hand, demanding silence, his eyes dancing wickedly. "Don't think for a minute that you can just walk around here pulling on your nipples or showing off your vagina any time you like, young lady. That is not acceptable behaviour under my roof. Understood?"
"Y... Yes, Daddy," I replied breathlessly.
"In fact, why don't you go put on a skirt and we'll see what kind of self-control you have. Oh, and no panties, baby girl."
God. I was a wreck already. Within five minutes I'd become a sexual time bomb, a plethora of conflicting emotions. On the outside, I could be innocent and wide-eyed, ready to be corrupted. On the inside, I felt deliciously decadent, different and new. I swallowed and felt the beginnings of an orgasm, an honest to God orgasm stirring in the pit of my stomach. My pussy pulsed hotly, and I could feel how wet I was.
This is just how I want my domination, smashed into my head. I jumped off the bed and tore into my dresser, finding and changing into clothes to Stephen's liking. My breath was coming hard and loud. There was no stopping my hammering heart. By the time I kneeled by the side of the bed, looking up at him and feeling goose bumps breaking out all over my skin, I felt like I'd run a mile.
"It's interesting, you know," he said.
"W... What is, Daddy?"
"Well, this is giving me a hard on, just talking like this."
I gulped. It did? "W... What's a h... hard on, Daddy?" I asked, willing myself not to look.
Stephen was a little taken aback. "It's ah, it's when um, Daddy gets excited, baby."
"I don't understand, Daddy," I complained, twirling a lock of my curly, long blonde hair and looking up at him expectantly. I could feel a droplet of my juices slowly trickling around the curve of skin under my ass. I was drenched, and I felt like the dirtiest girl in the world.
Stephen cleared his throat. I glanced down and saw a little tiny wet spot where the end of his hard cock was. I kept staring at it and bit my lip.
Pointing right at his cock, my French-nailed fingertip barely an inch from it, I asked, "Daddy, why is it crying?"
He shook his head and chuckled. "I see we are going to have to have the 'birds and the bees' talk."
"The 'birds and bees' talk, Daddy?"
"Oh, man."
This was soooo delicious. Kneeling beside the bed looking up at Stephen wasn't exactly unusual. Yet this time, and with little provocation, I was as wet as I had been the very first time I'd been in this position. God, I loved this position. I never used to. I thought it was demeaning. But unless Stephen was 'on a mission', I was completely in control down here. Rarely in my life had I felt as strong as I did when I was on my knees with my lips wrapped around his cock. It was incredibly empowering to hear his uncontrollable moans while he clenched his teeth and fists in ecstasy. His yummy eyes smiled down at me and I realised my mouth was dry with expectation. Swirling my tongue around, I broke the silence. "What's 'the birds and the bees' talk, Daddy?"
"Well, ah..."
"Oh, please tell me!" I squealed, giggling. My hands shot to the top of his thighs and Stephen almost jumped out of his skin. Then I had an idea. "I'm a big girl now, see?" I said, twisting my body back and forth and raising my breasts with my open palms under them, presenting them to his stunned gaze. My nipples throbbed with excitement, urgently pressing against the thin fabric of my tank top.
I was enjoying this on so many levels. It was interesting to see Stephen under some pressure for a change. The situation wasn't of his making, and I sensed his occasional hesitation. I tried hard not to smile a few times, having instead to pretend I wasn't having a ball. My instinct was to giggle! I was starting to feel younger. Or perhaps it was smaller. I didn't know, but it was quite bizarre.
And of course, I was wet. Gooey wet. Warm and swollen. I already knew that stories about Ageplay sent me into raptures, but actually doing it was just... Ugh! I don't know. All I knew was that I was tingling from my scalp to my toenails, and I was ready to fuck at the drop of a hat. The longer we took to get there, the more delicious I felt!
"Ah. Okay, well... Take these, for starters," he said, clearing his throat and pointing loosely in the direction of my chest.
"These?" I asked innocently, looking down at them, still held up in my light grip. "My, um, boobies?"
Stephen chuckled at my choice of words and I blushed with genuine embarrassment. I hadn't ever called them that. "Well, yes, but that's the little girl name for them."
I wrinkled my nose. "What's the big girl name for them?" I asked, looking down at the objects of our conversation, still twisting, but more slowly.
"Big girls call them tits. But you can call them titties if you prefer." Stephen visibly swallowed and adjusted his cock in his pants, though I tried not to show that I noticed.
"My titties feel hot and swollen, Daddy. And my nipples are really, really hard too!"
"So I can see, precious."
Never in my life had he called me that. Sitting back on my heels and catching my breath, I realised I liked it. A lot. I grinned and I was sure my eyes lit up. His gaze met mine and he smiled too. With the intrusion of a sudden memory, I pulled a face.
"What's wrong, baby?" Stephen asked.
"Well," I began, not knowing where I was going with my thoughts. "Some of the boys at school make fun of my big titties, Daddy."
"That's very mean of them, baby. You have beautiful titties, okay? Stick out your chest and ignore them. They're not all mature like you. They're being babies, right?"
I giggled. "Okay, Daddy." God, I blushed as my next thought jumped out of my mouth without notice. "I prefer grown up men anyway, Daddy."
Stephen looked at me, then went red. Oh dear, I've gone too far. "Give me a minute," he said, standing and making his way to the bathroom without another word.
What the fuck got into me? I thought, as I wrung my hands together on the verge of tears. It was going so good! Now I've ruined it!
Fuck. Where did that come from anyway? I mean, on one level it's true, I've always liked older guys. Not much older. Just you know, more experienced. They knew what they were doing, and my first older guy was mind-blowing compared to the inexperienced backseat fumbling I was used to. Thinking back, even in junior high I preferred the senior high guys.
The words, 'grown up men' swirled around in my mind, and I suddenly remembered something that took my breath away. There was someone. It would have been almost twenty years ago when I was twelve or thirteen. My knowledge of just about anything would have been rudimentary at best. But I do remember masturbating and fantasising about one older guy. He was the college son of our next-door neighbours and I only remember seeing him around just that one summer.
I remember thinking I was in love with him but he never even noticed me. Still, that didn't stop me imagining all kinds of scenarios in my fantasies, most of which involved touching the bits on twenty year olds that thirteen year olds shouldn't touch.
Shuddering, I was ruthlessly yanked back to the present, feeling shamefully naughty. I should have told him this, I thought. I was about to get to my feet to run to Stephen to explain, when I heard his voice. "It's okay, baby. Just kneel and relax. I want to talk about something."
"I'm sorry! I went a bit far! I didn't mean to!"
"C'mon. Hush now, let Daddy talk." Blinking my eyes clear, I looked up at him. Did he just call himself, Daddy? "Let's get back into this, okay?"
"Um, okay. Are you all right?"
"I just had to have a think, baby girl. Daddy is fine. He just had to get his head around something. We'll talk about it later."
"Y... Yes, Daddy."
"I want to know when all this started. Tell Daddy what you can remember, okay precious?"
I smiled and whispered. "I like it when you call me that." He just smiled back and waited for me. I knew where to start. "I... I think it started because I played with myself all the time, Daddy."
"A lot?"
"More than once a day usually."
"Morning and night? I'd say that was normal."
"Is it? I mean, was it?"
"Sure."
"I thought I was so bad. I couldn't ask my friends about it. I was too embarrassed."
"I take it your Mother didn't help."
"She made me keep my door open."
"Okay, that's different. You better explain."
"Well," I biting my lip. "One time, about a year after I first started playing with myself, Momma caught me and she was pretty upset. My punishment was to leave the door open."
"To stop you?"
"That's what she said. She also used to say things like, 'I hope you're not playing with your cooter'. Since I had no idea what she was talking about, I confidently stated that I was doing no such thing. It took me a couple of years to realise she meant my pussy. It was too late by then," I said, giggling at the memory.
"I imagine that would have been frustrating."
"It slowed me down a bit, making me almost constantly horny and it was thrillingly dangerous too. Heaven knows what Mommy would have said if she caught me again. But I was too horny to stop, and having to leave my door open made my orgasms unbelievable."
"Were you ever caught again?"
"Not once. I was an angel."
"How did you manage it?"
"I learned to bite my pillow and moan into it, took a lot of naps and annoyingly long baths and showers. I was fast becoming obsessed by the thrill of it. I began masturbating in other places where I might get caught. Toilet cubicles were my favourite. I'd learned to cum silently by then. I started helping around the house a lot more too, just to cover the need to do my own laundry. Considering how soiled my knickers were getting, not to mention my bed sheets, I had to do something."
"So you owe your good domestic habits to your desire to hide your masturbation from your Mother?"
"I've never thought about it like that."
"Stands to reason. Tell me when you first shaved."
"A girlfriend suggested it. I told her how itchy I was down there and I hadn't even touched a boy yet. She said it was less sweaty and felt really good. Well, I didn't know whether it was less sweaty and it certainly didn't calm the itch, but it did feel good and Daddy's razor got quite a workout over the years."
"If only he'd known."
"Um, that was part of the turn on too."
"What was?"
"Well, knowing he'd used it on his face. Knowing he'd use it again and again... it was... oh I don't know, naughty!"
"You started getting kinky pretty young."
"I had no idea what I was doing or whether what I was thinking was normal or not! No one talked about this stuff. Oh, I'd overheard things and Mommy told me to be good and to keep my cherry as long as I could. After that conversation I decided to bust it myself. I could barely wait to feel the pain of becoming a woman, and I didn't want to share it with anyone. It was gone within forty-five minutes. Thankfully I was already doing my sheets by then."
"Who got you interested in older guys? When did it start?"
Where is this going? Do I want to know?
I bit my lip as prickles of embarrassment rushed over my skin and I shivered. "I... I..."
In a flash his hand shot out and slapped my left breast, setting it ablaze and my nipple throbbing. Gasping, my mouth opening like a fish out of water, I gobbled air. "Who did you want to fuck?" Stephen asked harshly. I was taken aback and I felt so strange. Memories were rushing back at me from all directions!
"I... I don't know what you mean!"
"You know exactly what I mean, you little fucktoy. Now tell me! Who was it you wanted to fuck? Who was first in line? Tell Daddy!" Again his hand shot out and I cringed, gritting my teeth and expecting another smack. His finger and thumb caught my nipple between them and he gripped it tightly.
"Ohhh!" I moaned, my mind swirling in the sudden pleasure/pain of his tight fingers. God, it was just right. I couldn't move at all, but if I was still, my nipple pulsed with hot pleasure.
"Who has Daddy's dirty little slut been thinking about? Huh? Who!" He shook my breast by the nipple and my cunt flooded.
Clenching almost uncontrollably, I cried, "Billy Hudson!"
"Who the fuck is Billy Hudson? If I get my hands on him, I'll kill him."
"No, Daddy, no! Billy didn't do anything, I just, I..."
"You what?"
"I just wanted him to!" I blurted.
"How old were you?"
"Um, thirteen, Daddy."
Releasing my nipple, he sat a moment, thinking. His eyes seemed to look far into the distance for a moment before refocussing and looking down on me. "What did you want him to do?"
I swallowed, my cheeks burning. "I... I just wanted him to notice me, Daddy."
"How did you make him notice you, baby?"
"I... I didn't wear a bra one time when I went over to drop in some mail that was delivered to our house instead of theirs. I took it off before I went over there."
"And what exactly do you think you were doing, acting like that?"
"I... I was being naughty, Daddy."
"That's right. You were flaunting your big titties at him, weren't you? You wanted him to fuck you, isn't that right?"
"Oh no, Daddy! I just... I just wanted him to notice me! I wasn't... I wasn't like that! I was a good girl!"
"Well, we'll see about that. Drop that arm and let's see those titties you've been so keen to show off, dirty girl."
I hadn't realised I was covering them. Blushing crimson, I dropped the arm I was covering my breasts with until it hung loosely by my side. To add to my embarrassment, I'd been grinding the edge of my other hand into my crotch in a second misguided attempt at modesty. "Y... Yes, Daddy," I said breathlessly, reluctantly putting both my hands behind my back and threading the fingers together.
"So these..." he snarled, grasping my nipples tightly and making me groan, "... are the titties you wanted to show that college boy, are they?"
"Ohhh..." was all I could manage as he shook my breasts by the nipples and my eyes rolled back into my head.
"These are your naughty hard fucking nipples. Say it," he demanded, pinching them harder.
"They're my... oooohh... my ha... hard fucking nipples fuckkk... Ooohhh I'm sorrrrryyy, Daddyyy..."
"Get your clamps, these titties need to learn a lesson. Go on, hurry up." Immediately he released his tight grip and my nipples throbbed so hard I could barely think. What's happening to me? I wondered, as I staggered to my feet. My pussy was hot and slippery between my legs and I was sure Stephen could tell.
When I returned from the playroom with the clamps in my hand, Stephen was sitting on the side of the bed with the crop swinging from a finger. He watched me as I entered and I started to get down on my knees again. "Stay standing," he said. "You'll be having this part of your lesson on your feet, baby girl."
"Y... Yes, Daddy," I stammered, holding out the clamps for him.
"You put them on. If you're big enough to flaunt your titties at college boys, I think you're also big enough to clamp them yourself."
I swallowed and whispered, "I... I'm sorry." I dutifully applied the clamps to my nipples while Stephen ran the tip of the crop up and down the inside and outside of my legs and hips. When I was all set, I bit my lip then asked in a little voice, "Are they tight enough, Daddy?"
"Do they hurt just a little bit?"
"They're pinching, Daddy."
"Tighten them a quarter turn."
"O... Okay, Daddy." As I turned each one, he tapped me right on my cunt with the crop. Tap! "Oooo..." Tap! "Oooohh... Th... Thank you, Daddy."
"Do you promise not to show off your titties to any more college boys, baby?" Tap! Tap!
"Oh, Oh... Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry."
"Hands behind your head... Feet apart..." I did as he asked, arching my back and shuffling my feet apart. I was so wet down there it was ridiculous. "Mmmm..." he murmured, obviously pleased with what he saw. "Good girl. Now let's get this lesson started."
"Okay, Daddy." I was blushing up a storm, and my clamped nipples were pounding.
While asking me questions, he was tapping my skin all over, like little tiny slaps, and he just kept on going, giving me these little soft slaps wherever he wanted. "So baby girl. What are these again?" he asked, tapping the crop all around each breast, careful to avoid my clamped nipples.
"Th... That's easy, Daddy. They're my ti... titties."
He started tapping them a little harder sending them wobbling on my chest with each tap. "Call them your nice big titties, baby girl."
"Oooo... Yes, D... Daddy. They're my n... nice big ooo... big titties, Daddy!"
"And what about these?" he asked, suddenly tapping right on my clamped nipples, sending a shudder through me. "What are these called, baby girl?"
"Oooo... My n... nipples, Daddy... Ohhh Goddd..."
Smack! Smack! He firmly cropped each one and my knees almost buckled. "Wrong, they are your naughty fucking hard nipples. Now say it properly."
"Th... They're my naughty f... fucking hard nipples, Daddy. Ohhh!" Smack! Smack! "Ohhh, fuckkk..."
The cropping stopped and Stephen looked up at me. I gasped at the angry look on his face. "What did you just say, you dirty-mouthed little slut? Did you say 'fuck' without being told to? Did you?"
"Y... Yes!" I gasped. "I'm sorry, Daddy! I won't do it again, I promise!" Smack! Smack! Right on my clit! "Oooohh!" I gasped.
"Get over my lap. Right now!" he demanded, tossing the crop aside while I caught my breath. "Don't think for a minute that I'm going to let you act like some kind of slut in my house, baby girl."
Scrambling over his lap and spreading my legs wide with my clit pressed right against his knee, I hung my head, whimpering, "S... Sorry, Daddy." Shudders ran through my body like they always did in this position.
"What the fuck is this?" he asked, running long fingers over my spread and sodden pussy. "You're a bad girl, aren't you?"
"I try to be g... good, Daddy, I really do, but..."
"But what? But your cunt betrays you? But you can't help yourself? Or is it that 'inside', you are a dirty little slut who can't fucking wait to be taken advantage of? Well, which is it?"
"I um, I can't help it, Daddy!" I said, grinding my clit on his knee, trying vainly to get a hold of myself. I felt so open and vulnerable. I don't know why I wasn't shitting myself.
"That's better," he said, chuckling. "At last some fucking honesty..." Smack! Smack!
"Ohhh!" My ass cheeks bounced as he struck each of them with an open and stiff palm.
"What is it, baby?" he asked, mocking me. "Weren't you ready for that? What about now?" Smack! Smack! "Well? Answer me! Tell me, fucktoy!"
"Ohhhh Daddyyy pleaseeeee..."
"Please what?!"
"Please spank me! Please! Please!!! I've been so baddddd!"
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
The open-handed spanks he rained down on my ass made me bite my bottom lip in a useless attempt to remain quiet. I'd never before ground my cunt against his knee as I had at that moment. Words tumbled out of my mouth. "Please spank me, Daddy. Please, spank me hard. I deserve it so much, Daddy. Ohhh! Ohhh, Jesus! Yes, harder! Oh please, Daddy! Harder! Harder!!"
Smack!!
Smack!!
Smack!!
Smack!!

"Th... Thank you, D... Daddy. Thank y... you for spanking y... your horny little slut," I gasped breathlessly when he was done. His warm hand caressed my ass so softly. I needed relief and he usually brought me off after a spanking. "Oh, Daddy! Please..."
"You are in front of an audience. Spread your legs further."
"Oh, Daddy!" I gasped, "They... They'll see!"
"But isn't that what you want, my little slut?"
"But, Daddy! No!!"

"Spread them nice and wide little one. I bet you wished you had been made to do this in front of your classmates..."
"Oh, my God!"
Stephen chuckled. "So it's true. You little slut. I bet you imagined yourself just like this, your skirt up over your ass and getting spanked till your ass was red, right in front your whole class! Who were they? What were their names?"
"H... Hillary Saunders... and... and... Gerri Lynch and Ambrosia Coustas... and... Petra Gila and... Oh, Godddd..."
"And your teacher? Who was the teacher, baby girl?"
"No! Please!"
Smack!! Smack!! Smack!! Smack!!
"Tell me! Who was it?!"
"M... Mr. Wells... He... He had a big dick... We all wondered how big it was... You could see it through his pants most days!"
"Close your eyes!"
Smack!! Smack!! Smack!! Smack!!
"Oooooh!!!"
"Your friends are all watching, wide-eyed, riveted!"
Smack!!
"Oh, Goddd!"
"Can you feel Mr. Wells' cock, baby girl? Can you feel it hard against your ribs?"
"Yesss!!"
Smack!! Smack!!
"Your friends can see your wet cunt, can't they?"
"Yesss!!"
Smack!! Smack!!
"They can see you grinding your clit on my knee, can't they?"
"Oh, God! Yesss!!"
"What do they think of you now, baby? What would they think?"
Smack!!
"Oh I'm so wet! They'd know I love it!"
"What would they think! Tell me!"
"They'd think I was a dirty little slut!"
"That's right!" Stephen roared, pushing me off his lap to bounce on my hot ass.
"Stand up, slut."
"Y... Yes, Sir." I stood before him, holding my throbbing ass while my pussy actually dripped down my legs. Never in my life had I been so drenched.
Stephen sat on the edge of the bed, eying my wet cunt and chuckling to himself. "Well," he said finally, "Dirty little sluts need to learn about cocks." My pussy clenched madly as he stood and whipped down his boxers, making his cock fling back and slap him in the stomach. He sat back down on the edge of the bed, leaning back on straight arms. He let his legs fall apart and his quivering rod waved around, about ninety percent hard. "Come on, kneel down. If you want to be a nasty little cocksucker, you better get on your knees."
"Y... Yes, Daddy," I said quietly, swallowing as I went to my knees and scooted up to the side of the bed between his muscular legs. With pink cheeks and bright eyes dashing from his eyes to his cock and back again, I smiled cheekily. "Nice cock, Daddy."
He chuckled once more. "I'm glad you like it, baby girl. Would you like to touch it?"
"Can I Daddy? Oh please!"
"Well, okay. But just gently. I don't know if I can trust you yet."
"You can, Daddy! I'll be good!" I said, my hand reaching for his hardened cock, my eyes locked on my target.
"I'm sure you will be, unless you want another spanking. Mmmm, that's it, nice and slow, baby girl." He groaned softly as my fingers went around him and he said, "Damn, girl. Where did you learn that thumb over the head action?"
"Is that good, Daddy?"
"Fuck yeah," he said, leaning back further and closing his eyes. "I mean..."
"Just relax, Daddy. Your baby girl has a lot of secrets to tell," I said, marvelling at the precum pulsing out under the pad of my thumb.
"Baby... that feels so good," Stephen gasped.
"I'm sorry I was naughty with the college boy, Daddy," I whispered, my attention riveted to the spasming prick in my fist.
"It's um... It's okay, baby," Stephen choked.
"I'll be good in future. I promise," I said quietly, almost distantly.
"Mmmmm..." Stephen moaned softly, in another world. If I kept this up, I knew he would cum. Did I want my Daddy to cum? Did I want him to spurt his cream up into the air, with my fist around his cock, milking and milking... God I loved to see it fly. What was wrong with me?
"Daddy?" I asked, dipping my head to within an inch of his cock and sucking my raised and precum-covered thumb. It was even dripping down into the palm of my hand. I loved the taste of precum. I always had. I'm so bad, I thought, sighing as my eyes closed and I crushed my tingling breast in my hand. My next words almost came out as a moan. "What h... happens next, Daddy?"
Fingers suddenly gripped my chin, and my eyes opened in shock. "C... Concentrate!" said Steven urgently, almost to himself.
"I... I'm sorry, Daddy," I said, feeling his other hand tighten around my wrist, stopping my movements mid-stroke.
"Um," said Stephen, visibly struggling to control his flexing cock. "Daddy's juice is nearly cooked, baby"
I tried hard not to giggle and I failed so badly. Releasing my breast, I held my hand over my mouth, somehow managing to stifle a fully-fledged laugh. Daddy's goose is cooked, I imagined, squeezing his big cock tightly. His balls had drawn right up and his cock throbbed hotly in my fist. Mmmmm, I thought. Yummy!
"Okay, okay," Stephen gasped, squeezing my wrist a bit tighter, giving me the message to let go. Reluctantly I did so, sitting back on my heels again, surprised at how hard I was breathing. Clasping my hands together in my lap, I pressed downward, giving myself the twin pleasures of squeezing my tits together and pressing my fists hard against my clitty.
I shuddered with the firm pressure, wide-eyed as Stephen's cock did the same, lurching heavily before my eyes. "B... Baby girl," he choked.
"Yes, Daddy?" I asked, batting my eyelashes and grinning as innocently as I could.
Stephen's cock spasmed fitfully once more, but didn't blow. With a couple more smaller jerks, it rested in the crease between his thigh and his hip, still hard and pulsing, but not quite so red. "That was close, baby."
"Close to what, Daddy?"
Stephen blinked, then a sly smile replaced the look of sexual bliss that had draped itself across his face. "Close to making Daddy cum, baby girl."
I smiled coquettishly and gazed lovingly at his dick. I swallowed and looked back up into his eyes. "What's cum, Daddy?" I asked.
"It's ah... It's what comes out of Daddy's cock when he gets very excited, sweetheart."
"I want it in my mouth," I whispered, looking down at his cock again. I licked my lips at the thought. A soft clench ran the length of my pussy, causing my clit to throb. I was so juicy. "Please..."
Stephen swallowed when I looked up at him. "You are so bad," he breathed. His cock rose up again and agreed. It was striking up from his loins and rhythmically pulsing, apparently with the beat of his heart. It was almost hypnotic.
"I'm a nasty girl," I gasped, reaching for his cock and aiming it at my mouth as I descended. I lashed my lips with a tongue laved in warm saliva, parting them wetly as my heartbeat accelerated. Glancing at Stephen, I melted in his abject pleasure. Pleasure that I knew I was giving, but that caused me to flush hotly with my own. My free hand reached for my pussy, sliding two fingers in as his cock slid over my tongue. Tasting his precum, I paused for a moment, closing my eyes and concentrating on getting as much as I could.
What was it about precum? I wondered. It was like a little taste of exactly why I liked being on my knees. As 'demeaning' as it sounds, there are few times that I feel as in control as I do when I have Stephen's cock in my mouth. I mean, having a nice big cock pounding me into oblivion has its merits, but control is certainly not one of them. One is 'being fucked', rather than doing the fucking. While that is acceptable and indeed expected by most girls, even though they scramble for control soon after, I find that being on my knees and sucking softly, hard, change up, licking, rubbing across my face, or any other combination thereof, gives me a sense of control that I don't otherwise have.
Mmmmm, precum... The tiny little pulses of seminal fluid designed purely for the lubrication of the shaft for entry. One had to be a true connoisseur to even notice its presence. But I noticed. In fact, I'd always 'noticed' precum. Maybe I spent a bit too much time sucking cock, but I have to admit to liking it. When it was pointed out that precum was 'objective evidence of my man's arousal', I became addicted to the stuff. I realised also that once precum came, I could do almost anything. I could slow down and be playful, I could tease and be bratty, or I could go right for the cumshot if it suited my purposes or if I wanted it badly enough. Which was often.
And anyway, Stephen lasted much longer after losing a load of precious cargo. With him at least, he was much less selfish after that, which allowed me to indulge myself in my own pleasures without a pushy dominant shoving me on my back and fucking the shit out of me. Which as I said has its merits, but can't be a 100% thing. Everyone needs a little variety, right?
Of course, none of these thoughts were going through my mind as Stephen's slick cock head settled on my tongue and I closed my mouth around it, sucking up every little pulse of precum as my fingers started fucking my horny pussy. I'm making him so hot, I thought as his hands took root in my hair and he stood up. His cock was so hard it was pushing forcefully against the top of my mouth as he swung his hips back and forth, the silky skin thrilling me with its rock hardness underneath. I was going to cum whether he liked it or not, and I unwrapped my hand from the base of his cock in total acquiescence. Yes, I knew he would fuck my mouth hard, and I knew it wasn't going to be 'loving'. It was going to be nasty and I was going to be gagged and choked and I didn't care.
No, that's not true. I did care. I cared a lot. In fact, as my now free hand settled over my clitty and started rubbing hard in time with his thrusts, I realised that the mood dictated that I be treated like a little horny whore, and the thought made me rub harder and harder.
Barely a minute later I couldn't even suck I was moaning so loud. One of Stephen's hands stayed in my hair, but the other withdrew to stroke his cock as I shook with my hands buried in my crotch. He started talking while I was cumming, which didn't help matters at all. "That's right fucktoy. Cum for Daddy. Show Daddy how hot you get from sucking cock. More baby. More, more! Cum hard!" He started slapping my face with his cock, cock-whipping me while I moaned and built to another cum. Again he started in with the taunts, and this time I answered him. "Harder baby girl, show Daddy how hot you are, fuck that wet little cunt for me. You love it don't you?" Slap! Slap!
"Yes. Yes! Oh, God. Daddy, I'm gonna cum again. I'm sorry Daddy... Ooooohhhhhh!!!"
Cum started splattering my face as Stephen's groans of pleasure met my ears. If it wasn't for his fingers tight in my hair, I wouldn't have been able to stay upright. I wanted to open my eyes to see but one was already glued shut, and then one then another rope of hot cum hit my face. Again my hips flexed and my pussy gushed, moaning hotly as another long stream of cum hit my open mouth.
"Ohhh," I moaned after swallowing, my fingers a blur on my clit as I opened again. "More! More!"
I didn't notice if there was more or not. My clit throbbed hard and my pussy exploded, clenching almost painfully as my orgasm took control of my body and I went into some kind of seizure. The last thing I remember was a falling sensation, but I didn't feel a thing as my mind crashed and everything went white, then black.
Stephen said it had only been a minute or two that I was out, and that he'd never left my side. I awoke feeling his fingers softly caressing my slick cheek, and his voice, so sweet, so loving. "Are you okay, baby? Tell me you're okay, sweetheart. Talk to me, baby girl. Please baby, tell me everything's okay."
For a moment I laid blissfully on my side, playing possum and enjoying Stephen's lewd caresses and sweet words. Between that and feeling his cum dripping down my face, I couldn't help smiling.
"Oh, you little slut," he said, tickling me, then scooping me up in his strong arms and tossing me on the bed.
He joined me there and I crawled into him. He was stroking my hair softly when I whispered, "Thank you, Daddy." At the sound of my own voice, a tear escaped my eye and joined the streaks of cum across my cheek. I didn't even think about it as I started cleaning my face with my fingers and sucking them. I figured that way he wouldn't know I was so happy I was crying.
"I still want to talk about this, okay?" Stephen asked quietly.
"Yes, Daddy," I whispered, sucking my fingers again.
When I woke up it was getting dark. The clock said 4.52 P.M. Stretching languidly, I realised it would probably be a good idea if I washed my face. "Ewwww," I giggled, mimicking one of my girlfriends. I didn't want to see what I looked like, so I washed my face without turning on the light. It was then that it dawned on me that it was actually 4.52 P.M. I better have a shower, I thought. Sighing, I flicked on the lights, stripped off and turned on the water, hastily stepping under the cleansing spray.
By the time I climbed out, dinner was well under way. God knew what Stephen was preparing, but the aroma of frying onion, garlic and bacon caressed my rumbling tummy. Just then he turned up the music and there was a spring in my step as I danced back into the bedroom. I head-banged my way into the walk-in wardrobe to the strains of Love in an Elevator, grabbing one of Stephen's t-shirts and slipping it over my head. It was one of those days that seemed to get away from me. But I didn't mind.
It wasn't wasted, I thought as I checked my hair in my vanity mirror. Nope. Not at all.
What fun that was! I couldn't believe I'd talked Stephen into Ageplaying with me. And I couldn't believe all the stuff it dragged up! I was thankful my youth was pretty sedate. I wasn't sure how I would have handled it if horrific repressed memories had been exposed.
I pinched my nipples as I walked down the hall to enter the kitchen/living area. Stephen enjoyed seeing them perky, but the truth was I was feeling horny again already.
"Here she is," Stephen said, removing his silly apron with the tits on it and wiping his hands. After quickly adjusting the remote music volume, he approached me and said, "Let me look at you. Nope, no obvious signs of trauma." Turning me around and feeling my ass then lifting the back of the t-shirt, he asked, "What about here? Is this all right?"
All I could do was giggle as I watched him over my shoulder.
"Looks fine to me," he said with a smile, softly smacking my ass then winking. I turned in his arms as he rose to look down on me, whispering, "I love you."
I tilted my head a little, then narrowed my eyes in mock seriousness. "Why?" I asked, threading my arms around his waist.
"Does love need a reason?" he asked, kissing my nose. I pouted and he rolled his eyes before continuing. "Because you and I have a relationship based on honesty and openness, and without it, we would never have experienced what we did today."
I kissed his lips softly and whispered against them, "How come you always say the right thing?"
"Hmmm. Probably because back when..." I poked him in the ribs. "Oh, you want the short version?" This time it was me rolling my eyes. "Just lucky, I guess," he said, grinning.
I kissed him again before spinning out of his embrace, heading for the stove. "What's for dinner?"
"Pasta," he replied.
"Mmmm. Smells yummy," I said, leaning over the simmering sauce. He didn't have the pasta on yet so I figured we had fifteen minutes at least. I grabbed the chardonnay from the refrigerator and poured myself half a glass. "Do you want some?" I asked, showing him the bottle.
"I think I've had enough," he replied, nodding at the empty wine glass beside the sink. Returning to his sauce, he stirred it purposefully.
I made my way around to the other side of the servery and pulled up one of the barstools. When he glanced at me I smiled back, and he chuckled and shook his head. Sometimes it was hard to know when to verbalise my thoughts, and when to wait for Stephen to speak. This was one of those occasions, but fortunately it wasn't long that he kept me in suspense.
"We need... Well, I need to talk about what we did this morning and I want to ask you some questions," he said matter-of-factly.
"Okay," I replied, biting my lip and willing my face not to get hot.
"You don't want it all the time, do you?"
I shook my head. "No, just when I've been good enough. I want it to be special."
"A reward?"
My mouth was dry. "I um, I don't mean to presume, but yes. I think it might get stale quickly."
He nodded, turning back to his sauce and letting silence reign. The pasta was now simmering.
Even after so many months of our relationship, I was still struggling with Stephen's use of silence. I'd learned to hold my tongue the hard way, allowing him to think things through. He was very smart and though it took me a while to figure it out, he always left me an honourable way to withdraw when I was 'wrong' or we didn't agree on something. All I had to do was listen to his actual words. It's hard to explain. Stephen thinks it's something to do with the way we girls tend to think things through and play out all the possible scenarios in our heads before confronting our men. Men don't do that, according to Stephen. Supposedly there are exceptions to the rule, but in general, he believes men tend to see things the way they want to see them, then just plough ahead. They don't worry about what other people will say, only what they themselves will say. I'm not sure if I'm explaining it right, but to me, it hit the nail right on the head.
Of course, the couple of spankings I got drove the message home. Luckily I like being spanked.
I mean, here was I guy who knew how I thought! How?
'Experience, observation and an abiding willingness to listen'.
That's what he said. Fuck. I fell in love with him that day. Ugh. After Gary in college, I told myself I'd never do that again. What a bastard he turned out to be. Constantly fussing and doing things for me, right until the end. I'd felt like a princess. And for that last month he'd been fucking my best friend.
For the fifty-seventh time I thought about how lucky I was to have met Stephen on the rebound. I might never have looked at him twice otherwise. Fortunately Stephen is far too busy to crowd me, but as he always says, as long as we remember we're on the same side, things will work out.
These thoughts were running through my mind as he strained the pasta and set it on plates. "Let's sit down and enjoy this," he said as he spooned the sauce over the pasta.
"Mmmmm, yum. I can't wait," I said, before making my way to the dining table.
It had only been five minutes or so, but we were halfway through our meal before I ventured to speak again. "This is really good. You can make this again." I winked.
"I'm glad you like it. It's one of Mom's recipes."
Ugh. His mother was like ninety. Well no, that's not true but she was old and didn't take shit from anyone. It was easy to see where Stephen got his dominance. "I hope you'll tell her I love it."
"I will." Stephen looked up from his plate and smiled in his soft way, the way I knew he did just before he spoke. "Can you tell me whether you were happy as a child?"
I knew the question was loaded, but I didn't know how. "I guess so. About average I think. Why, baby?"
"Because I think there is a human capacity to 'forget what things were really like', and to romanticise them. We remember them as 'the good old days' when we think of normal, every day happenings. In the erotic realm, despite the advancing age of our bodies, our minds remain fresh and attentive, willing to experience anything 'new' or, just as appealing, 'rare'. I just wonder how rare good times were for you."
"Okay, I see you've been thinking about this. Hmmm. Well let's see," I said, just a little too offhand. "I was five when I was told Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and Heaven didn't exist. My parents were very upfront about the truth. Unfortunately they'd hit the wall by the time I'd hit puberty. They stopped talking about everything in front of me by the time I was eleven or twelve. Maybe that happens to all hippies, I don't know."
"So you felt like you missed out on stuff?"
"I felt alienated, yeah."
"Like your experience didn't matter?"
"Yeah. Kind of. I guess it would have been nice to have my hand held through everything. You know, the first time, etcetera."
"That's what I've been thinking about, baby. I mean, how rare is the 'first time'? How often do we get to do things, 'for the very first time'? Re-enacting the scenario, or at least, reigniting the feelings that occurred at that time, in any way we choose, is, after careful consideration, completely okay. And as long as we're adults, it doesn't matter how young one of us pretends to be. As long as we avoid recreating previous incest episodes, of course. That could be traumatic."
I finished my mouthful. "Or cathartic."
"What do you mean?"
"I just mean it's entirely possible that working through something like that could help someone, rather than hurt them."
"Even with a history of incest?"
"Well, yeah. It could. You know, handled in the right way."
"Gently?"
"Not necessarily."
"You better tell me what you are thinking."
"Well, I think that as long as a person, dominant or otherwise, handles Ageplay with some semblance of sensitivity, then a new depth of experience can be achieved. Perhaps something one has always wanted but never received."
"Like you?" Stephen asked poignantly.
"Maybe I wished for a more understanding set of parents, yeah."
"What about originality?"
"I'm not sure I follow."
"I'm thinking about Ageplay. Is it true that things are more exciting 'the first time you do them'? Maybe somehow recreating that sense of innocence and excitement is part of the allure."
"Hmmm. I'd say that was true. The 'first time' is certainly special and memorable. And if it's not, then it's nice to make it so."
"Which all happened around thirteen to fifteen."
"For me, yeah."
Silence reigned again. God. I'd even promised myself not to push my luck. I'd decided to let Stephen get used to the idea of Ageplay before I brought it up again. It hadn't mattered that it was one of the most loving and touching sexual experience I'd ever had in my life. It hadn't mattered that I wanted to run to him and beg him to let me call him Daddy over and over.
"So where to now?" he asked, placing his cutlery on his plate and picking up his napkin, wiping his sensuous lips.
I did the same, even though I wasn't quite finished. "I think I need a spanking," I whispered, immediately blushing at the implication.
"Why is that, baby?"
I swallowed. "Because I want to do it again, and I don't think I deserve it."
Stephen smiled and leaned forward on his elbows. "You want to call me what, baby girl?"