"Oh, Yes, Sir,” I sigh. The way he can shift back and forth, from crisp and professional to down and dirty never fails to bring me to the brink. I wonder if today will be one of the times he requires me to come during my spanking, my crotch helplessly humping his thigh, or if I will be forced to hold it in for later.
"Remove your blouse."
"Yes…"
I stand there a moment, in nothing but my bra. I feel more naked than if I were completely bare. My nipples are pebbles, straining at the silk material, my breasts want out, they want to be seen, and they want to be played with.
"Come to me, baby girl.” He slides his chair out and turns it.
There are rules for this next part. I can't touch him anywhere except his lap. I have to lay myself over it; my palms and heels must be on the floor.
There is no description for the intensity, the thrilling intimacy of this mutually agreed upon inequality. He dominates, I submit, he sentences, I give over my ass. Most importantly, he is clothed, I am not, there is no protection, my slit, my lips impress upon his muscular thigh, I feel his cock rise and press erect into my belly.
That cock is going to own me. It already does. It's going in my ass again, just because he says and I want it because I want to be owned, I want to belong to this beautiful man in all the ways I can. I hate that there are limits; that he goes home to a wife every day, in spirit at least. I hate my aloneness … sometimes. But then again, I know that is part of what makes it so special between us. It's a respite from everything the world demands, from all that normal life requires. No escape, the good with the bad. Always dues to pay.
At this stage of proximity, we move into our other roles, perhaps our truest ones.
"Have you been bad, baby girl?” he pats my bottom.
"Yes, Daddy,” I squirm.
"Tell Daddy about it."
"I should have been wetter for Daddy."
As if that were truly possible…
"Do you know why Daddy has that rule?"
"So baby girl and Daddy can play together?"
"That's right, and Daddy needs baby girl to be cooperative, doesn't he?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"You see I have to punish you?” his finger moves over my clit.
Oh, fuck yes.
"Will it hurt, Daddy?"
"A little, but we have to go through it."
"Yes … oh I love you, Daddy."
His hand lands on top of me, a perfect first spank. He always knows just how to cup his hand, just how to aim for the sweet spot. He makes me sting and burn, but never hurts me.
We count together, up to ten. I am moaning, “Daddy, Daddy please, I need to suck you…"
"Is baby girl sorry? Does she want to be a good girl?"
"Yes, oh, yes, Daddy.” I am the best most grateful girl in the world as he lets me down between his legs. He opens his pants, I take his cock out.
"I love you, Daddy, I love you so much."
"I love you, Sweetheart."
I kiss his cock, I smother it with kisses, my eyes water up because I have waited my whole life for someone I could love unconditionally, nothing dirty, everything pure and right, it all fits together.
I proudly swallow his member, thick and pulsing. I love to hear him make those little noises in the back of his throat; I know he's enjoying it so much, enjoying me. I drink down his come, greedily, I know he'd like to hold back a little longer, maybe fuck me even but there are times I put my foot down-or my tongue.
Baby girl has needs … and that doesn't always mean orgasms. Sometimes it is simply to be the object of Daddy's pleasure.
I want to go home, but I remember I need to check the mail at the office. We're expecting an insurance settlement check for damage to the roof last hurricane season.
Thomas went right up top with the adjustor, god, I was so scared for him. He called me mother hen. Not really, you just have a tendency to look out for people who turn your life around.
I was so close the night I met him to heading for a drink and I'm not sure if I started again whether I would have been able to ever stop. I was so close to the edge. It's no wonder that introduction is burned into my memory.
The world Before Thomas and After Thomas.
The first thing I saw was his loafers, oh, he loves his shiny shoes. I had the shakes, I felt like something off the bottom of those shoes. I was at the edge of my metal folding chair, poised to split. The last thing I wanted was to engage another human in conversation. That's when he gave me that line about being in dirt and I told him I was in shit … up to my eyeballs.
He smiled wryly, like he'd been there himself. “You got a sponsor yet?"
"Haven't decided to stick around."
"We can go get some real coffee if you like."
I sized him up. He wasn't bad looking. Maybe fifty-five, but he could pass for younger. He was trim, with a neat, close beard. He'd lost some of his dark hair, but the bare scalp in its place was tanned, healthy and kind of sexy. His eyes were blue, intense but not overpowering. He had dark slacks and a button down shirt. He was confident and poised with capable hands.
"I don't even know you,” I pointed out.
One thing was clear. He had a ring on his left hand.
"That will have to change,” he said matter of factly. “Now that I'm your sponsor."
"I told you, I haven't decided."
"You can decide over coffee."
The next thing I know I am leaving the basement of First Methodist heading for the nearest Starbrew's Coffee Shop in the company of a handsome older man.
A married older man.
"So do you do this often?” I ask as he buys me an extra large latte with a shot of espresso.
He ushers me toward a small, secluded table in the back. “What's that?"
"Pick up pathetic women at alcoholic meetings."
"You don't seem pathetic to me."
"Give it time."
"I intend to."
His voice had this little rasp to it, made me wet my panties. He was so sure, not cocky, just determined.
"You're lucky this is only coffee, Mister, or I would be sorely tempted to seduce you."
"I can't say it would break my heart."
"Might break your wife's though."
"What about you? Do you have anyone special?"
"I'm between special someones at the moment. My last one wanted to consummate in the back seat of my car. Unfortunately he threw up in my hair while I was performing a little warm up fellatio. I think his name was Kevin."
"We should find his car and return the favor,” he quipped. “Maybe eat a dozen hot dogs and ride a tilt a whirl for an hour or so first."
I laughed so damn hard I nearly peed myself. “Oh, fuck, I needed that."
"You should do that more often."
"What's that? Blow people I don't know?"
"No, laugh. It lights your whole face up."
Shit. A compliment. Now there was a novelty. “Careful, I might get addicted to hearing nice things. I'll start following you around like a puppy dog."
"I see you more as a kitten."
"Helpless and annoying, you mean?"
"Fierce, cute as hell and ready to take on the world,” he corrects. “Smart, too."
"You really do have a comeback for everything, don't you?"
"Just where you're concerned, it seems."
He had me speechless. Falling back on bar etiquette I said, “So do we screw now?"
"No."
"A married man with ethics. Now there's something you don't see every day."
"I'm not that ethical,” he retorted, knocking my socks off. “I'm going to fuck your brains out, but not until you get your self well."
Talk about incentive.
Never was there a more eager meeting attendant. Never did a person stick so close to a sponsor.
There were times I wanted to know how he coped, who did he lean on? He wouldn't answer, except through jokes. And oh, could he make me laugh.