I felt the bed shift when he got in behind me. I was lying on my stomach with one knee drawn up a bit. My thin white tee was moist with perspiration and I'd put on the smallest pair of black cotton panties I owned after my shower. God it was hot. When he snuggled up behind me, his skin against mine, I was a heartbeat away from asking him to just leave me alone. He pressed up against me, I opened my mouth to say it and he whispered against my neck, "My girl looks hot."
I was, and his breath was hotter still. Nonetheless, I felt goose bumps raise on my arms and the backs of my thighs. Just like that, my mind went from," leave me alone" to "please don't stop".
I felt my body react to him in ways that it hadn't in months. Maybe years. I'd been stressed lately. I have a lot going on at work. My boss recently moved into another position and I've been contemplating making a bid for his job. I'm worried about what the economy is doing to our mortgage . We have a kiddo who needs braces and another that wants guitar lessons. I love him, but time with my husband has been just about the last thing on mind.
But the way he said it. "My girl looks hot." It wasn't a compliment. It was a statement of fact. Record highs in Portland and trust me, very few North Westerners plan for heat. He was stating the obvious, but the possessiveness in his voice raised those goose bumps. I've always been his honey, his sweetie, his baby, but tonight, I'm his girl.
He rubs the goose bumps from the back of my thigh and I feel a tiny spasm in my pussy.
"Are you too hot baby?" The only sound I can make is strangled, halfway between a whimper and a moan. He drags his hand slowly up the back of my thigh, over the swell of my ass, to the small of my back. He stops, his hand slightly splayed over the patch of bare skin between the band of my panties and the hem of my tight white t-shirt. His fingers curve gently around my side, the tips of his fingers barely reaching my stomach.
"I know I shouldn't," he whispers against my neck. I have a split second to wonder what the hell he's talking about before he finishes, "but Daddy can't help it."
I resister that he's just called himself Daddy, then so many things happen at once. I gasp. My nipples tighten. My pussy floods. I feel that tiny spasm again.
I'm not sure when it happened, but some time ago, I started fantasizing about my Daddy. No, not my father. That's disgusting. My Daddy, the man who wants what's best for me. Even if what's best for me is a good hard spanking. A man who'll teach me, who'll nurture me. Make me his girl, then his bad girl, his slut, his whore. A man who will praise my good behavior with his cock. Who'll teach me bad behavior with it too.