The Big Bad Wolff

…continued…

He found himself breathing hard, not from exertion but from the wet musk rising out of her pores. It wasn’t just pussy he smelled. Her whole body exuded hunger. When he leaned past her to close the door he caught the scent of her neck, could almost taste her pulse, and his loins surged with a ferocity barely contained. She was begging for him while feigning fear.

“I think the little girl lies,” he hissed against her red hair.

She shook her head.

He stepped back and pushed her forward. She caught herself instinctively with her hands out stretched as she hit the mattress. Then his big paw was on the nape of her neck, pushing her into the ticking. It was not a soft bed. It was not meant for the luxury of sleep. He thrilled at her gasp.

“You humor me by feigning fear,” he ground. “You aren’t afraid.”

Her voice was muffled and he let off enough that she could speak. “I am,” she whispered.

“Not yet. Because you don’t yet feel truly helpless.” He worked quickly then, buckling the leather restraints around her wrists. She fought, jerking her feet away in vain, making him work to capture them and complete her spread eagle binding.

Then he smelled it. The first hint of true fear. Acrid and sharp.

And when she felt cold steel beneath the collar of her shirt, and all the way down her back as the fabric fell away and exposed her to this world she couldn’t not see, she trembled and cried out. When his hungry tongue trailed her bare skin and dripped over her thighs and buttocks, her bladder let go. He lifted his face to the low ceiling and laughed. A thready howl that cut the air, and he said, “Now. Now my little Red knows fear.”

…to be continued

The Big Bad Wolff

…continued…

She kept her eyes ahead. The smell coming from him was not quite human, though it had human components… mothballs, sandalwood, bourbon. But also muskier scents, like dog and … almost a metallic odor, like copper. But warm. She wondered why she didn’t feel fear. She did, but it wasn’t the overriding emotion.

When her steps slowed, something prodded her gently in the small of her back. She found herself slowing intentionally just to feel it. If she didn’t pick up her pace immediately, it was a harder and sharper prod, sometimes accompanied by that guttural growl. The forest deepened and the smells from the trees and floor became darker and older, fecund, and she wondered how long since light had touched here? The canopy was like a ceiling, letting nothing in and nothing out.

All she heard was her own footfalls and breathing. She would slow or stumble to make certain he was still there.

Then he blindfolded her. Told her to stop, and something soft and black covered her sight and tightened around her head. It was almost reassuring. From that point, he took her arm and guided her. Did she feel claws? Or was that her overactive imagination? Was this whole thing a fantasy, and she still stood on that sunny hilltop with her face tilted into the yellow rays?

A squeak. And his breath close to her ear for just a second. Gooseflesh rose and raced down her back and arms. A bare acidic whiff of… coffee? Then a click. Her feet were on hard smooth ground now. And it was warm. He moved her forward.

“Do you know where you are, Red?” he asked softly.

She shook her head and felt a wave of vertigo. And when he answered, she heard the smile stretching his words.

“You are where no one will hear you scream.”

 

…to be continued

The Big Bad Wolff

…continued…

Every time she entered this high meadow he could smell her. It wasn’t perfume or soap. It was far more subtle. Like citrus and honey and earth. Like blood and flesh. She was carried on the wind into his cerebral cortex, and once there she was in him.

He always watched from his safe place. She felt him, but she wasn’t animal enough to know it. The musk of her adrenaline each time she started only added to the cocktail sweetening his own blood. As soon as he caught that whiff, nose to the sky, he was hard. Hungry. He was Hunter.

She made it easy.

The noises she alerted to in the leaves were not him. His padded feet made no noise. The wind was always in his favor. And when he finally made his move he was ready to subdue, even while uncertain it would be necessary. He was hungry, but he would not harm her. Hurt her, perhaps. But his hunger demanded she not only be intact, but ideally,  willing. The line every predator walked with his prey. Would she understand her part?

He suspected so. She didn’t fight as he’d anticipated. Instead, at his embrace he tasted arousal in the air. A touch of fear, but a mighty release of invitation from her, and he wanted to take her there, then.

He didn’t.  He whispered, “Are you frightened, Red?”

She nodded, small and unconvincing movements of her head.

“I’m not sure you are,” he growled. He wouldn’t let her know he liked that. He let her feel his fangs against her neck, and he thrilled at the reactive shudder that quaked her. Now that, that odor was fear. If he pushed her, urine would be the next scent on the wind. Then the animal might take over… He pulled back and licked the spot again. While he did, he disarmed her without her realizing, and stepped back.

She started to turn.

“No!” he barked. “Walk. Take the path, this one leading into the woods. Do not turn around. You won’t like the last thing you see, my Dear.”

…to be continued

The Big Bad Wolff

She paced the ridge line. She’d been in this country many times, tracking the wildlife, enjoying the open, unbothered by the solitude and the wolf, coyote, big cat and bear tracks she often found around the natural springs and along creek beds.

Early autumn. Everything crisp, crunchy… the smallest birds sounded like Bighorn sheep crashing through the underbrush. The sky was a Caribbean blue. Clear, clean and bottomless.

She wore red often this time  of year. She didn’t want to be mistaken for a wild thing. She hated orange. She listened to the crashing and turned, looking for the bird or squirrel or groundhog that was making it. Nothing.

She walked longer, the rifle stock bumping reassuringly against her thigh. And she got lost; lost inside her head, inside the fantasies that were more real to her than the barren life she lived, pictures of big men with big cocks, all hungry and smiling wolfishly, all sniffing around and leaving their scents and marks to keep her safe. From what?

Boredom, she thought, and smiled to herself.

She was smiling when the thing came around and covered her mouth, pulling her tight against a large…what? Solid and both hard as rock and soft as bearskin. She was wrapped in an embrace that felt less than human. But too deliberate and gentle to be animal.

Then it spoke in a low growl, “Are you Little Red?”

Fear swelled her throat and tried to choke her. She didn’t know how she knew, but she sensed any fight would be futile. And much to her surprise she felt herself grow wet.

It sniffed deeply. “I think you are,” it growled.

“Who are you?” she rasped against the leathery thing covering her mouth.

“I, little girl, am your favorite fantasy, or your worst nightmare. You pick.” And something warm and wet lashed seductively against her throat over her carotid artery, and a flame of desire swept the length of her body.

A Few Words…

A warm hello to all my faithful followers, and welcome to the newcomers. It’s great to return to find that things have been growing while I was away.

I was away, dealing with some personal stuff. We all know what that’s like! But I was also stewing. I thought I was blocked, to put it in simple creative terms, but it was more than that. It was that I had a story to tell, but couldn’t find the right way to tell it. And like any new thing, it was born in its own time. It took a year from start to finish, and about 8 months of that it felt like it was stagnating, or simply didn’t exist at all. Except that when I did sit down to write, it was the only thing there.

I’m talking about Perversions. This is a novella at almost 15,000 words. It’s the tale of how we, as humans, deal with the thoughts and feelings that society tells many of us are perverse. It turns out that is less the truth than that the human experience doesn’t follow rules and protocols. It’s a touch autobiographical, a touch erotic, and is driven to an unexpected end on human psychosis.

I won’t be publishing it here; I’ll be throwing my hat back into the Amazon ring. The book will hopefully be available in both e and print editions. I will post a few excerpts… but for the most part, I am letting my reputation and the book speak for themselves. I’m no salesman. But this book is near and dear to me, and I hope a few people might be interested enough to check it out.

If there are any wishing to review, I’m prepared to offer the book for free in exchange for a fair and honest review. Though I’ve been burned here before, so I’ll have to have seen you around for awhile in order to do so.  But for the most part, I like to think people are decent and honest. 🙂

Thank you for sticking around. And I’m hoping to be posting some new short fiction very soon. Cause as far as I’m concerned, the world needs a little more sex! 😉

Sunday with Daddy

It had been a long weekend. A lot of silence between them. She wasn’t sure what was going on. He’d fucked her that morning then left the house, said he was going to check out a gun show and maybe stop by the music store… she’d wanted to ask if she could come along, but for some reason today it felt best to let him go.

It was quiet when he wasn’t around. Not that he was noisy. But he moved a lot. He kept busy. And even when he slowed down, napped on the couch or in the wicker chair in the front room, he snored. She took comfort in his presence. Even the snoring made her smile. Sometimes she watched him sleep, watched the lines fall away, the years melt, imagined the curious little boy he’d been before worry and responsibility laid their loads on him.

She heard the door off the kitchen squeak on the one hinge. He kept oiling it, and it kept squeaking. He came in from the garage. She finished folding the towels and stuffed them into the linen closet, and went down the carpeted stairs on bare feet. She was in her cleaning clothes; blue jean shorts and an oversized T-shirt with no bra. She didn’t wear make up. And fingers passed for a comb in her preening vernacular. As she stepped off the landing she heard the TV. She stuck her head around the door and he looked up and smiled. “Hi baby girl.”

“Hi Daddy. Did you have fun?”

“I did. Found my strings.” He motioned at a paper sack on the coffee table.

“Would you like me to bring the guitar up for you?”

He patted the cushion beside him. “No, sweetie. Come here and sit with me.”

That made her happy. She sat next to him and settled under his arm. She smelled his warmth and deodorant and felt the prickle of his whiskers as he pressed a firm kiss into her hairline. “I missed you,” he said.

She smiled and looked at the TV. “Who’s playing today?”

He turned her face toward him with his index finger. “I’m sorry.” His eyes were dark and warm, familiar.

“For?”

He kissed her nose, and his fingers trailed absently along her jaw and down her neck. Her entire body knew their path, their destination, and her heart sped and her nipples peaked in invitation. “I haven’t been very nice this weekend.”

She tried to shake her head. His hand came back up swiftly to firmly clasp her chin, his other arm tight around her.

“Don’t do that.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t excuse me. Just forgive me for being a dick.”

His hand left again, and before she could say anything his mouth was on hers and his hand covered and kneaded her breast. He growled in his throat. She knew it was because of the absence of a bra. He preferred her this way.

Her hands went to his neck and she shifted to straddle his thighs, sitting on his lap, kissing him with the fire he always lit in her. When they broke, he looked up at her. She felt him throbbing between them through his khakis, through her denim.

“I want you for supper.”

“I need to shower,” she said with a grin. “And actual supper is in the oven.”

His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging her flesh. He kept looking at her, holding her blue eyes, holding her hips, and he’d begun a gentle but insistent rhythmic push with his pelvis. Her own answered. It was instinctual. It was the need they ignited in one another.

He took her mouth again, his tongue brushing hers, probing deep, tasting. He fucked her mouth with his. Invading and retreating, breaths mingling, and those gentle thrusts became urgent.

He pulled back as his hands went to his belt. “Get them off,” he said casting a look at her clothing. His voice had a rough edge and her excitement flared. The sounds of football faded into the background. She stood and stripped in front of him. Quickly, without fanfare. His cock was in his hand and he pulled and stroked it. She fixated on the shining dew leaking and running. He looked hungry. Everything about him looked hungry and masculine. She felt the trickle of her own juices.

A groan from him as he looked at her. Always for her that moment of discomfort, shyness, vulnerability with all her flaws on display for him. But he would growl, take his hand away just so she could see the independent twitch and wave of his cock. He knew she thrived on his arousal. He knew exactly what to give her to make her need to please him.

She didn’t ask. She dropped to her knees on the soft carpet between his. He said, “Yes, little girl,” as he reached to touch her face. She caught his hand, and sucked his thumb into her mouth, their eyes still locked. She licked over the ball and let her tongue slide over the nail before taking it all the way, rolling her tongue to cup it like a taco. She held him there, tasting his flesh, teasing.

She sucked as he took it back, and there was something intensely erotic in the exchange. The anticipation. Her other hand was wrapped around his shaft. She hesitated, knowing well what would happen when she did. His hand on her head, pulling her face into his groin. There was no teasing, no denial today. There was only Daddy needing his cock sucked. Needing his perfect whore’s hungry mouth.

Needing her.

She loved this feeling. Of kneeling naked before him. Of his strong thighs surrounding her body and the stiff fabric against her bare skin. Of his eyes watching her and the sight fueling his arousal. His hand in her hair, sometimes resting lightly but possessively, others guiding her movements, her speed, her depth. It was a dance they performed well together, for maximum satisfaction. Never the same twice, but always perfect.

He filled her mouth, her throat. His flesh was rubbery and pillowy over the tip, swollen and hot… it was her favorite. Those textures, like a ripe plum. She scraped her teeth over him as though to leave an indentation but no mark, careful not to rupture or bruise. She sucked, gently then harder, and the tip of her tongue swirled and danced over him until she found his slit… gingerly playing there, tracing; such intimacy… to suck and taste, hoping he would feed her, her hands always working along his shaft, around his balls, a finger straying to stroke lightly over his asshole now and then. Her eyes always finding his again.

She paused briefly to give her jaw a rest. She bumped him playfully against her chin and lower lip, darted her tongue out to flick his frenulum. Smiled up at him. “You taste good, Daddy,” she whispered. “I love sucking your cock. I want to swallow you. I want your hot cum, what you made for me,” she whispered as she gently squeezed his full balls.

His reaction was an intense darkening, a deeply growled “Fuck!” and he stood and pulled her up. He pushed her onto the couch where he’d been sitting, his pants around his ankles, and he held her head with one hand wound in her short hair while the other guided his cock to her lips. “You’re going to make Daddy feel so good, baby girl. Open.”

She did, but not all the way. Only enough that he could push through her lips. Carefully wetting and wrapping them over her teeth, she braced against him and felt him push, felt the throb, heard the groan as she provided friction on his shaft while her tongue worked over him. He paused, reveling in the onslaught of sensations before beginning to thrust with some rhythm. Pushing deeper and deeper… faster. Her hands on his ass feeling his muscles contract. She had the vague passing thought that she was probably leaving a spot on the sofa cushion. Then he was blocking her airway.

She relaxed. Closed her eyes. She thought of the intense pleasure she was giving him, the things he would tell her he’d felt later, when they lay close together and he sheltered her with the same body that was taking from her; all those things only he told her because only he knew how she needed to hear them. When he pulled back she inhaled deeply and looked at him through watery eyes. He thrust again. Both hands on her head now. His pubic hair tickled her nose. She loved the heat from his body, his scent. She heard him saying words, words like take it like the little bitch you are, take Daddy’s fat cock, Daddy’s good whore swallowing his cock… And every word excited her on a level she’d never quite understood.

She knew when he came, when she tasted the salt and bitter of him, her cunt would throb and ache and long for her own release.

He pumped a few more times, giving her time to catch her breath before the last one that shot a hot stream of seed against the back of her throat. She cupped his balls to feel the contraction. She loved that moment. His release. His body climaxing, the throb of his cock and the grunt as he spasmed. Tears ran as she struggled to swallow, and he pulled back, but not out. He knew she wanted all of it. She needed him like a drug. She felt him over her tongue, one spurt after another, each hot and thick. A little ran out the side of her mouth over her chin. As his contractions eased, she sucked him gently, again touched her tongue to his opening and felt the drops pushing out. She moaned around him. She needed him now, needed him to get hard again and fuck her.

He knew.

“Suck, baby. Make me hard again so I can fuck your beautiful sloppy cunt.” He lifted her breasts, thumbing over nipples so sensitive that she moaned again. And she suckled and teased and pulled at him. She dipped her two middle fingers into her cunt, then looking at him, offered them. He took them and sucked them clean. “Again.”

Again she fed him her juices. Each taste, each firm suck had him hardening.

He finally pulled away and in a swift movement pulled her up and spun her, made her kneel on the couch, hands braced on the back. And he filled her in a single brutal thrust, all the way to her cervix, his hips pressed hard and forcefully against her ass. A firm smack with his open hand. Then his body against hers, his hands crushing her breasts, and he was fucking her like an animal. Hard, fast. And she was screaming with every thrust, begging him for more, calling his name.

He fucked her until she orgasmed over his cock, her juices flooding over him, and he came again. He kept fucking her till he softened and as his cock left her she felt his arms catch her as she sank down.

He laid down next to her on the narrow couch, his body half hanging off, and he held her close, tasted her sweat and tears and his cum on her lips. Kissed her and touched her while her shaking stopped and pulse slowed. His spent cock pressed intimately against her soft belly.

The referee’s whistle sounded over the hum of the audience, and the sun was falling in the autumn sky, and the smells of roasted chicken and baked apples mingled with the musky odors of sex and skin.

Just another perfect Sunday with Daddy.

A Note to my fellow WordPressers…

Let me start by saying we’ve gained a lot of new followers over the past week; it seems ‘Hope’ is a big hit. I’m so grateful to each of you for taking the time to read and follow, and I welcome you to my corner of the web.

I want to tell you all that I don’t do a ‘follow for a follow’ when it comes to choosing those blogs I read. That said, when I see I have a new follower I will follow back. The purpose of that is to put you in my reader so I am sure to not miss your content the next time I have a chance to catch up. If I’m engaged by your content, the follow stays; I will usually leave a like, explore a little more, though I rarely comment. Please don’t take that personally. It’s all a matter of time management with me. Though if something hits me really hard, I will most certainly leave a comment and let you know.

However, not everything appeals to everyone, so if I’m not moved by your content, I’ll remove my follow. Again, this is nothing personal. It doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate your presence, and the effort you put into your blog. I appreciate all my readers, and keep up as best I can. It’s tough though, with over 2300 followers and only one me!

Thanks to each of you for your continued support.

The Drive

He is a man of simple tastes. He likes white lace and black silk, but most of all, he wants my skin. My sighs. My ecstasy. He wants what I’ll give no other man.

Traffic was heavy. At a standstill. Her voice over the Bluetooth screwed into his ear sent fingers of pure sensation from his cortex to his cock, hitting every nerve ending in between. It wasn’t the filthy words she said that strummed the tautest chords; it was who she was, what she gave.

She gave everything. She left nothing on the table.

“Is your cock out?” she purred.

“I’m driving, baby girl.”

Her smile curved her words, making them more seductive. “You’re sitting in traffic.”

She made him want to take chances, to excite her further, to please himself. She made him want to fuck with a desperation he hadn’t felt since youth. He always wanted to fuck. But she made him want to fuck. Her.

“Take it out, Daddy. No one can see. Feel how hard it is, how much you want to see it disappearing into my mouth.”

He couldn’t believe he was doing it. The tail of his dark tie acting as a curtain, aware of the proximity of humanity on all sides, each in their own steel bubble. He let his fingers caress gently for a moment, the sensuality of his own flesh, rising blood, and her voice racing over and through him. “I need to see you, baby.”

The picture came through immediately, and made his heart hammer. You want to fuck me, Daddy? It was captioned.

“You are my little whore, aren’t you?” he said. He was concentrating on keeping his face neutral, eyes ahead. But he was stroking and squeezing now, more turned on by the precum leaking and getting on his tie, his trousers. He thought he should stop before he made a mess he wouldn’t be able to hide, but she was still talking. Not only that, she was touching, too, and he heard every sensation in the subtle catches of breath and pauses in speech.

“Yes, I am. Don’t make a mess, Daddy. No one can know.”

He stroked faster. A horn pierced his brain, and he inched forward without pausing.

“Do you have a hanky?”

“Yes.”
“Put it over your cock, cum into it. You will cum for me, won’t you?”

He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to. His balls were drawn up almost painfully while he listened to her pant, listened to the wet sounds and buzz of her vibrator. “I will.”

“Are you looking ahead, looking like you’re not feeling my wet pussy around your cock right now? Not hearing your hips smack against my ass, not feeling me drip over you? Daddy, I need you to fuck me, harder, faster, please please plea-” her words faded into jibberish and drawn out moans. He clenched his jaw and held the white handkerchief around his shaft, images of her tongue white with his seed, with it dripping out of her cunt, running over her tits all pushing their way through his mind and out the end of his throbbing cock.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he ground.

“Yes Daddy?” she whispered. Her voice had that slow, thick, luxurious sound it got when she was coming down.

“That turned my little whore on, didn’t it?”

She laughed, a throaty sound that if he dwelt on would have him hardening again. “Feel better?”

“You make Daddy feel so good, sweetie. So good.”

“Did anyone see?” she teased.

He laughed. “I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Only in theory. Now hurry home. I’m staying right here. Waiting for you.”

The line went dead, and he felt himself swelling again. He tucked himself back into his zipper before it got too difficult to do so, and thought of his homecoming.

Bar-stool Confessions

He wanted to watch her.

“Watch me what?” A soft smile curved her lips. She enjoyed teasing him, seeing just how far he’d let her go before his face darkened and his lips formed a tight line. She would push just a little further than that, because she liked making it up to him, liked when his gruffness turned back to tenderness; usually after she was bound to the four-poster with his cock softening in her ass.

He didn’t play along this time. “In the shower.”

“Okay.” He had watched her in the shower before. She wasn’t sure why the sudden interest.

His fingers toyed absently with the base of his glass. It was sweating on the scarred and polished walnut.

“Anything specific you’re hoping to see?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I want to watch you pee. See how you enjoy it.”

She wished she’d chosen the high-collar over the scoop. It might have concealed the hot flush. “Daddy-”

“You don’t want to show me? Tell me why not.”

He was a handsome man. An intelligent man. He always wanted to know why. She’d often thought over all else that was what attracted her to him. He was in all things insatiable.

She played with her drinking straw. She had no good reason, other than it was a private thing. “It’s a private thing.”

He smiled then. “There’s to be nothing private between you and me.” He motioned the bartender and touched the rim of his glass.

“No.”

“It makes you uncomfortable. It shouldn’t. Why do you think it does?”

She squirmed. But the arousal awakening in the pit of her stomach was undeniable. “Because it’s new?”

He shook his head and sipped from his glass.

“It’s… dirty.”

He smiled his approval. “Do you think I think it’s dirty?”

She kept her eyes down. The crystal bubbles in her vodka and soda chased and raced one another to the surface.

He reached across the space and tilted her face up. “Well, baby girl?”

“No. You don’t.”

He let his thumb pass over her lips before he took his hand away, and his pupils dilated at the sharp intake of her breath. “No, I don’t.”

“Is it…”

He waited. Then, “Go on. Ask me.”

“Would it excite you? Sexually?”

His face relaxed and his eyes crinkled. “Yes, baby. Anything you find exciting excites me.”

The internal flush spread, encompassing her limbs and cheeks. She felt it manifest as a tingle into her toes and fingertips. He could have her, right here, right now. They both knew it. “It’s not just the peeing that is exciting.”

He propped his chin on his hand, as though settling in. “Tell me.”

“I mean… it feels good, right? It’s nice. A relief, and the warmth.”

“Yes. But there’s more.”

She drank from her glass, and he motioned the bartender again. The heat in her cheeks felt unbearably obvious. She kept her eyes down. “Yeah. It’s about what I see, when I do it.”

He made a humming, growling sound that was one decibel above inaudible in the noisy bar. “Tell me what you see, baby.”

She smiled at her glass, allowing those thoughts in. “I see you.”

“Always just me?”

He was so territorial. “Now, yes. Not always.”

“Hm. So you see your lover.”

“Yes.” She glanced at him. He was unreadable, intent but hooded.

“What am I doing?”

It took her a moment. It required getting lost in the fantasy, required drawing on her arousal in that moment to make voicing it okay. “You’re standing close, naked and wet, and watching.”

He leaned closer, began stroking her forearm with his fingertips. For all his severity, his touch was light, soft. The fine hairs stood up in anticipation of the next one. “Am I touching you?”

She nodded. Her fingers on her right hand played and twisted the tendrils behind her ear.

“Tell me how I’m touching you. Where.” This he whispered directly into her ear.

He leaned his own ear close to her mouth and waited.

“You start by touching my shoulders, playing in the suds.” She could smell his hair, his shaving cream, and let her lips barely brush against the rim of his ear as she spoke. “Your hands run down my sides, avoiding my breasts, and one caresses the low part of my stomach, above my mound, and the other traces the small of my back, just above my ass.”

He murmured an unintelligible sound of approval.

“Your touch is light, almost a tickle.”

“Because that makes you have to go.”

“Yes.”

“Mm. Go on, little girl. Then what?”

“You’re saying things to me, but it’s not the words I hear. It’s your tone. Encouraging and relaxing and assuring.”

He rested his hand on the nape of her neck, his fingers brushing hers. The contact added to her overall feeling of being heated. Or in heat. They were indistinguishable.

“You feel the shiver when I start to let go. It peaks my nipples. Then…” A pause.

“Don’t stop. Tell me. What does Daddy do then?”

Her heart did a somersault and her breath caught. The neurons were rapid-firing like an automatic, and electricity coursed over her skin. She wondered if he felt it. “You put your fingers in it.”

“In the urine?”

She nodded. He growled again. His lips brushed her jaw in front of her ear when he whispered, “I’m so hard right now. Hard for my girl.”

Something exploded in her brain. Something small that crumbled the wall standing between right and wrong, acceptable and not. Adrenal fluid flooded her bloodstream. Her juices flowed.

“Is that all?”

“No. You find my clit, while I’m still peeing, and you start to rub. You rub hard. I stop and start, but it isn’t intentional, just happens.”

“When you’re done, do you come?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered.

“Do I put my fingers inside your hot little cunt?”

“Yes!” It came out as a hiss.

“What if I did that first? When you first started, so you filled my palm? So that rubbing your g-spot made it feel so good to release?”

Her words left her. She was going to come on the bar stool, in front of everyone. Her hand was in his now, and she gripped. Hard.

He pulled her head against his mouth. “Breathe through it, sweetie.”

He shielded her there for a few moments, until her breath leveled and her shoulders relaxed. He pushed the vodka tonic closer and she took a sip. Then another. He did the same. He watched her face intently. She smiled a wistful, almost apologetic smile.

“Stop that.”

“What?” she covered her cheeks with her hands for a moment.

“You were about to apologize.”

She couldn’t argue.

“Never apologize to me. This is what we do.”

“Who we are.”

“Yes.”

She smiled a real smile.

“Is that all you see when you’re there, in the shower?”

She met his gaze with a boldness so rare it caught him off guard. “Nope.”

“You’re going to make me come right here,” he teased lightly. But there was an unplumbed depth beneath his words.

“I see a lot. Imagine a lot. And have a feeling I’ll imagine much more now.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because it’s okay.”

He smiled and leaned in and kissed her. “It is. It’s more than okay.”