Second Date

It's only the second time. The second time we've gone out. The second time we've met. I keep trying to rationalize it...

This is sub frenzy. This is infatuation. For you. For me. You'll get bored with me, or realize that I'm really not all that terribly awesome or special. This is part of my grief and needing human contact.

Of course then I counter those thoughts almost as soon as I think them... it's just my impostures syndrome. I need to breathe and just let things be whatever they are. I need to let go and not suffocate myself with logic. I need to live. The only way to know is to try.

I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to not over analyze every single thing. Every word. Every action. Yours. Mine. I'm trying so hard to just feel and exist. I'm trying to embrace the sensations.

But what if the things I feel are wrong? Or fake?

I don't know. I don't know any more. My confidence in my emotions, in trusting them to be right, is fractured at the moment. I don't want them to be fake. I don't think they are. I don't think it's grief, or infatuation.

I like this... I want this... I've wanted this for so long...

I clutch the little black purse closer to my chest, hoping it doesn't look like the death grip it feels like. No jacket again. I'm actually surprised you've never seen me in it. Maybe I should take that as a sign of how much I want this. I don't want to hide. I don't want my "security blanket" when I'm around you because on some level I know I'm secure.

My shoes still feel odd as I walk into the restaurant with you and I give myself a small mental kick for not breaking them in better. They're flats at least. No crazy heels yet. I haven't gone that girly, though I am in a dress for you and I'm sure heels are just a matter of time.

I look down at the dress. Well... really... at the expanse of my cleavage that the dress doesn't cover. The pale skin of my breasts is a stark contrast against the fabric and the purse I'm holding to myself. The colors encasing me are so rich you would think the dress was new.

The truth is I've owned it for years. I fell in love with it when I saw it. The dark, rich purple, almost a tie-dye sort of pattern banding around the fabric, alternating between lighter and darker shades... It's gorgeous and I know the color suites me, though I don't tend to fret over looking nice most of the time.

The fabric is light. Airy. A summer dress to be sure. I loved how soft the fabric was, how light. I loved the way the fabric folded around my body, almost as if it were a form of toga, something which could easily be unwrapped. What I loved most was the skirt portion and how it wrapped around my waist, overlapping in the front rather than at the side so as I walked the cloth parted, displaying my legs. Legs which are currently clad in stockings at your request.

There's a delicious pull inside my body knowing that if I walk too fast, move too quickly, there's the chance of the fabric parting too far, showing the world how you took my panties from me. Showing anyone who's watching just how much of your cum is dripping out of me, running down my thighs, soaking into my stockings.

The thought makes me blush as you request a booth for two. I can feel my flesh burning as my fingers tighten on my purse and I silently hope the lighting is dark enough to allow my thoughts to pass unnoticed.

I feel so different. I love this dress so much, and yet I haven't worn it because shortly after buying it my relationship ended. I bought it and then was without reason to wear it. But now there is. I want to be girly for you. Attractive. Feminine. The purse, the shoes, the stockings... they're all new. So different from everything I'm used to...

And yet I take a moment to smile, knowing my Thunder Cats wallet is still inside my purse, along with my Spyro the Dragon key chain. I may be embracing a too long neglected aspect of myself, but at the core I am still me. I haven't given anything up... except my panties...

My blush deepens and I dip my head a bit further as I bite my bottom lip.

I drag myself out of my head and back to the now as we're shown to our table. The waiter smiles at me, at us, as he stands next to the booth he has picked. It's secluded, in the back, away from the other customers peppered throughout the establishment. I glance around the room as I sit.

In typical fashion there are mostly couples and I take a moment to ponder how I look when I go out alone. You would think enjoying solitude was a sin or an incurable disease with the looks I get sometimes. It would be nice to not receive pity for sitting alone. I can't deny that I'm enjoying having company, though. Especially company who loves to leave me a gooey mess...

I jump slightly as you place your hand on the table in front of me. You place your other arm on the back of the booth as you ease your body towards me, sitting yourself beside me. I hadn't expected this.

This isn't a social norm, is it? Maybe it is with you? I'm not sure. It's only the second date. There's not enough information to know habits or patterns. It's still unknown and I am left scrambling to process while acting, scooting further into the booth, closer to the corner so that there is space for you.

I wish this blush would go away, but I know it won't. I'm worried about having caused offense for not having made space for you sooner. I'm worried I look awkward in front of the waiter, who has just placed menus in front of us. I think he has already asked for our drinks but I'm not sure. I wasn't paying attention because the smell of your cum on my breasts makes it hard to think.

You thank the waiter and he walks away. I suppose drinks were ordered. I know I should be wondering what I'll be getting when the waiter returns, but I'm not. I'm trying to remember that oxygen is a necessity.

Breathe. I have to remind myself to breathe with you so close to me. My body is crying out for you even though you've already filled me with your seed once tonight. Even though you've already covered me with it, having me rub it all lover my body like a hot, sticky lotion...

I feel your arm around my shoulders, your chest slightly pressing into my side as you angle yourself to face me. I'm breathing quickly. Too quickly to be normal. Too quickly to hide. I know you know what I'm feeling. There's no way to hide it around you. All I can do is experience it. Embrace it.

I look up into your eyes as we sit in the back of this public place and I know my eyes are begging you for more. I can feel you answering my plea. I can feel the tension. The want. The need. Yours, to claim. Mine, to be claimed.

Your lips are close. It's like you're taunting me. You hold yourself there, your eyes drinking me in, every drop as I drip and clench in longing, whimpering in pleasured pain. I'm so empty. Please. Please fill me up again.

The hand you had resting on the table descends to the top of my thigh. My eyes widen, a reaction to my arousal I'll never be able to suppress. Breathe. Breathe. I'm trying to, but the best I can do is pant. I know where this is going. I remember how you said you like to play...

I can't take it. Not all of it. I can't take your eyes and your touch both while being burned alive by your desire. I lower my head, nuzzling into your neck as your hand slides to the inside of my thigh, parting the fabric of my dress.

I can feel the cool air of the restaurant against my lips. Wet lips. So wet. There was so much cum earlier. Mixed cum. I couldn't help it. You felt so good inside me, and I'm not supposed to hold back. In my head that's a rule now. I'm not supposed to hold back and so I came for you. So hard. I came so hard for you, daddy.

I whimper as that word fills my head. Daddy. It's so wrong. It's so right. It's everything I didn't know I was craving. Gasping. Panting. Your fingers are so strong against me, daddy. So gentle. They make me melt and feel helpless and yet so sexy and wanted at the same time.

They stroke and pet and glide over me. A small moan leaves my lips before I can contain it. I can't help it, daddy. It feels so good.

"Mmmm. Not too loud now, baby girl. Stay quiet for daddy like a good girl. Stay still so daddy can play with you."

Squeeze my eyes as tight as I can. It's so much. So much. Your voice. Your fingers. Your warmth. I won't be able to stay quiet. I won't be able to stay still. It's too much, daddy. Oh, god. It's too much. Please don't stop.

I turn further into your chest, trying to hide against you even as my legs spread wider under the table, wanting more. I want you to play with me. I want you to... to...

Oh god. Daddy!

Your fingers find my pierced clit, pressing against it firmly, slowly, deliberately. I don't know why but the slowness of it... Calm. Calculated. Intentional. It nearly undoes me. I feel so owned. So controlled. It makes me feel like I'm yours. Your toy. Your baby girl.

"Daddy!" My voice is strained. I have to stay quiet. I have to. I ... I... can't think. I can't think of anything other than your fingers circling my clit. I can't think of anything other than your breathing and how it feels against my skin. Warm. Hot. I can't think of anything other than holding on to you, my fingers griping your shirt as my hips move against your hand while I try with every fiber of my being to be a good girl for you. I can't moan. If I do people will know how naughty I am for you, daddy. They'll know how much of a naughty slut I am for you if I don't stay quiet.

I writhe, gasping, straining, trying to keep my body still as your fingers slide down, down, down away from my clit, abandoning it to tease my entrance instead. I can't help the long, high-pitched whine that claws its way from my throat. It's like I'm a bitch in heat. I can't help it. I need you so much, daddy. I'm so tight. I'm so empty. Please. Please.

Over and over I feel your fingers circle. Always around. Never entering. Just teasing. Playing. Touching. Pressing. Prreessing. Prrreeesssing.

My whole body arches against you as you shove your fingers into me. Too much. Too much!

I bite at your shoulder, silencing my scream. My fingers dig into your chest as I cum. Hard. So hard. I'm cumming so hard for you, daddy.

"That's it, baby girl. Cum for me. Cum for daddy."

I'm sure your words are whispered but they're all I hear. They're my world. They weave themselves in my very soul becoming a part of my identity. I'm your baby girl and I'm cumming for you. You're my daddy and I'm cumming for you.

"Keep cumming, baby girl. Keep cumming." The motion of your fingers emphasizes each sentence. Slowly pulling out only to pushed back in, spreading me. Filling me.

Another scream silenced, somehow. Somehow contained. Somehow I hold onto you tighter. I didn't know I could feel this much. I didn't know I had more in me to give. Please take all of it, daddy. Take all of me. It's yours. I'm yours. I want to be yours, daddy.

My body tightens once again, squeezing around your fingers. I can feel the wetness running out of me, covering your hand, making messy sounds as you continue, over, and over, and over, drawing my orgasm out until it feels like I'm shattering. Until only one thing remains.

"Daddy!" I can't. I can't. Please, daddy. I can't keep quiet. I can't stay still. Please, daddy. It's so good. Your fingers are so good.

There is no conscious thought. There's only feelings. Reactions. Sensations. A blinding intensity which eclipses all else. I spend eternity in that state. I spend years, life times, being consumed by you. By your desire. I spend eternity being yours.

Slowly. So slowly, I become aware. Your fingers have stopped. They're inside me, but they're no longer tormenting me with ecstasy. You've taken mercy on me, allowing your hand to rest against my skin, cupping me. Holding me. Owning me.

I'm panting. I can feel wetness against my cheeks. Tears. I smile slightly even though it seems so hard to do. I'm so tired, daddy. I'm so tired it's hard to smile against your neck. Panting. Breathing. I like the tears, daddy. They aren't bad. I promise I wasn't crying.

Mmmm, no. Not crying. It was so intense. They're a sign of intensity and I'm so glad they're there. I didn't know it could feel this good. I didn't know I could feel this much.

My legs... my thighs... they feel so weak... The gym never makes me feel like this. It never makes me feel the way you do, daddy. So used. So spent. So completely satisfied.

I smile wider, thinking of the joke, "Who is "Gym" and why are you always so sweaty and tired after seeing him?" Gym could never be as good as you, daddy.

I half gasp half moan as you slowly ease your fingers from inside me. I try to open my eyes. I want to see you, but the lights seem so bright. Where they this bright when we sat down? I forgo that train of thought as I feel your fingers pressing against my lips. Hot. Wet.

I open my mouth, my tongue already extending as I suck them inside, letting my eyes flutter closed as I moan softly, contentedly. I begin to gently clean your fingers, swirling my tongue around them, trying to get all of the stickiness for you.

I love the feeling of sucking your fingers clean. I love tasting myself on you. I love how you say it makes me a...

"Good girl."

I shiver in your arms sucking harder. I love those words. I crave hearing them come from your lips. I release your fingers as I begin to lick your palm, another soft moan filling the small space between us. This can't be wrong. This feeling of belonging, of being owned...

I don't care that this is the second time. I don't care about logic or patterns or data.

All I care about is being here with you. All I care about being with my daddy.