beauty, erotic writing, love, lust, sex, women

when you were naughty

My fingers close on your jaw, firm but gentle as you try to look away. The space between us seethes with unspoken tension and my voice, when it comes, is a bass growl. The sight of you calls out a playful dominance in me.

 

‘You’re mine, baby girl.’

 

You quiver, but my arm around your waist holds you firm as your legs shake.

 

‘Yes, Daddy.’

 

A finger brushes over your lips. An intense curiosity comes over me. My mouth moves to your ear, the soft brush of my beard is reassuring against your cheek and my voice travels through you.

 

‘Have you been a good girl?’

 

You nod. My fingers slide down either side of your neck where they squeeze. Your pulse is fast and hard against my grip. You whimper as I squeeze, whilst I stare into your eyes.

 

‘Are you sure?’

 

You shake your head and I growl, drawing close.

 

‘I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ve tried to be good.’

 

You confess you’ve been touching yourself without permission. My mouth is dry with lust, controlled but ragged by how aroused I am.

 

My right hand unbuttons the front of your jeans. You try to pull back but my hand on your throat holds you in place. The heat comes off you in waves, and I stroke the soft, warm skin of your stomach then let my fingertips graze over the silk of your panties. The dichotomy of dominance and the gentle, playful way I touch you inform each moment. Here, flushed with arousal, we slip off the yoke of responsibility and obligation in favour of playing with one another.

 

I slip my fingers inside your panties and graze them over the warm curve of your pussy.

 

No, my pussy. You shiver as I massage you in slow, careful circles and enjoy the damp heat which gathers at my touch.

 

‘Whose pussy is this?’

 

You gasp and push your hips towards me. Desire glazes your eyes, and each stroke of my fingers draws out thunderclouds of a want across the sky of your eyes.

 

‘Yours, Daddy.’

 

You whimper and my fingers find your clit, throbbing and erect as you shudder and lean back, liquefying by degrees. You give a small, wry smile.

 

‘I know what you’re doing, Daddy.’

 

Without losing my rhythm, I let go of your throat and bring my hand to the hair on the back of your head and twist it between my fingers. You make a small cry from the back of your throat and I continue to stroke you as you look at me.

 

‘You do?’

 

You clutch at me, whimpering as my fingers move against your tender, sopping flesh. Your thighs open and your head goes back.

 

‘Remember to ask permission.’

 

A choked cry escapes between your gritted teeth and my grip on your hair tightens as I growl at you to look at me.

 

‘Please Daddy.’

 

The world has reduced to sensation and attention. Beneath my fingers, you’re soaking wet and the electric glide of flesh makes me careful and inventive. I use the ball of my thumb against your clit whilst I hook a finger up and massage the rough pad of flesh at the top of my pussy. You moan, sweet and low, as you ask permission to come.

 

No.

 

You buck against me but I laugh it off as I lean forwards.

 

‘This happens when you disobey me.’

 

My brooding eyes lock with yours as flashes of savage pleasure twist through you as the blood rushes to your skin.

 

You tell me you’re sorry, over and over.

 

Flushed and quivering with abandon, you ask and I refuse. You are lost to the power of my touch, and what it evokes within you. It focuses every inch of you on my fingers, between your legs and at the back of your head. Here, you are safe to take flight within yourself, despite my prohibition.

 

I deny you for a third time. Something forces you to let go. Your nails dig into the meat of my shoulders as you cry out, flooding my fingers with a gushing, deep warmth.

 

I watch your face, tears beading in the corners of your eyes and press my palm against my pussy, grounding you to the moment as you hold on sobbing with relief.

 

‘Thank you, Daddy.’

 

I stroke your hair. I’m silent, letting my touch speak to the tenderness you inspire. I keep you close, feeling your heart thumping in your chest as you squeeze against me. You fit into me, a heated, tearful complement and penitent enough I forgive your transgression. You whisper into my ear.

 

‘Daddy, I want you inside me.’

 

You unbuckle my belt, and I slide my jeans off my legs as you wrap your fingers around the shaft of my cock as we kiss. Your lips close around my tongue and you suckle it, moaning at the surprising joy as I tug down your underwear and jeans until they’re in a tangle around your ankles. Pure need has you turned around, with your firm, pale buttocks offered. I take the head of my cock and guide it between your thighs. The contact makes me sigh and you lift your hips to take me inside you. The taut, molten river of my pussy welcomes me. There are tentative strokes, adjustments made like an unconscious list of demands, drives given control and made urgent by the need for release.

 

I chase the oblivion in hard, fierce strokes pushing you against the counter as I make it hurt in the ways we both need. Lost in the wonder of your flesh, I pull your hair and thrust into you with a rapid, muscular violence as we lock into a tight, fierce knot of slapping bodies and whatever noises escape the inexorable gravity of our desire.

 

‘I‘m going to come, baby girl.’

 

She reaches back for me, urging me deeper.

 

‘Please, Daddy.’

 

There is no finesse but there is grace in how the orgasm breaks me over its knee, spurting and spilling inside you with a force which makes my eyes roll back in my head. You push back against me, keeping every drop of me inside you with a junkie’s need. This chemical connection made flesh brings out something animal. Free of shame and awkwardness. I lean forwards, bringing my arms around you, breathing you in like smoke as you chuckle with delight.

 

‘You’re such a bad Daddy.’

 

Your voice is a low, smoky rasp as I kiss you on the cheek and tell you I know.

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