He rubs his hand over my throbbing skin, but this time, his fingers trail lower, down between my legs until they’re brushing lightly over the most sensitive, private part of me. I arch my back and part my legs ever so slightly, opening myself up to his touch, and he raises his hand again and brings it down hard on one bare cheek, yanking on the panties and making me yelp again.
“Dirty girl,” he growls, and smacks me again. “Dirty little girl getting wet in her panties. You like this, don’t you?” He lays a hand against the underside of my ass, gripping it firmly, and uses his thumb to start probing my swollen pussy lips through my damp underwear.
My eyes nearly roll back in my head at his touch-right there where I want it. I push back against him, wanting to feel it harder and deeper, wanting his thumb to slide under the fabric and touch me directly. His whole hand wraps around the bottom of one ass cheek and he squeezes it, bunching up the muscle and rubbing his thumb against the wet centre of my panties.
He fists my hair at the base of my skull, lifting it off my face, and grinds against me once more, moaning, “Fuck, you look delicious.”
I can only imagine the sight we make right now, Xavier in his suit, the massive power and breadth of him, and me across his lap-tiny and pale, with my skirt around my waist and white knee socks on. An exquisite tension is building in my core and when he finally slides his thumb under my panties and touches my slick, sensitive pussy, I shudder.
Something is blooming inside of me, an urgency, and I’ve passed the point of no return. Thrusting back against his hand as much I can, I breathe out, “Xavier,” panting against the couch.
He pulls his hand away and spanks me sharply, making me grunt with surprise.
“I need you to be my good little girl, Hazel,” he growls in warning.
“Daddy,” I correct myself, whispering desperately. “Daddy.”
He slips his fingers under the panties again, sliding two fingers down to my front, and starts rubbing soft circles around my clit. Everything inside of me seizes up. When his finger lands on the exact right spot, it’s like a detonator. Sensation bursts through me like an explosion, and I’m only half-aware that I’m crying out, my pelvis contracting as my vision tunnels.
Holy fuck.
I’d always sort of wondered if I’d orgasmed before but maybe didn’t do it very powerfully. It certainly felt good to touch myself.
But not like this. Nothing has ever felt like this. I’m practically weeping as my whole body alights with pleasure, gasping for air and grinding my hips against my stepfather’s lap. The sensation is so incredible, so unlike anything I’ve ever even conceived of, and I want more, now, endlessly, forever. My God, I will do anything to stay close to Xavier and to feel that again and again.
“Good girl,” he says, and I can hear the warm smile in his voice. He rubs his hand in soft circles around my ass. “Good girl, Hazel.”
I melt at his praise.
I’m in love, is all I can think. I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love.
#
Xavier
#
the first time I had sex with Melanie, she’d claimed to be surprised by how raw and animalistic it was. “You have a beast inside,” she’d said, delighted, “that I wasn’t expecting.”
She was a new-agey kind of woman, confident in her assessments of people and with an air of spiritual superiority. We met at a party where she’d arrived with another man, one who wore jeans and had tousled hair and called her babe. In hindsight, the fact that she went home with me should have been a clue to her future infidelity, but at the time it felt like a conquest.
I’ve always been Melanie’s opposite, the stiff guy in a suit who rarely cracks a smile, but Mel and I, we had wild sex. Crazy sex. The kind where we tore at each other’s bodies and got off on dirty talk and even introduced risks, like public sex and trying to get caught. In Melanie’s view, I was more rigid than most on the outside because I was more wild than most on the inside.
In the early days of our relationship, she loved discovering the side of me that could completely let go. But towards the end, it was the outward control she focused on. “You’re such a control freak,” she would tell me. “You’re anal-retentive. You’re repressing me.”
I disliked the way she put me into two distinct boxes, Wild Xavier and Repressed Xavier, the way she didn’t seem able to understand me as a whole, complete person. But now, with her teenage daughter wet and quivering on my lap, and my blood pounding in my ears and my heart hammering against my chest, the term comes back to me. The beast inside. It feels accurate.