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A Night of Firsts, Part Two “I to take you home,” you said, your hand on my thigh and your fingers stroking me through my panties, “but not yet. Not yet.” You paused, kissing me, stroking my cock gently, and I lost in a haze of desire and need and couldn’t say anything at all. “What a man wants from a beautiful woman is two things,” you said, stroking me, as I shifted in the car seat give you more access to my body. The skirt of my dress had gotten bunched around my legs and I didn’t care, I didn’t care about anything other than your fingers touching , slipping into my panties, exploring me, learning everything about me. “A man wants sex, yes,” you said softly, stroking me. I wanted that. I wanted to feel you in me, I wanted to be face down, used, spread, taken, and then suddenly your hand withdrew and I left panting. “A man wants sex, a man wants a willing woman who will serve him, a man wants a who will be there for him have and use and touch and hold and fuck until she moans . . . but sometimes, a man also wants to be seen with that beautiful his arm. Sometimes, a man wants be seen with that beautiful thing, because she’s beautiful, she’s adorable, she’s sexy, and no one else can have her but him.” I flushed, panting, and didn’t understand you. At first I thought I had done something wrong make you unhappy and it the worst feeling I had ever felt; I so broken by the idea that I wasn’t good enough for you that my eyes welled with tears. “I don’t understand,” I said. “It’s okay, baby ,” you said, stroking my hair. “We’re going go back my house, but first I stop off at a place I know, just for a drink or two. I to show you off. I everyone to see the hot piece of ass I have with . I everyone see how beautiful you are.” At first I wasn’t sure how respond. “I don’t . . . what do you mean? Where are we going?” I adjusted my dress and tried put my panties back in place. I remember you smiling as you watched me, and that comforted me. I wanted make you smile. “Just a local bar. Nothing glitzy or glamourous, it’s just a place I go sometimes. And I want you there with me.” ~ ~ ~ You opened the passenger side door for me and I stood in the parking lot, so nervous I could barely control my legs, afraid that I was going trip my heels and embarrass you in front of your friends but you took into your arms and guided me to the door. The short<b> skirts </font></b>of my dress barely covered the tops of my stockings—I had chosen this outfit in the hopes that you would rip it off of as fast as possible—but as we walked to the door of the bar, your strong hands steadied . I wasn’t used walking in heels, but by some miracle I made it the doorway. I could feel the cold winter wind prying my skirt, touching the inside of my thighs, that secret place that still trembled from when you kissed and touched and made want nothing else but be completely and utterly yours. At the door the bar, there was a line of beautiful women and hot men, and I felt eyes all over me. I flushed and clung you. You walked us both up to the doorman, a bald scary man who recognized you and looked me up and down. I wanted die. I was terrified, I was appalled, I was horrified— “You’re always welcome here, Mr. ----,” the bouncer said, and then he looked down my body like he was imagining me naked. “And who are you?” “She’s with me,” you said, your hand sliding down from my waist my ass. I was too terrified to spea “Then you get in without a cover tonight. Doorman’s discretion,” the bald man said, at my body. “Pretty ladies go in free. Anyone bringing a this hot in is good business. In you go.” He stepped away from the doorway and we walked past him, into the club. I confused and scared but you put your hand on my ass, steering , taking me to the bar. Your strong arms controlled me, kept me calm. You made me sit at the bar next you, as the bartender came over to us, us both up and down. You held up two fingers. “Double scotch for me, and this pretty lady will have a Manhattan.” The bartender nodded, as if it were any other drink order he’d taken, as you slipped your arm around my waist and held me to you. “People are ,” I protested, lamely, although I didn’t try to stop you from slipping your hand under my dress. “People are just jealous,” you said, and I badly wanted believe you. “Every man here is imagining you naked in bed under them, and they’re jealous of me. Every woman here wishes they were as adorable and fuckable as you are.” He stroked my hair. “And probably half of the women want to fuck you, too.” I wanted you to bend me over the bar, rip my panties off, and fuck me until I moaned. This seemed like a thing that might get us arrested so I just took your hand, held it, and looked you in the eyes until you kissed me again. I hoped you understood the psychic message I trying to send: please fuck me in the ass with your giant cock until I can’t think, please fuck me until I squeal and come over and over again, please fuck me until— “Excuse me, your table is ready,” a waiter said. To be continued . . .  |
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