For Her Own Good

by Parker, Tamsen

  She’s had more experience than I have, to be certain, but if I’d like to take on this role, and I think I would like that, very much, then I have to take some responsibility for her. She said herself she gets disoriented, and I can feel it, the way she wavers a bit when she’s feeling little whereas I’ve always thought of her being clear as an undisturbed lake. So I’ll put it out there, for her, and hope my words belie the confidence and comfort I don’t yet feel.

  “Because for me, the idea of being your daddy is a turn-on. More than anything else my pea brain can come up with, anyhow, though I am open to suggestions. Is that…is that how you feel as well?”

  She bites her lip and, still looking a bit dubious, nods.

  “Did you maybe get turned on just now, talking about it, or were you too nervous?”

  Her mouth doesn’t exactly purse, it more forms a precursor to a laugh. “Oh, no, I definitely got turned on. Thinking about it. Doing those things with you. Not as much as usual, but, yeah.”

  Not as much as usual? Thinking about doing daddy kink things with me is usual? Christ almighty…

  “Look, I know I said I wanted to talk, and I still think that’s a good idea, but I’m also just a man and I am dying here. I got to kiss you and hold you, and now you’ve been sitting on my lap for some time, and if it would not make me a terribly irresponsible individual, I would like to do more of that.”

  “I would not object to that. But there’s something else I’d also like to do.”

  “What’s that, sweetheart?”

  Her smile dazzles me. Sweet like that Popsicle she enjoyed in my fantasy the other night.

  “I want to fuck.”

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. It’s a good thing I wasn’t drinking when she said that because I would be spitting it all over what I’m sure is a very expensive rug.

  “Ye do?”

  She nods, more enthusiastically, still wide-eyed and looking…I don’t know. There’s something softer about her, something more innocent even though she was anything but just now. I need to get some clarity for myself, though, before I jump in headfirst.

  “I know you don’t want to take it slow, but…”

  “If you don’t want to fuck, we can do other things. But I want to. We’re both adults, we’ve both had sex before, and it’s not like we just met. And I have condoms.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Starla’s eyes narrow. “This isn’t some slut-shamey kind of thing, is it? Because I’ve got to tell you, I have no time for that. Less than zero. I like sex, I’ve had a bunch of it, and I’m not going to be coy about asking for it. I mean, I might be for a role-play, but not like in real life.”

  “Ah, no, not at all. I was surprised. Delighted, yes, that too. So, if you’re sure, I’d be happy to oblige.”

  “As my daddy?”

  If she keeps saying that, I’m going to spend in my pants before we get there. Good thing I’m not a green lad anymore because I probably would have already. “If you like. I’ll do my best, though I might be a bit awkward.”

  “I don’t care. Back to the bed, please.”

  “Is that how it is?”

  She nods again and I can picture her doing the same with pigtails dancing on either side of her head. Maybe a little sassy, which doesn’t come as a surprise. And I may need to start lifting more at the gym if carrying her about is going to become a habit. I’m in no danger of dropping her, but I’d like to do this more easily, make her feel safer, and—as it’s clearly something she enjoys—I’d like to do it more often.

  Once I’ve carried her back to the bed, I lie down beside her, kiss and stroke her, savor everything about her. She’s somewhat lacking in patience, though, and grabs at my shirt, untucks it from my pants and unbuttons the thing, wrestles it over my shoulders and then heads straight for my belt. I’ll have to return the favor shortly, but for now I can’t help but be flattered by how ravenous she is for me. I like to think of myself as confident but not arrogant, but how much she wants me is going straight to my head.

  Indeed, she’s single-minded in her pursuit of stripping me out of my clothes, and it doesn’t take long until I’m naked as the day I was born. And though I’d feared she wouldn’t be impressed since I’m not exactly the fittest specimen on the planet—though I hope not bad for fifty-one—she seems anything but disappointed. Runs her hands along my arm, my chest, along my side, and down to my arse.

  I would have never pictured her to be so forward, but I’m glad she is. Makes the scales tip a bit back into balance. Speaking of balance, I’d like to even the score on how many clothes we’re sporting. But when I reach for her, she reaches right back and circles my cock with her hand, which ends any coherent thoughts I’ve ever had.

  It’s been a while, yes, but that’s not the entirety of what’s making my head blank like a freshly erased blackboard. I don’t want to disappoint her already, so I circle her wrist with my hand.

  “Ah, not yet, you greedy little thing. I want to see you.”

  “Okay.”

  Her voice isn’t exactly a mumble, but it’s not anywhere near the assertive Starla I’m used to. Really drives home precisely how delicate she is when in this state and how careful I’ll have to be to balance treating her as the capable and brilliant woman I know she is, but also the fragile and intensely vulnerable girl she also is.

  I roll her onto her back and elect to start with her stockings, though someday I’d like to have her in those and nothing else because, Christ.

  The pink ribbons must be satin, smooth and soft between my fingers as I fondle them.

  “I like your stockings very much. So pretty and soft, just like you.”

  To emphasize my point, I run my hands down to her ankles and then back up over the thin knitted material. Once back up over her knees, I tug at the ribbons to undo them and the ties fall apart in my fingers. Will she be as easily undone?

  Loosened, it’s easy enough to push her stockings down her legs and peel them off her feet. Her toes are a shimmery pink today whereas the last time I saw them they were a thistle color, but if she’s anything like Maeve—both women who are rich and who grew up that way—she likely gets them done regularly.

  Her black ruffled shorts are next, and I hook my index fingers into the waistband before kissing her stomach. It makes her giggle and reach for my hair. I like that, her fingers running over my scalp—I’ll bet it would be an absolute delight to have her tugging on it while I licked between her thighs. God, I can’t wait to taste her. But though sex can mean a lot of different things, I’m pretty sure of what Starla meant when she requested to fuck.

  So, before I get too distracted, off they go and then she’s in a pair of these darling panties with Hello Kitty printed all over them. They match her goddamn sweatshirt and it’s not even fair.

  I must make some sort of noise or be gawking because she brings her knees together as if to hide herself, shy away from me. Perhaps I ought to be more careful, but I grip her knees and pull them apart so I can look my fill.

  “What are you hiding for, love? I wanted to admire your pretty panties, how well they match your sweatshirt.”

  “You like them?”

  Suspicious again.

  “Oh yes, I like them very much indeed. Do you have many of these matching sets?”

  She nods, her big eyes holding my gaze, still not sure I’m earnest in my appreciation.

  “I’ll think about you wearing them every time I see you, then. Wonder precisely what print you’ve got on that day. Or all they all Hello Kitty but in different colors?”

  “No. Hello Kitty, Wonder Woman, Star Wars, She-Ra, ladybugs, butterflies, unicorns, um…more than that.”

  It’s possible my voice is hoarse when I say, “I’d like to see them all.”

  “Now?”

  “No, silly girl. I have things of greater import to see to at the moment. You said you wanted to fuck, and that’s what I intend to do. But I wanted to be clear that I adore your darling litt
le outfits, and I’ll enjoy it very much when you wear them in front of me.”

  “’Kay.”

  I’ll give her time to get used to the idea that though the men who have come before me—no, sorry, she said before she has a partner who’s a woman—the people who have come before me might have been tolerant of her inclinations, but I will be downright enthusiastic. I don’t know as I’d go so far as to say I need it, but it’s so enticing I’m near drunk on it.

  “Can you sit up a bit for me?”

  She does and I take her sweatshirt off, revealing, Jesus… I thought I’d be seeing a bra or one of those camisoles or anything but the expanse of her skin that I’ve revealed. Her torso, her breasts. It makes sense given that her shirt was falling off one shoulder and I didn’t see any straps. She’s lovely. Maeve had been more angular, the sharper thinness she felt pressed into. Starla, on the other hand, is all lush curves and full breasts. They look like they’ll be weighty as they spill out of my palms; round and tipped with dusky pink nipples that have gathered into hard points.

  I could spend all day marveling over her tits, and I will someday, but not today. Today, I’ll strip off the rest of her clothes so I can see all of her. Every last inch that I held myself away from for years upon years. There’s some irony, of course, in having seen into the depths of her psyche without having seen her body, and now learning I may have had no idea about what lay beneath. Perhaps these sensual, curious, needy parts of her didn’t exist then, but perhaps they did and I was simply locked out, which is only appropriate. If I wanted her as badly as I did and I didn’t know those things, I can’t imagine how I would have managed if I did.

  I’d like to think I wouldn’t have done anything because she wouldn’t have been a real adult. It would have been wrong, it would have been… A cold frisson runs down my spine like the breath of a ghost and I don’t want to think about it. So I press it back, push against it until it’s given up and retreated into the ether…for now.

  Which allows me to pull Starla’s underwear over her hips and down her legs to be tossed onto the floor. I’d like to say I take my time, savor this as I’ve savored the rest of her, but I’ve used up all of my patience, all of my better instincts. No, instead of marveling at her and telling her how lovely she is and how much I’ve ached to see every inch of her skin, I simply prowl over her until I’ve notched my hips between her soft and willing thighs.

  Chapter 17

  Starla

  “How do you like it, Starla? Fast and hard and rough? Or sweet and sensual and slow? I’m happy with whatever you’ll let me have.”

  He rubs his thick, hard length along the seam of my sex and I almost die. It feels good but like such a tease. I don’t want a glancing tease of his erection. I want it—him—inside me. And for this time…

  “Mostly I’m more of a thorough pounding kind of girl, but I…”

  I look up into Lowry’s eyes, suddenly so very self-conscious. I have dreamt about this moment a million times. Have fantasized about this very man taking my virginity over and over again. How he would be gentle and patient and kind and loving. That ship sailed long ago and I’m not a big fan of romanticizing the “loss” of one’s virginity. Honestly, it’s ridiculous. But in some ways, I’m back there again. With my serious crush and feeling like Lowry Campbell is the most perfect man to ever walk the earth. Or to ever grace the gap between my thighs. And I…

  Would it really be so bad? To have this thing I wanted so very, very badly I would sometimes cry with all those unruly feelings adolescence can bring? If it were a different role-play, I’d be less shy, but since it’s blending fantasy and reality in some fairly uncomfortable ways, for Lowry especially, I don’t want to ask for it and ruin everything.

  But on the other hand, wouldn’t that be magnificent? If all of us could have the option of a do-over? And instead of the three junior prom night thrusts I had with Mike Baxter in the stateroom of his family’s yacht, I could’ve had an attentive, experienced lover who would’ve made me feel so, so good. Would’ve been concerned about me and not his parents’ sheets when I bled.

  The pass of a thumb over my cheek drags me back to the present where Lowry is hovering over me, the crease between his brows more prominent than when his face is in repose.

  “Are you okay, love? Did you change your mind? We don’t—”

  “Oh, no, not at all. I did not change my mind. I want this, I want you, so badly, but I… Can I ask you for something? You can say no and it’ll be fine, and I promise not to make it weird except I’m kind of making it weird right now, aren’t I?”

  The corner of his mouth turns up, and he cups my cheek before leaning in to kiss me softly, sweetly, and rub the tip of his nose alongside mine. “You can ask me for anything you’d like. On my honor, I’ll do my best not to ‘make it weird.’”

  Why is it that Lowry’s American accent is so very, very strange? But it is and it makes me laugh.

  I run my hand down his ribcage, careful not to tickle, and focus on how good it feels to be here like this with him. Nothing has ever felt so right in my life.

  “Would you… Could we…”

  “Making it weird.”

  Snort-giggles are so sexy. As is smacking his shoulder. But how can I help it with his ridiculous American accent? “You know, I don’t think you’d be half as sexy if you were American.”

  “Aye, ye’re probably right, lass.”

  More giggles, because now he’s laying on the brogue very thick.

  “Lucky for me, these cheeky American lasses seem to like my wee accent.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “And you’re brilliant. You have the nicest laugh, did you know that? I used to…”

  Ah, his turn to trail off. He turns his head, his expression somewhere between rueful and bashful.

  “You used to what?”

  He blinks back to me, eyes clear, gaze steady.

  “I always tried to make you laugh because I loved the sound of it. But that wasn’t my job, so I’d only let myself do it once. One single time when I saw you, and then I’d stop trying. Because it wasn’t right, how much I liked it.”

  Meticulous, conscientious man with a ball of guilt the size of a boulder on his back. So I smile and tip my chin up, telling him I’d like to be kissed again, yes, I would. And he doesn’t deny me because he almost never does.

  “Would it be awful for you to pretend I’m a virgin? Not that I’m seventeen or that I’m still your patient or anything like that, but…that. That’s what I want our first time to be like. Is that weird and gross? I don’t have a virginity fetish, so I don’t think this would be a regular thing, but for our first time…”

  I shrug, which is awkward given that I’m lying on my back. “I thought it might be nice to pretend it’s my first time, is all. Since…I mean, I totally wished it had been you. Not that I haven’t had some good sex in the meantime, but…I don’t know. I’m making a mess of this and you’re probably like, ‘What are ye on aboot, ye wee dafty?’”

  Now it’s his turn to snort-giggle, and that’s fair because his American accent is far superior to my Scottish one. When he’s recovered some, he kisses my temple, which also means his chest meets mine and the hot hard length of him slides again against my labia. It makes me whimper, whine, because I want him.

  “Will you think I’m a monster if that sounds like a very sexy idea to me? You said you want it, and I’m more than happy to oblige, but I’d rather not if you’re going to think me a pervy old wanker afterward.”

  “I feel like I’d think that if you went around deflowering virgins or fucking ex-patients all the time. But it’s different, you know?”

  “I know. And that’s what this is. Pretend. Hell, everyone likes to pretend sometimes. And if we’re both on the same page, then it’s okay. We’re not hurting anyone, we’re not coercing anyone. I feel like there’s been pretty explicit consent here.”

  The words are coming out of his mouth, and I think h
e’s trying to encourage me, but it feels a bit as if he’s trying to convince himself that it’s true too. I can’t exactly blame him for that. It took me a while to tell someone what I wanted, and longer to be at peace with the idea that there’s nothing pathological here, nothing that needs to be psychoanalyzed. We like what we like, and at the end of the day, if it’s all consenting adults and no one is being harmed, then what the fuck is the problem?

  “Mmm, yes.”

  “So we’ll try it, aye? See how it goes. And if it gets…what’s that word you like? Squidgy?”

  “Squicky. Like, squicked out.”

  “That. If either one of us gets squicked out, then we’ll stop. Go make some popcorn or something.”

  “Yeah, popcorn.”

  “But for now?”

  “For now…”

  I close my eyes and try to get that feeling back, that nervous excitement that used to surround sex. Not the jaded, wary boredom I mostly feel toward it now. It’s not hard with Lowry’s hips pressing my thighs wide—I summon the shyness I would’ve felt at being naked with a man for the first time, a touch of fear because it’s supposed to hurt, and that soul-deep vulnerability that comes with being a sexual woman.

  So many expectations, so much pressure. Don’t be easy, but don’t be a tease. Nice girls don’t want to get fucked, but when you get it on, you better be a sex kitten. Maybe that’s part of why I’d like to be coaxed, cajoled. He already has my permission; he already knows I want it. What’s so terrible about putting on a facade of bashful reluctance?

  I’ve got doe eyes, I know I do. It’s one of the things I like about my appearance. So I open them wide and bat my lashes while sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

  “I…I’m nervous.”

  The click into his role is visible. And sexy as all hell.

  “That’s okay. You’re allowed to be nervous, so long as you know I’d never hurt you. There’s a big difference between nervous and scared, isn’t there, sweetheart?”