My Heart Belongs To...: A Novel of Age Play

by R. Greco

  “You know, sometimes you look so far away,” Fred said leaning in to me.

  Three thousand miles, I wanted to say as we clinked glasses and Joel finally came in from the bathroom.

  Chapter Two: The Master’s “Little” Miss

  1.

  The little girl sported perfectly symmetrical ponytails, a flouncy loose plaid skirt with a bouncy hem about two inches above her bare knees, one-inch shiny black Mary-Janes on her bare feet, a starched white long sleeve, high neck-ed blouse and thick round framed glasses perched atop her perfectly thin nose. She had click-a-clicked her heels across my wooden floor so suddenly I hadn’t really had time to inspect her entire outfit when she passed, so I was turning her then, holding up the hem on her skirt to reveal high-cut white cotton panties. As I took my long look at her bottom I also spied her nipples rise under her blouse, surmising she enjoyed the attention as much as I liked bestowing it upon her. She really was a darling young thing, so seemingly sweet and innocent but at the same time dressed to thrill, either herself or a witness, and I was going to take my sweet time unleashing punishments that would make her think twice about ever dressing this way again.

  What I had learned about the pose, patter and delivering of spanking is that the devil truly is the details. If I simply bent this pretty little lass over my bed, pulled up her skirt, down her tight panties and had at her ass, while it would all be clutched-belly thrilling to me and hopefully pussy-flooding fun for her, I wasn’t sure the best course of action for either of us here was baring her alabaster buns so quickly. Sure there is something to be said for handling a naughty young girl so swiftly, but for both of us I rationalized the slow metered tease of tickling her short hem, angling her this way and that, popping her ass up, maybe patting it, then allowing her to stand, maybe readjust then lie back across again, teasing us both with the when and how much of her skirt I was going to raise up off her-if indeed I was going to raise it off her-was the best approach.

  Taking full advantage of the skirt was how I was seeing this scenario, titling our moment in my head if not articulating the words. All these precise concepts and considerations must be truly reasoned and premeditated I knew and as she wiggled there, trying her best to prevent me from flicking her hem’s as she bent her knees, angled forward and spun and giggled, I became even more aroused. We’d be at this game of just when and how I was going to commence her bottom warming for a very long time.

  She really was a compliant little thing. Let’s face it; one does not dress this way, if one even happens to be sixteen, without realizing one might be tempting fate. This girl who faced me facing here was no seductress, that’s for sure, but she was wise for her years and knew her fine thick thighs, muscled calves and wide hips cut an attractive picture. She knew enough that dressing in this kind of an obvious coy-tish outfit, for me of all people, would evoke some sort of kinky consequence. And knowing that she knew this made me want to both spank her bottom as hard as possible as I wanted to prolong the time before I began to spank it as hard as possible to teach her that in fact just because she was darling and dressing to evoke a specific response I would not give in to her pouts, spin and bluster as easily as she wanted me to.

  But God it did make me want to bare her ass, to blush her cheeks, to bend her far enough, smack her hard enough and cause her to grow aroused enough that she bellow her thighs while the breeze from my smacks tickled her glistening chestnut-like lips from behind and she ached with desire for me to tickle my finger in between her legs just for the quickest of seconds. I wanted to make her terribly aroused while I made her ass terribly stingy. I wanted her to moan and clench and kick and arch but mostly I wanted to give her the spanking we both knew she wanted and had dressed for and that I was right then contemplating how best to start.

  It was getting late, not for me exactly but for Jon and if I wanted to get him pictures before he shut his phone off for the night (he had a strict policy about that that I at once found so amusing and foolhardy) I had to do it now. Luckily the mirror that faced the side of my bed was pretty much floor to ceiling so I’d be able to get almost all of my outfit in a shot and I stood and did so, dipping my knees this way and that, lifting the skirt up to expose my cotton-covered ‘v’, arching my back so he could see the lay of my breasts under the blouse. I of course managed a few from over my shoulder so he could spy my ass in this skirt and one really good face shot where I dipped my chin ever so slightly, smiled and let my glasses fall down to the very edge of my nose; the only thing that would have made it better was if I was licking a lollipop! In total I took six pictures with the trusty I-Phone, then text-ed them over to his phone, knowing if he wanted to save them he’d have to go through at least a little trouble emailing them to himself. I sat on the edge of my bed then, spread my thighs and simply looked down at the very little material of the skirt covering my front, breathing heavy as I watched the upper edges of my milky white thighs quiver under the skirt in anticipation of Jon’s call.

  Dressing like this was hot enough for me, last thing I needed to do was think about his reaction when he got the pictures. Jon’s surprise and shock, his magnificent cock growing ever harder as he opened each one, it was enough to make me reach down under the skirt and start tickling my spread lips through the tight panties.

  I don’t think there’s a girl alive who doesn’t get dewy imagining a man growing erect over a picture of her. We might caw and complain about objectification, but show me a chick who doesn’t like a little bit of it, from the right partner. Every woman I know will model stockings or flash some tit in the right circumstance, not just for some random dude (but in a way that can be just as exciting) but for a guy we know might jerk-off to the picture later. I have always been a bit of an exhibitionist and while I have gained some weight over the years I wished would and tried like all hell to make go away, I still liked to show off my legs (which I have been told are pretty fantastic) and my still relatively high bust. I didn’t just wear black corsets only because they were slimming, dressy skirts because they were professional or my high boots because they were fashionable. I like feeling like a girl, dressing like a girl, teasing, flirting and yes, at times, being objectified like a girl. This was where some feminists I knew, even a few of my close friends, and I differed. I didn’t think it robbed a woman of any rights or authority to be a woman. Maybe it was my southern upbringing (I had lived my early childhood in South Carolina after all) that to be a woman one embraced her femininity, that a lady used all at her disposal, not to trap the opposite sex per say but to be all she could be. Our sexuality I felt was just as important as our intellect, in fact, for me, the two weren’t separated; certainly neither was to be mocked or submerged. This might have been why, when I was really out there among the bi and gay women of northern California I had made such a big splash or why Paul responded so heartedly, to what he often called my ‘old fashioned ways’. I prided myself on being a girl.

  Playing dress-up then for Jon was just an extension of my less then subtle streak of showing off and my ache to please a man with my feminine wiles. That those wiles could be played at, teased, taunted and tickled with my acting younger, evidence of my transformation-at times-to being Jon’s ‘little girl’, made me crazier still.

  At the very least I hoped my flashing my covered puss puss at Jon would give him wood.

  You really are a naughty little girl was the text I received maybe all of ten minutes after I sent the pictures. With one hand I text-ed Jon back, while strumming my hand across my tight panty front. I had the skirt pulled up to expose me fully to the mirror, up on tip-toes in my shoes, my magnificent thick calf muscles taut and my white thighs spread wide as wetness seeped through my undies.

  Spank me in my tight white undies?

  A whole new way of getting off, text-ing is more the rage with my younger acquaintances then it is with me (my niece was a master at it at thirteen) still in this instance I liked the teasing nature of not speaking to Jon…at least for the m
oment. I pushed the tip of my index finger into the spongy trampoline covering my vag and nearly came instantly as I got up on my clit. I was determined to hold it, no matter how spunky the front of my panties got, no matter how hot I was getting staring down at myself or spying that terribly sexy little girl in the mirror rolled up on the edge of my bed.

  Skirt up, you bent over and panties pulled down just enough to expose your bottom.

  I couldn’t even type a text back my cunt was so hot. I flattened the heel of my left hand onto the ridge of my pubis and began to hump the air.

  I came instantly.

  I came daddy. I managed to type back as that blistering fast orgasm passed me.

  Did I say that was allowed?

  I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.

  We both know that’s not true.

  I lie on my belly then, I couldn’t stand to look at my spread legs in the mirror any longer without wanting to reach for my dildo. I was hoping a little shift in my position, a little attention off looking at myself might calm me, but when I lie on my crotch and looked over my shoulder to spy my ass under the pleats in the mirror, I was at it again, spreading my legs and piston my hips into my bed.

  My text chime chimed.

  you really can’t control that thing, can you?

  no daddy, I managed as I moaned and shifted my hips.

  whatever am I going to do? Jon replied, his answers a bit too long for my taste.

  I couldn’t tell if this was simply the way Jon text-ed-I really didn’t know him that well yet to know if he was normally a slow text-er-or if he was deliberately teasing me taking what seemed like minutes to return my texts.

  anything you want…daddy I furiously flew the tips of my fingers far and fast across my phone’s front. I was all but about to come again pushing myself into my bed.

  ready to come again, aren’t you?

  pretty goddamn close, I replied, somehow keeping from coming as I held the phone there, typed and ached for Jon to give me one little sentence reply that would put me over.

  describe your position to me.

  lying on my stomach on the bed, legs spread, ass circling, watching it in the mirr

  like the way you look?

  Ok this reply took three minutes, what the fuck was he doing? Jerking off picturing me, scrolling up my pictures, watching T.V.?

  my ass looks so naughty undr the skirt, I managed and felt just a slight relief of the very shallowest of orgasm escape me as I pushed all the way into the bed.

  pull panties off and down, from under the skirt

  I put my cell on my pillow and did as Jon asked then got back into position. I stared at my ass again, managing to scoot a little bit of the skirt higher so I could expose the side of my cheek to the mirror.

  done I typed and sent.

  expose just a little of your ass he replied, thankfully quicker.

  He couldn’t have known I already had, so I did pull the bottom of the skirt up even more.

  Shit, my ass did look good! I opened my thighs and brought my heels almost up to my ass so I could get the full effect.

  I shuttered a shallow orgasm again.

  done I typed when I realized I hadn’t yet to his last text.

  good night Jon texted.

  Daddy, DADDY! I cried and sent with flying fingers.

  night Jon repeated and I waited, waited. waited and then realized this was all Jon was going to give me for the night. Should I call him, I asked myself. Should I lift my skirt all the way up, spank my own ass and come as hard as I was dying to? Should I realize the session was over, get up, take a shower and not touch myself?

  2.

  Jon and I didn’t speak for two days.

  3.

  So, let’s review, shall we?

  I meet this total stranger on-line and that very night we are exchanging pictures, a day later I allow him to call me, that night we make plans for me to meet him when I come east. We speak twice more on the phone, I meet him the following week and the very day I meet him he is in my bed doing the nastiest nasties to me (and I am loving it so much juice is spraying out of my spread vagina as he whacks me with the backside of a hairbrush). This ridiculously handsome man literally takes, teases and torments me beautifully the two days I am with him, during which he not only spins my nascent need for submission out of all proportion but he implants a little whisper of suggestion of me acting like a little girl into what is already a heady mix. Then I come home and begin to loose more control with the guy over phone calls where he makes me masturbate, spank myself and talk little girl-talk as I admit how much I am losing control. I am so horny over all of this I sleep with my best friend Jack, a guy I never have any intention of sleeping with, admit it to Jon with the hope he might punish for me for it. He does, in a way, making me masturbate yet again, both of us learning that I don’t even need to touch myself anymore and I will still orgasm near to passing out! I meet some bisexual male friends for our usual once-a-month role-play, with me an uncharacteristic dominant, but leave these handsome men more hyper-sexed and aching for Jon then I have been the past two weeks since coming from meeting him. The very next day I dress for Jon, though by my own volition, in the littlest teenager clothes I can fit into, fulfilling a role I now so very much want to play. I shoot him over some pics unsolicited and unannounced and between a texting, delight in him ordering me into position, come countless times as I stare and marvel at the complete picture of me as an errant school girl (and Jon’s delight with me being so). On the brink of deeper orgasms, wherein I hope he’ll use that just-talking-to-me technique or anything else he might think up to give me a good comeuppance for dressing so naughty, Jon leaves me, FUCKING LEAVES ME, and does not call (nor I dare call him) for 2 days.

  It’s not like I was any hornier then I usually am, or at least any hornier then I had been these past two weeks, but I was on pins and needles hoping Jon would call or text, knowing he would, but still itching a doubt that maybe I had simply acted too impulsively by dressing, sending the pics and then coming so fast without his permission. How he could really stay away from such a willing young pussy (or at the very least me who was willing to act so young) was beyond me; I literally ached for the guy and as the first day fed into two, I was beside myself with anticipation, running to my cell every time it beeped or burped.

  Somehow I managed to keep my hands out of my lap, as if I was keeping a vigil as long as Jon ignored me. It wasn’t anything I’d even ever tell him I had managed; still I owed it to myself. Plus the denial, something I surely wasn’t employing lately, was unnerving. In fact, the little I had put myself through in my years or had a lover tease me with (even Jon lately) couldn’t even come close to the idea buzzing round my head then, prompted by this two-day sabbatical, that maybe Jon might like to really play with denial and not just stop text-ing or hanging up, making me wait to come until I spoke in my little girl voice.

  From what I knew (ok, what I had been reading of late) about S&M games, the true irony of this master/slave dynamic was that the slave was truly the one who ruled the relationship. As much as I was aching deep with the idea of Jon controlling my pussy. tits, asshole and brain (and not necessarily in that order) I realized he did what he did to me only because I wanted him to do the things he did to me. True he had some pretty crafty ideas swirling around in his head, but in the end the dom (Jon) only got away with what he did because the sub (me) allowed him to exercise those ideas across my flan-tastic alabaster hide. The idea of denial was not as much Jon keeping me from orgasm as much as me wanting to keep myself from orgasms.

  Leaving me for two days to stew, rationalize and bump into walls wouldn’t serve Jon as well as he might have thought. In my own aching soupy devices I was considering a whole bunch of possibilities when Jon got me on the phone next, across IM, sent email or texted me. I’d not soon defy the man, welcoming and abiding whatever he wanted as I usually did, but I was damn well ready to throw my hat into the ring for him denying me now above all
else he might do. I figured how more perfect to play his little girl then to admit to aching to masturbate my young, oh-so-ripe pussy so often it almost scared me. Sure Jon could tease and taunt me into admissions during orgasms, as he had done countless times before, but I knew there was enough of the denial-ist (if that was even a word) in Jon that he might take my hint (and God knows the good thing about him was that I had never truly had to hint before) and actually really deny me coming.

  I called on Jack to take me to lunch on the afternoon of the second day. I called on Joel and Fred that night.

  4.

  Jack had made a ton of money with my ex in real-estate here in Northern California; simply put, Jack now worked when he wanted and how he wanted. I benefitted from some money my ex and I made (the one thing Paul and I never argued about was money, before, during or even after our marriage) so I had a little nest-egg to, it wasn’t enough to keep me from working but it did allow me some freedom from worrying about it so much. I didn’t take advantage as much as I simply allowed myself an afternoon when I thought the circumstances warranted it and knew I was proficient enough in what I did that no one much minded how I came and went when they knew the work always got done, either with me in the office or sitting my ass down on my second floor back porch and working on my trusty I Pad.

  I met Jack at his place at noon. We hadn’t spoken since or tryst but I could tell he was as happy to see me as I him and any awkwardness passed over us as I followed him into his cheery wood ranch to the sunny kitchen at the back of his house, Just seeing the guy, enjoying the sight of his ass walking in front of me in his slightly tight jeans, smelling that delicious blend of dark roast jack makes exclusively made me feel warm and tingly beyond the warm and tingly I was feeling from two days not touching my pussy in the middle of Jon’s communication blackout. The reason I had called the man, took the afternoon off and had come over wasn’t to have sex as much as it was to feel all comfy facing a guy I obviously adored, found attractive and had had one of the better nights of sex with…at least here in California. I wanted to stay nice a squishy to be sure, and I would with the picture of Jack’s big hard cock occasionally entering my mind at inopportune times as we sat here sipped and talked I knew, but mainly I wanted to pulsate the entire time, on the tip of a precipice I wasn’t soon to leap off of.