Baby Girl

by Hildreth, Scott

  “Stay there, Kelli. Lean back. Lean back and fuck me. Keep fucking me. Cum all over my cock, Kelli. Cum all over me. Now, fuck me like a good little girl. Fuck me, Kelli…..Fuck me Kelli…….Fuck…..me….Kelli.”

  She continued to bounce up and down steadily, her butt slapping against my thighs, taking every inch of me inside of her. I pressed my hand on her lower abdomen as she began to climax.

  “Oh, my God. I……am….going…to…cum. Oh….I…Erik…I am…,” she got louder with each word spoken.

  I slid my hand to her mouth, covered it, muffling her voice, and whispered into her ear, “Shhhhh, cum for me, Kelli, keep cumming.”

  Her pace slowed as she reached full climax. She lowered herself onto my lap, my erection still inside of her. She leaned back, twisted at the waist, and grabbed my face in both of her hands.

  “Your cock feels amazing, just saying….”

  She kissed me lightly, lifted herself from my lap, and slid to the seat beside me. As she did, I noticed that there were two younger males in the seat two aisles directly in front of her. I had not noticed them before. One of the two was turned in our direction, looking at us, and not watching the movie. As she moved, and exposed me, he turned to his friend and spoke. The friend turned and looked our direction, and then they both turned to the screen.

  “I didn’t realize there were two kids in front of you,” I said, apologetically.

  “I didn’t either until it was too late. When they started watching, it was too late to stop,” she said, smiling.

  “Watching?” I asked.

  “Yes, they were watching the entire time. It was hot,” she began repositioning her dress.

  I pulled my pants up, smiling. I zipped and buttoned them, then quietly buckled my belt. As I lifted my hands from my belt, Kelli looked at me, surprised. She leaned toward me and with a puzzled look on her face, whispered.

  “What are you doing? I’m not done. Not even close.”

  She reached down, grabbed my belt, and unbuckled it. Taking both hands, she unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. As she looked into my eyes, she reached down and pulled my still somewhat erect shaft from my pants. Lowered herself into the seat, she turned and looked at me.

  “Hold my hair this time, Erik,” she said. Then she turned and swallowed my complete erection.

  As her head bobbed up and down, I gathered her hair in my hands. Getting ahold of it, and attempting to collect it in my hand, I lost mental control of what was going on for a moment. That loss of control combined with her capacity to perform orally proved to be more than I was prepared for.

  As I began to cum, she forced herself onto me fully. As I climaxed, my feet pressed hard against the floor. Naturally, my legs rose as I balanced on my toes. Raising my thighs forced me deeper into her mouth, and as I did, she forced herself further into my lap, and growled. The feeling of her lips quivering on my sensitive shaft as I climaxed was a new experience for me. Interestingly, it was as pleasurable as the oral performance. After my final ejaculation, my muscles became lose, and I collapsed into the seat.

  She continued to lick the tip and suck on the shaft until she was convinced it was free of any cum. After she was satisfied that she had completed her task, she sat up and smiled. Without a spoken word, she placed my now flaccid member into my jeans, zipped them and buttoned them. After buckling my belt, she leaned back into her seat.

  “Satisfying you satisfies me,” she said.

  “You’re a good girl, Kelli. You make me happy. I’m proud of you. Of who you are,” I responded.

  “You can’t say that enough. I love hearing it. I just love it,” her eyes sparkled in dim lighting of the theatre as she spoke.

  “I’ve never came so hard in my life. Your cock is huge. It felt so good,” she whispered.

  “Mostly from the excitement of being in the theatre, I suppose,” I responded.

  “No, it’s weird, there’s something about you. It’s well, weird. With you, I actually… well…I feel. I feel an odd connection. Don’t freak out and run. I’m not falling in love. It’s just. Well, it’s just that sexually, you fit me. You fill a void I have had my entire life. You make me actually feel when you fuck me. Everything about you,” she took a drink of her water and continued.

  “When we were fucking, I felt full. Not just full of your cock, I felt full. Full emotionally. Safe, protected, I wasn’t worried. I never felt that way before. I have felt that way since we talked at the coffee shop and you told me to go to the bathroom. I like it. It’s different. It’s different and it’s a great kind of difference. Don’t ever stop fucking me, Erik. Ever.”

  I looked into her eyes and started to speak. As I did, a lump rose in my throat. I tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come out. My mouth open, and incapable of speech, I reached for my bottle of water. Hoping the water would bring comfort; I raised the bottle and took a long drink.

  “Nothing, you have nothing to say?” she asked.

  I lowered the bottle back into the arm rest, and responded, “Kelli, you’re making me happy, extremely happy.”

  “Don’t ever stop, Erik…..”

  “Fucking me,” she continued.

  I’m going to have to. I’m afraid I’m going to have to….

  ERIK. Looking beyond life’s imperfections allows one to be able to find happiness. Life is not perfect, ever. For me, remembering that life is flawed, people are flawed, and therefore relationships are flawed, allows me to look at the flaws and imperfections as part of life itself. A perfect life includes all of the flaws associated with what and who you surround yourself with. My life and my means of living it are no exception. I was, as all people are, flawed. I accepted myself as being flawed no differently than I accepted others as being so.

  This way of living and thinking has allowed me to maintain a level head and a peaceful mind regardless of my surroundings. The types of things that tend to cause other people to develop feelings of disappointment don’t typically faze me. They’re part of living life, and what make life interesting to live. Realization of the fact that people and life are imperfect; and minimizing my exposure to these imperfections was something that I did on a daily basis.

  For me, being single is smarter than being in the wrong relationship. I had always told myself that if I could find the perfect woman, the one that could convince me, by merely being herself--by simply existing--that she was perfect, she could make me stop. Otherwise, being in a relationship would be settling, and I refused to settle.

  Being single, for me, never meant that I was lonely. It meant that I was waiting for the closest thing to perfection that I could find. The person that was perfect for me. My requirements, however, were difficult for most to understand, and certainly more difficult to meet. At times, I would look at what I had done or was doing in a relationship, and realize that my target, or my partner’s goal, was a moving target; something that they could never obtain. As soon as I felt that they were getting close to meeting the requirements that I had set, I would change them.

  Unaware of what the goal was in the first place, the women would never know how close they came to meeting the almost impossible standard that I had set for them. The relationship would inevitably end, and they would believe all along that I was a person that they were incapable of pleasing. The fault, in their eyes, was always them, and never me.

  The death of my father when I was young never really became a conscious issue with me. My mother did a fabulous job of raising me, and of instilling her beliefs in me. She was a strong woman, and she always maintained a predictable nature about what her expectations were of me. I had rules and regulations that I was required to follow, and I followed them. I never dreamt of failing my mother or of failing my mother’s expectations of me.

  In school, everything I did was perfect. I always figured if I was provided with the answer, I could remember it, find it, or apply it. My grades, for the majority of my education, were perfect. My mother would have accepted something fractiona
lly less of me, but I would never accept it of myself.

  Although I was smarter than the rest of the children in school, I never separated myself from them. I never talked down to them, nor was I ever perceived as being different than anyone else in class. I realized early that I was a kid that all of the other kids liked, and that I was a kid that the other kids migrated to for answers. I was the neighborhood psychiatrist for all of the girls that went to school with me, regardless of their age. They came to me to talk, and I always enjoyed listening.

  Although I was not amazed at the time, as I grew older and looked back upon it, I was amazed at the amount of girls that were sexually active at such a young age. These girls, at that time, were sexually active, and easily convinced to do things, sexual things, with me. My perception of my ability to convince them to do things, during that period of time, was not one of manipulation. I always looked at myself as being more able, more intelligent, and maybe fractionally better looking than the rest of the boys. There characteristics, not my manipulative tactics, afforded me these opportunities.

  As I grew older, it was easy to see that I was manipulating these girls all along. This was my first exposure to codependency, submissive behavior, and lack of self-esteem. A girl that lacked self-esteem, to me, was the perfect friend. I could explain to her how beautiful she was, how beautiful she acted, and almost immediately she would be willing to do anything for me, sexually speaking. This, for me, was the beginning of what would become a lifestyle of dominant behavior.

  The loss of my father, the early loss of my mother, and the fact that I was an only child caused me to suffer greatly from fear of abandonment. As I got older and was aware of this fear, my never having been in a meaningful relationship began to make more and more sense. Although I did not suffer from all of the characteristics of someone with Borderline Personality Disorder, I did have many.

  Dealing with the normal peaks and valleys of a romantic relationship was something that I was incapable of doing, and doing well. Realization of this shortcoming allowed me to go into my adult relationships with an understanding that the relationship would eventually fail, and that I was in control of this failure. No one would ever leave me in a relationship, because I would always leave them first.

  After the death of my mother, I anticipated my feeling of need to be in a relationship would grow, and I would eventually succumb to the desires of one of the women that I encountered. Ultimately, I would fill the void my mother left with that of another woman. Not only had this not happened, but I had not felt the desire to make this happen with anyone. I continued to enjoy my single life, without commitment, more so now than I had in my early adult life.

  My desire or feeling of necessity to be in a dominant role in a relationship was separate from my lack of commitment to a relationship. The dominant role, sexually, for me, was one that I found extremely satisfying. I had learned that it was even difficult for me to find mild satisfaction in a relationship in the absence of me being dominant. Dominance, once experienced in a relationship, ruined any chance of my being satisfied in a non-dominant role.

  This required sexual dominance, this need to be in charge in a relationship, limited the women that I could expose myself to. To try to be in any form of a dominant role with a woman that was not submissive was a recipe for disaster for both parties. There is nothing more disappointing to a dominant male than to have to try to convince or to argue with a woman about fulfilling his sexual desires. Having that sexual met when requested was the portion of the sexual relationship that was just as satisfying as an orgasm. It wasn’t the performance of the act as much as it was the performance of the request itself. The request could be a simple one. The performance of it was the satisfaction, regardless of the depth or degree of the request.

  I always told myself if I found a woman that was satisfactory in appearance and personality, and was willing to do whatever I asked of her, as I requested it, I would commit to her. Eventually, I always raised the requests to a level that the submissive woman found to be beyond her willingness or capabilities. This lack of desire to fulfill my request was one of my many potential reasons for dismissal of a partner from my life.

  Finding a woman capable of or willing to do anything was every bit of impossible. It was a matter of asking the right question, the question that they were incapable or unwilling to answer, “Yes sir” to.

  As I cleaned my pistol, I wondered what Kelli’s true threshold would be. What her true willingness to satisfy me would be. I would test her, and would determine her limitations. I had every intent of raising the bar, allowing her to truly realize what her limits were. This would make her a great submissive for the next man that came along. Eventually, I would have to determine what she was unwilling or incapable of, and use that as a means of dismissing her. For the time being, however, she was going to satisfy me greatly.

  This dismissal of my partner was, in my mind, part of the control. Part of the satisfaction that I received in dismissing a woman from my life was the same satisfaction of being Dominant. It was the control, the ultimate control of ending the relationship, and ending it on my terms, at a time that was in accordance with my mental, emotional, and physical needs.

  The adoption of a law allowing concealed carry of a hand gun in my state of residence was something that pleased me. I carried a pistol with me at all times regardless of the allowance in accordance with the law. Now, however, I could carry it legally. Since the adoption of the law allowing it, I have carried a Glock 9 millimeter with me at all times. My means of carrying it concealed it well, and made it difficult to detect.

  I assembled the pistol, placed it in the holster, and returned it to the gun safe. After I completed my exercise, I planned on trying to spend the rest of the day relaxing, and reading the book that Kelli had recommended, Broken People. She had stated at the coffee shop that she had read it multiple times. As intelligent as she was, if she had read it that many times, there must be something of value in it. Either way, it would make for good conversational material.

  Adding weight onto the machine and preparing to complete my session of chest exercises, I wondered…

  Broken People.

  Sounds about right.

  KELLI. “No. Listen, whore, we were in the theatre. And the movie was playing,” I explained as I tool a drink of my vodka and water.

  “Stop calling me a whore, you bitch. I just can’t believe that this guy convinced you to do those things in a movie theatre. Oh, and I love your shoes, where did you get them?”

  “I got them a year or so ago, I never wear them. I love these things. Todd’s, everyone is wearing them now. They’re like being barefoot,” I paused, holding my foot up, so she could inspect the shoes.

  “And, Heather you know I’m kidding, I’ve always called you a whore. And he didn’t convince me to do anything. He suggested it, he asked me to. I wanted to. There’s something about him. Something that’s different. I want so desperately to please him. I can’t imagine making him upset with me,” I said as I tried to imagine how I would feel if Erik was upset with me, The thought of upsetting him made me feel sick.

  “I have never felt this was about a guy, and it’s only been a few weeks. I’ve seen him five or six times. I feel like he has some strange control over me. Not like I am brainwashed or anything weird, it’s just…” I tried to think of a way to explain it, but I was having a difficult time putting it into words.

  “I feel a want, a desire; well…it is actually more of a need to make him happy. It’s a combination of the way he talks to me, what he asks me to do, and how he asks me to do it. I haven’t ever really been in a relationship or in a position like this before with a man. It’s actually where I think I belong,” I explained.

  “It just seems weird to me to have a guy tell you what to do sexually, and that you have to do what he says,” Heather said, shaking her head at me.

  “I don’t have to do anything, Heather. It’s not like that. I want to make him h
appy with me. The way he talks to me, the way he treats me, it makes me happier than ever been. I’m just not sure if it is him, or if it is the D/s lifestyle that makes me happy,” I stopped talking, and thought about how I felt when Erik told me that I made him proud.

  “I suppose it’s a combination of all of those things. His looks, his body, the tattoos, his demeanor, and the fact that he’s dominant and intelligent,” I continued, trying to make sense of it in my head.

  “Well, I know if a guy told me to suck his dick in a movie theatre, I would tell him to fuck off,” Heather said as she put her empty beer bottle on the table.

  “Whatever. And where did you get that shirt you’re wearing? It’s like the first three buttons are missing. You’re tits are all but hanging out for the entire bar to see. Act like you’re not just trying to find a dick to suck, Heather. You need to add some buttons to the shirt.”

  “I’m not saying I wouldn’t. I’m just saying I wouldn’t in the movie theatre. I don’t think. I don’t know. It seems weird. The more I am thinking about it though, the hotter it seems to be. And I got this at Dillard’s. I like it,” Heather said as she pushed her boobs up, jokingly.

  One of her boobs almost fell out of her bra, and escaped her non-existent shirt. She reached between her bra, laughing, and repositioned her boobs into her bra, looking around the bar as she did to make sure no one was watching. I chuckled as she got her all of her flesh stuffed back into the shirt.

  “You should really consider wearing more clothes, if one of those things would have fallen out on the table, the entire bar would have been over here to help you.”

  I know, right? Okay, back to what we were talking about…” Heather hesitated, looked around the bar, and started speaking again.

  “Well, I guess as long as you’re really happy. I am just glad to see you happy for once, and not acting like you’re just using a guy for sex. It’s a nice change. So, what did he say about you going to New York at the end of the summer?”