Homecoming

The flight took forever. There were delays taking off, delays landing and even taxiing to the gate was torture. It was worse knowing that my man was waiting at home, ready to use me like the fucktoy he’s turned me into. He told me I couldn’t get off all day so I would be ready to come as soon as he entered me (as if that wasn’t guaranteed anyway).

When we finally reached the gate, I was first to stand and get my bag from overhead. If I had to chew my way off the plane and run down my grandmother to get a cab, I was ready to do it. But I didn’t need to do any of that. Because after I joined the crowds beyond the security gates, I heard someone call my name. I looked and there he was, with all the limo drivers, holding a sign with my last name. “Miss? Miss? Need a ride?” I ran over and kissed him. “I’m glad you spotted me,” he said. “Not hard to do,” I said. “There aren’t many blond limo drivers in New York!”

I didn’t check a bag so we went right to his car. He opened my door (sigh, southern chivalry) and kissed my check as I sat. I grinned like an idiot watching him walk to the driver’s seat. I was buckling my seat belt when he gave me an order. “Lift the skirt.” I don’t question him (I’ve learned not to) but simply wiggled my hips to raise my skirt. I wasn’t wearing panties of course. I’m smarter than that. “Did you miss your pussy?” I teased. “It’s missed you.” “Yeah?” he said. “Do you remember how to come for me?” “I sure do, Daddy.” “Good.” He put his finger against my clit. “Do it.” It didn’t take long. He let me lick his finger clean, because I’m a good girl.

After we left the parking lot, he let me suck his cock all the way home. He drove with one hand, keeping the other on his pussy. My man is so good to me. He knew I was so hungry for him. He had me sit up and fix my skirt when we passed through toll booths and again when we got to the garage. Once we were in his building and on the stairs, he stopped me. “Open your mouth,” he ordered. I did and he put two fingers at the back of my throat. I didn’t gag (I don’t anymore). He took back his fingers and rubbed the slick spit between them. He smiled and reached behind me. I lifted my skirt to help (I try to be helpful) and sighed as his finger entered my ass. “Why don’t you walk ahead?” he grinned. “I think that’s a good idea, Daddy,” I agreed. I walked carefully ahead of him, arching my back as he twisted his finger inside me.

I had to feel in his pocket to find his keys. He pulled out his finger once we were inside and feed it to me to clean. I sucked it hungrily as I hurried to undress. I knew to expect wild, rough sex when we’ve been apart. Of course I was dripping down my thighs.

But I was wrong. My man made love to me that night, so intimate and good and slow and romantic. He whispered to me. He held the back of my neck as he rocked into me so I would remember I was his. Still, he was gentle as my lover, not assertive as my possessor. He didn’t issue orders or direct my orgasms. “Hey, you really did miss me, didn’t you?” I asked. “Yes, my baby,” he said quietly. “You’re my girl, but you know, you’re also my love. Thank you.” I laughed a little. I’m supposed to thank him when he gives me what I need. Now he was thanking me.

That’s what I was thinking the next morning as I pretended to sleep, watching him on his computer. He was drinking coffee, listening to BBC news very low and writing; he was probably answering emails from his other girlfriends, which he does before starting his day. I would get up in a few minutes, I knew, to make more coffee for him, to get my own, and to open my own work before class. But for a bit longer, I wanted to look at him and just revel in being happy in his bed, in his scent, in his life.

In Which I Have My Cake and I Am Cake Too

I hate people just a little now. Shopping was fun so long as it was just me, sis and “sis” in our little girl bubble, but too many fuckers popped it. My best friend was pushed away from a display of sweaters. I mean literally pushed by some obnoxious lady. Did she apologize? No. Did she hear my friend whisper “phuck face?” We hope so. Ass.

I’m hiding in my room for now, trying to relax and bask in the glory of new shoes, a cute coat, more underwear and three new skirts I can wear for my man. He likes me in skirts (“instant access,” he says, so hot!) and anyway, I wasn’t about to buy jeans with today’s swollen tummy. Way too many thanks were given last night. Now the ‘rents are downstairs heating it all up again. It looks like we barely made a dent in the ham and the turkey is not ready to admit defeat.

I lit a candle when my playlist found Au Revoir Simone. Of course this makes me think of him.

For my birthday last month, he said he would turn me into a cake. “You only enter new decades a few times in life, so twenty is a big deal.” When I got to his place, he stripped me naked, as usual, because I’m not allowed to wear clothes around him at home. He kissed me so deep and bent me over in his hallway to fuck me (“just twenty minutes,” he promised). When I came he said, “Can you guess how many more of those I want?” “Let me guess,” I said. “Nineteen?” “No!” he spanked me. “Twenty! You need one to grow on.” He got another one straight away for that.

I was about to come again when he pulled out. “Time,” he said and grabbed my hair. I dropped to all fours (I know to do that) and he led me to his dining room. The table was cleared with a sheet under it and there were candles everywhere. There was jazz music on. It looked so romantic. He ordered me on the table, on my back. I did what he told me to do. I know to do that.

He put a blindfold on me and tied my wrists to the table legs. He put two fingers into me and got another orgasm. “That one was fast!” I giggled. “You’re a good birthday girl,” he said. His voice was so soft. He makes me melt. His hands rubbed my skin, all over my body, slowly and lightly. I smelled baby oil and sighed at its soft slickness, so warm in his hands. Maybe twenty minutes went by. I was lost in time.

Suddenly, something heavy fell on my belly. My whole body jumped. It took me a minute to catch my breath. “What was that?” I said, shocked. “Chocolate,” he said. “With chocolate frosting.” “Omigod, did you put a cake on me?” He didn’t answer me in words. He let his hands talk for him, smearing my torso with broken cake. Cake crumbled across my chest and broke over my shoulders. He rubbed it into my arms and hands to the ends of each finger. He started over at my hips, rubbing cake down my thighs, calves and feet. He put cake between my toes and ate it off. He chewed at the cake on my little breasts.

He stepped onto the table and lay on top of me. He was inside me again and I came. “Again,” he said softly and again I came for my man. He chewed at my neck and I squirmed. “Open,” he ordered. I opened my mouth and cake fell into my mouth from his. “Swallow,” he said. I swallowed and opened my mouth like a baby bird. He spit liquid cake into me. I came again. “Are you keeping track of those?” he asked. I nodded because I know to do that. “Six, Daddy. That was six.” He told me I was a good girl and then it was seven.

He got off me and was gone for a minute. I heard him return and stand above my head. “Take a deep breath and open your mouth.” I did and suddenly my mouth was filled with a heavy gush. I coughed and spat, tasting milk. He kept pouring, and so much of it! God, it spilled all over my face, went up my nose and in my hair. I coughed and realized I was laughing my ass off. “Such a happy birthday girl!” he said. He sounded so happy. I love to make my Daddy happy.

He was on me again, this time pushing back my legs to pound inside me deeper. Eight, nine, ten, eleven. I was laughing so hard I could barely count. He was laughing too. I was sure we’d fall off the table. Twelve.

He left me again. Then he was leaning over me, pressing his chest to my face. “Lick it, girl. You made a mess of me.” I licked and licked as he moved his body over my mouth. He fingered my clit while I licked. I lost count so he slapped me. “Fifteen.” I nodded and repeated. “Fifteen, Daddy. I won’t forget.” He slapped me again and spit on my lips. I licked it into my mouth.

“Now, be still, birthday girl,” he told me. I nodded and did my best to relax. I breathed deeply like he had taught me to do.

The first drip stung and burned. My clit tingled from the familiar sensation. “Oh Daddy,” I blurted. “I love you so much.” “Shh, birthday girl,” he said softly. “Daddy loves you too. But you need to be still.” I really felt like I might cry. My man was waxing me on my birthday. I knew he was making me so beautiful. Wax puddled on my belly and ran in streams between my legs. Drips fell on my chest. I was blindfolded but I could see his face in my mind. I’ve seen it so often, studying me by candlelight while he draws on me in hot wax. So many colors. He makes me so pretty.

I felt little points pressed all over my body. I heard his lighter. “There, now I’m giving you twenty-one pretty birthday candles,” he said softly. “You get one to grow on.” When the candles were all lit, he fingered me again. “You made me eighteen, Daddy.” “The last birthday before you were my girl,” he said. “Now, be still and let’s let the candles melt.”

I nodded and breathed. I was so relaxed, knowing he was close, watching over me. The candles melted into my skin, and into the wax all over me. His fingers gently removed my blindfold. “And then you were eighteen, and you came to me. Remember?” I blinked, looking up. “Forever, Daddy. I’ll remember that forever.” He smiled and bent to kiss me. He stood again and raised a hand mirror so I could watch the candles flicker. My body was a mess of chocolate, milk, wax and sweat. I was so many colors and I was on fire. “My girl is so pretty.” “You make me pretty.” He kissed me again.

“Come on, let’s clean you up.” He took a knife to my skin and gently scraped away the wax. He wiped me with a cloth. He untied me and took me be the hand, leading me to the bathroom. He carried a candle in his other hand. He filled the tub and washed me in the candlelight. He made a drink and sat talking with me while I soaked. When the water got too cold he helped me up and dried me off. He took the candle and led me to the bedroom.

He fucked me slowly and I came three more times. “Two for the birthdays we shared, and once for our next birthday,” he said. We kept making love, but he told me I couldn’t come anymore, so I didn’t.