by S. L. Finlay
What I was imagining felt so real that as I imagined Daddy cumming inside me, and how good it would feel to have a pussy full of Daddy's cum, I was also cumming.
I came so hard as a result of my own imaginings, that as I slowly drifted down to earth post-orgasm, I smiled to myself. It was as if Daddy had been here with me, it felt so real and the orgasm felt as strong as the orgasms I have with other people.
The last man I had an orgasm with was my boyfriend back at home, and he felt like a distant memory. Daddy was here now, Daddy was the present. And what a present I was living in - this sexy, strong man. This real man who could look after me! It was insane how much that turned me on!
But in the present, Daddy had pushed me for more before I was ready. In the present, Daddy had made me feel vulnerable and exposed and angry. Daddy made me feel all these things, and my pleasure at the thought of Daddy making me feel all of these things made me feel ashamed. I was both turned on and dealing with some deep shame at the same time, and that shame did nothing but turn me on more!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was pretty strange, coming back from Daddy pushing me a little too far. At first, he didn't contact me. I still went into the agency to pick up my weekly allowance, but whenever I asked them if they knew anything about the next time I would see Daddy, the girl on the desk would shrug while staring down at her computer. So long as she was getting paid, she didn't care.
I understood that they were busy trying to place other girls, but it frustrated me. This felt like what we would call 'bad after sales service' back home in the States. The agency had already 'sold' me (or at least sold the chance to date me and play dress-ups with me) to Daddy and now they weren't giving me - or Daddy - what we needed from them.
Although I had a bunch of different emotions to deal with, the first and most pressing emotion I had was the need to talk to Daddy about what happened. I needed to express how I felt, I needed him to know that I was upset. I wanted him to rectify the problem. Not to give me more money or something, but just to acknowledge that he had pushed me a bit too far too fast and to promise not to do it again. I didn't want much, really.
Even though I couldn't talk to anyone about the agreement I had with Daddy - due to the paperwork the agency made me sign - I still felt like even if I did have someone to talk to, they would point out that Daddy's desires - even the desire to be called 'Daddy' in the first place - were a little different. I felt like my acceptance of his desires was a big deal and he wasn't likely to find just any girl off the street who was cool with what he wanted, he was lucky to have someone with as little judgment as I had.
Because he was lucky to have me, I felt entitled to my feelings. I felt entitled not only to have those feelings, but also to have feelings of frustration at being ignored, and to be owed a little of his time and an apology for his less than gentlemanly behavior.
But that wasn't what I was getting. I was getting ignored. I was getting swept under the rug, I was on the receiving end of Daddy's disinterest, and that frustrated me.
When the girls at the agency told me they had no news for me the second week running, I took my money home and stared at it for a long time. The money was in a white standard letter envelope. As I stared at it, all I could think was how upset I was with him, but how great it was to get this money when I didn't do anything for it that week (besides going into the agency). In the time since I had seen him, I had been pining over Daddy. Of course I did do a bit of work on my French (I could now order food on my own and had some basic phrases I could trot out without thinking like asking people for the time or directions or whatever) but my French was still way more basic than I wanted it to be.
I had moved here to learn French, and had fantasies of being fluent in the language almost immediately, and almost without even having to try. Even though of course I wasn't, when I spoke to my family back home, I would tell them that my French was doing well as they seemed disappointed when I tried to be honest with them about how difficult I was finding it to learn the language.
French pronunciation is difficult, and the sentence structure, and the fact it's so close to English that sometimes when you say a word with French pronunciation that is the same word in English, you feel funny.
Okay, so the whole language is a little difficult, or at least I was finding it difficult. I was struggling through, even as I was loving the language and learning it and the classes I was attending.
French classes were a good way for me to talk to people who were quite normal, and weren't choosing to live their lives in the unconventional way which I was choosing to live mine right now. There were a bunch of different kinds of people in those classes.
Between my French classes, and my daily calls to my family back home, I had an abundant amount of 'normal' (read: boring) conversations topics to cover. I was reading the news here (not just for the language, but also because the news here was different to back home) and I was enjoying the life I was leading here.
But then, I felt like something was missing.
Being upset with Daddy and having a wad of cash gave me ideas, and as I stared at that fat envelope, I thought about what I would like to spend it on, if only I would give myself the permission I needed to do it.
I picked up the envelope and held it in my hands, weighing it. I thought about how much of that money could be disposable, and how much could be spent on another months rent (I had spoken to the landlord about extending my stay in their apartment for a few months and they agreed to it, it was supposed to be a holiday rental but the landlord liked me, and didn't have anyone else lined up to stay here).
After rent, and food, and a few expenses I knew I would need to take care of, I would actually have quite a bit of money leftover. I would be able to spend some money on me. The things I wanted. I would be able to do as I pleased with it.
My mind rushed forward with fantasies of the things I would like to do and I sighed deeply. If only... but I could. But I shouldn't. But I could.
The devil on my left and angel on my right were having a war, and I was caught in the middle.
In the end I counted out the money I would need for bills plus a little bit extra, and put the money that I deemed 'disposable income' into my purse and walked out my front door.
I was half way down the street before it hit me what I was about to do, and a smile shone across my face. I was going to do something I hadn't done when I was living at home in the States, I was doing to do something that I felt most of the people in my town would think was a bit silly at best and incredibly naughty at worst.
The buzz of doing something a bit naughty followed me down the street. I almost wanted to run, to skip away from it. I wanted to dance in the streets. There was something very naughty I was about to do and no-one knew about it, only me.
It was something I had been thinking about for a long time. I had imagined as part of my naughty fantasy's of Daddy at night, the ones where my fingers would explore the lubricated folds of my pussy and leave me gasping, moaning, and crying out.
In my fantasies, this bought Daddy great pleasure, and bought me great joy and confidence. As I stood before the big glass window displaying the beautiful exotic French lingerie, I smiled to myself. I was here, I was like a kid about to enter a candy store, and I was going to get my very first lingerie set.
Even though in my fantasies, Daddy was crazy for the lingerie, in reality I had no idea what he would think of it. He was just my catalyst to do something for myself, something I had always wanted to do but felt too scared to do. Back home my mother did my laundry, and although she never said anything directly, I knew she wasn't okay with me buying lacey panties, let along lingerie. She never took me into Victoria Secret. I was always to buy the same white cotton bras and panties, and she could pretend I wasn't a sexual being or even remotely interested in sex, despite having had sex with my boyfriend for a few years already after my debutante in the back seat of his car.
But now, I was in Franc
I entered the store. It was small and the shop assistant looked up at me and addressed me in French. I addressed her right back in what I knew was very accented French. She smiled at me, in the way all Parisians smile at foreigners who are trying to speak their language. Then she spoke to me in the kind of polished English that I imagined meant she studied at Oxford in England, "What size are you looking for?" She asked.
I was unsure, and I was sure it had shown on my face when her smile grew a little as she went on, "what size are you back home?"
This question struck a chord with me, I told her my size.
"Oooh! You are American?" She asked, her French accent shining through in a sentence that reminded me of a little girl.
"Yes, I am from the South." I told her.
She was excited now, "the South?" She asked, "I love the South! I went on a road trip there, so beautiful!"
I nodded, feeling unsure what she could find so beautiful about a bunch of farms and cowboys when she came from sometimes gray but always beautiful Paris, but she didn't give me a chance to ask before she was rushing around the store picking up bras.
"You should try this one on." She told me as she approached. I had been standing at the front of the shop, awkwardly, throughout the whole exchange.
I nodded, and the store assistant nodded back, motioning for me to walk to the back of the store where there were several fitting rooms, all with large floor-to-ceiling curtains to cover them to the rest of the shop.
"You should go in the middle one." She called to my back as I approached, "I will be in there in one moment."
Her accent was beautiful, and so was she. She had a way about her, that easy confidence that French girls all seem to have, that confidence that I hoped buying some beautiful lingerie would give me.
Entering the fitting room, I pulled the curtain closed behind me and turned to find a large mirror on the back wall and three hooks on the wall on my left. I took a breath as I looked at myself in the mirror, this was it.
Before I had a chance to think about this any more, I was pulling my tee shirt off over my head and un-clipping my boring white cotton bra. I would keep this bra, and all the others I had like it, at least for a little while after I did this, because they felt familiar. But I was ready to outgrow them, to let them go.
I clipped the new bra on. It was a black number with no padding. It felt soft against my breast, and maybe even a little silky as I touched myself, adjusting the bra. I imagined myself touching myself later in this, in a much more erotic way, and it made me feel immediately aroused. I didn't have time to focus on that though before the girl was at my curtain.
"Are you ready for me to come in?" She asked, and my mind immediately rushed to naughty thoughts. Naughty thoughts involving this girl, and cum, and maybe Daddy. But I dismissed those. I couldn't think about that now when she was standing right in front of me, helping me to dress myself. I would think about them later, in the privacy of my flat as a ran my hands over my soft skin, imagining they were her hands.
"Yes, I am ready." I called over my shoulder and barely a second later, the girl had pushed the curtain aside to enter before the curtain fell behind her. She was so quick I was sure even if there were people standing in the shop trying to look in, they wouldn't see this girl.
She was so professional as she touched me, making sure the bra fit my properly. But there was this gaze, one that lasted only a moment, at the end of the fitting, that told me that perhaps she wasn't all professional behavior, there was something else there too. Maybe I could get her to agree...
But then she was gone again, "that size is perfect for you, I will get you to try some more." She called from the other side of the curtain.
And she was off, getting me to try on different bras so I would know which ones I liked, which ones fit me well and which ones made me smile, because they made me feel great about myself and about my body.
I liked the satin bras, I liked the bras with a bit of padding. I was already small, so they made a difference. I liked the bras that made me feel 'girly', too, the ones with lace that were purples and reds and pinks. The bras that I could see women wearing for their boyfriends and husbands.
Then, seeing what I liked the most, the store girl asked me towards the end of the fitting, after I had chosen half a dozen bra and panty sets, "There is something I think you would like, will you try it on for me?"
I smiled right back at her, feeling cheeky and sexy. It was hard not to smile at a pretty girl with a pretty accent who you found attractive and were half naked in front of for ages.
The store girl was gone and when she returned she had some hangers with a few different pieces.
"These are new, but they are so beautiful!" She told me, obviously excited. This really was a great job for her personality type.
In her hands were a few different pieces which I imagined met up as a beautiful lacy black lingerie set. There was a lacey bra and panties, a garter belt and hold-up stockings.
"There is also a corset that they might look good with, but try these on first." She told me, "And I'll go get it."
I did as I was told, quickly pulling the bra and panties on followed by the stockings but then feeling confused by the garter belt. As pretty as it was and as much as I wanted to put it on to show off for this girl and to feel sexy, I couldn't work it out.
Just as I was struggling with it, the French store girl was asking if she could come in again. I smiled to myself as I said yes. Of course I wanted her to come in again!
"Do you need help?" She asked as she saw me struggling with the garter belt. I nodded and she took the belt off me. With adept fingers and soft hands she put the garter belt on me, but I was sure her soft skin lingered longer on my thighs than it should have.
The tease made me want her more. I was struggling not to think of her with me and Daddy then, being shared by the two of us.
I had never been with a woman before, and hadn't spent a lot of time thinking about it. But, now I was in Paris, and things were a little different here. I wasn't living in my small town anymore, surrounded by people with small minds. I wasn't going to be judged, or ridiculed, or shamed for the things I wanted. I wasn't going to have to answer to anyone for those things that most excited me and that made me who I was as a sexual being.
But then, I could also leave things as fantasies if I wanted to. I could always let them go, and enjoy living the kind of life I wanted to live, whatever that was.
As the girl helped me into the corset (one she called an under-bust corset, which gave me a tiny waist and made me look more feminine and less like a tom boy) she gave me her naughty little smiles and hands grazing my skin for too long.
This wasn't just a sales tactic, this girl wanted me, and I wanted her.
When I left the lingerie store that afternoon though, I didn't ask her for her number, or even give her a cheeky girlish kiss in the fitting rooms. I enjoyed being desired and the newfound power I had thanks to these clothes.
When I left the lingerie store, all I could think about was my Daddy and how I wanted to make him happy. I was allowed to have my fantasies, I reasoned, they wouldn't bother him and they certainly weren't bothering me.
The important thing though, was that I was a good girl for my Daddy.
CHAPTER TWELVE
After buying my first French lingerie, I did spend more time than I would like to admit trying it on at home and checking myself out in the mirror. It became a nightly ritual after French language classes, trying on my lingerie and walking around my apartment for a while, feeling it against my skin and imagining Daddy there, watching me strut around the apartment. I imagined him sitting on one of my couches, hard cock growing in his pants as I walked past him, wiggling my bum and shooting him a big, cheeky smile.
Daddy would have loved to see me like that, I imagined. I imagined him being excited seeing me in this lingerie, and letting out my inner sex kitten.
I had never been much of a sex kitten before, but I felt like if anyone could bring that out in me, it was this sexy older man. It had to be him who taught me about my own sensuality, the sensuality I was discovering living in Paris, the most beautiful, romantic and sensual place I had ever been in my short life.
I would imagine Daddy laying me down on the bed and touching my small body as if it were his, every finger claiming me.
As I imagined, I touched myself. As I would think about his fingers on my skin, my fingers would be right where I had just imagined his. As I imagined him pinching my nipples, I pinched my own nipples. Then when I was so turned on I could hardly take it, I would push my fingers inside my warm, wet pussy and imagine they were Daddy's fingers.
Before I met Daddy when I would touch myself, I would always do so softly, sweetly. Now I had met Daddy, I imagined his touch to be rougher. I imagined his fingers frenzied as he grew more excited listening to my moans, to my heavy breathing, to my pleading for more. To my desires to please him.
It was a strong desire, and growing all the time, this need to please my Daddy. I wondered what he liked sexually - even as I told myself afterward, always told myself that this wasn't a sexual arrangement - I wondered if he would enjoy fingering me as much as I enjoyed fingering me while I thought of him, as much as I imagined he would enjoy it. The man I imagined and the man I was imaging could be totally different people, but I hoped not. I hoped Daddy was just as sexual and had just as much of a need to be pleased as I hoped he had.
I wondered if Daddy liked blow jobs, the feel of his stiff cock enterering a warm, willing mouth. I wondered if Daddy would like my pussy, so tight and ready for him. I wondered if he would enjoy thrusting into me for the first time, and feeling my tightness around him, or feeling my pussy grip him as he bought me to orgasm.
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