1950’s Wet Dream

Imagine the half-hour before Daddy is due home. You’re looking in the mirror making sure your makeup is perfect, bright red lips, and subtle eye shadow. There is just enough blush to give your cheeks life and color. Your eyelashes are a mile long. You have your hair tied back in a high ponytail. You put on that gray lace bra I like. You’re wearing a black skin-tight tank-top. And that’s it. No panties. No shorts. No jeans. No skirt. You’re naked from the waist down all the way to your ankles. Of course, you’re wearing fire-engine-red six-inch-stilettos.

Imagine the nervous tingles when you hear the garage door start to open. Your heels click on the kitchen tile. Ice cubes rattle falling into the heavy-bottomed rocks glass. Smell the whiskey pouring from the decanter. Feel the vibrations of the garage door closing. The car door slams shut. You get on your knees keeping your back straight. You bow your head and reach out with both hands, palms up, forming a tray for my drink to rest on.

I walk into the house and I glance down at my little girl. This is the moment you find out if everything is to my liking. Spankings or kisses. A pat on the head or a slap across the face. Which will it be? I take a deep breath. I loosen my tie. I inhale again. “Something smells good. Is that a roast chicken in the oven?”

You don’t look up, “Yes, Daddy.”

The cool wet condensation rolls down the glass and puddles in your hand. Even though your arms are straining you remain still. I grab the drink and I gulp half of it. Letting out a long sigh, I say, “God, I needed that.” Then I finish the rest. I hand you the glass in your outstretched hands and you set it on the floor.

There’s nothing like walking into a welcoming home. I can smell your perfume. I can smell the lemon and the roasted garlic. The burn of the whiskey warms my throat. And there you are. “Lift your shirt,” I say.

You obey.

“I like that bra. Pull it down a little.”

You pull the cups down just enough for your taut nipples to peak out. I rub one with the hand that had been holding the glass. It’s cold and wet against your skin. You resist the urge to shudder. I squeeze and twist and you let out a little moan. “Do you want to please Daddy before dinner?”

I ask the question knowing the answer. “I always want to please my Daddy.”

You move closer. I unzip my fly. Can you feel your mouth watering? Can you feel the muscles in your throat relaxing? This is what you live for. This is the moment all your hard work keeping a clean home and making sure you’re always pleasing for Daddy becomes worth it. Feel how the soft cotton of my pants tickles your skin as you reach in and find my half-hard cock. Make eye contact with Daddy. Hold your breath as your hand coils around Daddy’s meaty shaft.

Any girl can wrap her mouth around my cock. Any girl can stroke my shaft and suck on my head. I don’t want any girl. I want you. I made you mine. You gave yourself to me. This bond we have is bigger than any sexual act. It’s bigger than a white picket fence and a closet full of sex toys. If I haven’t made it clear, I love working hard all day knowing that I’m coming home to my little girl; my beautiful wife. I’m excited to see if everything is perfect so I can reward you. I am even more excited to see if there are crumbs on the counter or a single dirty fork in the sink so I have something to punish you for.

At the center of who you are is this one idea: pleasing others pleases you. It isn’t good or bad. It isn’t anti-feminist or pro-misogynist. It’s just something you feel. I see you licking your lips. I see your chest expanding with each deep breath. Does the idea of making me harder with your mouth excite you? I think it does. Go ahead, lean closer. Gently take me between your lips. Feel it throbbing against your tongue. When I groan you know Daddy is pleased.

I gently rest my hand on your head. I want you to feel my affection with the way I caress you. I look down. I see that pretty face – the face I can’t wait to see when I get home – and I watch my cock vanish into your mouth. It’s getting thicker. It’s getting harder. Little by little, any control I thought I had slips away. It’s in your hand stroking my cock. It’s in your mouth sucking on my head. It’s in the back of your throat. I am your Daddy, your Dom, your owner, and your husband. But none of that matters because you’ve got me right where you want me.

Every flick of your tongue has me groaning. Every twist of your hand buckles my knees. I’m not stupid. I know what you’re doing. Your toying with me. All day, you submit. You obey. You honor me by being the best little girl you can be. But right now I’m just an animal begging for the pleasure only you can provide. You must be able to feel the build-up and the pressure. It’s like you’re reading a book that you’re in the middle of. You know the plot is mounting to something and you’ve already figured out how will end. But I’m a clueless fool. Tell me. Please. Spoil the ending. I don’t care. Jump to the last page and read the final paragraph out loud.

I watch as you drool a huge gob of spit onto my head. You use both hands to rub it in. You look up at me and grin. It isn’t a good girl grin. It an “I’ve got you now, bitch” grin. I’m still your Dom. You’re still my sub. You love spoiling me. You love showing me how much you appreciate everything I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that we both know the power dynamic has shifted. We also know there will come a time very soon when I reassert myself. That time isn’t now. Your mouth feels too good. So be a good little cock sucker. Suck harder. Suck faster. Go until your neck hurts. Go until the back of your throat feels battered and bruised.

You know it’s coming. You pull off of me and stroke. You open your mouth as wide as you can. I moan so loud, “Fuck! Slut! Fuck!” Words just flying out of my mouth for no reason. I must look like I’m about to sneeze or cry, or maybe it looks like I’m having a stroke. Cum surges from my balls to my shaft. Pulse after pulse but you squeeze hard holding it back. The pressure grows, “Oh, God, Fuck! Cunt! Slut! Fuck!” And you let go. My cum blasts your face splattering up to your eye. You reposition my head so the next load goes in your mouth. My eyes open in time to see all that white goo pooling in the back of your throat. You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I take a deep breath for the first time in a while. And still, more cum is seeping out, dripping onto you.

You drool my juices, letting it fall from your chin onto your tits. You use your fingers to wipe it up back into your mouth. I watch in bewilderment. How did I get so lucky? I wonder, how is it I am the man who gets to come home to this every day? You rub my cum into your skin. You lick me off your fingers. I love seeing my little girl show me that she can’t get enough. I hope it feels as special to you as it does to me. I hope you feel good for being able to focus on me and give me all that selfless attention. When I am finally able to speak I tell you, “That’s my good girl. That’s my very good girl.” Your smile gets even bigger.

You don’t get a towel to wipe me off your face. You don’t go take a shower to remove me from your skin. Instead, you fix your bra and shirt and head into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.