Cemetery Night

"Well it's a sunny day, so we'll go where we're happy and I'll meet you at the cemetery gate…" ~ The Smiths

A bedtime story for my Daddy

It had been a long, frustrating day. Nothing seemed to be going the way it should. I arrive home ready for a long soak in the bathtub, a cup of soothing tea, and eventually an early bedtime. Alas, it was not to be. As I open the screen door to let myself in a note flutters to my feet. Stooping I pick it up and read:

I will be waiting at the graveyard tonight at midnight. I expect you to be there. Wear something black, velvet, and short. Do not wear anything underneath it.

A soft sigh escapes my lips. I am tired. I want my bed. Nevertheless, slowly a smile creeps its way onto my lips. Playtime always has a way of making me feel better.

Four hours until midnight, I still have time to take that lazy soak in the bathtub. Running the water, my mind is racing. What do you plan to do? As I slide into the water, my hand seeks my pussy. I bury a finger deep inside as my thumb caresses the hard nub of my clitoris, performing a nightly ritual. The hot water eases the tension in my body as my hand caresses and teases. My fingers pinch and rub as I think of you. Think of your mouth on my cunt, biting my inner thighs, licking and teasing, sucking hard. With thoughts of you filling my brain, I cum hard, my orgasm leaves me feeling vaguely unsatisfied as I ponder what you could have in store for me.

Too nervous to eat, I pour a cup of tea. Normally I enjoy the calming ritual of sitting quietly, the warmth of the cup seeping though my body as I relax, but tonight my mind runs wild. I set the cup in the sink and head for the bedroom.

I run my fingers along the clothes in my closet, searching for the perfect dress. Locating it buried deep in the back, I pull a baby doll dress out. Black, crushed velvet, long sleeved, but falling several inches above my knees, it is perfect. Pulling it over my head, I shrug into the dress, leaving off my bra and panties.

Digging in my dresser, I pull out a pair of black and white striped over the knee stockings. Grinning, thinking about being a sweetly evil gothic little girl, I slide them on. I step into a pair of platform maryjanes and head to the bathroom.

I sit on the bathroom counter as I carefully paint my lips a deep burgundy, thinking of how I will leave lip marks all over your neck, your chest, trailing down, smearing as I take your cock in my mouth. I spend a long time on my eyes, thinking of how the contrast of the intricately drawn black will show against my pale skin in the moonlight. Carefully I part my hair down the middle and pull it up into two pigtails. Almost as an after thought, I buckle a purple collar around my neck. Now, I am ready for my Daddy.

Glancing at the clock I realize I am still very early. It is barely 10:30. Hoping that I will surprise you by arriving early, I head out the door.

It is a beautiful night. I can see hundreds of stars as I drive. The moon is full and a deep shade of hazy red. Low in the sky it looms large. I pull slowly into the empty parking lot. It is quiet, peacefully still.

Bordering the parking lot is a small memorial area. I have always found this to be the most beautiful and simultaneously the most morbid part of the cemetery. Three large walls house the urns of those dead and cremated. Perhaps it is because this is my own deep fear; I do not want to be burned in death anymore than I do in life. The walls flank a lovely man made lake with a fountain in the center. I pause here to admire the way the moon plays on the water.

Wondering where I might find you, I wander slowly toward the back of the cemetery. My eyes scan for secluded areas, private places for playtime. In the back corner, I spy a small grove of trees. Slowly I wander that way.

I glance at my watch, only 11:00; I still have a wait. Not seeing you anywhere, I perch on a nearby tombstone, feeling slightly wrong for doing so. However, I know the dead do not mind, and the living are not around.

Suddenly, my world goes black as a cloth slips over my eyes, and I grin. Strong hands grip my arms, pulling me backward. I feel the cold hard edge of a knife pressing into my throat. I melt backward, surrendering myself to sensation.

There is silence, no words, as I am bent over the tombstone I sat on previously. A rough hand pushes between my legs, spreading them farther. The tip of the knife traces its way slowly up my leg, caressing gently, but reminding me not to move. The knife tip bites into my clit, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to hurt. I feel my cunt get wet, against my will almost.

I feel something hard ramming into my pussy. I can only guess it may be the handle of the knife. I hold very still, afraid that if I move I may cut myself.

Everything goes still for a moment, and then, a hand slaps me hard across the face. I hear the sound of a zipper opening, and then my mouth is forced open as a cock is shoved deep inside. Hands grab fistfuls of my hair, pulling hard, forcing my head up, and holding it in place as the cock thrusts deeply into my throat, repeatedly.

The sound I hear is a mix between a low growl and a chuckle as cum fills my mouth. I swallow eagerly.

I am pushed to the ground, my face ion the grass. The knife is pulled free of my dripping cunt. A body covers mine, pinning me down, keeping me from moving. Hands grasp my breasts, squeezing hard. Fingers roll my nipples, pinching and teasing. A mouth is on my neck, teeth sinking into my flesh, drawing gasps of pleasure and pain from my lips.

My ass is penetrated deeply in one long thrust. I try to scream but grass pushes its way into my mouth. The sensation turns from agony to ecstasy as the rock hard dick pushes deeper inside me, fucking me hard. My cries turn to moans as I rock up to meet the thrusts. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over me as I orgasm hard.

Hands yank my shoes off. I feel the knife slicing off my stockings. Wound around my wrists and ankles, they bind me. A hand slaps me again across the face, and then nothing.

I lay still, waiting to be allowed up, or waiting to play. Waiting for something to happen, but nothing does. I lay quietly for several minutes, slowly it dawns on my that I have been left alone.

As I wriggle my hands, I find that I am not bound well; bound more by my mind than I was by my stockings. I am free relatively quickly.

Standing up I brush the grass off my dress. There is no point in trying to tidy up any further until I get home. I am feeling peeved at being left alone to find my way back to the car.

I walk barefoot and cold back toward the parking lot. As it moves into sight, I see you leaning up against your car, glancing at your watch looking slightly bored.

Your words as you see me, shock and frighten me, "Where the hell have you been?"