Where Im Meant To Be

"See anything you like?"

We've walked around most of the store. My fingertips have traced over silk, lace, latex, leather... after twenty-seven years I'm still a child at heart. The lesson of looking with my eyes and not with my hands will most likely forever go unlearned.

There have been things I've liked. Colors, styles, outfits. My fingers would linger on those ones, the "special ones", a bit longer than the others. I would think a bit more on them, imagining what I would look like in them for you. Would it please you to see me in it? What would it feel like against my skin? What would it feel like for it to be your fingertips brushing over the material with me inside of it?

I would have those thoughts. I would feel my reactions, reactions I couldn't stop... my eyes widening slightly, body tightening, a tension threatening to build. I would feel all of it so quickly, so intensely, that I would pull my hand away unsure of what to do with it all.

All of this is so... new. The store. The experience. The energy between us. So much new and unknown. Untried. It feels like I am at the epicenter of it all. I may appear calm but on the inside, inside my head, I'm in the middle of a raging storm and I'm not sure how to navigate the waters of my thoughts.

I can feel your eyes on me. I think I've taken longer to answer your question than what is socially acceptable. I'm pretty sure even though I display a collected exterior you have the ability to sense the war within my mind.

What if the item I like is expensive? We still haven't agreed on if I'm allowed to pay or not. There's the guilty thought that I've never had a guy interested enough to want to buy me sexy things. How many times have I listened to friends talk or read stories about this very experience I am now going through? Why didn't any of those stories talk about all of these other emotions I'm feeling? Anxiety, worry, fear, shyness, nervousness.

Why didn't those stories talk about being human?

Maybe... maybe the reason I feel these "other" emotions is because I really am broken. Too fucked up to just enjoy things as they are.

I pull away from the thought because unlike all of the other ones racing through my head, this one in painful.

I meet your eyes before looking away to the rack of lingerie we have stopped in front of. I'm worried you'll be able to see my insecurity. I'm worried about... I don't know. Being human I guess. I'm worried about your rejection. I'm worried about having a past and things I need to work through...

My hand reaches out to touch the fishnet body stocking dress hugging the mannequin next to us. The feeling of the fabric under my fingers is real and helps to ground me.

This is reality. This is where I'm at. In the present. With you. Not in my past.

I nod my head, answering your question silently before clearing my throat, hoping to find a voice that isn't one of a timid girl out of her element.

"Yeah. They have a lot of nice things here." I give myself points for sounding normal.

"What do you like the most?"

I blush even though it's a harmless question. Asking what ones I like makes me think of why I like them. Definitely not PG thoughts by any stretch of the imagination.

"Um..." I hesitate, thinking, biting my lip as my mind flashes back through everything we've seen so far. My fingers continue to absently run over the fishnet as my mind works. The texture is soft, gentle, feminine. I become more aware of my actions and how it must look with me standing here, feeling up a display model. My movement slows as my hand caresses over the mannequin's hip.

What would it feel like for your hand to do that to me? What would it feel like for your fingers to touch me, tracing lines of fire over my body? What would it feel like for your hand to grab my hip, pulling me to you as you claim me?

I try to stifle my gasp as I feel the phantom sensation of your hand on my own hip. The feeling is so strong, so thrillingly provocative that I jerk my hand back as if the cold, lifeless plastic has burned me. I try to slide my hands into my pockets, only to be reminded the pants I'm wearing have none. Of course not...

Why did I think it was a good idea to not wear my jacket? Now I'm left looking foolish along with still not knowing what to do with myself. Oh, how I wish I had something to hide in.

Exasperated with my awkwardness I fold my arms under my chest, smiling a nervous smile as I hug myself. I can't help it. Maybe it's a smile of self-preservation. I am dying of mortification after all even as I feel the lingering sensation of your hands on my hips. Does this count as a happy death at least?

"Sorry... I, um... I don't know." I fumble out. Am I allowed to have more points for still forming coherent words? I'm pretty sure that's an accomplishment, right? Maybe an "Achievement Unlocked" message?

"You like this one," you say as you place your hand on top of the metal rack beside us. You keep my thoughts here. You prevent my mind from trying to find an escape. Your words are a statement, not a question.

I hesitate before nodding in agreeance. I do like this one. A lot. I shiver slightly at the thought of the fishnet against my skin. Damn you, Brain. Damn you.

"I want to see you in it." Statement. Fact. Your words send a thrill down my spine and I can feel the wetness between my thighs increasing. How is it you can make such simple words affect me so?

"I want to wear it for you." I say the words as soon as I think them, forcing them out into the world, giving them life before rational thought can stop me. I want you to know my thoughts. All of them. I want you to know all of the naughty things you inspire in me. For the first time in what feels like eternity it feels right to speak them, even if I am breathless from a mixture of fear and desire. I want you to know even despite my cheeks burn from the blush of admitting such a thing to you. The confliction within my mind, my body, makes it all that much more intoxicating.

"Good. Let's get you in it," you say, taking one of the hangers off the rack.

We make our way to a changing room with merchandise in tow. I expect to have to figure out how to origami my way into the dress on my own but I feel you walk into the stall behind me. It's more than spacious enough for both of us, but the sound of the door clicking behind us makes my heart jump as I turn to face you. You're so close. You shouldn't be here. We'll get in trouble.

I want you to touch me.

That thought is so loud, so prevalent inside my head I almost can't hear the other thoughts. The logic thoughts. The ones that, if I were responsible, I would be voicing. This is wrong. There are...reasons. Rules... those are... things... we should... be doing those... things...

Instead I stand in front of you, arms once again crossed under my breasts as I stare wide-eyed at you feeling a bit like prey. My nipples ache for your touch. All I want is your hands on me. Gripping. Squeezing. Taking. Demanding.

I want this so much, but... But...

I know I look nervous. I know I'm not the sexy, sultry, confident chick from the stories I read. I'm the awkward bookworm. I'm the computer geek with glasses.

I look down at the floor, suddenly feeling out of my depth. I shouldn't be here doing these things. It's not my place. I don't belong here, in a sex shop. I belong in a dark room typing up computer code or trouble shooting through something...

My hands grip my arms tighter as I begin to get lost in my head. I know these thoughts are wrong. These aren't the healthy thoughts I've spent years learning and building. This is old, insecure me. This is "Evil Voice" me. I know these thoughts lead down a path... the wrong path. They lead to a place I don't want to go, but now I'm lost and I don't know how to get back. All I know is I don't belong and I have nowhere to hide.

I'm so consumed with my thoughts that I don't notice you moving to close the small distance between us until I am in your arms. You're so warm. Solid. Real. You're real. And I'm here. I'm with you. I'm safe. Fact. Truth. I'm safe and it's ok.

The tension, the worry, it doesn't matter. I'm a bookworm and it doesn't matter. I'm nervous and that's ok. I breathe deeply, taking in the scent of you, filling my lungs with you. As I exhale more of the confliction dissipates, leaving my body with my breath. I snuggle closer to you, my face hiding in the crook of your neck as my body continues to relax. I had no idea I was so tense. Did you know? Was it a guess? Does it matter?

Not really. I'm warm. I'm safe.

I can hear the music drifting through the store speakers but the only sound I'm focusing on is the sound of your breathing. I can feel the rising and falling of your chest and I do my best to match it.

In... Out... In... Out... Unhurried. Unrushed. How had I not noticed I was breathing so fast, so shallow?

"You're safe." The words are soft but strong, emphasized by the tightening of your arms around me.

It's like you're inside my head. I nod silently against your chest accepting your words at truth. Safe. Yes. You are a safe person. One of the few I feel I can truly be myself around. No holding back. I remember promising that to you. I'm not supposed to hold back.

You kiss my forehead, flooding my body with feelings of acceptance and peace.

"Come on. I'm dying to see you in this." I can hear the longing in your voice and that begins to fan the flames of desire within me back to life. Your arms slide down to the hem of my top as you step back. I meet your eyes again, a sliver more confident than I was before. I raise my arms over my head, allowing you to pull the fabric up my body.

I shiver as your knuckles trail against my sides, which quickly turns to giggling as your hands move along the underside of my arms. You drop my top to the floor and my arms lower, a smile still playing on my lips. The ticklish feelings don't last long, though, as you step close to me again. Your arms wrap around my back, your fingers going to the clasp of my bra. You're warmth is the same, your scent is unchanged, and yet everything is so drastically different. I moan softly at your closeness, squeezing my eyes shut as my hands rest against your chest. I press my cheek to yours, nuzzling against you as you work. You're so close. So warm.

I feel like you win the battle with the clasp much too soon as the straps of my bra loosen, sliding down my shoulders. As you step back you take my bra with you, leaving me exposed. I can feel my wetness beginning to drip into my panties, and I know those will soon be gone as well.

You crouch down slightly, kissing your way down my torso as your fingers lead the way. Your hands find the top of my pants, a vain attempt to hinder your progress. Undeterred you begin to ease the fabric down, taking my panties along for the ride as you continue to kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

I'm already gasping, panting. My hands reach out to you, holding on to your shoulders to steady myself as I moan. I can't help it. I can't... think... I can't... oh god.

I feel you kiss against my lips as the fabric of my pants pools around my ankles. I can feel how unbelievably wet I am. The small thought of worrying that you'll think I'm too wet is almost instantly banished as I feel your tongue push forward, pressing gently, but firmly against my clit before slowly stroking upward. My back arches, head pressing back against the wall behind me as I moan again, my hips pushing forward in an action so out of my control it might as well be my breathing.

I hear your groan, feel it vibrating through my body as your hands slide up to my hips, holding me.

God. This is where I belong. Here. Right here. I belong wherever your hands put me.

I whimper, a pained sound, as you pull away from my body, standing up in front of me.

Worry. Bad. I've done something bad. I did something to make you stop. I did... something... I...

But those thoughts, too, are silenced almost as soon as they start. Your mouth finds mine and my world becomes the pressing of lips, the sliding of tongues, and the taste, the scent, of arousal. I moan into your mouth as much from the kiss as from the feeling of your fingers against my clit.

I'm writhing against you and I don't care. I'm being a slut and I don't care. I'm your slut. Your cumslut. That's all that matters. That's all I care about. Pleasing you. Being your good girl. Please. Please.

You pull away again, your lips, your fingers, leaving me, but the panicked feeling of before doesn't return. I know you'll come back. I know you're not done playing with me.

You take the dress from the hanger, scrunching it up before gently easing it over my head. Somehow I still have the ability to place my arms through the sleeves. As I smooth my hands over the fabric on my arms, experiencing the sensation of the material encasing my skin, you pull the hem down so that it ends just below my ass, almost as if the fishnet were cupping my flesh.

My breathing is still shallow as I turn my head to look at myself in the mirror next to us. The girl I see staring back can't be me. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are bright with a, "please fuck me," look in them. Her breasts rise and fall quickly with her uneven breathing. They're also pushed forward slightly due to her arched back, as if on display. And the fishnet accentuates the fact she has nothing on underneath. Her long bare legs are pale, toned, quivering. There is no modesty. No hiding.

I move my right foot from the pile of clothing on the floor and the reflected girl does the same, her black high heel coming into view. There's a sheen on the inside of her parted thighs that I can just barely see...

She looks sexy. She looks hot. She looks like everything I've always wanted to be for so long.

I see your hand reaching towards me in the mirror a second before I feel you caress my cheek. I turn my eyes from the mirror to look at you. I don't know what my eyes show right now. Confusion. Awe. Revelation maybe?

All I know is that your eyes are dark. Primal.

I gasp as you move forward, pushing me up against the wall as your hand reaches down to grip my leg, bringing it up over your hip. I have no idea when you took your cock out, but the heat of it against my pussy makes me cling to you in desperation. I need it. Please, oh fuck. Please.

My silent plea is answered barely a second later as you shove your cock all the way inside me, burying it to the hilt as you grip my hair, pulling my head back. You want me. I'm yours. You've taken me. Fact. Truth. You're fucking me.

I cum. Instantly. Intensely. My mind is seared with the white-hot force of your pleasure. There's nothing but the feeling of your cock, your hand, your body, your power. There's nothing but you and the claim you are making on my body. My mind. My soul.

I'm yours. Your cumslut. Your babygirl.

"Daddy!" I cry out as I gush around your cock. My back arches harder. You pull my hair further. My breasts, my nipples, rub against the fishnet, against your shirt-covered chest as I thrash in your arms. A second orgasm begins before the first has even ended as you thrust into me again. I can't see your eyes but I know they're on me. You're watching me. You're watching me be a slut. You're watching me cum for you.

"Daddy, please. Please. Please."

There's so much wetness. I can feel it running down my thighs. I can hear it every time you thrust into me. My fingers dig into your shoulders as I try to hold onto you as you use me. This is how you want me. This is where I belong. I belong with my daddy, being a good girl. I'm a good girl for daddy. Daddy.

I don't know how often I cum. I don't know how much I beg. All I know is the pleasure. Yours. Mine. Ours. All there is is you. My daddy. My daddy. Please, fuck me harder daddy.

"That's it babygirl. That's it. Cum for me. Cum all over daddy's dick."

I can hear it in your voice. I can feel it. The tension. The build up. You're close. Daddy's getting close.

"Please cum in me daddy. Pretty please. Please cum deep inside me." So close. So close. God I want it. I need it. Please. Please give it to me.

"Yeah. Take daddy's cum, baby. Take every fucking drop."

The first shot of liquid heat inside of me sets off another orgasm, pushing me over the edge of oblivion. The fall, the pleasure... It feels endless. Over and over. Pulse after throbbing pulse, all the while I'm held helpless, quivering, in daddy's arms as he fills me up. As daddy cums inside me. I keep moaning, whimpering, gasping through it all. I can't get enough air. It's as if I'll drown from the pleasure as it crashes through me.

Gradually our motions slow. The thrusting, the pulsing, slower. Slower. There is no thought aside from the pleasure, the sensations. There's only you and the feeling of you inside me. There's only daddy.

There's only warmth. So much warmth. Inside me. Around me. So warm. So safe.

My brow furrows slightly at the sensation of a slight pressure against my forehead. Soft. Gentle. Repetitive. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. They travel over and down to my cheek. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Over and down to my lips. Kiss.

I feel your tongue slip between my parted lips, exploring my mouth, gradually bringing me back. I moan softly at your invasion, tightening around your hard cock which is still deep within my body.

You groan and begin to grind your cock inside me as your hands cover my breasts, groping before taking my pierced nipples between your fingers.

"You know we're not done, right? Not even close." You pinch my nipples through the fishnet, pulling them towards you as I give a soft pleasured whimper. I push myself away from the wall I had slumped against as you keep tugging my nipples, bringing me closer to you, bringing me back to the here and now and out of my orgasm educed haze. Bringing me back to the feeling of your hard cock and the new wetness filling my body.

My whimper turns into a moan as you begin to thrust again. Before the pleasure has a chance to build into overwhelming waves I have the stray thought of wondering if we'll ever make it to the hotel room, and not really caring if we do.

I'm right were daddy wants me. I'm where I'm meant to be.