Posted by: littlegirlyone | August 9, 2010

Showing Off

I’d had an inkling we might end up sitting at separate tables, facing each other. And I didn’t even blink when he sent me to the restroom to remove my panties. Certainly, it wasn’t the buttplug that surprised me.

What surprised me came after I’d followed those orders. After I’d returned to my seat with the njoy firmly nestled between my bare ass cheeks, and nothing separating my rapidly lubricating cunt from the wooden chair save a flimsy, summer-weight, cotton skirt that hit roughly two inches above my knee. What surprised me, and made me gasp and blush and drop my eyes and blink in lengthy pauses and nestle my head into my right shoulder for protection, was the order that I place my feet on the outside of the chair legs. And stay like that.

One on each.



For him.

Of course, I was facing him. I was sitting at a small cafe table against the wall, and from that angle, no one else could, probably, see much of what I was doing. Granted my Daddy was right there, less than 6 feet away; I felt from the smirk on his face and the fierceness of his stare that I had no choice. I didn’t, really.

I spread my legs.

I blushed every pink I knew. I felt the air whispering between my thighs, swelling and lifting warmly scented air from the triangle of flesh that normally stayed tightly compact. I felt the steady, thumpy clench of my lower musculature contracting with desire. I dripped like a skinned peach, throbbed like a beating heart, and told myself, with every passing moment, that I had no choice.

Desperately, I imagined my ankles tied. I imagined tortures promised, and whips wielded and threats of thrashing pain. I felt my thighs pulling toward each other like magnets, and wrapped my toes around the outsides of the chair’s legs, and held my ankles fast.

When I managed to look up and meet his gaze, he shook his head at me somberly. I checked my phone for his message. It said that’s not very ladylike.

I dropped my eyes and agreed. Each time I managed to shake my embarrassment loose, even just enough to breathe, I’d raise my eyes and he’d put me right back there.

Whore, he mouthed, the corners of his mouth turning up.

I typed furiously back on my phone, begging him to stop, to let me close my legs, to assure me that no one but him could see. He looked amused by the message and wrote me back: everyone knows.

I got a short reprise from my humiliating position when he sent me on an errand: he asked me to pick out a girl for him. A group of giggling, flip-flopped, long-haired co-eds had come in. I picked a young lady in a pink polo shirt, with honey-brown hair and wide blue eyes. She was the prettiest, and I liked her smile. She had dimples, and a youthful eager face that made me think she’d be fun.

I texted him my selection, and he nodded. When I returned to my seat, I sat with my ankles crossed, savoring the feeling of privacy that I’d always taken for granted. He quickly insisted that I put my ankles back. I wanted to stamp and pout. I might have huffed softly despite myself. I opened my legs again, glaring at the marble tabletop.

I tried to read my novel, but I had such a poor attention span, I didn’t get anywhere. I saw Daddy tilting his head at my phone again, and checked to see what he’d sent.

At 1:45, you’re to go to the bathroom and get yourself off. Do not wash your hands when you’re done. Come back and sit with your legs spread. You have 10 minutes to get back in your chair.

I looked at the clock. It was 1:40. My stomach flipped a couple of times. I remembered the last time he’d asked me to do something like this. On an airplane. I didn’t do it because I didn’t know him well enough, and I didn’t feel like it. There was no way I’d defy him today.

Five minutes later, I walked toward the bathroom. It wasn’t occupied. I silently praised my luck, because 10 minutes didn’t sound like long. I locked the door behind me. I could hear the whistle of the espresso machine steaming milk, and the chatter of customers waiting for drinks.

I had to concentrate.

The first thing I did was figure out a position. Although I can come pretty much any way, standing takes the longest. It would be best if I could lay down, but that wasn’t an option. I decided to cover the area by the door with paper towels and kneel.

Since I had nothing underneath my flimsy skirt, I didn’t have to do much else. I dropped to my knees on the recycled paper towels, and ran my fingers over my clit in firm circles. I was really wet which was helpful. I closed my eyes and thought about my situation. My Daddy had been bossing me around for over an hour, making me display myself for him, humiliating me, condescending. It was hot, but it wasn’t enough to get me off. Not as fast as I’d need to.

I thought about him there, standing in front of me with his cock in his hand, watching. Some sexual sixth sense told me I had a winner.

“C’mon piglet,” I heard him say. “Hurry up and come. Show me you know how to do it, like a big girl.”

My thighs shuddered. I was close.

“If you do it before I get to 10, I’ll let you suck my cock,” I imagined him saying.

And then I counted in my head. I love it when he counts. It makes me feel like a child on display. It’s like: sing for the company, show them what you’ve been working on. But, you know, so much filthier.

I started trembling. My thighs and my stomach did their happy, convulsive, pre-coming celebratory thing. I opened my eyes for a moment, looked up, and saw him vividly, taunting and encouraging me. I heard his voice. I smelled his cock, and I wanted it. Badly.

I came hard. Harder than I thought possible given the time constraints and the public place. I felt fuzzy and pink and disoriented. A light sweat broke across my skin. I had no idea how long I had taken, so I popped off my knees, and scampered back to the table on shaking, jello-y thighs.

I sat, looked at the clock and smiled at Daddy. I had done it. The look on his face told me he knew.

As I settled back into my spot, and wrapped my feet around the outside of the chair’s legs once again, my phone buzzed. I looked to see what he’d sent.

Everyone knows. Everyone.


  1. I can’t wait to see what’s in store for Piglet next.

  2. great piece! i loved it. 🙂

  3. That is one amazingly hot piece of erotica right there, gorgeously written and steamy hot, with the dripping tension of each breath so palpable. I cannot wait to read the next moments. Brava!

  4. Damn!! thats was great.
    This again reminds me of what I’m missing,
    I’m sure things will change soon. I love to read of others doing what I’ll be doing once again.
    Well Done! looking forward to the next one.


  5. Unbelievably hot. I know what I’ll be thinking about tonight. ;]

  6. wow..I’ll think of this the next time I am sitting ‘accidentally’ less than ‘ladylike’!

  7. “I felt the steady, thumpy clench of my lower musculature contracting with desire. I dripped like a skinned peach, throbbed like a beating heart…”


    You write beautifully. I hope your Daddy doesn’t mind if I steal some his ideas for my little girl. Not all, though, because “everyone knows what you are” is already a favorite. So is “piglet.”

    You two do beautiful things together; it’s inspiring and arousing and wonderful.

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