MAGIC WORDS
Emily Bingham

When I hear the front door being pulled shut and locked, then the noise of a car pulling away, I know it’s time. In preparation for this moment I’ve dressed in a white sweater, a plaid skirt that barely covers my behind, and matching argyle kneesocks. After dressing up, I have nothing to do in this empty room except wait.

It’s hard to tell how long I’ve been waiting. Every noise puts me on edge with the hope that it will be the signal that I can leave this room. My heart races each time the house settles or a car door slams on the street outside the window. I’ve been thinking of the sound for so long that it seems like a figment of my imagination at first.

As I finally lift myself from the chair, the air of the room passes over my bare upper legs, bringing my attention to the wetness between them. I run one finger along my labia, shocked at how excited I am. I blush as I realize that daydreaming about the events I’ve agreed to has made such an impression.

This provides the motivation I need to pull open the door and slowly make my way down the hall; the door at the end of it both beckons and threatens. The anticipation was torture but now that it’s over I’m nervous to find out what happens next. I close my eyes while resting my hand on the doorknob, taking in my last moment of solitude.

Once I swing the door open to expose the room on the other side, my stomach drops. Aside from walls lined with books, the floor-to-ceiling window near the desk and the large leather chair at the center of this office, the room is empty.

I feel a bit heartbroken. All that waiting for nothing? It isn’t until I turn to leave the room that I hear the floor creak and notice the top of his head resting against the back of the chair. He’s so still I overlooked him.

“Leave the door open and come sit in my lap.” His voice is deep and calm. It passes through me, causing a chill as I acknowledge I’m willing do every little thing he asks. When he speaks I feel half-hypnotized, unable to deny him. The wetness between my legs increases as I walk toward him.

It isn’t fear that makes me slow to cross the room. My concern is the things I am likely to ask him for, the way I asked for this afternoon’s game. He has a way about him that makes it safe to say or do the filthiest things. He makes me want to let every deviant thought jump from my lips and into his ear with the hope he will help make it come true.

I feel like the shy schoolgirl I’m dressed as while coming around the front of the chair where he can see me. I sense him shift his weight to sit upright but I can’t bring myself to look up and meet his eyes. He makes a small satisfied noise so he must like what he sees, making me feel much less ridiculous in this girlish outfit.

“Be a good girl and come here.” He puts his hand out to guide me. I put my hand in his and allow him to pull me into his lap where it’s warm and safe. He wraps me in his arms until my nervous shivering subsides. “Shh, that’s my good girl.” His strong hands pet my head and pull my face to his chest. We stay together, looking out the window at the clouds passing by.

Eventually he cups my chin in his hand and pulls my head to face him. Not looking at him directly, I still know he’s smiling as he passes his fingers softly over my face. When he kisses my forehead I think I’ll go crazy with the inability to tilt my face up to meet his lips. I need him so badly—his hands and lips all over me, to feel every inch of him under my fingers. But that isn’t part of the game; I can’t have these things without him giving them to me first.

I continue waiting for his instructions while my pussy thrums with excitement, smelling the musk coming from between my thighs and realizing he can too. Knowing how much I want him will likely cause him to force me to wait that much longer for what I really want. His gentle form of sadism is to deny the greedy thing inside of me until it suits him to satisfy it.

“Look at me.” I raise my face just enough to see his kind eyes hidden behind his glasses. After all this time he can still make me hot with just a look. “You know I love you very much, don’t you?” I nod and feel a warm flush course through me.

In this skirt, in his lap, with his hands on me while he’s speaking in that fatherly voice, I feel so very small; this in turn makes me excited in a way I’m not accustomed to. He cups my chin between his thumb and forefingers, guiding my face up to make eye contact with him, his serious look making me realize my mistake. He wants me to use my words, which are difficult to eke out around him sometimes. I manage a shaky, “Yes.”

The playful edge to his expression lingers a moment before it’s gone, his eyebrow now raised to show he means business. I know what he wants to hear, the word I’ve agreed to end all of my sentences with and yet can’t bear to force from my lips. Just thinking this word makes me queasy.

Looking into his dark eyes, my desire to please him overrules any discomfort about the dreaded word. I start again, hoping the affirmation will be a palate cleanser for the filth that will come after it. “Yes…Daddy.”

The shame is a scalding tickle that takes over every cell in my body. Looking down at his lap to hide from his gaze, I feel more embarrassed than in any naked-in-front-of-a-crowd nightmare. It’s the one word I promised myself I would never say, yet he has managed to make even this taboo titillating, something I want to explore with him. I’m annoyed at myself for being so aroused by this lone, little word.

He kisses my forehead again, saying, “Good. Now stand up.”

As he looks me over, I return the favor, biting my lower lip to hold back a smile as I notice his shiny black shoes, the ones that do unexplainable things to me whenever I see them. Whether on his feet or in his closet, they make me wet. The old-fashioned, gentlemanly quality of them reminds me of every authority figure I’ve ever had a crush on but could never have.

There’s a quiet power that seems to radiate off a man in a suit and tie, both of which he also happens to be wearing. The dark pants hug his curves, hinting at everything I already know is underneath. His white shirt, crisp to the touch when it had been pressed against my face, gives off the scent of his skin and aftershave, that familiar smell that gets caught on my clothing so that I catch subtle hints of him when we’re apart. His suit jacket, still warm from his body heat, is casually tossed over the arm of the chair. I like to unbutton and sneak my arms under this jacket while he’s still wearing it, feeling the unyielding woolen fabric and the comfort of his heft all at once.

He slides to the front edge of the chair, slipping his knees between my thighs, hands slowly traveling down my sides. His fingers stop just before reaching my hips, using them to pull me closer. In this way he insists, without speaking, that I straddle him. I do so gladly, thrilled to have him close. It’s a struggle to keep myself from leaning closer to kiss him with his face almost, but not quite, touching mine.

I reach out to hold him around the waist, steadying myself and enjoying the heat through the fabric of his pants. It takes all of my self-control not to rub myself against him as I settle into a comfortable position. Even kneeling so I rest inches above his crotch, I can feel him stiffen a bit between my legs. I allow a small moan to escape my throat at the cruelty of not being able to touch him there. This makes him snicker knowingly and grab my ass through the skirt, kneading me with his powerful fingers. I paw at his lower back, trying so hard to behave myself.

“My sweet girl,” he whispers. I feel one of his hands trace its way up my back until reaching my hair, wrapping around the braids and pulling my head back sharply. I gasp at the suddenness of being drawn away from him and grab the front of his shirt so as not to fall over.

He kisses down my face and throat, tormenting me with his nearness. Using my hair as a handle, he tugs me around, yanking my head back when I attempt to move my mouth to meet his. I am moaning and pleading wordlessly, my breathing gone funny with lust.

When I can’t take the denial another second, I whisper, “Please?”

He stops and cocks his head so that his ear is close to my lips. “Please, what?”

“Please, Daddy,” I try. He tsks his tongue and pulls my head farther away from him, waiting for me to say the magic words. “Please, Daddy, may I have a kiss?”

“Such a good girl to ask for what you want.” The handle of my hair brings me closer this time, so our lips are almost touching, yet he holds me out of reach. My hands claw at his shirt, fingering his buttons and tie, trying to resist the urge to pull him to me. Just when I think I will go mad from frustration, he pulls me forward, kissing me deeply, all soft lips and the perfect amount of tongue dancing against mine. I am panting in his mouth, a starving person finally getting a morsel of something delicious. My hands run through his hair and to the back of his head, hoping to convince him not to stop.

The bulge in his pants grows, making it difficult not to lower myself until my bare cunt rests against the fabric covering his crotch. Instead, I distract myself with the wet throb of his tongue on mine. As I’m relaxing into the lusciousness of his mouth, he pulls me by my hair out of range again.

“Poor thing,” he teases in response to the pained noises I make at being denied again. “Stand for me.” I look at him in disbelief, unsure that I can trust my lust-weak legs to maneuver out of his lap. “Now!” He doesn’t raise his voice; the firmness of his tone is enough.

I stand and look at him pathetically as he motions with his finger that I should turn around. Behind me the chair shifts under his movements but I hear nothing else to hint at what he’s up to. Time does the funny thing where it slows to nothing so that it feels like an eternity before I hear the unmistakable noise of his zipper. Then silence.

My heart is frenzied and I can barely contain the urge to turn to him. His cock is almost certainly free of his pants now, just inches away. The idea that I can’t see, let alone touch it, is maddening. I want to know what he’s doing behind me; I’m on edge waiting for his next instruction.

I’m so focused on waiting that his sudden touch startles me. He chuckles while working his hands under my skirt. Sometimes his hands travel as far as the tops of my thighs in their ministrations but never stray between them. When my behind is so sensitive from his touch that I giggle, he stops.

His hands then work their way down the backs of my thighs, stopping at my knees to push them apart, a hint that I spread them wider. I do, continuing to widen my stance until my legs are as far apart as I can manage comfortably. From the sounds of creaking leather I guess he is leaning back in the chair.

“How about I read you a story?”

Though hearing him narrate a tale to me in his deep voice is one of my favorite activities, it is distinctly not what I was hoping for in this moment. Being a good girl, however, I stand still and say, “Yes, Daddy.”

There is more shifting behind me and what sounds like a book being opened, the pages settling in his hands. His voice is low and controlled, a late-night radio deejay purring into the airwaves. “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul, Lolita…” I can’t help but giggle at his choice of reading material, nor can I resist being swept away while listening to him read.

He stops and I hear the book being closed, followed by the further unlatching of his pants and belt. “Come sit on Daddy’s lap.”

He reaches his arm out to guide me as I turn, eagerly moving to sit facing him. He shakes his head, giving me the “turn around” gesture again. Not wanting to displease him, I turn and wait, a bit disappointed I wasn’t even given an opportunity to see that part of him I’ve been longing for all afternoon.

“Sit,” he says, using my hips to guide me backward. Convinced this will lead to more chaste reading of Nabokov, I’m surprised when he stops me just above his lap. I feel him adjusting himself. “Sit in my lap properly.”

I’m not sure what he means until I realize he’s using one hand to guide me lower while the other holds his cock steady, pointing in the direction of my pussy as an offering. The moment his cock touches my lips I realize how warm and inviting he feels. I can’t contain myself another second as I slide down the length of him in a rush. Once fully inside me, he grasps my hips, keeping me from moving. “There, that’s better.”

He wraps his arms around me, holding me close, and kisses my neck. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful; this only makes me crave him more. Small noises fall from my lips—moans, cooing and wordless begging—so desperate for him that I’m not even sure what I’m pleading for.

“Shhh,” he whispers in my ear. “Shh, darling, it’s okay.” He continues to hold me still; the lack of moving while so absolutely full of him is torture. I so badly want him to fuck me that I’m unsure how long I can endure this.

He reaches for the book, using his strength to hold my back against his chest with his other hand so I can’t move. He reads, this time quieter and closer to my ear, like a bedtime story. “There might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child…”

He holds me tight to his body as he reads, only letting go for one brief moment to adjust my skirt so that it covers my lap. He drapes it modestly over my thighs so it would appear to anyone watching as if I’m merely sharing the chair with him.

I give in to the situation, enjoying the wickedness of his cock being inside me while I’m hearing a story. It seems dirtier somehow than so many things we’ve done together. I rest my head against his shoulder, signaling that I’ll behave. This allows him to release his grasp and instead pet my hair between turning pages. I reward his trust by only moving ever so slightly to keep him hard and myself interested. Just as I’m settling into the rhythm of his words and becoming engrossed by the story, the front door opens.

My blood goes cold with panic. My first instinct is to bolt out of his lap to keep from getting caught at our game. Instead he holds me still. “It’s alright, shh, just stay here and listen to the story.”

Though I trust him completely, this is the hardest thing he’s ever asked of me. How can he be so calm? The door is wide open; anyone could walk into this room. He continues reading but I have lost track of the story. I’m focused on the sound of someone entering the house and sense the horrible eventuality of them heading in our direction.

Before there’s time to think about disentangling myself from his lap, footsteps travel quickly down the hall and stop at the door frame. The reading stops. I’m too terrified to look up and find out who’s standing there.

He turns his head to greet the visitor, resting the book on my legs, with his arms around me. “Hi, we’re just doing some reading.” I feel his cock jump to attention, the adrenaline of being caught seeming to add to the excitement.

“That’s sweet.” There is no edge of concern to the female voice, as if she hasn’t a clue the depravity occurring in front of her. She walks toward us and the urge to flee occurs to me again. Surely if she gets any closer it will become obvious that we’re mid-fuck. He subtly squeezes me, reminding me to keep still.

Recounting the events of her day in great detail, it’s obvious that she’s too absorbed in herself to notice anything else, or maybe she doesn’t care. Finally I look up and see that this is of course the friend who’s staying in the guest room this week. Who else would have a key to the door? I feel silly for having been so worried.

She crosses the room to stand over the chair, as if she wants to be invited to join us. When neither of us moves to encourage her diatribe on the lack of quality organic groceries, she smiles and leaves, saying, “Well then, I’m going to make some dinner, I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

She has no clue. I can’t help but grin at how much we’ve just gotten away with.

He pulls my face around to him and I see he’s smiling as well. We kiss, me contorting to meet his lips, his cock still inside me. Distracted by fondling my chest, he loses his grip on the book; the sound of it hitting the ground startles us both. We laugh for a moment before catching ourselves, looking in the direction of the kitchen, stifling our laughter by kissing deeply.

At any moment, I expect him to tell me to be a good girl and stand up so we can get on with the evening, not wanting to chance getting caught again. Instead he puts a hand at the back of my head so I can’t pull away from his lips. He increases the force of his kiss, making me so enthralled by his mouth that it takes me a second to notice he has started to move his hips. Once I realize that what I’ve wanted all afternoon is finally happening, I rock my body in time with his. When he doesn’t stop me, I use what leverage I can get with stocking feet on the slippery floor to move up and down in his lap, bouncing on his cock with enthusiasm.

The door to the room is still open so that we can clearly hear the noises of pots and pans from a room away. It would take very little to catch her attention, causing her to come back into the room out of curiosity. Given our flushed state and the smell of sex permeating the room, there’s no way to play innocent any longer; even she would notice what we were up to.

He feels so good sliding easily in and out of my pussy that it isn’t long before I mutter into his mouth breathlessly, “I’m going to come.”

“Mmm. You’re going to come for Daddy?” he whispers in the nape of my neck.

“Yes, Daddy.” I hold on to the moment, feeling ready to peak, desperate to relieve this full-body ache. Every muscle tightens until I can’t wait another second but know better than to come without his permission.

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

Those words are all the encouragement I need, so when he also snakes a finger between my legs to gently rub my clit, I’m a total goner. I come so hard I put my own fingers in my mouth to keep from crying out. My pussy clenches around him while he rides the wave of my climax, bucking against me, still fingering my clit.

Just as my body hints at a second orgasm, he startles me to attention by pulling me against him so sharply that my feet lift off the floor. He thrusts in and out of me in a frenzy. I feel him come inside me, mingling with my puddle of excitement to make a sticky mess.

“Such…a…good…girl,” he barely manages between breaths. I come again, listening to the squish of our bodies meeting. When his satiated cock slips out in the midst of my orgasm, so does a warm dribble of our combined juices, the pearly trails moistening the front of his pants and my inner thighs. I run my fingers through it, enjoying the mess we’ve created.

The delighted noise he makes while watching forces me out of my reverie. I half expect to be in trouble for ruining his nice clothes until he says with a smirk, “Look what you did.” We laugh naughtily at each other for a moment until I turn to kiss him deeply, finally able to wrap my arms around him, feeling his heart race through his shirt and tie.

“Now go get cleaned up and help in the kitchen.” He smiles and smacks my butt gently. Satisfied and grinning, I leave to set the table.