“You don’t need to wash me there.”
“Little girls don’t need to worry about anything except pleasing their daddies.”
But this is so…
Embarrassing.
And I haven’t had anyone else touch me or clean me there, well, ever. All of the boyfriends and girlfriends I’ve had in the past were perfectly content to let me shower, bathe, and wash on my own. None of them really expected anything from me.
Then again, maybe that was part of the problem.
Maybe they should have.
With a sigh, I spread my legs. Tonight is all about pushing my boundaries, right? And if nothing else, I’m going to walk away with some money. I’m also going to walk away with something else: the memory of his touch against my skin.
It’s like fire.
He smiles and nods, as though he’s silently thanking me, but I haven’t done anything.
Not really.
I’ve just given him my trust.
My admiration.
My desire.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and he moves the washcloth between my legs. At first, he just gently washes my thighs, but when he moves the cloth higher, and he touches me there, I feel like I might actually explode.
I might totally, completely come apart.
I gasp, sucking in a little breath, and he chuckles.
“I see you like that.”
“A little.”
“Just a little?” Hmm. How about this?”
He presses the cloth against my skin and moves it up and down across my pussy lips. Then he centers it on my clit and starts to rub.
Oh…
Yes…
Yes, I like that very much.
I nod quickly, showing him just how much I like it, and he smiles.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Somehow, that compliment is my new favorite thing. There’s no rhyme or reason as to why. I just really love the way I feel when he says that to me. I feel like I really am being good for him. I feel like I’m doing exactly as he wants.
“I like when you say that to me,” I tell him in a moment of boldness. He seems a little surprised.
“Good girl?”
“Yes.”