I admit it. I walked in the door drunk. I called him, and I giggled my way through a description of an early, but alcohol-fueled evening with friends. I was drunk…without any permission for more than a single cocktail.
We talked about how turned on I was. We talked about how much I missed him. I told him I was naked and wanting him.
“Touch your pussy, girl.”
Oh! I was wet and hot. My clit was on fire within seconds. I writhed on the bed, my heels digging into the mattress, my legs tangled in the blankets.
I whimpered and gasped. He told me to keep going. I moaned and panted. I whined and begged. He made me beg even more. My thighs trembled. My fingers sank deep into my flesh, shiny, slick wetness coating my skin. Oh God, I needed this, wanted this. It had been so long. Please, Daddy, please can I cum? Please?
“No you may not girl. Get your hand off that pussy.”
Stunned silence. Hips still bucking. Whining and fussing.
“Maybe next time you’ll remember to ask my permission before getting drunk. Right, babygirl?”