Bad Girl (the deets)Posted: June 24, 2014
This past weekend Daddy set up a threesome for us. When we’d discussed it in the past, I told him I trusted him to pick out someone for us. When he showed me her picture, though, I have to admit I was turned off. She wasn’t my type at ALL, but Daddy thought she was yummy.
I didn’t know what the rules were. I kind of hinted at my hesitancy, but obviously wasn’t clear enough. I asked him about her personality–I thought I could tell what she’d be like from the photos she posted, but I was hoping I was wrong. When I hook up with someone from online, I don’t choose strictly on their looks. I pick someone who looks like my type of person (Daddy’s profile picture is a marathon photo, for instance), and if the person can banter, seems to be easy-going and like someone I think I’d enjoy hanging out with, then I move forward.
When I asked him about her messages though, he said she sounded “just fine.” Looking through some of her texts I had some misgivings, but I wasn’t sure how to broach it with him because he’d already made plans with her. I avoided commenting on her appearance (frankly, she looked over the top, loud and tacky), but gushed over the photos of another woman we are supposed to be hooking up with soon. I figured he’d pick up on the fact that I wasn’t so into this particular woman, but no dice.
The day before we were supposed to hook up I wasn’t feeling great. I texted Daddy that my stomach hurt, and he said that I needed to do whatever I could to feel better by Saturday because we are “meeting a new friend and need to make a good impression.” Right, then.
I was really nervous leading up to it, but was hoping that she would back out. Before she arrived at Daddy’s condo, he and I went out to dinner. He took me to this great restaurant that serves creole food and we had a really nice time. We talked a bit more about The Girlfriend and Yoga Girl, and all of our insecurities about the situation. I told him my fear that The Girlfriend may want me to be strictly for sex, and that she may not want him to care for me. He said that wasn’t up to her–she has to deal with the fact that he cares about me, and she has to deal with the fact that she cares about Yoga Girl, and if she doesn’t like it then obviously the two of them “are not forever.”
He took me home and we opened a bottle of wine while we waited for the other woman. We didn’t have sex because he wanted to make sure we were both horny as hell when she got there. I crossed my fingers that she would flake, but despite being late, she did show up.
She was even less my type in person than in her pictures. I tried not to let it show but I definitely would have never considered being with her in any other situation–you know when you’re not just not attracted, you’re actually UN-attracted? Yeah, that’s where I was.
So to force myself to be okay with the situation, I just kept drinking.
It was a bad situation all around.
We started fooling around on the couch, and eventually the three of us moved it to the bedroom. I licked her pussy and she licked mine. I licked and fingered her until she had a screaming orgasm, and then Daddy fucked me, and then fucked her from behind while she moaned and gasped and came again. After a long while he told her that he was not even close to coming, so she breathlessly asked if they could take a break.
She asked me if I had a cigarette, which I did. Daddy has me down to two a day and I’d already had my allotment for the day, but he allowed me to have another one with her out on the patio. Then I got on my knees outside and blew him. Blurred Lines came on the stereo and I started dancing with his cock still in my mouth, and then said “Wait, what happened, it’s over?” when the song ended. She burst out laughing and then I started giggling and then Daddy said if I was going to be laughing then that was the end of the blow job.
We went back inside and I pounded another glass of wine without permission.
Daddy was not impressed.
The other girl gave Daddy a blowjob of her own (a very impressive looking one, I might add!), while I got on my knees behind him and rimmed him.
“That’s a surprising development,” he said. He had asked me before whether I do that, but I’d told him it was a soft limit. Apparently all the alcohol did the trick because I did it with no issue and actually kind of liked it.
Annnd, everything after that is a blur.
Apparently there was more drinking of contraband wine, more smuggling of un-authorized cigarettes, much drunken stumbling about and many instances of disobedience and rudeness.
I told Daddy I loved him a bunch of times, even though I had promised myself I would wait to say it. At least he said it back.
I told him I wasn’t being loud, and then proceeded to scream, on purpose.
I bit Daddy’s ass hard–he later told me I was lucky he hadn’t responded by yanking me up by my hair and slapping me.
I wandered out onto the patio and tried to curl up and go to sleep under a towel.
I was so hammered that after the other girl left, Daddy put me to bed and set the alarm for two hours later. He said I was in no condition to get into a cab until I’d had some sleep. When he woke me up, I was still totally drunk, but in slightly better condition. He put me in a cab as I apologized profusely, and he just kept saying we’d talk about it in the morning.
He told me to text him when I got home safely, and by some miracle I managed to do that. He responded with “Sleep well, Baby Doll.” Swoon.
The next day we had a confusing and heated discussion via text.
He said I had acted like a drunken teenager.
I told him I only did that because he made it clear I was to fully participate and it was the only way I could make myself fuck someone I wasn’t remotely attracted to.
He said he’d had no idea I wasn’t attracted to her.
I asked him what he would like me to do next time instead, and he said “Not get hammered and act out? I expect better from you.”
I felt bereft. I felt sick all day and cried on and off. I went back and forth between being upset that I’d embarrassed and disappointed him, and feeling enraged that I’d been put in this situation in the first place. I texted him later and asked when he could talk. He said the next day (today). We squabbled a bit more and then, realizing that this conversation needed to be had in person in order for it to be at all productive, decided to leave it.
Tonight after work I went to Daddy’s condo. I was late because we were short staffed so I had to close. I texted Daddy that I would be there as soon as I could, and he responded with “sigh.”
I felt so nervous waiting for him to come to the door and let me in. I couldn’t look him in the eye and followed him back to his unit like a chastised puppy trailing behind its master.
Daddy shook his head. “Well, while we have this conversation you might as well be naked,” he said.
I obediently undressed and stood in the living room with my hands behind my back–a modified version of the submissive position.
“Bad Girl” by Madonna was playing. Despite my genuine heart-sickness over being in so much trouble, I had to stifle a giggle. It was clearly atmospheric. He made me stand there and listen to the entire song while he moved around in the kitchen.
When he came out he handed me a glass. I expected it to be just straight Coke–a message of some sort about how my drinking days were over–but to my surprise it had rum in it.
Daddy sat on the couch and I continued to stand. I held my drink in my hand and kept the other behind my back.
I stood there naked while he detailed my transgressions from Saturday night.
“It will never happen again,” he said when he was done. “What do you think is going to happen if you ever behave that way again?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t speak.
“You probably don’t want to know what is going to happen.”
“No, Sir, I don’t,” he said, but the message was crystal clear–I would lose him.
“Now,” he said. “You are not obligated to sleep with anyone if you don’t want to. Ideally, you would have told me you weren’t into her when I showed you her photo so I could have cancelled.”
“I tried to tell you Sir, but you made it clear I was expected to go through with it.”
“You didn’t tell me you weren’t into her–you just said you were nervous. You need to be more clear about that. Next time you choose the girl.”
“But what if we like their picture but we meet up and I can’t stand them?” I asked.
“Then we need a signal–say you have cramps or something.”
“Well,” he said. “At least there were a couple of good things to come out of Saturday night. One, we know you lick ass.”
“Two, it was very nice getting to cuddle with you for a couple of hours while you were passed out snoring like an asthmatic old man.”