I hate going to bars. They’re loud; at least one group of people is acting stupid; and you never know when someone is going to bring that stupidity a little too close to you ... and that’s what happened on this particular night.
My boyfriend and I avoid bars for many reasons, but on this cold, wintery evening, we were curious about what the locals did for fun. In small mountain towns like these, it’s usually drinking. Since he and I rarely drink (for many reasons), we decided on this rare occasion to have a drink and take in the local scene.
We saddle up to the bar and I order an Old Fashioned and the bartender raises an eyebrow at me.
“I know, I don’t look like an Old Fashioned kinda gal, huh?”
Blonde hair, blue eyes, tall & slim but still curvy, I showed up dressed to impress (a.k.a. To make every other guy in the bar jealous). My floor-length, sleeveless emerald green dress fit like it was painted on.
“Nope, but I like surprises. You want the good stuff?” the bartender asks.
“Hell yeah, I do.”
My boyfriend arrives at the bar after hanging our coats.
“What did you order?”
“An Old Fashioned,” I say, tilting my head to the side to meet his eyes and give him a coy smile.
He calls out to the bartender, “Make it two!”
The bartender nods back in agreement.
Minutes later, we had our drinks. We take them in our hands and swivel around to look at the crowd. The usual bunch of folks you would expect in a mountain town this time of year: about 70% locals and 30% tourists. We had arrived about halfway into the night, so there was already at least one tourist offering to buy everyone in the bar a drink.
Twenty minutes later, my Old Fashioned is nearly gone and that familiar liquor feeling arrives. Unfortunately, my muscles aren’t the only thing that gets loosened up when I drink.
“I’m going to the bathroom. Be right back, love,” my boyfriend kisses me on the head and walks off just as three locals sit down at the bar two seats away from me.
For the sake of decency, I’ll spare you their conversation, but from what I heard, these three were swapping more racist jokes and stories than a group of rednecks drinking moonshine.
I tried to be ladylike and keep my mouth shut, but after that last joke, it just slipped out.
“WOW,” I said, with unexpected emphasis.
“Wow, what?” the drunk racist to my right asked, turning to face me. I continued to face the bar and gave the bartender a small smile to let him know that I got this.
“Wow. As in, ‘Wow, you are what is wrong with this world.’” I said, turning my head to look him in the eyes.
“I’m sorry little lady, I didn’t catch that,” he said, moving to the seat next to me. I turned to face him directly, our knees touching.
“YOU. ARE. WHAT. IS. WRONG. WITH. THIS. WORLD.” I said, firmly and clearly, looking blankly at him.
“Are you trying to flirt with me?” he asks, clearly drunk.
I lean in closer so I don’t have to yell. “No honey. If I was, you wouldn’t have to ask. What I am doing is resisting cutting off your d*ck and shoving it down your throat for being a racist piece of sh*t.”
He quickly stands up, and his two friends do the same.
“You trying to start something!?” he yells. More people start looking over. The bartender walks over, but I gesture at him that everything is OK.
I turn back and face the bar. “Since you like judging things by their looks, I’m guessing you think you could easily take me and ... what ... tie me up and have your way with me? Would that make you feel like a big man?”
He growls under his breath.
I turn to face him, the entire bar is now staring at us.
“I have 6 knives strapped to me. Do you want to guess where they are?”
“You don’t have sh*t, you little b*tch.”
“OK, you’re not scared of me. That’s fine. I’m not the only one you have to worry about.”
In that moment, my 230-pound built-like-a-cinderblock-wall boyfriend walks up behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“What did I miss?” he said, blankly, staring a hole through the guy next to me. Who knew such an innocent question could sound so threatening? I did, and I loved it.
“Oh, nothing exciting. This guy and his buddies were being racist shitheads. You know, the usual.”
He steps in front of me and gets uncomfortably close to the other guy.
“How about you and your buddies take your sh*tty truck back to your dump of a house and suck each other off.” Once again, not a suggestion.
The racist jerkoffs aren’t that different in size from my boyfriend, but I’m not worried. I know who I’m with and situations like this are such a turnon for me ... and him.
“Man, f*ck you, man. You and your ugly b*tch can go to hell.” The racist turns around to leave with his friends. Faster than you can blink, my boyfriend reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of the guy’s neck. He yanks him back so his ear is right next to his mouth.
“I was going to let you go, but then you talked about my girl.”
“Oh f*ck her man, she’s nast-” he didn’t get to finish his thought.
In that instant, my boyfriend took his left hand off the guy’s neck, put his right hand on the side of the guy’s face, kicked his feet out from under him, and slammed the side of his head into the bar. The racist falls to the ground, knocked out cold, but he’ll live.
My boyfriend turns to his two friends. “Get him the f*ck out of here and never show your faces in here again.”
My boyfriend turns to the bartender and hands him a card. “If they ever come back, call me. I’ll handle it.” The bartender nods and hangs his card by the register behind the bar.
He turns to me, takes my hand, and asks, “Can I take you home, my love?” The tone in his voice has completely changed. There’s so much care in his tone, but it’s laced with sinister intentions ... and he knows how wet that makes me.
We get our coats, head outside, and walk back home. He holds me close the entire way, knowing how cold I get after an adrenaline rush.
“He didn’t touch you, did he?”
“No, I would have grabbed his trachea if he tried to.”
He reaches over to adjust his pants, which keep getting tighter.
“Good girl.” He knows I have a praise kink and I love it when he uses it.
“Thanks, Daddy,” I say and quickly slap my hand over my mouth. “Sorry, it just slipped out,” I muffle from behind my hand. I’ve never called him that before.
He puts both his hands on my shoulders and pulls me closer, staring deeply into my eyes.
“Say. It. Again.”
“D... Daddy,” I say, not breaking eye contact with him. My heart is racing and I feel dizzy.
“Don’t ever call me that in public ever again,” he says firmly.
“I’m sorry ... why?”
“Because it takes every ounce of my strength to stop myself from ripping your clothes off and pleasing and f*cking daddy’s little girl right here on the sidewalk.”
I look down, blink, take a deep breath, then meet his eyes again. The dizziness passes.
“Take me home, and Daddy’s little girl will do anything to make it up to you.”
It’s a good thing we weren’t far from home because he may have broken my arm with how hard he was pulling me down the street. If the sidewalks weren’t icy, I bet he would have just thrown me over his shoulder and hauled me home.
We get inside the door and the dogs jump up, excited to see us.
“CALM DOWN,” my boyfriend growls and they go back to lying on the couch. His tone catches me off guard, but my curiosity has been piqued.
“YOU,” he says firmly and locks eyes with me, “will you be a good girl and do anything Daddy says?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I say instinctively.
“Good girl. Take off your coat and put it away.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Once we have our coats put away, he leans down and gently takes my shoes off. Then he takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom and closes the door. He motions for me to turn around, so I do and he delicately helps me out of my dress, then lays my dress neatly on the chair. He begins to get undressed when I say ...
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Um, I, uh, I think I’m a little too excited.”
At first, he has a confused look on his face, until he runs his hand up my legs and feels the juices sliding downward. His pupils rapidly dilate as he stands up, picks me up by the waist, and lays me on the bed.
“Oh no sweetie, you’ve been a very good girl, and I’m going to reward you,” he says, his voice a mix of honey and hot sauce as he leans down to lick the juices up my thigh. He takes a deep breath and a vulnerable, “Oh f*ck,” escapes his lips.
Before I can ask if he’s ok, his tongue, fully but gently, licks the entire length of my lips, bottom to top, stopping to flick my cl*t with his tongue before he swallows.
“F*ck you are the most delicious thing on the planet,” he growls.
“And I’m all yours, Daddy,” I purr back.
“Yes, you are, my gorgeous woman. If anyone tries to take you, I’ll kill them myself,” he asserts.
I look down to catch his gorgeous brown eyes and say, “Only if I can watch.”
In that moment, it feels like time stands still. Our eyes are locked. We both have the most shallow breaths possible. We couldn’t speak if we tried.
He calmly stands up, climbs on top of me, leans down, and gives me the most loving kiss I’ve ever had. He takes a gentle breath next to my ear. “You’re Daddy’s good girl. All mine. No one else's.”
“Yes, Daddy. I’m all yours.” As the words escape my lips, he moans and I swear I came a little from the sound of his pleasure.
Suddenly, he slides all of himself into me and my breath gets caught in my throat.
“All of you, I want all of you,” he growls like an animal in heat.
“Yes, Daddy. I want it all, I can take it all!”
He wraps both of his hands around my throat, gently but confidently, and uses the leverage to slam harder and harder into me. With every pleasure-filled impact, I moan louder and louder.
“That sweet p*ssy is mine!” he yelled. We’ve been together for years and I’ve only heard him yell twice, and never during s*x. The sound sends chills up my spine, yet also makes my muscles contract around him harder.
“Harder, Daddy. Give me all of you,” I moan, unable to control the volume of my voice.
“You want it?” he asks with a firm sass.
“I need it, Daddy!” I yell.
Just as I finish my sentence, he empties all he has inside of me, panting like he ran a marathon. He releases his grip around my throat, sliding his hands up to the sides of my face. With the most gentle look in his eyes, he leans down, kisses me, and then puts all of his weight on me as he wraps his arms around me.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The sound of concern in his voice brings tears to my eyes.
“No, not at all. I feel better than I ever have in my entire life,” the words sliding off of my tongue without a moment’s thought.
“I’ve never seen you like that before,” he said.
“I’ve never felt this safe with someone before. You allow my submissive side to come out, and that side of me loves you more than life itself.”
He loosens his arms from around my torso, sitting up to look into my eyes.
“Daddy will always take care of his good girl,” he says, kissing my forehead.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, my spectacular woman ... who wants to take a shower with me?” he asks coyly.
“Of course.” The words barely escape my lips before he hops out of bed, scoops me up princess-style, and strides confidently into the bathroom.