“No Spanking, Daddy?”

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Lo and I had had a little lovers’ quarrel. The details of the spat are unimportant, but the upshot of it was that Lo apologized to me profusely and she wanted to show her penance in a tangible way. I told her that there was one way for her to redeem herself. “Anything, Daddy, anything,” she said, with a knowing look in her eye.

I lived up to her expectation when I said, “Tonight we’re supposed to have dinner with your friends and their parents.”

She nodded her head in anticipation.

“First, you must wear something scandalous.

“Like what, Daddy?”

“I’ll leave that up to you, but there must be no doubt that it is scandalous.”

She nodded in obedience.

“Second, you must not wear panties.”

Her lips were now licking the front of her teeth in that excited, hungry sort of way she has.

“Third, you must wear your Ben Wa balls.”

“Lovely, lovey!” she squealed.

“And lastly, you absolutely must, must call me ‘Daddy,’ at least once in front of your friends. I don’t care how you manage to do it, but you must say it audibly.”

She then pouted. “No spanking, Daddy?”

She turned her little bum round for me and showed me where to spank. I gave her a good whack that must have stung more than she expected, for she showed me a real pout after that as she rubbed her sore bum.

I went out to do some errands (including buying a graduation card and chocolates) while my little vixen got herself all dolled up for the evening. When I returned to pick her up in front of the apartment, I swear people must have thought I was a John picking up a trick. Lo was dressed in a very high hemmed black little number and a partially see-through white top made out of tattered yarn. Yes, she wore a black bra under it, but that didn’t prevent her from looking perfectly scandalous in her black pumps.

She hopped in the car and I said, “Hey sexy.”

“You like, Daddy?”

“MMMM, hmmmm,” I hummed.

We drove to the brasserie and our table was reserved on the second floor. It was a pretty steep walk up and Lo, knowing that her little skirt couldn’t conceal her exposed puss, waited till everyone else had gone up before ascending the stairs with me right behind her sweet behind. I watched as her seductive snatch squirmed its way up each stair with a little twist between her luscious legs. Barely visible at certain moments was the string of her Ben Wa balls peeking out every now and then. Just as I was thinking that it was good that no one was behind me, a waiter started going up the stairs. No doubt he had as good a view of Lo’s sweet spot as I, if not better!

So, there we were, sitting around a long table set for twelve. . . .

After some introductions, we sat at the candle-lit table and made small-talk as we enjoyed the delicious baguettes. Wine was eventually served, followed by appetizers, dinner, and much more wine. After everyone had had about three or four glasses, including a glass of champagne for a toast to the graduates, what started as a stiff and uncomfortable assortment of people grew into a warm and genial group whose barriers of difference melted away under the influence of alcohol like ice walls under a warm rain.

Between courses, my right hand slid its way down under the table to Lo’s knee and slowly worked its way up her leg to her warm inner thigh where I discretely fondled her clit and found my way to her Ben Wa string. I tugged on it gently, just to get the balls bouncing against each other inside her. She squirmed in her chair and looked at me. One time she almost made a little jump. I continued to touch and tease her every chance I got. Every once in a while I noticed Stephanie’s mother — a tall woman with long auburn hair — smiling at me behind Lo’s back. She sat to the right of Lo and it made me just a little self-conscious. Could she see my right hand fondling Lo’s lap? Was she flirting with me? I put these thoughts aside and forgot about the curious smile as I imbibed the wine and allowed the delicate flavors of the French cuisine to excite my pallet.

The meal was delicious and the conversation was enjoyable; however, since for every dance the piper must be paid, eventually the steep bill came and each of the young ladies — eager to get out into the working world, but, as of yet poor as church-mice — turned to their mother or father and looked pleadingly or appreciatively for one last show of support. One of the fathers scrutinized the bill carefully before begrudgingly paying his share, another put in what was asked of him, the two mothers gladly contributed to the kitty, and Lo, well Lo looked to me.

It was at that moment that it struck me — I’m not a boyfriend out with his girlfriend! I’m closer in age (and status, responsibility, and looks) to the generation of parents than to the generation of graduates. For the most part, Lo makes me feel twenty years younger. But, every once in a while there is that ah-ha moment when I realize how grossly mismatched we must seem to outsiders.

I gladly collected all the cash in the overstuffed leather-bound check-holder and replaced it with my Gold Card — the symbol of bourgeois respectability and financial security. (Little did anyone suspect the real situation of my finances at the time!) Lo looked to me with gleaming admiration and I have to admit that her love and esteem make any price to pay worth it a million times over.

After the garçon took the check, Lo leaned over in her chair and gave me a sweet peck on the cheek and whispered in my ear, “Thank you, Daddy.” I looked at Lo a knowing look that said, “Audible.”

She turned to everyone at the table and said, “I know a great Italian pastry shop just down the street from here where we could get some sweets.” She then turned to me and said, just as loudly “Do you want some, Daddy? I mean, ‘sugar daddy.’” Everyone laughed and all said that Italian confections would be the perfect way to complete the evening.

[Excerpt from the story, “Jealousy,” from the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail: downloladown@gmail.com

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