Some days I feel this. I feel like an exhibitionist. I feel like all I need is to slide my hand under Little One’s skirt at dinner and start to finger her slowly. I want to tease her with my fingertips, running them over her most intimate parts, heightening every sensation, before slipping a finger inside to feel her delicious wetness. I want to watch her bite her lip and blush a deep red until the waiter arrives with our bill and asks if we want dessert. Oh, I want dessert, but certainly not the wilting cheesecake or sad ice cream sundae that the restaurant is offering. I want the creamy dessert between her thighs. That sweet and delicious offering she has for me. I want to practically sprint from the building, cock hard already, full of every need. I want to slip into a dark alley and push her against a wall and kiss her alive. I want to bend her over, lift her skirt, unzip my pants and slide inside, not caring who sees or who knows what we’re doing. I want to fuck her, to pound her, to hear it all, the city alive around us, the warm air running over us, and my little one knowing that the only thing I need in this moment is her.
Better be quick before we get caught!