Chapter 10 #2
She stares down into her cup. “I have over two million followers. I don’t really know all of them.”
I choke on my sip of beer. “Two million?”
She nods without meeting my eyes.
“That’s, uh, quite a lot.”
“It’s a whole thing. Fairy kei culture. I don’t know if you know anything about it.”
“Zero, but I’m happy to learn.”
Those depthless eyes lift to mine. “You are?”
“Absolutely. Tell me about it.”
She does, while I serve us sesame chicken, rice noodles, and green beans.
It’s a Japanese youth sub-culture that revolves around fashion and art in a way I don’t quite understand, but as she talks, I piece together her outfit with other things like the whole Hello Kitty craze and get a feel for the aesthetic.
While she’s still talking, I hold up my knife and fork and poise them over her food. At her enthusiastic nod, I cut everything into bite sized pieces for her.
When she looks down at the plate, her face freezes and she quickly pushes the chicken and noodles to one side and the green beans to the other side, before continuing to explain what appeals to her about being a pastel princess.
A definite part of it is a Lolita-ish sex appeal; but the bigger part of it seems to just be the freedom she finds in the colors and cute accessories.
I’m reminded, as she speaks of what Logan had to say, about the joy Emily finds in being little.
I see the same effervescent energy as Cynnie speaks about being fairy kei; whatever in me that responds to Emily’s littleness rises and overspills as I listen to Cynnie.
I feel buzzed, even though I’ve only had a few sips of my beer.
The food’s forgotten. I barely hear the street sounds or feel the evening breeze that ruffles my hair. I’m completely focused on Cynnie.
I don’t even realize I’m making noise until she stutters to a stop and stares at me, her pupils expanding until there’s just a thin ring of deep brown, her mouth dropping open. She squirms in her seat and reaches out to put her fingers against my vibrating throat.
I sit back and the deep rumble cuts off.
“You’z growling?” she whispers.
“Uh. No, not on purpose. I’m not mad at you.”
“You dizn’t sound mad. Sounded like you wanted to eat me.”
I did. I do. I absolutely want to devour this bundle of enthusiasm sitting across from me.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She shakes her head in a cloud of long, dark hair. “Don’t ‘pologize. That’z so hot.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Maybe we should talk about that. Or, uh, set limits or something.”
She finally breaks eye contact, focusing on the food that’s probably cold by now. She picks up her plastic fork and spoon and takes a bite of chicken and noodles. Evidently, it’s still good tepid because she gives me a big grin.
“Peanut butter.”
I nod.
“I love peanut butter. And green beans. How’z you know?”
“Emmy told me,” I admit. “I wanted to make sure you liked what I made.”
“Iz really good. You’z tell me your limits?”
What the hell are my limits again? “I’m, uh, still figuring things out. I know I don’t want serious pain. I mean, I don’t want to give my submissive serious pain.”
Cynnie sets down her utensils and takes a sip of her drink. “I’m going to be big for a minute while we talk about limits, okay?”
“Yes, absolutely. I love it when you’re little, but this is probably important to talk about when you’re big.”
“Okay.” She brushes her hair out of her face and twists it over one shoulder in a long fall of black silk.
“So, if you’ve been talking with Emmy about me, she’s probably told you I’m not a masochist like she is.
” She watches me with those dark eyes and when I nod, she continues, “I’m okay with mild pain.
Spankings as long as you’re not hitting me hard.
Paddles and canes scare little me. I’m kind of a cry-baby when I’m little, so don’t worry if I cry.
You haven’t done anything wrong. I can use safe words even when I’m very little. ”
“How, um, young do you go?” I ask, remembering what Logan had to say about Emily’s little age.
“I won’t go too young with you—”
I cut her off, shaking my head. “I don’t want you to censor yourself. I want to see your little.”
“My little’s on the younger side. Three or four when I’m deep in littlespace.”
“Is your little, um, sexual?”
She shakes her head. “I need to be older during those times.”
I let out a breath I wasn’t aware of holding. “Okay, I’m good with that. But I don’t think we should go there tonight. Right? I mean, we’re just getting to know each other.”
There’s a flash of something that could be disappointment in her eyes before she hides by taking another sip of her drink. “Right. Bad idea on a first date.”
“Super bad idea,” I agree.
That is, of course, how I end up railing her up my bed three hours later.
I could blame the beer, but I had less than a whole bottle.
I could blame the warm August night that made everything cute and silly as we washed the dishes, flicking soap bubbles at each other until my T-shirt and her dress were soaked and we had to take them off.
I could blame the amazing round breasts and nipped-in waist she was hiding beneath her shapeless dress that I couldn’t take my eyes or hands or mouth off, as soon as she undressed.
I could blame any of those things, but I can’t bring myself to blame anything when I’m driving into her with that basso growl rumbling through my chest again at how good she feels under me, around me as she clings to me with her round thighs and soft pussy.
I shove my hands under her shoulders and grip them to hold her in place, so I don’t slam her into the headboard with every thrust and she’s squealing, moaning, panting in my ear as she rises to each plunge of my body into hers.
“More, more, more!” she chants.
I give her what she asks for, dragging down on her shoulders to pin her into the mattress while I hammer into her.
The pounding must hurt. I’m going at her harder than I’ve ever let myself fuck a girl before.
She buries her face in my shoulder and I’m about to ease off when she bites down hard and sinks her nails into my ass.
“Fuck!” I growl and buck into her as she pulls her head back, my skin still caught in her teeth and the pain throws me over the edge, shuddering all over in burst after burst of release that has bloody fireworks shooting behind my eyes and my balls emptying for the second time tonight with an all-mighty moan that comes from deep in my soul.
I jerk to a stop, holding myself over her on my knees and elbows so I don’t crush her.
She’s so tiny. Why the hell did I think missionary was a good idea?
She came when I was eating her out and again when I was bouncing her on my cock on the couch and I’ve read most women don’t come from penetration in missionary and her body’s still wound tight as a spring under me.
I reach down between us and find her little nub, flicking it with my middle finger until she throws her head back and howls a tiny howl and I feel her go over, muscles bunching in the arms and legs still banded around me and her pussy squeezing, squeezing, squeezing so hard I see stars again.
Her hands suddenly gentle on my ass like she’s just realized how deep her nails were digging and she starts stroking up and down my spine, a tapping that sets off a weird reverberation in my balls which leap again and the pussy strangling my cock squeezes and I swear I come again with another groan even though I’m sure that’s not physically possible.
She goes limp under me. So limp I rear back to check she hasn’t passed out.
She smiles up at me, eyes hazy and dark.
Those endless, gleaming depths. They swallow me deeper than her pussy and I glide in and out a couple of times, enjoying the way she sucks me in and squeezes, before I slip out and collapse onto my side.
Cynnie rolls to face me.
“Hi,” she says.
I start laughing. Her answering giggle fills all the silent spaces in my apartment.
“No,” I say. “No, no, no, no. You said that after the first time and that’s how round two started.”
“Hi,” she purrs it this time.
I grab a handful of sheet and pull it over my dick, which isn’t getting with the program that two rounds of crazy, animalistic sex are it for the night and is still twitching with interest.
Cynnie pounces on my chest, planting a sharp elbow into an incredibly sore spot in the hollow of my shoulder. “Hi.”
“Ow, fuck.” I shift her elbow to a less sore spot. She takes the excuse to face-plant into my neck. “Behave yourself.”
My hand slaps her round ass all by itself. I swear, I didn’t even think it. My palm just finds her ass like a magnet.
She giggles and wiggles all over me.
That’s doom for my dick, which fills so fast it pokes up between her legs, pushing the sheet between her pussy lips and Cynnie squeaks with what sounds like a mix of surprise and delight.
“Hi, hi, hi!”
“God, no.”
“From behind this time,” she purrs.
My dick, of course, obliges her.
Sometime around three a.m.—I turned my phone over so I can’t see the numbers staring back at me—I’m spooned around her, on condom number five, moving lazily in her.
It can’t be humanly possible for me to come again, but she can, and I’m fingering her, learning all the secret spots that drive her wild, when she whispers, “Put it in my bottom.”
“Uh.”
Smooth, Max.
First time any girl has ever offered me anal and the best I can come up with is uh.
“Have you done it before?” I fumble to come up with something marginally better.
“No, but I want to.”
I sigh and pull her tighter against me, cupping my hand over her soft, bare mons. “I want to, too, but I haven’t done it, either. I think we need to build up to it. Okay? Not tonight but we’ll work towards it.”
She shifts her hips, so I slide out of her and turns over so she’s facing me. “We’ll work towards it?”
Her voice is still soft but there’s no sweet lisp. This is her big talking to me.
“Yeah, I need to read up about how to get you ready,” I say.
“It’s not a test you need to study for, Max. You just put it in.”
Sure, theoretically, until I do it wrong and she starts screaming “red” when I’ve got my dick half-way in her ass.
I pull her back into my arms. “We will, okay? Just give me a little time so I know what I’m doing and don’t hurt you. I want it to be a good experience for both of us.”
“I want it to be tonight,” she says, nipping at my chin with those sharp little teeth of hers as she winds her arms and legs around me. “I don’t want to leave here until we do it.”
“Then don’t. Stay with me.”
She giggles. “Can’t.”
“Why not? Do you have a cat or something you need to go home to?”
“No.”
“Then stay.”
She does. For three days. The three most perfect days of my life.