Conversation with my daughter while shopping the other night:
Me (eyeing a sexy red dress in the shop window): “I love that dress! Let’s go in and see if they have it in my size.”
She follows me in, protesting, “You don’t need that dress, Mummsie. You really shouldn’t buy that dress…”
I’m not sure what her objection is to it, but it turns out the one on the mannequin is the last one left, and I don’t want to put the saleswoman through undressing her if I’m not positive about buying it, so we head back out–reluctantly, on my part.
I stand in the store window as we leave, pouting. “I sooo love that dress,” I lament.
The GirlChild cocks an eyebrow at me. “What would you wear it to?” (She knows the Vegas trip is work-related, not that I will be out there playing as well.)
“Well, we might go out while I’m there… I want something fun and sexy in case we do.”
“Mom! Do you know what would happen if you wore that dress around all your work people?”
“Happen?”
“Every one of your workmates will want to bang you.”
I did one of those comical double takes that you only see in movies. “Bang me??” (Thinking, this is my daughter, talking about “banging”? And her mother, in one sentence??)
“Yes!” she says. “Every one of them! Well, except M.” (My boss.) “At least until she spits out that baby. Then, yeah, her too. Mom, you would be seriously bangable in that dress.” I just choke on my coffee and shake my head.
I could not stop laughing. When we get home she recounts the story to Ad. “Mom just doesn’t know how bangable she is,” she tells him.
Oh my lovely, innocent daughter.
Later that night, I am laying naked in bed next to Ad. He is stroking my skin softly. We’ve had to sleep very carefully, what with the rings, not doing the usual Jade-plastered-to-his-side-wrapped-completely-around-his-body that I normally do, and I am craving his touch, his skin. It’s weird how disconnected I feel if I can’t have that contact with him during the night.
“Please touch me,” I say. “Stroke me, please?” He curls a hand around the back of my neck, under my hair, breathes into the curve of my neck. I make an inarticulate sound of pleasure and homecoming as his body presses, gently, all along mine. I feel his cock begin to stir against my hip. It’s been so long since I’ve felt his hands on me, since I’ve felt him inside of me. I’m not even thinking of the rings as I turn myself slightly towards him, opening myself to his hands, wanting his mouth, wanting his cock… His hands slide around my hips, pulling me against against him. His cock, fully engorged now, nudges against my mound, questing, seeking blindly. He kisses me as his body covers mine. I open my legs further, inviting him in, sighing in anticipation of pleasure, heedless of the possibility of pain.
Until the head of his cock brushes my rings, and pain stabs through me. I can’t help it, I cry out, though I try to stifle it.
He pulls abruptly away. “You little temptress, you!” he says, as I reach out, trying to pull him back to me. What’s a little pain? He pulls the blankets firmly up and over me. When I am safely cocooned, he cocks an eyebrow at the pout on my face. “I think her mother knows exactly how bangable she is,” he says. “You should be thankful W and I watch out for you.”
I’m so very glad my guys have so much willpower. I am, I am! I would be miserable if I had sex with my rings right now, I do know this! But…damn…I am so ready to be, in my daughter’s words, “banged.”
Heal, rings, heal!