Little Princess

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I saw Stacy for the first time at an open art exhibition held within the student center at our local university. The event was an opportunity for the public – as well as interested artists and gallery owners – to see some of the artwork generated by many of the students on campus. The event was well-advertised locally and since I lived within easy walking distance of the campus, it was a simple decision to attend. At the event, my eyes locked onto Stacy’s artwork right away. Her paintings exuded ominous overtones, much of it accomplished through the darkening of colors naturally present within the scene. I made a point to meet her.

“I absolutely love your work,” I told Stacy honestly when I found her. I held out my hand. “My name is Jim.”

“Thanks,” Stacy replied off-handedly, as if meeting and greeting the public were a barely endurable chore.

I discussed her imaginative use of color, which piqued her interest. I had no particular expertise in the style of art she was using, but I had taken an art class or two many years ago and I recalled just enough to lend credibility to the things I was saying. We discussed her art for some time that evening, and eventually I asked her to dinner.

“Aren’t you a little old for me?” she queried.

“Maybe. Don’t worry, I’m a decent guy,” I offered, trying to comfort her. She had a point. At thirty-three, maybe I should be a bit beyond the college scene. “You’re right, I am probably too old for you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

The truth was, I was drawn to Stacy from the moment I saw her. She was certainly not a traditional beauty, but she had spark, a personality and a fascinating dark side. Though certainly not goth, she leaned toward dark clothing and makeup, had her ears pierced in several places and, through our conversation, I discerned that she had a tongue piercing as well. She said yes to me, perhaps out of some morbid curiosity, but I was thrilled.

“We must look odd,” Stacy told me later at the restaurant. “A poor creepy art student on a date with Mr. All-American Boy.”

I almost choked on my soda.

“All-American Boy, huh?”

“No offense, but you look like you’ve had an easy life. You’re successful and clean. You should be in a fucking after-shave commercial.”

“Life hasn’t been easy, sweetie. How about you?”

“My life?” Stacy snorted. “My life has been a travelogue of dysfunction, sir.”

“Sir?”

“You look like a sir.”

“I haven’t been knighted.”

“I bet it’s only a matter of time.”

Through our conversations on that and subsequent nights, I learned that Stacy had grown up under difficult circumstances. Her parents were poor, alcoholic and abusive. Her brother was constantly in trouble with the law. There was more, but she would only reveal so much. I was certainly okay with that. She had a tough life and I did not want to intrude where I didn’t belong.

Stacy and I became unlikely friends. I owned a condominium near the campus, which became a convenient place for her to “hang out” on occasion, especially when she wanted to remove herself from college life for just a few hours. As a thirty-three year old professional male, I imagined that it must look strange to have a twenty-year old rebellious college student at my place so often, but I didn’t care. Stacy was a shining light and I was glad to have her around.

“Sometimes, the whole damn artsy-upscale-college thing wears me out,” she told me on more than one occasion. “If it’s not professors trying to make your work look more commercial, its everyone else who is there just to smoke pot and fuck.”

“Yeah, college was a trip,” I recalled.

“Sometimes, I think its great. Other times, I want to run away…”

“You’re always welcome here,” I told her.

“Why haven’t you tried to make a move on me?”

“I’m too old, remember?”

Stacy laughed. “Seriously, though, why not? Age sure the fuck doesn’t stop any of my professors.”

It was my turn to laugh, but my laughter was premature — she was dead serious.

“Is that legal?”

“Hell if I know,” she shrugged. “I always turn them down. I tell them I’m a lesbo.”

“That’s probably wise…”

“You avoided my question. Why haven’t you made a move on me?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I just don’t want to take advantage…”

“Take advantage…” Stacy sighed. “I thought that was pretty much what sex was about. Taking advantage of people.”

“And I thought it was just the opposite.”

“Okay, what is it then?”

“God, I don’t know. I guess sex is supposed to be about learning what makes each other tick. You know, trying to please your partner.”

Stacy and I continued this conversation, which made me horny. I managed to hide it that night, but several days later I couldn’t hide it any more. Stacy was telling me about some guy she agreed to date, how they went back to his apartment and started kissing and fondling, but when things progressed toward sex, she left.

“I wasn’t scared, but it was going to be the same old thing. bostancı escort bayan Guys just say whatever the hell they want, then once they get into your pants all of their flowery words just dry up and they want the fuck. What a waste of time.”

“College guys are immature. I was too, I guess.”

Stacy started pacing, wringing her hands.

“Do you know what ‘friends with benefits’ means?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever done anything like that?”

“No, not really.”

“Would…you…ever, you know, think of something like that? With me?”

Her words set wheels in motion. I told her I would consider it, but wanted to learn more about her first. Again, the truth was that I would love to have her as a sex buddy, but patience was demanded. I cared about her quite a bit, and I wanted to make sure that whatever happened between us, it wouldn’t be yet another damaging event in her life. We talked frequently the next few days, meeting one night at a local bar for dinner.

“Maybe you don’t want me after all,” she stated bluntly. “I’m pretty much damaged. I’m a fucking freak.”

“You’re not damaged, Stacy.”

“My childhood was bad, I have issues with things…bad things…”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Stacy looked up and eyed me suspiciously. The word sweetheart caught her off-guard and struck a nerve somewhere, but she didn’t respond verbally. She ate a French fry and considered my words. I sensed that my stalling tactic was being misinterpreted as rejection, which was far from the truth.

“Let’s go to my place, okay?” I asked.

“Really?”

“Okay, yeah, Let’s try the friends-with-benefits thing, okay?”

We left the bar and walked back to my condominium. At one intersection, waiting for the walk light, I turned her around and gently kissed her. When the light turned, I held her hand. Stacy smiled delicately, then bounced along at my side as we made our way across the street. We walked silently, hand-in-hand, as we made our way back to my condo.

“I have something for you,” I told her after she was comfortable on my sofa. “Wait a second, okay?”

“Okay…?”

I went to my stereo, popped in a cd, turned up the sound and let it run. Stacy recognized the tune right away.

“Oh my god, the Eagles!” Stacy squealed.

The music began and I lip-synched the first few lines, pointing directly at her in a way that let her know exactly where I wanted the evening to go.

“One of these nights, one of these crazy old nights,” I lip-synched poorly. Stacy laughed. “We’re gonna find out, pretty mama…what turns on your lights…’

Stacy ran to me, put a finger to my lips, letting me know it was her turn. Stacy did not lip-synch, but sang the lyrics right along with the Eagles. She sang happily, holding my hand and dancing with me. The next lyric, she looked me directly in the eye with a mischievous grin. “You’ve got your demons, you’ve got desires, well I’ve got a few of my own…”

The song continued and we danced ecstatically. Stacy moved fearlessly, without any hesitation. I thought she was the cutest, sexiest thing I had ever seen. The song ended and we rested together, our laughs subsiding. I caught my breath, then turned her face toward mine and kissed her once again.

“You seem to know what I need,” Stacy whispered. “That’s scary.”

“That’s what it’s all about, princess,” I shrugged. “Finding out what you like…”

“Princess…” she whispered back. “I don’t feel like a princess.”

“You are my princess, Stacy,” I answered. “My little princess.”

We kissed again, this time deeper and more passionately. I slowly took over, dominating the kiss with my lips and tongue. I pulled back, held her in my arms and stroked her shoulder length black hair.

“You need something strong and steady in your life, Stacy,” I told her. “Mostly, I think you need unconditional love.”

“Yes, sir,” Stacy smiled.

“You called me ‘sir’ again,” I said.

“I know.”

I turned down the lights and turned on some soft background music. I went to an adjacent storage closet and brought out a large mirror. I leaned it back against the wall and maneuvered a reclining chair in front of it. Stacy was both curious and amused by my realignment of the furniture in the room. At last, I sat in the chair and instructed Stacy.

“Would you please remove your pants and panties and come sit in my lap?” I asked. “Keep your shirt on for now.”

“I, oh god, I don’t…”

“Remove your pants and panties and come sit in my lap,” I repeated. I patted my lap. “Please.”

Stacy did as I instructed, but slowly. She felt awkward and nervous, but proceeded to undress, hiding her most private parts from my view for as long as possible. She had a tattoo on the small of her back, perhaps an animal of some sort. It was too dark to tell. She wrapped her left arm around my head and sat in my lap, her lightly tanned legs draped across my legs, her toes painted black. I pointed to the mirror.

“Look how beautiful ümraniye escort you are,” I whispered.

“I’m not beautiful, sir. I’m chubby and pale and…”

“You’re perfect. Open your legs.”

“Do I have to?”

“Open your legs, princess.”

“Can I…”

“Open your legs.”

I wasn’t angry, just patient and firm. She opened them. I instructed her to spread her lips and introduce me to her pussy. She laughed nervously, rolled her eyes, but she complied.

“Here it is,” Stacy said as her delicate fingers opened herself wide. We both watched in the mirror. The sight was amazing — her youthful body, nude from the waist down, pussy exposed for us both to observe. She looked sweet as she peered downward and fingered herself. “Sir Jim, meet my pussy.”

“It’s a very beautiful pussy, princess.”

“Mmmm. Thank you, sir.”

“I want to play with it now. Lean back against me. Keep your legs apart.”

She took a deep breath, but didn’t attempt any form of protest. She lounged back against me, turning her head into my neck and closing her eyes. I licked my fingers and passed them across the surface of her pussy. She sighed again and shifted her position.

“Just relax, baby,” I whispered.

“Mmm…” she moaned as my fingers massaged her pink flesh. Over time, Stacy approached the state of calm that I was looking for. She relaxed completely, her body draped across mine like a dead weight. I wet my fingers again and slid them carefully inside her.

“You’re so beautiful,” I cooed. “I love your pretty little pussy. You’re so wet.”

Stacy nuzzled into my neck, but kept her eyes closed. I stroked directly across her clit; she took a breath, turned her head and gave me a deep moan.

“Your clit is nice and hard. So sexy…”

“Mmmm…yes…”

Minutes passed and I sensed her slowly build toward an orgasm. My fingers operated in circles, rolling her clit around and around my fingertip. I kept a very slow pace for a long time, going back deep inside for more lubrication frequently. Her legs tensed. She was absorbed. She looked like an angel.

“I love your pussy, princess. Someday, I would like to eat it and fuck it.”

Stacy bit her lower lip, squirmed and cried out.

“Ahhh…god…”

She was close.

“That’s it, my little princess. Show me how you come. That’s my girl…”

Her legs flexed involuntarily. She moaned deep and she came, giving me several loud, feminine sighs as my reward. Juices flowed down her pussy and onto her legs and my lap.

“I love you, princess.” I kissed her forehead.

“I love you, too, sir,” she answered, with a soft smile.

Stacy and I spent time together, off and on, over the next few weeks and months. We did not always have sex, but when we did, I gradually tried to escalate things. Stacy took quickly to being subservient in our play, something I had fully expected. I introduced some light bondage one day, when I tied her wrists behind her back while I went down on her. She objected, but her objections were ignored.

“I need to eat your pussy, baby.”

“What if I don’t want you to?” she answered impishly.

“Are you refusing me?”

“No, sir.”

Stacy’s small objections became a part of our act and cemented her role as a submissive in our relationship. I ate her pussy with passion that night, knowing full well that her wrists were tied behind her. She happily squirmed around, trying to break free, to stop me from eating her, but she came several times as she did so. The struggle seemed to give her great pleasure.

“Please, sir, please stop,” she would say as she approached orgasm. Her begging me to quit and my refusal was often the extra kick she needed.

“I can’t stop. I need to taste you so bad,” I would respond, holding her ankles tight in my strong hands. She would come loudly, often still asking me to quit even as it became obvious that it was too late. After sex, we would often continue this dialogue.

“Do you like being my perfect little princess?”

“I love being your perfect little princess,” she beamed.

Stacy and I had no formal commitment. Every time she walked out my door, I could never be sure it wasn’t the last time I would see her. Stacy and I had fun together when we met, often seeing movies or taking walks or talking about art or college, but when we were alone together and ready for sex, she fell immediately into her submissive role.

“Tonight you’re going to suck on my cock,” I told her. “Have you ever sucked on cock before?”

“A couple times.”

“Did you ever taste semen?”

“No…that’s disgusting…”

“Tonight I want you to taste mine.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Are you refusing?”

“No, sir.”

I removed my pants and showed her my cock, between seven and eight inches long when fully erect. Stacy sat on her knees, her legs folded under her. She wore dark red lipstick on this night; the thought of penetrating those lips excited me.

“Princess, I want you to suck my cock escort kartal until I come. I want you to swallow me.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t know how.”

“Do I need to spank you?”

“Please, no, sir. I will try.”

Stacy sat up on her knees, grasped my erection and wrapped her lips around it, kissing and sucking the mushroom head with wonder and trepidation. She utilized her pierced tongue, pressing the metal tip under the head of my cock.

“Ohhhh angel, you are so good at sucking my cock.”

“Thank you, sir.” She continued to work on me. I wondered how much experience she had with oral sex. Her technique showed that this was not her first time, but she took such care to get accustomed to the feel of my cock in her mouth that my hunch was that this was not something she had done often. I didn’t push her to go faster; rather, I enjoyed watching her learn the taste and feel of my cock.

Stacy sucked me to a wonderful orgasm, my come shooting onto her lips and fingers and down the side of my cock. She did as I instructed, gathering my thick fluid onto her tongue and swallowing.

“You taste better than I thought you would,” she smiled. I wasn’t sure that was a compliment.

I knew that Stacy wanted a kind of father-figure in her life, and that is what I tried to be. I encouraged her in every way I could, including her artwork and class work. I held no expectations and made no demands. She was free to come see me, for fun or for sex, but then she went back to her life. Our arrangement existed only so long as she needed it.

The first night I actually fucked Stacy was a major turning point, an event that seemed to bring us closer together. I told her what I wanted when she came over one night on a whim, ringing my doorbell without advance notice.

“I’d love to fuck you tonight, baby,” I said flatly.

“Are you going to come inside me?”

“Oh yes. Strip down, lean over the table and spread your legs, princess.”

Stacy complied without objection, keeping only her black tennis shoes on. She lay her arms straight across the table and made certain her legs were spread behind her.

“I can see your pussy and your other hole, too,” I told her as I lowered my pants. “They are both wonderful. Perfect.”

Stacy giggled. “I’m glad you like them, sir.”

I touched the tip of my cock against her slit, then moved it up and down until she opened like a flower. I slid nicely inside and she cried out in delight.

“You’re very big.”

“And you’re cunt is so soft, baby girl. It feels so nice around my cock.”

“Mmmmm…”

I fucked Stacy leisurely that night, enjoying the slow build up. I frequently looked down and watched my cock sliding inside of her. I loved how her pussy lips conformed to my shape every inch of the way. She had such girlish, smooth legs and a small round ass; penetrating her was a dream come true.

“I want my sperm inside your body, princess,” I told her as I felt close to climax.

“Please sir…enjoy my body…”

My explosion was intense, waves and waves passing up and down my entire body. We made a mess together that night, dripping our liquids onto the table and floor. Stacy was not only growing more comfortable being my sexy little girl, but she was able to twist it back around and turn me on.

“Please, sir, my pretty little body is yours.” she would say.

Her words raised my arousal level several notches. She was challenging me, pushing me to find ways to be a more innovative lover. Fortunately, I never tired of finding ways to explore her body and satisfy her.

– – – – –

At the beginning of Stacy’s senior year, she invited me to a showing of some of her most recent work. This was a single-night exhibition showcasing her work alone. I told her that I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

I arrived in a suit and tie. This was not my usual evening attire, but I knew this event was very important to Stacy.

“Thank you SO much for being here,” she said, grabbing my arm.

“I love your art. I’m proud you wanted me here.”

“Oh — there is someone I want you to meet,” she said, holding my hand and dragging me across the room. She stopped in front of an older gentleman.

“Professor Jacobs, this is…my father, Jim,” she announced. Thankfully, I had not been sipping a drink, otherwise I would have ended up spewing it all over Professor Jacobs.

“Good to meet you. Your daughter is quite a talent,” the professor said.

“She takes after my side of the family, I assure you,” I responded. The professor chuckled, unsure if my comment had any deeper meaning.

After we parted from the professor’s company, I turned to Stacy and gave her a look that was both accusatory and light-hearted. She shrugged, but the devilish look in her eyes told me that she enjoyed introducing me as her father.

I parted with Stacy frequently that night, as she needed to mingle with some of the others guests. I continued through the exhibition, amazed by the quantity of work she had produced in the prior months. One painting of hers in particular caught my eye. I inquired about purchasing it. Unfortunately, paintings were not being sold at this exhibition.

After the exhibition, Stacy and I walked back to my condo.

“Father, huh?” I asked incredulously.

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