I stand at the door as she ran off into the dance studio, her pink tutu bouncing as she found her friends and the giggling and twirling that always preceded her class began in full effect. I see other parents, or other moms if I’m telling the truth, I always seem to be the only dad who brings their daughter to ballet but my wife always has work, or spin class, or bible study… or something. So for the past year I’ve brought her here. The moms sit and begin gossiping, I’ve hear the expression clicking hens and it wasn’t until I came here that I fully understood the reference. I had attempted to sit near them, to try to be social and they more than welcomed me. But it only took one session of their talking for me to realize that this wasn’t for me, wasn’t what I could handle. So I began to walk during the class, 45 uninterrupted minutes of time to sit in my head, to think, to breath and just be. It’s been like this every Tuesday since we started coming
As I turned to go I saw you standing at the edge of the giant glass window that looked out onto the quite street. You are there every Tuesday now, face flat, eyes staring at me, waiting for me. As soon as our gazes lock you turn and disappear, and like every Tuesday I follow knowing exactly where I’ll find you. The bell rings as the door swings closed behind me. A right at the end of the dance studio leading me into a side alley, then a left halfway down the alley into another side alley. I always find myself thinking how clean these alleys are, not like the ones you see in dingy movies, kids could play in these alleys and not get their clothes dirty, I guess that’s the benefit of the dance studio being in this part of town.
And there you are, waiting for me like every Tuesday. Your dress flowing and yet hugging your body as you look at me, unblinking eyes locked onto mine. Your face flushed, your hand moving unconsciously to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. I stand in front of you, our height difference never more apparent than when I’m looking down at you. Stepping forward I push you against the brick wall, not hard, but with enough force that it’s unquestioned who is leading this weekly dance. I feel a strange, unusual urgency welling up inside of me, and I know you can feel my cock already hardening through my jeans as I grind my pelvis against you. Never breaking eye contact, your gaze is as intense as mine as my lips graze of yours, not kissing you, just allowing my breath to wash over you.
Suddenly I grab you by the waist and lift you up, pushing you onto the tiny ledge where a window once was, now bricked up itself. Thankfully this little perch has always been the perfect height for this, forcing you out at the perfect angle, your ass perched precariously on it but the trust you have in my grip shows through yet again.
My hands hurriedly push the hem of your dress up until its bunch around your waist, neither of us bothering to remove the panties you haven’t worn since our second time together. My hands move to the top of your dress, moving and tugging it to reveal your breasts to the cool air of the alley. Your hands are not idle either, unzipping my pants, pushing them down enough to unleash my now throbbing cock from its denim prison, precum already beading on the tip.
As I lean forward my cock slides up the outside of your silky lips, pushing the head against your clit. I feal myself lean forward, finally finding your lips for a kiss. Slow, your lips so warm against mine, your tongue so soft and deft as it dances with mine. Before I realize it my arms are wrapped around you and I sigh escapes my lips, as I hug you tightly, breathe you in.
“It’s been a long week,” I hear you say into my ear, your voice so soft and full of caring. You missed me I can tell, your arms wrapped around me in a mirror of my own. This hug, this embrace is new, this is good. This is scary. This may be too much. This may not be enough.
Your legs wrap around me, giving me a full body squeeze as I feel your fingers running through my hair, a content sigh released from your lips. As you hold onto me my hips begin to more, my cock moving up and down, stimulating the entire length of your labia in torturously slow strokes. You’re so wet you’ve already soaked both of us.
“Now?” You say in what is both a statement and a plea.
I move my hips forward, at the perfect height, and you are always so incredibly wet for me that we don’t even need to use hands to guide my swollen head into your tight folds. I began to slide into you immediately, your hungry pussy gripping me tightly as I slowly slid myself in until my balls rested against your ass and your clit was grinding into my pelvis. A long, shuddering moan answered me as I bottomed out inside of you, your legs pulling tightly at my hips. Your walls flex and clench down around me, as if you were trying to hold me there forever.
I pull my cock out of you quickly, until just the thick head remains, then plunge it back into you hard causing your breasts to shake with the force of the thrust. You cry out again, burying your head in the nape of my neck to muffle the sound as I pulled back and did it again and again, feeling you grip every inch of me through every hard, deep thrust.
You moaned into my skin, your hand slapping down on my forearm and gripping tightly, fingernails digging into my skin. I feel your other hand slide in between us, rubbing your clit and causing your walls to grip even more tightly.
“Tell me..” you say, pulling your head back just enough for the whispered words to reach my ear. “Tell me I’m better than her.”
I can’t help but pause for a moment, turning my head and looking hard into your eyes. A flurry of emotions coursing through my body, but my mind and heart unable to parse a single one.
“You are and will always be better than her.” I hear myself saying without realizing the words are leaving my lips and I know that my answer is not only focused on what we are doing.
I hear as much as feel you let out a sigh as I lay into you harder than I ever have before, grunting with passion, rage, need. I can feel you building for me, as though I can feel every fold and ridge of you as you tighten and ebb, squeezing me firmly. You bite into my skin to hold back your scream, cumming in spasms so hard your entire body is twitching, your pussy pulling at me so tight I can barely move.
A string of obscenities spill from my mouth, along with noises I hadn’t heard myself utter before. Animalistic growls mixed with higher pitches. I can feel my balls tighten as they slap against you, the head of my cock beginning to throb. I begin to pull my hips back, meaning to pull out as I have every other time and empty my seed against the wall below you. But your thighs tense around me, holding me tightly to you. My body shook as I emptied myself into you, pumping in earnest. You’ll tell me later that the guttural moan I make as my cum sears your insides is something that never leaves you, that you think on it often, alone or not.
I stop and lean on you, both of us breathing heavily, gasping for air. I hold onto you until I begin to soften, kissing you. Our kisses are slow, languid, like honey your lips pussy and soft. Finally I step back pulling up my pants, the click of my belt sounding like gun fire in the alley now. Put back together I turn to see you standing, but leaning back against the brick building, eyes half closed in a blissful state, much different than how you looked when we met just minutes ago. I hear you giggle and I can’t help but ask what, “I can feel you leaking out of me,” you say almost euphorically. Your hand moving down under your dress and coming back up with two fingers covered in my seed, a smile spreading across your face as you bring our mixed cocktail up to your lips and suck it completely clean.
“Next Tuesday,” you ask, your eyes now fixed on mine again.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ra88wq/mf_this_tuesday_every_tuesday