Teasing Daddy at the Grocery Store

I’m a very Good Girl.

I’m submissive. So submissive, in fact, that I struggle to act a brat. I just want to make my Daddy happy, so I do whatever he says. Immediately. Without protest. Because I’m the goodest of Good Girls, and I bask in his approval like it’s the sun. I’m desperate for his praise the way I’m desperate for air: I need it to survive.

So I don’t talk back. I don’t get in trouble. I’m so good I don’t know how to be bad.

But I do like to be taken, roughly. To be used hard. I like to be needed, wanted, so much that my Daddy can’t hold back.

So sometimes? Sometimes in public I’m a tease. I suppose whether that makes me a Good Girl or a Bad one depends on your preferences; my Daddy is very much a fan.

It starts with the clothes. I only ever wear matching lingerie (the lacier the better), and I love stockings, either thigh highs with a garter or the kind with built-in suspenders. I love the feeling of the straps on my thighs, my ass — it’s like having someone touching me, and I feel their caress with every step. Over top it’s usually a short high-waisted skirt, a nice A-line that flares out with a spin or a stiff breeze, showing off my stocking tops if I’m not careful (oops!), or a longer skin-tight pencil, delineating every inch of ass and making the most of all my curves, making every step more of a wiggle. My Daddy likes the dichotomy of apparent innocence and obvious sexual maturity, so my tops typically aren’t low cut, but they’re often tight or sheer, showing off the lace cups struggling to support the mountains of tit I carry around; I’m a 38H or I cup depending on the bra, and the cleavage I can display is nothing short of vast.

On our most recent foray in public I was wearing my favourite little black skater skirt (it has pockets!) that sits high up on my rib cage, flaring out beautifully and skimming my thighs. I had paired it with a skin-tight white cropped tank through which the lace of my bra was painfully obvious, and a tiny cropped green cardigan to cover my shoulders completed the look, adding both more innocence and more respectability to the outfit; I’m an adult woman in my late 30s, after all, and while ‘dressing your age’ is complete BS, I also have no desire to look like I’m a teenager. Maturity is sexy, you know? Besides, the sweater helped protect several of my tattoos from the sun.

My Daddy is very much the quiet serious type; though my antics provoke many a smile, he’s not one to grin for the sake of it, so many find him a tad intimidating. With his beard and muscles and proclivity for dark clothing, he can be intense, but I adore him and his every smile is precious to me. We’re pretty sold on each other.

So there I was, skipping about full of zoomies, skirt flipping about as I danced on his arm, while he strode about and made sure I didn’t fall over. It’s been known to happen. I looked up at him at one point and just melted at the smile in his eyes. And then I got turned on (it doesn’t take much) and suddenly I was distracted by the need to distract him. I wanted to see the heat flare in his eyes next.

So I stopped and waited for him to look at me. Leaned in, plastering my front against his, and kissed him, soft and sweet and with a whole lot of tongue, right there in the middle of the parking lot. I hummed a bit, and then off we went into the grocery store. The one nearest is on the second floor, so you have to take the escalator, and as he’s a lovely gent he always lets me go on first. So I waited for him to step on behind me, and then leaned backward into him, wiggled my ass in his crotch, before moving away and climbing a few steps. As expected, the updraft caught my skirt and he got a good long glimpse of my ass. He stepped up, leaning closer to me again.

“Such a pretty ass, my Good Girl, in that little green thong,” he murmured, and I wiggled again as he held my waist, then stepped off the escalator.

We wandered through the produce aisle, and I made a point of bending over, inspecting the onions, the lettuce, the cherry tomatoes. Every time I felt the hem of my skirt flutter into dangerous territory, kissing the top of my thighs. As I was checking out the display of corn and making a show of reaching for “the good ones” on the other side of the bin, a motorized scooter whizzed by, and I felt the breeze lift my hem up enough to reveal the bottom curve of my ass.

Behind me I heard a chuckle. “I do like that skirt,” he said, and behind him we heard someone else grunt in agreement.

I blushed red, even though catching the attention of others had sort of been the idea. I like to be watched, but there’s still something shocking about it, particularly when it’s a stranger in public. I felt my panties get damper at knowing I’d been exposed, and I moaned a little despite my embarrassment.

My Daddy seemed rather amused by my mischievousness though, so I decided to keep up the game.

The meat section was next, and I leaned even lower over the various cuts in the coolers. Daddy stood behind me, wise to my game now, protecting me from disapproving Karens, teens, and grocery store employees, but occasionally would move aside when someone he liked the look of wandered near.

“She just stared at your ass and licked her lips,” he whispered in my ear, tilting his head towards a woman in her 30s with green hair and matching yoga pants. “And that guy dropped his ground beef when he saw how beautifully round your ass is,” he continued, pointing his chin at a construction worker in his 20s.

We ambled over to the frozen fish and I pressed my tits against the glass as I pretended to mull brands of shrimp. My nipples were tight with arousal and the chill of the glass from the freezer made them excruciatingly hard. I pressed my palm against my ass, pretending to modestly preserve my dignity by preventing my skirt from riding up further, and when he came to press against me again I turned my hand around, hidden as it was between us, tracing his length under his shorts.

“Oh, you *are* my Good Girl, aren’t you?” he chuckled, and I grabbed onto him with my other hand as he wrapped his arms around me.

“You know I am. I’m so good that I’m dripping right now, dripping like a faucet into my panties. One pinch of my nipples and I could cum, I think,” I whispered back.

“Well, I can’t leave my Good Girl wanting now, can I?” he responded. Before I knew it he had one palm on my tits, his other arm overlapping so no one could see his fingers wreaking their magical havoc on my body.

“I — oh. Oh, fuck. Can I cum, please? Please, Daddy, can I cum?” I begged, whispering, hoping no one could see but also not really caring. My pussy was clenching and I could feel my knees shaking. His answering pinch to my nipple was like a zap to my clit and my eyes started to water from resisting. Normally I wasn’t allowed to cum without his cock in me, inside one of my holes, but sometimes I was allowed to cum without it, if I waited, if I got his permission first.

“Is my Good Girl waiting for permission to cum?” he asked, and I could feel his lips smiling into my neck from behind.

“Yes, yes, I’m waiting, I’m being so good, I’m your Good Girl! Please, please can I cum, Daddy? Please!” I begged.

“That’s my Good Girl. Show me how good you can be and cum for me, cum right now!” he demanded, pinching my nipple so hard I saw stars, and then I was cumming, cumming so hard I have no idea if I made a sound or not, focused only on the sensations in my body, the feel of him behind me, holding me up, his arms clasped tight around my chest.

I felt my panties drench, warm and wet, and knew my chest was flushing pink, my eyelids lowering, my breath slowing, and suddenly I became concerned I’d soon find cum dripping down my leg.

“Oh fuck. Thank you for letting me cum, thank you for keeping me safe while I came in public, Daddy,” I whispered over my shoulder, and I heard the growl start deep in his chest.

“My Good Girl is being extra good today and sharing how hot she is with these lucky people,” he whispered back, “but we’d better leave now because I think my Good Girl needs my cock next, doesn’t she? Do you need your Daddy’s cock, Good Girl?”

“Oh god, fuck, yes, I need it, Daddy. I want it so bad. Please, please Daddy, can I have your cock?” I asked, my voice rising.

He shushed me and reminded me our location was my own fault and now I was going to have to pay the price.

“You started this in public, in the store in front of everyone, and now you’re going to have to wait for more. Wait like a Good Girl while I buy the groceries. If you’re patient, I might let you cum on the bus,” Daddy told me, and I whimpered in response.

It seemed like eons til we left the shop; eons during which I felt everyone’s eyes on my face, on my nipples, still rock-hard. Eons of feeling people stare at my ass, having seen the curve of my cheeks and maybe even the bright emerald green of my thong. I knew most folks weren’t actually staring at me at all, but still I felt exposed, like every sliding glance was a feather drifting across my skin, and far from turning me off, I was near ready to start begging to cum again.

Daddy could tell. It wasn’t hard, seeing as I had my face buried in his shoulder as much as possible, feeling the shivers racking my body as I leaned against him, hearing the nearly inaudible whimpers drift from my throat at every imagined stare, every touch of his fingers on me as he steered me out the door.

Back out in the parking lot, heading toward the bus stop, he shifted the bag to his other arm, reached out for my hand.

“You’re being very good, Z, but you need to use your words; you need to communicate clearly. Tell me what you need. Are you waiting for permission to cum again? Should I make you wait until we’re home?”

“I need to cum again. I need it so bad,” I whimpered, “I –”

The shriek of brakes drew our attention and we moved the final few paces to the bus stop; I couldn’t decide if I were more annoyed or thankful for the distraction, as my body’s urgency started to slow.