Kay stood in front of the full-length mirror and slowly slipped the Batgirl Underoos up her freshly shaven legs until they were halfway up her thighs. She paused, looking at her reflection. She was naked except for the purple and gray fabric suspended between her open legs. Her fingers moved over her dark brown skin, pausing to touch a stretch mark on her hip.
What the fuck was she doing?
She pulled the comic book-themed underpants the rest of the way up, watching the very naked-looking triangle of her now hairless pussy get replaced by a little yellow bat symbol on a swath of boycut whimsy.
The t-shirt went on next. It was purple and gray like the panties, with very short sleeves. It was far too tight over her bra-less chest, and it didn’t quite cover her torso completely. A thin embarrassing line of belly shown between the shirt and the panties, and she pulled at both to cover it. In the center of the shirt, right between her breasts, was another black bat symbol, this one slightly stretched.
She felt like an idiot.
Was she really trying to be a little girl? She was thirty years old. She had five gray hairs and big tits, and little wrinkles starting to form at the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t a little girl. She had thick hips and a big ass, and a career. She was a full-grown woman who was stuffing herself into silly little kid clothes. The most confusing part was that it was making her wetter than anything she could remember.
She picked up her phone for the hundredth time that morning and looked up his list again. How could a bullet list make her blush?
The worst part was that she had asked for all of it.
She had been seeing Mark for almost six months. In that time, they had had all kinds of sexual adventures, and Kay had loved them all. From their first date, which ended with her over his knee getting the spanking of her life, to the time they went to a sex party where she was “sold” off to a pretty couple. Mark had a wonderful knack of getting Kay to tell him all of the fantasies she had never dared to tell anyone else and then helping her facilitate making them reality.
She and Mark usually had dates on Saturday nights, and the next morning they would go to brunch and talk about all the things they had done the night before, as well as both discuss and negotiate their next date.
The list of instructions she was looking at came from brunch the week before. That morning she was a little too giddy and sipped her Bloody Marys too quickly when she got into a negotiation session with him. It had come to the point where brunch had become intrinsically tied to talking about sex. The smell of hollandaise sauce had started to have a Pavlovian effect on her.
“What if I were a little girl?” Kay said before taking a big sip of her drink.
Mark raised his eyebrow and bit into a piece of bacon.
She felt bold and flirty and silly, looking at him through her eyelashes and biting her lip.
“Explain,” he prompted.
“I don’t know. I like the idea of being innocent and sexy. Like Lolita or something. Seducing an older man without even knowing it.”
Mark narrowed his eyes.
“Ah, and I am the dirty old gray hair,” he said, running his hand through his short salt and pepper hair.
He was only three years older than Kay, but she teased him about being a dirty old man. Frankly, the gray in his hair was what attracted him to her in the first place. Though they were almost the same age, it was easy to slip into the fantasy of him being her college professor.
“I like the idea. I would be into playing that out. I need more information, though. So you are a little girl, and I am a mean old man-”
“I didn’t say you had to be mean!” she whisper yelled, kicking him under the table.
“I added that part,” he said with a wicked grin.
“Tell me more about what’s hot about the whole thing for you?” Mark asked in his usual inquisitive semi-therapist manner.
“I don’t know. I guess being childlike, amazed at the world, without any of the pressure of being an adult. Then there is the whole forbiddenness. Since I’m just a little girl and you are some MEAN old man. It sounds hot to pretend to be tricked or coerced or overtaken-” she said, suddenly both turned on and ashamed.
She looked around the restaurant to make sure no one could hear her. Mark eyed her, hungry and entertained.
“I mean, we’ve played with that a little. I don’t think you are exactly a full-grown woman when I put you over my knee and spank you,” he explained, stirring his iced latte and watching her squirm.
And squirm she did.
“Yeah, I guess not. I like that a lot. We should do that more. But this, I don’t know, I’m thinking about something more-” she said, imagining scenarios.
“Right, in this, you will play a much younger girl. You will be maybe-” he started, but she stopped him.
“Don’t put an age on it. I don’t know. That makes it a little too weird for me. Let’s just say I am a little girl. I am a little girl, and you are watching me for some reason. Babysitting maybe. I like the idea of you being in charge completely. You should tell me what to wear, what to do, everything.”
As she said it, fear ran up her spine. She knew telling Mark these things meant they were going to happen. She could certainly put the brakes on them at any time, but she knew she wouldn’t.
She had only stopped a scene once. Mark sometimes seemed psychic in knowing what she wanted and didn’t want. Once though, she asked him to really humiliate her. They sat and made a list of cruel words and fucked up things, and then she was tied up, and Mark had drilled into her deepest insecurities.
She had cried, and she had been broken, and when he went a little farther, she sobbed “red,” and before she knew it, she was untied and in his arms, and he was kissing away her tears and making things okay.
In a lot of ways, that was when she fell for him. Maybe not in a get married way, but certainly in a “this is the person I trust with my wickedest secrets” kind of way.
So with that in mind, she took a deep breath.
“Yes. Let’s do it,” she said, placing her palms on the table and smiling a wide exuberant smile.
“I like this idea. You will be a little girl who I can play dress-up with. Then maybe I can think of some other fun games we can play,” he said, never breaking his casual dry demeanor.
She swallowed.
“What kind of games?” she whispered into her coffee.
He chuckled.
“I have some ideas. Don’t you worry. You just let me take care of everything,” he said, patting her on the knee and then squeezing her thigh once, hard, in that way he did.
Mark seemed to know every pressure point and tender spot. The little mean touches were just about the same as kisses to her body. They stoked the fire the conversation started.
“Well, good. That will be the next date. I have a pretty pink dress that might-” she started, but another pinch silenced her.
“Hah, no, no. Little girls don’t get to pick their own clothes out. I am going to send you a box of things and a list. You should get them Tuesday.”
And with that, they got the check.
The finality of his proclamations always got her angry and turned on. She wanted to fight, but she wanted him to tell her what to do, too. It was complicated. She thought about being a little girl as they walked out of the restaurant.
Little girls never got to choose. Little girls had to do whatever grown-ups said.
Her panties were so soaked she wondered if she had made a wet spot in her skirt.
As they walked to the subway station, where they would part, she walked close, and he took her hand as they crossed the street. Just a tiny symbol of ownership and caring. She bit her lip and felt small and nervous and dizzy with want.
Before they got to the train, Mark pulled her into an alley and pushed her against the brick wall. He moved in to kiss her, and she turned her cheek.
“We shouldn’t!” she said. Her voice, cracking with nervousness, experimentally going up an octave.
“I’m not supposed to,” she whispered.
He didn’t kiss her, but he did put his hand up her skirt and growled into her ear, “you know, little girls aren’t supposed to have hair between their legs.”
She nearly lost it. It made her wet and angry and instantly put her into some new headspace.
He kissed her once on the lips and told her he would send her a list of instructions soon. She liked instructions very much. She liked concrete rules on how she should do things. It hit that exact place in her mental Venn Diagram where her fastidiousness met her submissiveness.