SOPHIA
"I don't understand why I still have to go to these boring events now
that I'm eighteen."
My mom shoots me an angry look and pushes me back into the dressing room, handing me an armful of new dresses to try before shutting the door on my pouty face.
"Most young women would kill to be invited to the places you get to go for your dad's work," she shouts through the door as if there's a foot of brick between us instead of a flimsy door that doesn't even reach the ground.
I tune her complaining out and turn to the stack of evening gowns. I know I sound like a spoiled brat, but they've been dragging me to these damn functions since I was old enough to smile and keep my mouth shut. Having a dad in politics is not a fate I would wish on anyone. Everyone always watches everything you do, and you're constantly surrounded by rich jackasses who can't do anything except lie and look at you like they're secretly undressing you in their minds. I always leave these ridiculous mansions feeling like I need a shower or a restraining order.
Looking at the dresses, I don't even bother trying on several of them. They look like some old lady went crazy with the bedazzler gun. Not my style, Mom. I'm no longer twelve, and you can't dress my like some damn little pageant girl. I stop when I get to the last one. It's black and has cutouts on either side and a long slit up the leg. This is more like it, I think as I quickly strip and try it on. It hugs me like a second skin and makes me feel sexy as fuck. This is going to look amazing in a pair of black stilettos. I turn, noticing the way the back is mostly open, revealing a shit ton of skin and making my round ass look perfect. I know this is going to earn me a bunch of old-man, lecherous stares, but I love how the dress makes me feel, sophisticated and sexy and like a real adult. Besides, fuck them. Am I not supposed to dress how I want just because they're a bunch of pervs?
I do another twirl in front of the mirror and smile. The fabric clings to my tits, making my rock hard nipples painfully obvious. Maybe this function won't be as bad as all the others after all. At least I'll look good. I change back into my clothes and hand my mom the black gown when I step out.
"This is the one I want."
Her brow crinkles as she eyes it. "I didn't pick that one out. The sales lady must've added it by mistake. Are you sure you don't want something in a more cheerful color, maybe pink or purple?"
I bite back the groan I want to give and force another smile. "Nope. This one looks great. Thanks, Mom," I add, gently pushing her to the counter so we can pay and get the hell out of here. She eyes the gown again, so I say, "Mom, we need to get back home so we have time to get ready."
That pushes her ass in gear. The event isn't for another five hours, but I know how much she hates being rushed. "Okay," she says, already reaching for my dad's platinum card.
When we're back home, I grab my bags and rush to my room. Shutting the door, I sprawl on my bed and grab my e-reader. Plenty of time for me to read a couple of smutty shorts before I have to get ready. These stories are what keep me going, and they're certainly the only sex I've been getting.
Okay, okay, the only sex I've ever gotten.
Whatever, my book boyfriends are fucking hot. Who needs some groping teenage boy who doesn't know what the fuck he's doing when I can read and fantasize about sexy, older men who know exactly what to do with a pussy, and I'm not talking about older, decrepit, soft-bodied men. I'm talking about the ones with rugged good looks, broad shoulders, they type of hard body a man gets from decades of living and working hard, and skilled hands who know a woman's pussy even better than she does.
Maybe men like that don't even exist outside of books. It's a depressing thought, so I push it aside and start reading. It doesn't take long before my panties are soaked, and I'm slipping a hand into them and cupping my sopping wet pussy. I stay on my stomach, reading as I grind against the meaty part of my palm, my clit so achy I can barely stand it. My hips rock gently as I tease myself, reveling in the I'm seconds away from cumming sensation that I love so much. I'm so engrossed in what I'm doing that when my mom bangs on my door, I let out a startled yelp and quickly bury my e-reader under my pillow.
"Yeah?" I say, hoping she doesn't notice how breathless I sound. "I hope you're almost ready, dear. We need to leave in an hour."
Holy shit! How could I have let myself lose track of time like this?
"I'll be ready," I shout, biting back a frustrated groan and sliding my soaked hand out of my panties before jumping up and running to the shower. My pussy is screaming at me, but there's no time for that now. Besides, if I'm being honest, I like the way my little cunt is throbbing with need. It makes every movement feel so damn delicious, like the smallest movement could push me over the edge. Even though, I'm in a rush, I take the time to shave, wanting to look and feel my best in my new dress. When I'm smooth and clean, I wrap myself in a fluffy robe and work on my hair and face before slipping into the scandalous gown and heels.