A New Orleans Spell

We've just arrived in New Orleans and it's our first night out. I spend a few minutes freshening up in the bathroom before we leave. A swipe of red lipstick, a brush of pink blush, and spritz of perfume. I'm wearing a tight black dress tonight that flatters my curves and accentuates my figure. It's modest, not showing too much skin, while but still incredibly enticing. It looks best when I wear an unlined bra, so my nipples push a slight outline on the black fabric. And of course I skipped panties with tonight's outfit.

When I walk out of the bathroom, you put your phone down and breathe deeply. Your eyes scan over my face and body, lingering in all your favorite places -- the curve of my waist, the soft roundness of my breasts, my long legs, then back up to my demure smile and sparkling eyes.

You tilt your head, almost imperceptibly, but I know my cue. I obey immediately, but not hurriedly. Keeping your eye contact, I sink into the bed and settle into Daddy's Doll position. I'm perfectly laying in the middle of the bed on my back, knees bent and feet flat against the white duvet. My arms are by my side, fingers nestled together. I widen my knees, exposing the wetness that always accumulates between my legs when you look at me the way you are right now.

With no panties in the way, you run your hand up my leg and dip a finger into the puddle. You smile and bring your finger to your lips to taste me. You're proud.

This is our ritual. Every time we go out, you insist on teasing me before we leave. I'm always quite happy to submit to you in this way. I know that I'll be obedient and devoted all night. And you'll make sure I'm safe at your side and maybe even a bit spoiled. Just maybe.

You help me up and lead to me to the door. I kneel before you by the door of our hotel room, reminding you that I belong to you. You run your fingers through my hair and hold my chin affectionately. You hand me my purse and we walk out of the hotel room, pausing to kiss before calling for the elevator.

Our first stop for the evening is an oyster bar close to our hotel. We sit at the end of the bar, feeding each other oysters and sipping cocktails. A live jazz band plays on a small stage in the corner. We laugh and reminisce, totally wrapped up in each other.

We finish our drinks and head to a popular jazz club down the street. It's crowded and loud. You lead me to a small table in the back while you order our drinks.

The live band is amazing, with a beautiful older woman as the lead vocalist. Her voice is deep and rich, effortlessly flowing out of her open mouth. I can't help but wonder if she only sings, never speaking. I study her -- the way the rhythm of the music seems to pulse out of her whole body, her beautiful manicured fingers painting the melody on an invisible canvas in front of her. She mostly keeps her eyes peacefully shut, so focused, but when she does open them, her gaze is glassy and ethereal.

You return with our drinks, the first round of many to come. I can hardly look away from the singer, I'm so captivated by her. You slide into the seat beside me, pulling me close to you, and join me in my admiration of the singer.

I feel a pang of envy, jealous of the way everyone is watching her. Her aura is so sensual that I can sense the eroticism in the air. And I know you feel it too by the way you keep your arm around me, mindlessly stroking gentle circles on my waist.

Our evening at this jazz club continues just like that -- more drinks, more music, getting wrapped up in the magic of this mystical city. We've fallen under the spell of New Orleans. It's romantic, creative, and thrilling. I can't imagine a better place for us. It's as if New Orleans exists only for us, only because of us.

Suddenly, it's quite late and the music is slowing down. You drag me out of the jazz club out into the cool night air. I stumble after you, tipsy and unbalanced. You pull me into your arms and your strong embrace steadies me. I bury my head into your neck and breathe in your scent.

A group of drunk men are singing in the street behind us, but I pay them no mind. I pull back from your embrace, and you place your hand on the back of my neck, bringing my lips closer to yours. I lean in to kiss you, hoping you'll devour me right there in the street. But instead of kissing me, you turn away and guide me down the street. You escort me smoothly through the crowds, never loosening the possessive grip of my hand in yours.

I lean on you as we walk back toward the hotel and return to our room. You help me undress and sweetly tuck me into bed, planting your soft kisses all over my face and neck. I smile and sigh, completely content to simply be Daddy's perfect, spoiled girl.