This story is from a friend in Canada

This story is from a friend in CanadaIt is partly fantasy, and partly true. Part of this did happen to her, and she built on the fantasy: He holds me close, pressing me against the wall. My heart beat races as I feel the fullness of his manhood pressing against me. His tongue penetrates my lips and plays with my tongue. He knows this is all new to me, and he has been nothing if not patient, kind and protective of me in our earlier encounters. But now, I see the more dominant, masculine side of him. His right hand grabs my panty-hosed buttock under my skirt, he pulls me even closer and grinds himself against me as he whispers softly, authoritatively in my ear, "You are going to be a good girl for me, aren't you Frannie?" I offer some half-hearted excuses to avoid the inevitable, but he insists that before he leaves tonight, I will have proven my respect to his maleness. Once again, but with even more authority he commands me, "Be a good girl."But my good intentions failed to come to fruition. Thinking too much about what I was going to do, I felt a sudden sense of panic at the thought of what actually happens when a man is standing before a kneeling female. As I apologized profusely for not being a "good girl", I offered a lesser service. "I could use my hand, if you want?", to which he replied with a brusque "No kaçak iddaa thank you." I could hear the slight irritation in his voice and felt an immediate sense of shame that the girl in me had disappointed this wonderful man. As he helped me out of the car, I said for the dozenth time, "I'm so sorry." He said nothing, smiled gently, and surprised me with a sweet, tender kiss on the lips. I floated into my house, amazed that a man could be so patient and understanding.I shouldn't have been surprised when he called a few days later and invited me on another date. I accepted his invitation without hesitation, ignoring any societal customs about the girl not appearing too eager. As a tgirl, I had no idea whether these traditional mores applied to girls like us or not. I dimly recalled over-hearing my mother telling my 15-year-old sister one time that she should never accept that first request from a boy for a date. Make him ask twice or three times before saying yes; otherwise, he will think you are easy. I put it out of my mind as I enthusiastically told my suitor that I would love to go out with him.He was neither cold or diffident when he arrived, but still had that slightly swaggering attitude that makes so many modern women angry. I found it exciting. We enjoyed a first- class meal, a rich dessert and I was becoming kaçak bahis a little tipsy after my second glass of wine. I was enthralled at how friendly he was with all the wait staff, and at how the female staff were obviously enamoured with him. But he remained unmoved by their obvious efforts to engage his interest and focused his attention on me. The conversation was sparkling, and I felt elated by his affection and interest in me. When he stood and invited me to dance with him, I tried to say No, but he insisted, promising me that he was a good dancer and that I should just allow myself to be held and moved by him around the dance floor. He turned out to be an excellent dancer, and afterwards, my cheeks flushed and my spirits soaring, I had a very carnal thought: If he invites me home, he will get the best fellatio this novice can give!After paying the cheque and tipping the wait staff handsomely, we are in his car and he asks the question. With his hand on my thigh, he asks me to come back to his place for an aperitif. I manage to squeak out a very soft but compliant "Yes" and he starts the engine. He pats my knee. "Good girl. I know you will be my good girl."Back at his place he is ever the gentleman. He tells me what a great time he had this evening, how much he loved our intelligent conversation, and how illegal bahis he loved dancing with a pretty girl. I blush deeply at the compliment and he smiles. He goes to the kitchen and returns with another glass of wine for me. I protest that I am not used to drinking this much, that he might take advantage of me, but he smiles disarmingly and replies, "I won't do anything to you without your complete permission." When I stand and totter unsteadily on my five-inch pumps, he catches me in his arms and pulls me onto his lap. I look at him with adoration, taking in his strong, masculine features, his lovely male smell, the strength of his arms (which I felt compelled to mention as he slowly swept me across that dance floor earlier), and that unmistakable confidence in his facial expression. I press my lips against his and moan. His tongue enters my mouth as if invited and I suck on the first male appendage ever to enter my mouth. His strong hand grips my thigh and moves up under my skirt to explore my panty line. And then I feel that first stirring of his manhood under my bottom, and I know what must happen. I moan into his mouth as he stands up, lifting me with him. His hands take my bottom possessively as he pulls me close with one objective: to show me that he is now fully erect and in need of relief.I reach down to trace the form of his fully-engorged cock through his pants and it is his turn to moan. I say, "oh, John!" as he gently but firmly pushes me to my knees in that commanding gesture that every woman understands