Shallow Runs Deep

Leaning against the alleyway wall, he stared at the night sky wondering what the hell he was doing with his life. It was that fucking song. Kicking the wall, he banged his head against it, trying to get it out of his head. Joey’d been singing it all week, and it’d started to make him wonder if that’s what they really thought about him. He called them his friends, but it wasn’t like he could call them up and have a heart to heart about how shitty his life was. He’d killed the only real friend he’d had, and he’d made sure to not let anyone get that close again. But now he was starting to rethink that too, all because of some fucking song. 

He missed stars, the kind you could see on a moon filled night when with no clouds and no pollution to block them out. He missed the summer nights when he’d lay on the baseball field, staring up at those stars, just him and the cicadas, dreaming those big city dreams of when he’d be playing in the majors. Now he was in the big city, the cicadas replaced by people, and the dreams turned to nightmares. It wasn’t just that song, it was the whole fucking musical. People fighting for a world they were never going to have, everybody dead except the rich guy who’s signing about all his dead friends, but still gets the girl and the money. He got the dead friend, no money, and he’d just lost his sometimes girlfriend. She’d given up on him again. He couldn’t blame her. Only so long you could go nowhere before people decided they didn’t want to go with you.  

He was brought back to reality by the sound of high pitched laughter as people stumbled home from parties they wouldn't remember in the morning. Dropping the cigarette, he ground it out with his foot before stepping back into the bar, pulling the door closed behind him and locking it. He had no idea how he was going to solve his latest fuck up, cause Pete was right. Paul was gonna be pissed when he didn’t make bank, and he was gonna make Hank pay for it out of his own pocket with money he didn’t have. He was walking past Paul’s office, stepping onto the bar room floor when he was hit by something that felt like a ton of bricks. “Fucking junkies”, he thought to himself, as he had the wind knocked out of him. His head hit the floor with a loud whack, making him black out for a second, which was just long enough for the guy on top of him to pin him to the floor. Hank was used to fighting - you didn’t work in a bar without knowing how to throw a punch - but the guy landed a punch to his kidneys and had his knee on Hank’s neck faster than Hank could react. He felt the guy’s breath on his face as he leaned down and whispered something Hank didn’t understand. It didn’t really matter anyway, cause Hank’s world was fading fast, and it only took a few seconds before his world went black.   

Hank groaned, covering his eyes from the sunlight streaming into his bedroom. His head felt like it was going to split in half, and his bladder was ready to burst. Three days sober, blown over a fucking song. He could barely stand, tripping over the sheet covering him as he walked to the bathroom to take care of his exploding bladder. Flushing the toilet, he started to head back to the bed when he glanced down and noticed the blood on his hands. “What the fuck?” Looking in the mirror, the right side of his face was covered in bruises. He had a split bottom lip and a cut above his right eye. Leaning in closer, he saw that it’d been stitched closed. He’d fallen off the wagon so hard that he couldn’t remember getting hurt, stitched up or how he got home. He was pretty sure whatever happened, it meant he now owed somebody a debt, and eventually they’d come back to call it in.  

Hank knew it was going to be a shit night cause It was ten minutes into his shift and Pete had already plopped himself down at the bar.

“What happened to your face?” 

“Got in a fight, Pete.”

“You lose?”

“Shoulda seen the other guy.”

“He put that tattoo on your wrist?”

“What?” Glancing down, Hank saw the faint outline of a heart shaped tattoo on his wrist. How the hell I miss that? “Couple of us got drunk last night. Must have ended up at the tattoo parlor.” 

“You better be careful with those cheap tattoos, Hank. I knew a guy who had to have his dick cut off after he got a cheap tattoo.”

“He tattooed his dick?”

“Nope. The infection spread…”

“Shut the fuck up, Pete.” 

“Just looking out for you, bro. Bad enough you gotta limp…” Pete stops at the sound of the bell ringing as the bar door opens. 

Stepping into the bar, Amira gives herself a moment to let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. Glancing around, she quickly realizes that while suited for the weather, her grey cashmere peacoat is going to make her stand out in the crowd. She sighs as she removes her matching hat and gloves, tucking them into her bag. Hiding the bag under her coat, she silently curses Filip for his ‘It’s New York City, dress casual but not too casual’ fashion advice. Boots, blue jeans and a sweater had been the logical choice. She just hoped nobody here realized they cost more than the bar was worth. 

Pete lets out a low whistle as he looks her up and down. “Think she got off at the wrong station?”

“More like her driver got lost,” Hank answers. Walking to the end of the bar, he leans over, resting his elbows on it. “What can I get ya, sweetheart?” 

“Could I have a soda, please?” 

“What kinda soda?”

“Whatever you would recommend.” 

“You gotta have a favorite.” 

She smiles, shrugging as she twirls a finger in her hair. “I usually let the guy pick.” 

“One soda for the lady coming right up.” Hank watches her as he fills the glass. She’s scanning the bar like she’s casing the joint, but the coat she’s wearing costs more than his first car, so whatever she’s looking for ain’t money. Putting the glass down in front of her, he leans on the bar again, flashing one of his Hank Thompson specials. “What’s a fine broad like you doing in a joint like this?” 

She glances down at him like he’s something she just stepped in. “Thanks for the soda.”  Taking the glass, Amira goes to the back of the bar, sliding into a booth and stares out the window. Sipping on the soda, she frowns as the sugar coats her throat and the bubbles go up her nose. Deciding it’s undrinkable, she wraps her hands around it, holding onto it, hoping it makes her look normal as she sits and wait

Glancing to the back of the bar, Hank sees that she’s still sitting there. It’s been almost four hours and she hasn’t moved from that spot. Walking around the bar, he picks up a tray and starts to fill it with empty bottles. Stopping at her table, he sits down across from her. “Your date stand you up?”

“Why do you assume I have a date?” 

“A girl like you gotta have lots of guys wanting to go out with you.” 

“A girl like me?” 

“You know, rich, pretty…”

“Pretty rich?”

“If you’re scared, I’ll be happy to wait until someone can get here to pick you up.” She turns her head, laughing at him. “What’s so funny?” 

“I can see myself out.” Picking up her bag, Amira slides it over her shoulder before putting on her coat, buttoning it up before she turns to look at Hank. “Thank you for the soda, Henry.”  

He watches as she makes her way through the crowd, listening for the sound of the bell as the door opens. It’s not until he hears the bell that he realizes that she’d call him Henry. 

"Let me check for you."  

He ruches her skirt to her waist and guides her onto his lap as he sits back in the chair. It creaks from both their weight. His hands spread her legs, draping them over his own. 

"Please Father Vernon... “ she lays back against him, trusting and eager to feel his touch. 

His fingertips immediately feel the dampness through her panties. His finger worms under the fabric to touch bare skin for the first time.

She gasps as his fingertips make contact with her wet lips. 

“Feel how wet you are, sweetheart?" 

He hooks the crotch of her panties with his finger and pulls them aside. Her hips shiver in unknown anticipation. Her body knows what it wants, even if her mind is a few steps behind.

She reaches down, carefully dipping a finger between her labia. 

"Oh, I didn't know... I thought that was- " she doesn't finish her sentence, too embarrassed. 

“It’s ok, you were just never taught, and here you are lost in the forest with no bearing,” he kisses her neck gently.  "But I’m here now and I’ll show you the way,” he says reassuringly. 

His finger pulls that wetness up and over her clit, gently rubbing circles. 

"This little nub right here is what makes you feel good,” he slips his finger between her lips, “and causes your sweet little hole to get all wet. Look how it stretches and clings.” He pulls away a thin line of viscous fluid, “That’s how you know it’s not pee.”

She gasps as his fingers explore her, her hips pump wantonly, lightly fucking herself on his fingers. 

It’s hot as hell the way her body instinctively reacts. It makes him wonder what she does when the lights go off and she can’t sleep. 

"Aria," he says low in her ear. "Tell me, do you touch yourself here when you're alone?”

"No, but.... " she says with hesitation.

He presses a kiss to her neck, his finger pausing just under her clit.

"But what, sweetheart? You can tell me anything," he encourages softly. "Have you ever wanted to touch yourself like this?”

"Maybe,” she moans, “sometimes,  a pillow or the railing on my bed feels good, gives me little tingles.“

He smiles against her neck, "That’s you playing with your pussy,"  He continues rubbing against the sensitive bundle of nerves, making her gasp and squirm. "It feels good, doesn't it? Like when the pillow or railing feels good?”

 "Yes, Oh yes," her head lolls back against his shoulder.

"That’s it honey, just relax and let me make you feel good," his voice is low and soothing against her ear. "Have you ever cum before? Really orgasmed, not just those little tingles?”

"What’s that?," she moans out.  Pressure builds up in her pelvis.

He feels her body tensing on his lap, understanding that she’s close to something she’s never experienced before.

"It's when it feels so good that you can't take it anymore," he moans, increasing the pressure on her clit, "like right now, sweetheart. Can you feel it? Is your belly getting all tight?””

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, but I don’t want to pee!!" she clutches at his arm, grinding against his fingers. 

The friction of her ass against his cock nearly makes him lose it.

“It’s ok Aria, let it happen,” he works her clit faster under her panties. 

“I think I’m gonna… I’m sorry, I’m sorry” she pants out, trying to hold back her reaction. She had never gotten past this point, afraid she would pee the bed. 

He understands the confusion. "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. Let it go, Babygirl. Let Daddy make you cum." Later he would try to convince himself that he wasn’t aware of what he was saying. But deep down he knew it and he liked it. 

There was something about the way he called her Babygirl, the way he called himself Daddy that made her untether from everything she knew. Only he existed and the pleasure he was giving her.

"Okay! Okay! Okay! " she chants as she lets it all go, trusting him completely. Her rhythmic vocalizations become screams as her entire world changes on his lap. She didn’t know a person could be made to feel like this all over and all at once. She feels as though he’s reaching inside her and clutching at her soul. Is he taking her there now? To Heaven?

Her legs snap shut on his hand as her first orgasm jolts her body. His fingers slow but don't stop.

“That’s it, that's my good girl,” he praises her. 

She shudders, warmth spreading in her chest. She knows now that she would never not want this man, never not need his hands on her, never not yearn to be called his good girl. His.  

Her hands unconsciously rub her legs. She’s mortified to find her inner thighs wet.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry I’m sorry,” tears well up in her eyes as she looks into his eyes with terror.

"Shh, sweetheart, it's okay," he whispers softly, kissing her forehead. "That was your orgasm, your wetness. It’s supposed to happen.”

"It is?” she breathes a sigh of relief, “that was cumming?"

“Uh huh,” he smoothes her hair out of her face, “did you like it?”

She turns her face to meet his eyes, “I want more, D-Daddy.” She tries out the name, finding it makes her feel safe.

"Mmmm, my girl,” he growls before he can check himself. “Of course hunny, we can make you cum again.” He strokes her hair, whether to soothe her or him, he isn't sure. , "Let’s go to lie down, my cock is so hard, it needs to cum too.”

“Can we fit your big dick inside me now? Am I wet enough?”

To Be Continued .....

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