Oh. I laugh at myself, wondering what it is I seek so impatiently. Aggressively even. Elk mound WI adult personals I wish I knew. Daddy does, though. Daddy always knows. How he make me wait? “Oh Petula, bring me another beer!” This is wearing thin already. Stomp, stomp, stomp to the fridge. Stomp, stomp, stomp to the cave. A sharp look puts me on alert. Maybe now? “The stomping, Petula, it grates on my nerves and shakes up my beer. Go get a fresh one and step lightly. ladies do not stomp.” He is unruffled. I fight for control of my tongue and stalk off silently. I want to smash something. I return with an undisturbed beverage and hand it too him with a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. “The cap is still on, Petula.” He waves me off. My eyes roll before I can stop them, but not before he notices. He laughs. There is no warmth in it. Maybe now? “This time you can crawl. And Petula, don't spill it.” He doesn't take his eyes off his game. A sheen of frustration coats my insides, slick and oily. I stand there dripping irritation, shooting daggers from my eyes. But Mr. Fucking Unflappable won't be provoked. My worthy sigh goes unheeded. I give up and crawl for him, making my way out of the room with his bottle of beer gripped awkwardly in one hand. Something in the way my hips move as I crawl towards the kitchen makes me smile a secret smile. I wonder if he knows how good it feels to be on all fours, panties providing such a pleasant friction. Something in the way my flesh rubs against itself makes me wet. I wonder if he knows that I do not hate this. I slow my pace and exaggerate each swaying movement. I wish the kitchen were farther away. With an open beer to, I have to slither my way back down the hallway on knees and elbows. My nipples graze the carpet through my shirt, lighting up nerves. I am distracted by the connect-the-dots game my body is playing, but I make it without spilling a drop. He pats me on the head and tells me to turn around.