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The club was busy, noisy, and Kavinsky was dressed to draw attention. She'd had a bit to drink already, but not enough to be drunk, and she'd done a couple of bumps in the bathroom, but not enough to feel really out of control. Everything felt good, especially when she's dancing, her tight skirt scrunched almost all the way up, her top loose and almost hanging off, even as it clung to her.

She wants to get in trouble. She wants to have a wild night. It seems like a great night to do it.

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Daddy has a sixth sense for when she's going to get lucky and, when she sees the girl in the shirt, short skirt dancing, she heads her way. She steps in close, pressing up against the girl's back, an arm around her waist to tug her ass back into the waiting cradle of her hips.

"Hey, baby..."

She was surprised, for a moment, because she was used to men grabbing onto her like that. An overbearing height and the press of dick against her. There's none of that. The voice is deep and smoky, the hands familiar in the way they touch, like they know each other. Kavinsky doesn't know the face, but that doesn't mean they're not friends.

She smiles and giggles a little bit, leaning into the touch. "Hey yourself."

She doesn't pull away and Daddy is one hundred percent going to take that as encouragement. Her hips move in time to the music and she keeps her arm wrapped around the girl's waist.

"Having fun?"

"So far," she said with a sigh as they moved instinctively to the music. It felt more natural than dancing with the boys in the club did, more easy. She could always have more fun. Another bump, another drink. Right now, being held and dancing felt really nice though. She could definitely have fun with that.

She smiles playfully at the woman, over her shoulder. "You seem like you are too."

"Oh, yeah, baby," says Daddy, her hand straying under the hem of the girl's loose top,looking for bare skin. "Could definitely be having more though."

A little noise snuck out of her, soft, thrilled. She shivered and reached down, helpful to get the hand under her top, to feel skin against skin in a thrilling sort of way. Her hips kept rolling and swaying. She felt impossibly turned on, so fast.

"You could buy me a drink first," she suggested, licking her red painted lips, playing her tongue ring against them.

She slides her hand up, fabric gathering over her wrist as she strokes the girl's skin, up to her ribcage and down again.

"What does a drink get me?" No point in viewing this as anything other than a transaction. They always are. Daddy? She's more than okay with that.

Kavinsky looked innocent, wholesome, for a moment. Wide-eyed and sweet. An expression utterly opposed to letting a stranger touch up under her shirt, and the tight skirt bunched up in the crook of her hips.

"Depends on how good the drink is." She catches her tongue between her teeth when she smiles, a playful thing, teasing. She's had a couple, so she knows how good the drinks are. So, really, it's less about that and more about how suggestive anything else might be. She hasn't had a lot of girls hit on her before.

Daddy isn't buying that look for a second. Her fingers graze lace, the underside of a small, pert tit before she takes her hands away.

"I'll buy you the best drink you ever had, Mama," she says, grinning broadly.

"Mama," Kavinsky drawled out, dragging the syllables as long as she possibly could, lulling her head back a little bit. It was better than baby or girl or bitch, in some ways, but mostly just because it was novel and curious. No one had ever called her mama before.

With her head lulled back, almost onto the woman's shoulder, she let her lips brush her ear. "If I'm Mama tonight, does that make you Daddy?"

"S'what everyone else calls me, sweetheart," says Daddy, and she can't resist putting her hands back on the girl, one under her shirt, the other skimming down to rest low on her belly, pulling her in tight again. "You want to be a good girl for Daddy?"

Kavinsky breathed slow and deep about it as she was grabbed like that. She swayed with the grasp of it, and giggled a little bit, playful, teasing. The touch was possessive but not too tight that Kavinsky couldn't break away if she really wanted to. She didn't really want to.

"I don't know about a good girl."

"Well, if you're bad, I know how to handle that, too," says Daddy, grinning as she moves away, but only so that she can grab one of the girl's hands to lead her towards the bar. "So you know what to call me, Mama. What do I call you?"

They drifted through the crowd toward the bar, and Kavinsky stayed close to Daddy. She let her eyes track and linger over her, those edges of masculine trappings and those softer, fuller parts that convinced Kavinsky of femininity. It was a good mixture. Kavinsky liked it.

"You can call me whatever you like, Daddy," she assured. When they reached the bar, she draped her elbows on it, made herself all lovely, alluring lines. She pulled her skirt down just a little so it would keep covering the curve of her ass at least.

The tug at her skirt draws Daddy's eye, and she ghosts her hand across the curve of the girl's ass.

"Guess we'll have to see what suits you."

"If you ask me nicely," Kavinsky said with that sweet smile again, pressing her hips back for more of that fleeting touch, "I might even lay it out and not leave you to figure it out."

She considered that statement for a second, and then said, "Or, I might let you say what you think suits me. That could be a fun game."

The arch of her back is encouraging and Daddy's touch turns firmer, palming her ass, squeezing through the thin fabric of her skirt.

"You need to give me somewhere to start, Mama. Fair's fair." She leans across the bar, holding out a bill with her free hand, ordering two tequila cocktails.

The way that she grabs at her, not aggressive exactly but a knowing sort of touch, is more than enough somewhere to start for Kavinsky. She shifts a little bit, shuffles her weight, and her skirt climbs just a little bit.

"Somewhere to start, hm?" She runs her fingers through her hair, lets the neckline of her top sag in such a way to show the lacy straps of her bra. "I mean, I am letting you put your hand all over my ass..."

"Yeah, you are," says Daddy, her eyes dipping to take in that flash of lace. "Definitely not how a good girl acts, darlin'. You like my hands on you?"

Kavinsky hooked her heel against the kick bar under the bar. It changes the angle of her hips, the availability of her whole lower half to that bold touch. She keeps that smile sweet and coy.

"Better than how the guys have been trying all night." It was exactly how the guys had been trying all night, but she liked it more. It made her warm all over. "I bet you know what to do more than they do too."

"I bet I do," says Daddy. She's fairly confident about that; she's definitely never had any complaints. Her fingers brush the top of the girl's thigh as their drinks are put in front of her. "Bet I could make you feel real good, mama. Have you eating out of the palm of my hand."

“I hope that’s not the only thing I’m eating out,” Kavinsky drawled, eyes soft and smoky as the touch got even more bold. She bit her lip and picked up her drink, taking a sip. The flirting itself was good. Even if it ended up being just flirting, that was good. But she didn’t think it was going to be just flirting.

Daddy laughs, a low rumble in her chest, and she squeezes the girl's ass, imagines what it would be like to squeeze her ass without the skirt in the way, to be able to slide her fingers between her legs when she does it. She licks her lips at the thought and then sips her drink.

"Definitely not," she says. "I think you like being treated like a little slut. I got that right?"

"Mmn, getting warm, Daddy," Kavinsky said, smile getting a little daring in all that teasing sweetness. The touching and teasing was certainly helping with that warm feeling, that tingling that she did so enjoy.

"Any other things you think, Daddy? I'll let you know if you're getting warmer."

Daddy laughs again, taking another sip of her cocktail, giving the girl in front of her the once over again, her hand still firmly on her ass.

"A nasty little slut," she says, head tilted slightly, one eyebrow raised. "How nasty, though?"