by Joey W. Hill
Shit. This was Wolf, and she kept some walls up between them because she wanted him more than she should. Yet the tears were welling up, aching in her throat, making her chest hurt, making it more difficult to breathe, with every swat. He was hitting her harder, as if sensing it. Of course he sensed it. He was a damned Dom.
She’d willingly relinquished her dignity in scenes with Masters and Mistresses who demanded it, letting the emotions ebb and flow as they would, because that was part of the pleasure for both of them. The personal reward, satisfying their demands, was worth any perceived embarrassment. It also showed those watching this was a safe space to explore every corner of their needs.
But this was different. She normally made that choice, and this hadn’t felt like a conscious decision. She fought it, and started strangling on the reaction.
“Let it go, little one,” he said firmly. “You’re safe, and I’m going to look after you.”
He was going to break her heart. No, he was going to stomp it into nothingness. She had her fist pressed against her lips and teeth, trying not to go there, but it didn’t matter. The tears overflowed, the sobs burst forth.
It wasn’t an ugly cathartic cry, thank the gods, but as soon as she let it go, she knew what it was and why it had happened. So did he.
“All right then. Sshh.” He’d spanked her through the worst of it, but as the sobs started to diminish, he eased her up, gripping her elbow, and brought her to him. He shifted so his back was to the group, her shielded in front of him. Every person in the packed room was silent, their hushed presence a warm cocoon reinforcing his arms around her. They would see her hands which came around, gripped his back, clung, as she tried to get her emotions under control. “It’s all right. Daddy’s here,” he said. “All is forgiven. You only have to be yourself to be loved.”
That one hurt worse than anything else, such that she shuddered on one last hard sob. He tightened his grip. He adjusted a few inches, the amount necessary to turn slightly toward the group and address them, but still kept her shielded from their view.
“Before the session started tonight, I asked Ella a difficult question about herself. She asked for the right to refuse to answer, and I granted it, with the condition that a punishment would be meted out instead. This was not that punishment, so don’t get too relieved, little one,” he said dryly, squeezing her. She snuffled a sheepish chuckle against him, responding to the tentative laughter of the group.
“But when I punished her for choosing the wrong stuffed animal,” he continued, “her submissive reaction to hiding her true desires and lying to her Daddy, her Dom, came to the surface. Such a reaction usually connects to a lot of things. Every day we have the chance to succeed or fail, connect to others or drive them away. Say the right thing or wrong thing. Feel like we’ve accomplished something, or that we’ve wasted another day of the life given to us. It builds up in our subconscious, and especially for a submissive, it can lead to a sense of failure hard to shake, when she doesn’t think she’s met her own expectations, which are far higher than any her Dom will ever set.
“That’s an important note about Daddy/little girl play,” he added. “Your little girl gets the chance to let go of that. She can be playful, unselfconscious, knowing Daddy will tell her if she does something wrong and needs to correct her behavior. And he decides the punishment for that. Once that’s been done, there’s no fallout or collateral damage. It’s simply done and she can move on.”
He turned his attention back to Ella. He plucked a tissue out of a box on the table, a staple in most rooms. He eased her back onto the table and dabbed at her eyes, wiping away the tears, wiping her nose. Her hands were on his wrists, holding onto him as she trembled, still shaken.
“Good girl.” He brushed a loose lock of her hair back from her face. “That’s my very good girl. Now, go pick the one you really wanted, and remember you always tell Daddy the truth, whether in action or word.”
“Yes sir.” The genuine approval in his eyes steadied her. That, as well as muscle memory from a thousand scenes put her back on track for their audience. She returned to the table, put the gray bunny back. Then she closed her hand on the wolf. While the other stuffed animals had the soft colors and benign expressions expected for a children’s toy, the wolf was black, with defiant amber eyes. No open mouth, so it gave the stuffed animal a serious look. The silky fur and floppy limbs fit against her bosom just right, though. She could rest her chin on top of the toy’s head as she slept, its presence against her a comfort. It was a good size, about eighteen inches high.
There was a ripple of laughter through the room, responding to her choosing the “wolf.” She could be embarrassed by that, but she knew one thing for certain. She wasn’t returning it or offering it up to the attendees when they chose their own stuffed animal. She’d reimburse the club for it if needed.
“I don’t believe in overanalyzing,” Wolf said to the group as she returned to his side. Back in character, she hopped up onto the table once more, letting her legs swing free as she cradled the wolf beneath her breasts. “I think we have instincts far smarter than our conscious thoughts. Daddy Dom/little girl play provides an opportunity to reinforce the desires you have on both sides, to need and be needed.”
He swept the room with his gaze, touching on attentive couples. “Maybe your woman needs the reminder that she can rely on you to take care of her. Maybe your man needs the validation of knowing you trust him to care for you. Women often think relinquishing power to the man they love is weakness, a betrayal of feminist principles. Men are told being protective and territorial is Neanderthal-ish. We face that issue in many Master/sub relationships, and sometimes it takes some serious work to get past it, really embrace the relationship you want with one another. Daddy Dom/little girl dynamics give us a playful option, which might help loosen up those expectations more quickly.”
He glanced toward Ella, giving her a thoughtful look that made her heart skip a beat. “Whether you embrace a Daddy Dom/little girl relationship fully, or it’s another aspect of your Master/sub relationship, the main thing is to do what works for the two of you. That’s how you find what you’re really wanting, deep inside.”
From there they went into specific elements of the Daddy Dom/little girl relationship. The workshop ran over, not surprisingly. Wolf answered a bunch of questions, as did Ella.
“Yes, you can do subtle things in public,” she told one woman. The redhead with gold rimmed glasses and the earnest look of a Type A personality had started the workshop looking far more nervous than she did now.
“It’s actually a lot of fun, sending ‘secret messages’ to Daddy when you’re around others. Like for instance, you’re out for a walk together. Maybe your Daddy has a rule that you have to hold his hand to cross the street.” Ella looked at the woman’s fingers, laced with her Dom’s. The dark-haired young man with a bushy beard and knit cap had kept her hand in his, resting on his knee, throughout the workshop. “So, at every traffic crossing, you take his hand. Nobody would think anything about a couple holding hands, right?”
She sidled up to Wolf as she spoke, slipped her hand into his. When she stepped away from him so she could swing their arms between them, just like a little girl, the audience laughed. His grip held her fast, his palm and fingers warm against hers. When she met his gaze, he was looking at her in that steady, stomach-jumping way, as if in his mind, he was responding to her in a far different manner. She cleared her throat, earning a glint of male satisfaction.
“Getting piggy-back rides from your Daddy is another thing that passes as flirtatious love play between adults,” she continued. “Even vanilla lovers who aren’t aware of the nuances of Daddy Dom/little girl play are getting in touch with that dynamic when they do things like that. The nice thing about vanilla is it can blend with so many other flavors. Between partners who are loving and open with one another, there’s a delightful D/s language playing out between us all the time, whether we know it or not.�
�
“Can’t think of a better note to end this on,” Wolf said, glancing at the wall clock. “If you have further questions, both Ella and I are on the Club Atlantis message board…”
As he concluded the workshop, the attendees applauded and began to rise, moving to the side table to pick up their literature, look at the books, and take their free stuffed animal. Ella hiked herself back up on the table, feet swinging, watching. She expected Wolf to slip out, because usually the presenter’s assistant oversaw this part of things, and he did so, giving her a nod.
Having her remain behind served a dual purpose. The Dom tended to draw more hangers-on at the end of a class, so it cleared people out more quickly in his absence. It also gave the Dom the opportunity to go to his next commitment, if he couldn’t linger. She didn’t know Wolf’s schedule tonight, but wouldn’t be surprised if he had a couple sessions pending.
It took about ten minutes for everyone to drift out. All the animals had been taken, except the wolf she’d kept with her, no matter that more than one person had looked longingly at it. She was usually very generous. She didn’t collect possessions, even giving away most of her precious dog-eared books after she read them, so someone else could discover the stories. She wasn’t ready to let go of the wolf, though.
“You’re very good at this.”
She jumped. Wolf was back, leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you there,” she said. “Thanks. I think it was a really good class. You teach it well.”
“Yeah. We set the bar pretty high for Madelyn. She’ll have to up her game.”
Ella chuckled. “I’ll be sure and tell her. She’ll take it as a personal challenge from one of those ‘damn Doms.’” What she and Chantal routinely called all the Masters.
His gaze gleamed with humor, but then his expression changed in a way that had her pulse fluttering. “You owe me a punishment.”
“Yes. Yes, sir.”
He moved from the door, but he didn’t seem in any hurry, sauntering up the aisle, straightening a couple chairs, bending to pick up a half empty water bottle someone had left. He fired it toward the trashcan in the far corner of the room. It bounced off the wall above the can and fell into it.
Doms technically never had to lift a finger when subs were around, relying on them to handle cleanup at events. Wolf often did things like this, showing he understood the line between reinforcing the submissive craving and providing free labor to lazy-assed Doms. That quote came from Anwyn, when she’d taken a Domme to task for leaving tissues and other debris from her scenes lying around the public play areas.
Now he stopped in the middle of the aisle, and tilted his head at her. “Do you remember your father?” he asked.
He knew how to keep her off balance. It was another loaded question, but this one she could handle. “Just a photo album in my head. Pictures with feelings. He’s raking leaves. I ‘helped,’” a difficult smile curved her lips, “which meant he stopped and played in the leaf piles with me until he had to get back to it. He told me to sit on the stoop and read to him from the book I was holding. Can’t remember what the title was, and I wish I could.”
It was about a horse, she thought. An old book from the school library, with a worn greenish-gray cover and stamped gold lettering on the spine. “Then it sort of fades out, probably because I was reading and lost in the story, but the picture comes back sharp when he’s done raking. He sat on the upper step, me just below him. He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head for a second. Then he let me stay there, him leaning back on his elbows, drinking a beer and gazing up into the trees while I read. I stayed in this cocoon of his arms and legs. Maybe for twenty minutes. Maybe for a month. It felt like the best place to be.”
Wolf turned, went to the back and drew a wooden footstool from beneath the back table, an aid to shorter presenters when raising the mobile projector screen on its tripod. He placed the stool before a chair in the front row, and took a seat in that chair. He pointed to the stool. “Come sit here, facing away from me.”
When she obeyed, she closed her eyes as he leaned forward, wrapped both arms around her. He caressed her upper arms as his breath stirred her hair. Her hands curled against his denim-clad shins.
"Did it feel like this?" he asked.
"Yes and no. It feels really good. Safe. But I have some reactions to you doing it that I definitely didn’t have with my father.”
He laughed, a deep, body-stroking sound. "Well, remember what I said at the beginning of the workshop. It's all about the sugar, baby. All about the sugar."
She smiled, rested her cheek against his biceps. He stroked her hair, bent, pressed a kiss to it. “You’re such a little thing, but so strong.”
The compliment surprised and warmed her. “Thank you.” She lifted her face to look at him.
“Are you ready for your punishment now?” he said.
“I think so.”
His expression sharpened. The involuntary leap in her stomach, the straightening of her spine, were the reactions that kicked in, full force, when a Dom gave her that look.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, then.” He rose, swinging his leg over her, and moved toward the rear wall. Once there, he cut the lights.
She was in the dark again. She stared at the blackness, listening to her pulse thud. She didn’t hear him move, didn’t hear him breathe, but as she sat there, her senses open, she knew when he was beside her again. Her heart rate increased when his fingertips trailed over her shoulder.
“Give me your hand.”
She obliged and he brought her to her feet. He guided her forward several steps and stopped her.
“Can you see in the dark?” she asked, her voice little over a whisper. It was meant to be subtly teasing. She assumed he had an uncanny ability to measure and calculate distance between objects with only a brief look.
“Yes.” He’d shifted behind her and slid his hand up her hip, to her waist, to cup her breast, stroke. He didn’t sound like he was joking.
She swayed into his touch, ripples of sensation moving all over her skin. “Thank you, Master,” she whispered softly. Unplanned, just fervently felt.
“Take a breath.”
She did, and his knuckles closed over her other nipple, through the gauzy cloth. Now she knew what he intended, and there was nothing for it but to endure. He wasn’t giving her a tempting incentive as he’d done last time. Her hands remained at her sides because she knew that was where he wanted them. He began that slow compression that became progressively worse and worse, and then he started to twist.
A groan escaped her, but she held, her hips pressing back into him as she reacted to the pain. “Please…” tore from her lips.
“You need me to stop?”
She didn’t want to tell him to stop. She didn’t want to deny him anything, but Goddess, it hurt. “Please…mercy.”
It wasn’t her safe word, but he understood. She didn’t want to safe word out, but she could take no more. She would if she had to, but she begged him for compassion instead.
He eased off, massaged around the throbbing nipple. Turned her slowly in the dark, untying the ribbon at her neck and around her back so the gauzy fabric fell to her waist. Then he knelt before her, a position she was beginning to realize he liked for the proximity it gave him to her breasts. As he began to suckle the abused one, she swayed, but was held firmly in the cradle of his arms.
He moved to the other one. Desire was spiraling through her, up and up. He lifted and moved her, sitting her on the presenter’s table. His mouth went to her throat. She clutched his shoulders, a cry tearing from her as he bit. Pain lanced through her like twin injections of fire. She’d had her nipples pierced at one time, and it had felt like this, the pain excruciating but yet somehow welcome. She shifted her grip to his nape, the back of his head, the smooth, heated skin.
He didn’t let go of her, kept that clamp in her throat while he stroked an
d soothed her breasts. But after awhile, he eased back. Her body felt made of liquid fire.
“Now that one belongs to me, too. No one touches your nipples, Ella. Not unless I give permission. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand, sir.”
But did she? Was he laying claim to her, one body part at a time? What was going on?
Did she have the courage to ask, or would she take the bliss of his attention as long as it lasted?
For now, she knew the answer to that. Wolf caressed her face, ran a calming hand over her back and shoulders, brushed a kiss across her forehead. Then he withdrew. A moment later, the light snapped on. He was in the doorway and gave her a nod.
“You did well, Ella. Thank you for your help. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay. Um, yes, sir.”
But he was already gone.
Chapter Five
Being a grown-up was far better than being a kid. It baffled her, people who wanted to return to those early days. Everything learned as a kid, felt as a kid, could be indulged fully as an adult. And you could have way more fun with it.
For instance, you couldn’t be a kid and stand in the middle of a BDSM club. Couldn’t plunge in the middle of a pack of human puppies—members who embraced puppy play—and roll and play like a puppy yourself, rubbing against firm, warm bodies with intimate affection.
It was male Puppy Night at Club Atlantis. The converted and padded dance floor was currently populated with tennis balls and soft toys instead of dancers. Many of the participants wore head masks, complete with ears and long snouts. Ella always thought the ones with floppy ears had a happy-looking demeanor, whereas the ones with pricked ears projected a more aggressive attitude. Alpha dogs. Some wore the full puppy body, with big cloth paws. Others wore the head mask with only jeans, or nothing at all.
