Daddy Dom and the Bad Girl

by Kitty Jones

  I know he can be gentle, too.

  Something tells me that’s not what’s going to happen tonight.

  “Okay,” I whisper quietly. “What do you want to know?”

  He smiles down at me and pats my head the way he would touch a beloved pet.

  “Asking the right questions,” he says. “Right now, I want to know how well you can dance.”

  He moves to a chair and sits back in the oversized armchair. He crosses his legs and leans back. Then he looks at me with a smile.

  “Stand up,” he says. He pulls out his phone and presses a button. A sultry song I’ve never heard before starts to play. Then he just watches me.

  I rise, standing quickly and trying to look as gracefully as possible, but I’m suddenly incredibly nervous. This isn’t something I’ve ever done before. If I’m honest, dancing was the last thing I expected to be doing this weekend.

  I thought my time with the Daddy Dom was going to be full of whips and chains and spankings and humiliation.

  Dancing?

  Well, maybe that would be humiliating.

  I haven’t danced in forever.

  It’s been years, really.

  It’s been a lifetime.

  Yet this is what Peter wants, so this is what I’m going to give him.

  I look at him as he waits for me, eager to see me move. Yes, he looks eager: almost content. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  You can do this.

  I remind myself that I chose to be here, that this is the place I want to be, and then I start to move my hips. They sway in time with the music, but I keep my feet planted firmly in place. This is it. This is my moment. I move carefully, making little figure-eights with my hips. Then I put my hands on them and open my eyes again.

  He’s still watching.

  Only now, he no longer looks content.

  Now he looks hungry.

  Peter is a wolf and I…I’m the one who needs to watch out. If I’m not careful, he’s going to eat me up alive. If I’m not careful, I might actually enjoy it.

  My hands move of their own accord, gently covering my body. I touch my breasts over the dress, wishing I was wearing a bra and panties to strip out of. I run my hands down my tummy and over my thighs. Then I do it all over again. Peter watches me. For a moment, I think I might take off my dress, but Peter isn’t a sloppy dominant partner. If he wanted me to take my clothing off, he would have told me.

  As it is, he said nothing about it.

  He simply asked me to dance, so I dance.

  I try to make my moves sultry. I summon my inner Jamie Lee Curtis and think of her legendary scene in True Lies. Her character was shy, almost virginal, yet she somehow managed to create one of the hottest scenes in all of cinematic history. If Jamie Lee can do it, I can do it.

  I keep moving.

  My hands move over my body slowly. I imagine that it’s Peter’s hands on me. That helps. I love to masturbate and I know exactly how I like to be touched, but having someone else playing with you is different somehow.

  It’s even more intimate.

  I risk a glance at Peter and I’m instantly filled with a deep sense of satisfaction. He looks pleased with me. He actually looks really, truly, fucking pleased. This makes me feel fantastic. If he’s pleased with me, then it means things are going as well as they should.

  More importantly, it means he finds me attractive, and that fills my core with heat.

  I keep dancing, swaying my hips, and touching my body. What will it feel like to have Peter’s hands on me? His mouth? His tongue? My body started to ache with need as I dance and I can feel myself growing slick and wet with arousal as I move.

  Fuck.

  That wasn’t supposed to happen.

  This was supposed to turn him on, dammit.

  Not me.

  Never me.

  I pride myself on having complete control of my thoughts and emotions, but right now, I feel so wildly out of control that I’m not really sure what to do. So I just focus on pleasing Peter. I focus on moving. I focus on the dance and hope I can tamp down my own excitement at doing this for him.

  I’m not as embarrassed as I should be.

  I’m not as scared.

  Because when he looks at me like that, I come alive, and I don’t want this moment to end.

  Chapter Three

  Peter

  Heather knows she’s a beautiful girl.

  What she doesn’t know is that I’ve wanted her for as long as I can remember.

  The first time she walked into the club, I honed in on her as a bratty submissive in need of a Daddy to take care of her, but I never managed to get close to her. A sassy and feisty submissive like her isn’t something that goes unnoticed in the world of kink. Every Dominant in the damn club wanted to play with her.

  Including me.

  Mostly me.

  When I finally came up with a plan to get her all to myself, I honestly didn’t think it would work. She had been hovering on the edge of agreement when I randomly offered her cash. Her eyes lit up and she jumped at the chance to get paid for today.

  So now I know where she stands.

  She’s doing this for the cash, and while that hurts me a little, what matters is that she’s here. She might not be here for me. She might just be here because she needs money to pay her bills or rent or whatever. She’s here, though. It’s a start.

  And oh, what a start it is.

  I don’t care that I’m paying her for this. In my eyes, it’s just one way for me to help her, to take care of her. What kind of Daddy Dom would I be if I didn’t take care of the darling little that needs my help? That’s what she’s going to be, at least for tonight. She’s going to be my little submissive and she’s going to be perfectly pampered, punished, and pleasured.

  Probably in that order.

  The dancing thing was not planned. I hadn’t planned that. Really. My goal had been to get inside of her as quickly as fucking possible, to dominate her, to satisfy her. My goal had been to get her to beg me for more. My goal had been to enjoy her and fuck her out of my system.

  But then I’d seen her fucking outfit.

  My cock hardened when I saw her on the porch. She was waiting for me so patiently, so curiously. I should have known it wouldn’t be enough.

  I should have known I would immediately need more of her.

  So much more.

  Now she’s in the middle of my living room and she’s dancing like there’s no tomorrow. She’s giving it her all and damn if it’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. This room has never been my favorite place to spend time. It’s a bit stiff and pompous. It’s a little uncomfortable, to be honest. Somehow, though, she seems to light it up. She makes this room seem positively magical, and fuck if I don’t totally love that about her.

  The song ends and she stops dancing. She stands perfectly still with her hands folded in front of her, and Heather looks a little bit flushed.

  “Did the dancing turn you on, little one?” I ask.

  “I’m not little, Daddy.”

  “You are to me,” I say, standing up. I tower over her, and when I look down at Heather, she quivers ever-so-slightly. She’s not immune to this: not to any of it. She may talk a big game, but at the end of the day, she loves being taken care of just as much as I love taking care of her.

  “No,” she whispers, shaking her head, and I know what she’s doing. I know that she’s trying to find a way to keep herself separate from everything we’re doing, but that’s not going to happen. No, she’s going to give herself to me. She’s going to give all of herself to me. She’s going to give me abso-fucking-lutely everything, and then she’s going to give me just a little bit more.

  “Heather,” I murmur, and I reach for her cheek. She leans into my touch. “Such a pretty girl.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “And so very polite.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “Heather, you have a choice to make now.
”

  “What kind of choice?” She raises her eyebrows and gives me her full attention. Ah, that caught her by surprise. Good. I’m glad to know I can keep her on her toes.

  “We’re going to play tonight, and we’re going to play hard, but you can decide what we do first.”

  What the fuck? Why am I giving her choices? I rarely give my submissives choices in anything. I’m a hardcore Daddy, and when I play with someone, I make it clear that I’m in charge every step of the way. I don’t like the idea of giving up control to anyone, much less a submissive. I don’t like the idea of giving them too many choices.

  Heather is different, though, and she always manages to get under my skin.

  “Okay,” she whispers, looking up at me with those big doe-eyes. “What are my choices?”

  “You’re getting a spanking tonight,” I tell her.

  “For being a brat at the club,” she whispers. She knows.

  “Yes, sweetie. No bratting ever goes unpunished.”

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  “And for lying to me just now.”

  “What?” He eyes are big.

  “You said you weren’t turned on from the dancing.”

  “I wasn’t,” she whispers.

  “Come here.”

  She takes a step forward so she’s standing directly in front of me, and I slide my hands up the inside of her thighs. She stills, watching me carefully as I slide my hands all the way up until they’re at the top of her thighs. I take one hand and slide it across her pussy. She quivers, and my hand comes back damp, wet.

  “You told me you weren’t aroused, princess.”

  “I…”

  “Are you embarrassed?”

  “Yes.”

  “You never have to be embarrassed, Heather. Not with me. You do, however, have to be honest.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  The words shoot straight to my cock. Fuck. I’m turned on from her dancing and now I’m turned on from this. I don’t know how much more of this I can actually take. What I really want, more than anything, is to spin her around and slide my cock into her tight little pussy, but we have all night, and there’s really no rush.

  I keep reminding myself of this.

  There is no rush.

  “You can take your spanking first, or you can let me pamper you a little first.”

  “Pamper?”

  “Well, you are my little girl, at least for tonight. Doesn’t every little girl want to be spoiled?”

  She looks at me for a long time and I wonder what’s going through that pretty little head of hers. Heather and I honestly don’t know each other very well outside of the club, but oh, I’d love the chance to get to know her better.

  “I’ve never been pampered,” she whispers.

  “Not ever? Not even by your father?”

  “I never had one,” she tells me, and oh, the sadness in her words strikes me right in the heart.

  “Come here.”

  She moves quickly to where I’m sitting, and I pull her into my lap and wrap my arms around her.

  “I’m afraid I may have to take away your choice tonight, then,” I murmur. “Because something tells me you could use a little pampering in your life.”

  She murmurs something I can’t quite hear, but then she pulls me tightly to herself and for a little while, we just hold each other.

  And it’s nice.

  It’s so, so nice.

  Being able to hold her, touch her, feel her.

  It’s nice.

  “Tell me more,” I find myself saying. Suddenly, I do want to know more. So much more. There’s a lot to Heather that I don’t know: that I don’t understand. She’s quite the mystery to me, but that’s okay. I’d like to know why she is how she is.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why don’t we start with your parents?”

  “I already told you,” she says. “No dad. Remember?”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She did her best.”

  “Did she?”

  “Not really.”

  “Did she date a lot?”

  “More than I would have liked.”

  “Were her boyfriends nice to you?”

  “She only dated girls. They were fine.”

  “No one really sticks out, though?”

  “Not really.” Heather pulls back and looks at me. Then she cups my face and brings her lips to my forehead. “No one special. No one really made an impact on my life. Honestly, Peter…Daddy…most of my childhood, I just felt like I was in the way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “People were always sending me away. They were always making me go somewhere else. I never really spent time with my mother. When I got home from school, she’d send me into the bedroom. When she had guests over, she’d send me outside or into my room. Again.”

  “So you felt unwanted.”

  It’s not a question.

  She did.

  She knows it, too.

  It’s good that Heather is able to identify the way she feels because so many times, people struggle to identify this basic thing. They aren’t able to express how they feel, and so as a result, they just keep going through the emotions of life without really understanding what’s happening to them.

  “Yes.”

  “What about now?” I place my hand on her thigh once more.

  “I don’t feel unwanted now.”

  “Do you know how much I want you, Heather?”

  “I think I can feel it,” she smiles.

  “Are you ready for me to take care of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” I say, and I gentle motion for her to stand up. “Up you go.”

  She gets up off of me and stands awkwardly for a moment before I get up, too. I take her arm and lead her out of the room.

  “Where are we going?” She asks, curious.

  “Upstairs.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, little one,” I say. “It’s time for your bath.”

  Chapter Four

  Heather

  “I don’t take baths,” I say. The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them, but Peter just smiles. He doesn’t seem to mind at all.

  “You do today.”

  “But I already showered.”

  “Well, it pleases me to do this for you. You’ll let me take care of you, won’t you?”

  I know what he’s doing.

  I totally, completely, absolutely know what he’s doing.

  He wants to make this about him. He’s going to make this an act of submission. He wants to give me a bath, so now I’m supposed to take the bath. It’s going to be something that I allow him to do because it will bring him pleasure, and as a submissive, my Dominant’s pleasure is of the utmost importance.

  And there’s something else.

  Something I didn’t plan for.

  I want to.

  I want to please him.

  I want to make this night good for him.

  “Yes,” I find myself saying. “I’ll take the bath.”

  “I’ll be giving it to you,” he clarifies.

  “I understand, Daddy.”

  Peter smiles, and when he does, my whole heart seems to light up. I’m not sure why. I’ve always found him attractive. I’ve always thought he was sweet, but tonight…tonight is something else entirely.

  Tonight feels good.

  It feels naughty.

  It feels like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be, and that’s something I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. I don’t think I’ve ever thought, “This is where I belong.”

  Right now, though, that emotion wraps around me and envelops me like a warm hug.

  We walk up the stairs to the second floor and we go to a small bedroom. Peter leads me inside and motions for me to turn around. I obey him quietly, quickly, and he unzips my dress very, very slowly.

  I’m aware that in a minute, he’s going to see me
: all of me. He’s going to see my breasts and my pussy and my bottom. He’ll see all of me, and he can do whatever he likes to me.

  This thought should scare me.

  It should terrify me.

  After all, he’s basically a stranger to me, but it doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t frighten me. It just makes me feel…good.

  Whole.

  Complete.

  I want him to see me, I realize. I want him to touch me, and lick me, and I want him to tease me. I want everything that Peter is going to give me, and so I stand completely still as he unzips my dress.

  “Your skin is soft,” he murmurs.

  “I moisturize,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Instantly, I feel like dying. What a stupid thing to say. Okay, so my dirty talk probably needs some work. Who really says that? “I moisturize?” What the hell?

  He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He just finishes unzipping the dress and helps me out of it. I turn around to look at him, and Peter lets his eyes roam my body. He doesn’t play coy. He doesn’t pretend to be a gentleman. He doesn’t do any of that. He could easily look away or act like he doesn’t enjoy looking at me, but that would be a lie.

  One thing I’ve learned since joining the scene is that lies have no place in a BDSM relationship.

  They definitely don’t have a place in our relationship. That’s not how things are going to work tonight. Not here. Not with Peter. With us, we’re going to be straightforward.

  It’s embarrassing to have him looking at me this way, but it’s also a relief to know exactly where I stand with him. In past relationships, I often felt like things were awkward or forced in the wrong ways. I felt like we always tried to shy away from hard topics or openness.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing,” I say, breaking the spell of honesty.

  “Lying so soon in the evening?” He raises an eyebrow. “I thought we talked about this already.”

  Okay, honesty.

  I can be honest.

  I can be truthful.

  This is going to be hard for me, but I can definitely do it.

  I have to.

  “I was thinking that it’s nice to have you looking at me,” I tell him. “It’s nice that you aren’t hiding wanting to see me.”

  “Why would I hide from you, Heather?”