Daddy Dom and the Virgin

by Kitty Jones

  “Such a pretty girl,” I tell her, murmuring softly.

  “I bet you say that to all of the girls,” she chuckles.

  “Nope,” I tell her honestly. “In fact, I haven’t brought anyone here yet. You’re the very first one.”

  “Is that so?”

  “That’s so,” I tell her.

  I reach for Mallory and stroke her back softly, touching the thin fabric of her dress. I like that she dressed up for me. I like that she chose this outfit with me in mind. It makes me feel very good and very happy to know that she was thinking about me when she got dressed today. It pleases me that she wants to make me happy.

  She holds still as I touch her, gently exploring her. My hands move down her back and to her bottom. I graze my fingers over the fabric of the dress before moving quickly to her thighs. Then I touch her skin gently, massaging her.

  “So much tension,” I murmur.

  “I guess I don’t deal with my stress very well,” she admits.

  Good.

  She’s talking.

  This is what I want.

  It’s not good for anyone to bottle up their feelings or their emotions. Not ever. Talking is one of the most important things humans can do to deal with their stress and their anxiety, and their fears, too. I want to get her comfortable enough that she’ll be willing to talk to me. One of the reasons BDSM is such an effective form of therapy is that it helps you relax enough to be able to identify and deal with your emotions.

  “Are you ready for your spanking, sweet girl?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I push up the edge of her dress, folding the fabric up above her bottom. She’s got a pair of white panties with the days of the week on them. Not exactly slutty panties, but they’re exactly what I love. I’m all about playful, cute panties on my submissives. It’s part of the reason why I love playing the Daddy. I love taking care of my partner. I like pampering her.

  In some cases, I like disciplining her.

  This, though, this isn’t about discipline. It’s about relief. It’s about helping her calm down and open up enough to communicate with me.

  I reach for her panties and tug them down to her thighs. She holds still as I start rubbing her skin gently, softly. I take my time massaging her round globes, playing with her bottom, and touching her legs. She spreads them just a little, and I smile to myself. She likes this, and that makes me happy.

  “Are you ready, pretty girl?” I ask.

  “Yes, Daddy,” she murmurs, and oh, the words go straight to my dick.

  Shit.

  I’m in trouble.

  I wanted to hear her say that, wanted to hear her call out to me like this, but I didn’t think it would happen to soon.

  I pull my hand away and swat her bottom slowly at first: just a few soft smacks. She wiggles beneath my touch, but she’s not uncomfortable. Not yet. That’s okay. We can take our time. We’re literally in no rush. The food is in the crock pot and the wine is chilling in the fridge. There’s nowhere either one of us has to be.

  It’s just me and her and this moment.

  I spank her again and again. Soon she starts to groan with each swat of her bottom, and her skin begins to turn a soft pink. I like it. She looks lovely like this: sprawled out across my lap, and she’s wiggling against me like she just can’t get enough.

  I like that.

  I like the way she’s making me feel.

  I like the way she’s moving against my body.

  I’m quiet as I spank her harder and harder, gradually picking up the pace. Soon she’s wiggling harder beneath me, but she doesn’t cry out. She doesn’t break down. She doesn’t ask me to stop. She just groans through each and every swat, and oh, I want her to cry.

  It’s not that I’m a sadist. I’m not – not really. Not in the way people think when they picture a sadist or a bad guy or someone who likes to cause pain.

  But I do want her to cry for me.

  I want her to let out all of the emotions she’s been clinging to.

  I want her to feel free and comfortable and at peace, and oh, I want her to open up. Holding her thoughts and emotions and pain all to herself isn’t healthy. It’s not a good way to live, and even though I don’t deserve it, I want her to open up to me about everything she’s been going through: about everything she’s been facing.

  I spank her over and over, and then it happens.

  The first tear falls.

  She starts crying quietly at first, but then almost instantly, she breaks out into sobs, and I stop the spanking. I pull her up into my arms, not bothering to pull up her panties, and I pull her close to me.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, but she keeps crying. She cries for the pain and she cries for the memories. She cries for everything she’s lost and everything she wants.

  And herself.

  I know that she cries for herself.

  Because Mallory has lost so very much in her short life.

  I stroke her hair and press my lips to her cheek.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I promise.

  “No,” she squeaks through the tears. “It’s not.”

  “I know it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be fine, but this is just another thing you’ll get through.”

  “That’s all I’m doing,” she tells me. Her tears slow, and she sniffles loudly. “All I’m doing is getting through, Aaron. That’s all I do. I get up, I go to work, and I go to the club. That’s it. That’s my life. It’s all just...surviving.”

  “So you don’t feel like you’re really living,” I murmur.

  “No,” she shakes her head. “I don’t.”

  “What are you afraid of, Mallory?”

  “Everything,” she whispers.

  “Tell me.”

  I hold her for a long time, and for a minute, I think she’s not going to. That’s okay. This was just our first time together. We have plenty of time to get to know one another now, as adults. There’s going to be lots of time we can spend with one another.

  But she surprises me with her bravery and her fierceness. She surprises me with her courage because she looks up at me and she tells me.

  “I’m afraid that I missed out on you, and I’m afraid that I let my brother down, and I’m afraid that everything that happened to him was my fault entirely.”

  I let the words hang in the air for a very long time, and then I pull her close once again.

  Well, shit.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mallory

  I don’t know if he was expecting my brazen confession.

  I definitely wasn’t expecting it.

  Yeah, I knew the guy was a Daddy Dom, but I didn’t expect him to top me tonight. Not without getting me into bed. Not without taking off my clothes and kissing all over me. I mean, he took off some of my clothes, but...

  I feel like I gave it up to him so easily, and that scares me. This is a secret I’ve guarded carefully for years. I don’t like anyone to know what happened to Matthew. I don’t like for anyone to know why I’m so upset about losing my brother. It hurts too much. It’s far too painful and the reality is that I don’t think it’s anyone’s business, really, why I miss him.

  Not only was he my best friend, but he was my partner in everything. I mean, Matthew and I were super close. He was always there for me, right until the end. I’d be there for him, too.

  “What do you mean?” Aaron finally speaks.

  “I mean, I’m the reason he was out that night. We were supposed to be hanging out.”

  “I remember,” he says carefully. “But I don’t know what that has to do with any of it being your fault. You weren’t in the car. You didn’t distract him from the road. You weren’t in the other car. You didn’t force that person to drive while drinking. How exactly is it your fault?”

  “Because I forgot the movie,” I whisper.

  I forgot.

  I was reckless and stupid, and I forgot.

  “It’s not a crime to forget something,�
� Aaron says carefully.

  “But it ended up with him dead.”

  “It had nothing to do with the movie, sweetie,” he says.

  “It feels like it.”

  “What if it had been him who stayed home?” Aaron asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the tables were turned, and Matthew was the one who stayed home while you went out, would you want him to blame yourself for your death?”

  I pause because I’m about to say no.

  I’m about to say that’s stupid.

  I’m about to say a million different things rejecting the idea that anyone could possibly believe Matthew would ever be responsible for me getting hurt, but I see through what Aaron is doing. He’s trying to get me to see that I’m not responsible. He wants me to know that this isn’t my fault. No matter what happened, and no matter what I think I’m responsible for, sometimes shit just happens.

  It’s nobody’s fault.

  It’s just...

  It’s just fucking life.

  “I’m not going to answer that,” I whisper.

  “You don’t have to,” Aaron says gently. “Sweetie, let’s go eat. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He guides me from the living room to the kitchen. He pulls a chair out for me and helps me sit down. Then he starts preparing the food.

  “Something smells good,” I say.

  “It’s roast,” he tells me with a grin. He looks over and the smile on his face seriously warms my heart.

  “It smells amazing.”

  “I learned to cook when I moved away. In college, I pretty much just survived on ramen and beef jerky.”

  “Not a bad diet, although I’m curious how a poor college student managed to afford beef jerky.”

  “Carefully,” he laughs.

  He brings over two glasses of wine, and then he grabs the salad. He plates the roast and brings the plates over. Then he sits down in a chair beside me.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Aaron says, and I smile.

  “Yeah, because you got to spank me,” I laugh nervously, trying to take the edge off of how I’m feeling. I reach for the wine glass and sip it, hoping that the alcohol inside will give me a little bit of courage.

  That’s what I need right now.

  I need fucking courage.

  Instantly, Aaron sets his glass down, and he looks at me.

  “I’m getting the impression that you’ve never had a serious Dom in your life,” he says. “Is that wrong?”

  “Um...”

  “Okay, understood,” he says. “So let me tell you something about me, little one: I don’t care if I get to spank you. Topping you, for me, isn’t about punishment. I loved paddling your cute little ass: don’t get me wrong. It was hot as fuck to watch your bottom bounce and turn pink for me. I loved every damn second of it, and I can’t wait to do it again.”

  And just like that, my panties are fucking soaked.

  “But I didn’t invite you over so that I could spank you, Mallory. I invited you over because you’re fucking incredible, and beautiful, and because I wanted to get to know you: the real you.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Thank you, for saying that. And yeah, you’re right. I, um, well, I guess I’ve never had a serious relationship, like, ever.”

  “How is that possible?” He asks gently. “You’re beautiful, and you’re sweet, and you’re lovely. You’re playful and funny. You’re smart as hell. Why haven’t you pursued anyone?”

  Fear.

  Fucking fear: plain and simple.

  To me, getting close to someone means I might have to say goodbye to them, and I just don’t think my heart can handle being broken again.

  Is that so wrong?

  Is it terrible that I don’t want to feel that way again?

  I lost my brother, and I lost everything. That was just someone I was related to. That wasn’t someone I was madly in love with, or someone I wanted to get married to, or someone I wanted to have a family of my own with. That was just my sibling.

  And if I’m so damn broken over losing my big brother, what happens to me if I lose someone I’ve fallen for?

  That’s the real question.

  That’s the worry I have.

  “I think you know the answer,” I say, reaching for my salad fork.

  “Humor me.”

  “Well,” I say, and I take a bite of the salad. It’s good: fresh and crisp. I’m not much of a salad person, but it’s very tasty. I’m not so clueless that I think he planned this meal by accident, either. He’s hitting all of the major food groups, and there’s a pitcher of ice water on the table. He’s worried about me, and he wants to make sure I’m eating enough healthy food and drinking enough water.

  Is it wrong that I think it’s totally and completely sweet?

  Because I do.

  It’s totally, wonderfully, completely sweet.

  “You can’t lose someone if you don’t love them,” I say.

  “So you don’t want to get hurt again.”

  “Correct.”

  “So your solution has been to push everyone away.”

  “Again,” I nod, “correct.”

  “Interesting plan,” he says. “Albeit a bit naïve.”

  “I know that it’s stupid,” I say.

  “I didn’t say it was stupid. I said it was naïve. Mallory, losing someone hurts at any age, and in any relationship.”

  He looks at me pointedly, and shame washes over me.

  “I’m sorry. You lost him, too: just as much as I did. Sometimes I forget that.”

  “Mal, I’m probably the only person in the world who knows what you’re feeling. You think I haven’t blamed myself? Hell, I have. I’ve had years of therapy to help me work through the survivor’s guilt that’s wrapped around me.”

  “You have?”

  “I have.”

  “That’s so hard for me to understand,” I admit. “I mean, when I look at you, you’re so...”

  “Dashingly handsome, I know.”

  “Put-together,” I say. “I don’t look at you and think, wow, here’s a guy who’s seen some shit. I look at you, and I think you know exactly who you are and where you’re going.”

  “Well, thank you,” he tells me. “I’ve worked hard to develop that part of my personality.”

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  “Every day,” Aaron sets his fork down and looks over at me. “He knew about me, you know: about what I like.”

  “Daddy Domming?”

  “Yeah. He never judged me for it.”

  “I’m probably going to regret asking this, but did my brother...you know...”

  “Was he into kink?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A little,” Aaron shrugs. “But we didn’t talk about that part of ourselves too much. We were young, and honestly, we were still both trying to figure out what we liked and what we didn’t. Neither one of us had ever done anything wild, you know, like been to a sex club.”

  I chuckle a little at the idea of my brother as a Dom.

  “I always figured he was kind of straight laced,” I say.

  “Matthew loved life,” Aaron says. “He loved living. He made every day special.”

  “Yeah. He did, didn’t he?”

  I think it’s the most beautiful way someone has ever described my brother. He really did always work hard to make the days lovely and beautiful. He always went above and beyond to try to make things shine.

  “He did.”

  “So...” Dinner forgotten, I reach for the wine again. My glass is almost empty, and I finish it. Aaron looks at my wine glass and raises an eyebrow.

  “Would you like some more, princess?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “So polite,” he smiles. He presses a kiss to my forehead as he gets up to grab the wine, and I wiggle a little in my seat. I like that. I like the forehead kisses, and the hugs, and the gentle way he looks at me like I’m special to him. I like all of t
hat. Fuck, I like it so very much.

  And is it wrong that I want to blurt out the truth to him?

  Is it weird that I want to say hey, Aaron, I’ve actually never had sex before because I’ve been too scared to fall in love?

  Is it weird that I want to be honest with him?

  I’m just not sure...

  I’m just not sure.

  He comes back, fills up my glass, and tops off his own. Then he sits down.

  “So,” he says.

  “So.”

  “So...is there something else on your mind, Mallory?”

  “About this whole thing,” I gesture to the room.

  “My kitchen?”

  “No,” I shake my head. “Us. About us.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “If you’re asking if a want a full-time submissive, then the answer is no. That’s not how I play, darling, but I don’t think it’s any secret that I’m attracted to you, or that I like you, or that I want to spend more time getting to know you.”

  “And sex.”

  “Would I like to have sex with you? Absolutely. It’s an important part of any relationship. I’m not asking for it to happen today or even tomorrow, but eventually, yes, if we’re in a relationship, then I expect we’ll sleep together. Do you disagree?”

  He raises an eyebrow, and I know this is my chance to blurt out the truth, but I don’t.

  “Yeah, of course, totally,” I say in a voice that’s way too cheerful. I’m definitely going to make things awkward if I don’t totally chill out.

  “Play it cool,” I tell myself under my breath.

  Aaron doesn’t seem to hear me. If he does, he’s kind enough to ignore my weirdness.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” He asks.

  “Sure.”

  “When was the last time you had sex?”

  I almost spit out my wine.

  Seriously?

  I look up at him, and he’s watching me carefully.

  “Why would you ask me that?”

  “It’s not my place to ask,” he says. “But I get the feeling that it’s been...awhile. Would I be out of line to suggest that?”

  “No, you wouldn’t be out of line.”

  “Mallory, I want to reiterate that we don’t have to do anything crazy or weird. I just want to take care of you.”