Care and Training

From the first moment her eyes met mine, I knew there was something special in store for us.

* * *

I was at a party - not a drunken frat-boy stand on your head and drink from a funnel party - but a gathering of friends. Sort of. It was an eclectic group. The host, Damen, a respected author I'd gone to college with, was throwing a small soiree to celebrate his new book's release.

We'd kept in touch over the years; I was one of his first readers and had caught a few gaffs. He'd even thanked me in an afterward. He also knew I was still getting over a bad divorce and wasn't really in the mood for a gathering, but he'd strong-armed me into it. Promised to use me as a character in his next book. He always promised that.

To shut him up, I'd agreed to go, knowing I could expect anything from a frenzied Saturnalia to thirty people sitting cross-legged on the floor in his living room listening to his absolutely abysmal poetry.

As it turned out, it was somewhere between a comfortable gathering between friends - who'd never met before that night - and a high-brow literary snob-fest. Not really my scene, but there I was. Not really happy, definitely not into the party, but actually attempting quietly to break out of the anti-social rut I was in.

I'd been there for about an hour and a half and was thinking about quietly making my way to the door and escaping back home. I took one last look around, quietly amused at the wide spectrum of people Damen had invited, and even more quietly amused by how hard all of them were trying to look confident and comfortable; it was obvious most of them were nervous and not sure why they were there. The too-bright smiles, the too-emphatic laugher. I think Damen had invited a bunch of people in similar situations to mine. Maybe to try and break us out of our shells, or maybe just because it amused him to watch us all squirm. You could never tell with him. I don't know why I kept hanging out with him.

As I finished my quick scan of the room and started moving toward the door, a motion from my left caught my eye and I swiveled my gaze in that direction, and that's when I saw her.

A goddess. Straight brown hair pulled into a high pony-tail, deep brown eyes, thick kissable lips painted a bright whore red. Her rubenesque figure captivated me as my eyes drifted down her body. The way her massive breasts strained against the tank top she wore, the way her curvaceous hips filled out the plaid mini skirt that barely managed to cover her luscious ass. The way her smooth, bare, strong thighs flowed down into those knee-high black leather boots. She was such a vision of sex and beauty I couldn't move at all.

After a moment, I blinked, looked at her face again and our eyes met. To this day I can't describe what I saw there, but I knew exactly what to do. I moved toward her, ignoring everyone else in the room, thoughts flying through my head too fast for coherence.

I stopped in front of her. Her eyes were questioning as I just stared, no expression on my face. I help out my hand, palm up, and said simply, "Your phone."

She blinked, and a look of confusion flashed across her face. Then a quiver ran through her and she closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. Holding her breath for just a moment, she remained absolutely motionless. Then she blew the breath through her pursed lips, looked at me through lowered lids, and placed her phone in my hand.

I opened her contacts and entered my number with the name, "Call me."

I placed the phone back in her hand and said, "When you're ready." I ran the back of my fingers across her cheek, down her neck, to the strap of her tank, turned my back and walked away.

* * *

Before seeing her, I would never have imagined I'd do something like that. I'm not overly insecure about my appearance, but I'm not overly confident, either. The best way to describe me, from my head to my toes and everything in between, would be average. I'm six feet tall, brown hair, average-looking face, average-looking body, average-sized cock. My most distinguishing features would be my blue eyes and - as female friends have told me - a very nice ass. Nothing about me suggests that I should be confident enough to approach a gorgeous woman and do what I had just done.

Nothing except that indefinable something in her eyes. That look that some how, some way I'll never be able to quantify, told me that sooner or later, she would belong to me.

* * *

Two weeks had gone by since the party and I hadn't heard from the brunette. No matter. I knew she would call. Sooner or later.

In the meantime, I went about making a life for myself, picking up the pieces after the divorce. I bought a few new items of clothing. I straightened up the house and kept it clean. I threw out things my ex had left behind and tried to erase her presence from my house and my life.

* * *

Another week had gone by. It was nine on a Friday night. I'd just finished my uninspiring dinner for one, had cleaned up the dishes, and was considering whether to watch a movie, or troll the internet for porn when my phone rang.

Not recognizing the number, I nearly rejected the call out of habit, but something stayed my hand at the last moment. Instead I answered and simply asked, "Yes?"

Nothing but the sound of breathing. Then, hesitantly, "I'm ready." Her voice was sultry, warm, a bit scared. I said nothing, waiting. After a moment, she asked, "What do I do next?"

I quickly texted her my address. "Get yourself prepared and come here. You have one hour." I hung up and stood there a moment, surprised at myself. Mostly surprised that I had no doubt whatever she'd be at my door in exactly one hour.

I spent that hour showering, shaving and deciding exactly what to wear. A suit would be too formal, and not very me. I owned a couple of very nice ones, but didn't wear them often. My usual shorts and Demonia knee-high, steel-plated steel-toed boots were too casual. I finally decided on a pair of nice jeans, my Demonias, and a plain black t-shirt under an unbuttoned black long-sleeved shirt with grey pinstripes.

I placed a few lit candles around the room and sat on my couch, fiddling with the playlists on my mp3 player.

* * *

Precisely one hour after I hung up my phone, my doorbell rang. I sent her a text: "It's unlocked."

I heard the handle rattle as she began turning the knob and smiled as she paused. After a moment, as I knew she would, she turned it the rest of the way, opened my door and came inside. I heard the door close and she took a few hesitant steps.

"In here."

Three seconds, ten seconds, then her foot falls down my hall. Her silhouette as she crossed the threshold into my living room. I stood; she hesitated before entering the circle of candle light.

So beautiful. Others may not think she was; to me she was divine. I noticed her hair - pigtails. Make up - not that she needed any - minimal. What there was, she'd used to emphasize her youth. Her clothes, reminiscent of a school girl outfit without being cliché. Black button down shirt, three buttons left undone. Black lace bra peeking out, with a hint of pink. Black knee-length skirt. Knee-high black socks. Black and white saddle oxfords.

"Yes? Princess?"

She sighed, ever so slightly, and with chin lowered, hands clasped in front of her, raised her eyes to mine and replied, "You said to come over, D...Daddy?"

My cock, already stirring at the sight of her, sprang to full, rigid, aching attention when she - finally - called me Daddy. I saw her notice my erection. She trembled, ever so slightly.

"Come here, baby girl." She shuffled hesitantly toward me. I could see her nervousness, sense her terror and confusion. I knew she was wondering why in the hell she was here. What was she doing, listening to me? Calling me Daddy? What the fuck was going on? What was wrong with her?

And still she moved toward me. I knew part of her wanted to run. But I had no doubt she would stay. Her nipples were visibly erect, and I could smell the excitement coming from her. Those were simply details. I knew she would stay.

When she was a foot in front of me, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close and just held her. She stiffened. Gasped. Then her knees weakened and she collapsed downward, tears flowing down her cheeks. Not letting her go, I gently sat down, pulling her into my lap. She threw her arms around me and held on for dear life, crying, sobbing into my chest.

After a bit she calmed down a little and whispered, "I don't know why I'm here. I don't know what the hell I'm doing here, or why I'm doing what you tell me. I just know that I can't stop myself, and I don't want to, and that baffles me."

With a finger under her chin, I raised her face to mine. I kissed each cheek, then her forehead.

"You're here because you want to be here. You know I can give you what you so desperately want. What you crave. What you need."

Her brows furrowed and she shook her head a little. "And what's that?" Barely whispered.

"To be Daddy's Little Girl." Her eyes widened. "To be cared for. To be disciplined. To have structure and order. And to fuck Daddy like the little slut you desperately want to be."

Her breathing stopped for a moment. She whispered, "I don't even know your name..."

Smiling, perhaps a little evilly, I answered, "My name? Princess, my name is 'Daddy.'"

She pulled out of my arms and stood, shakily. She walked rapidly into the hall straight for the door. A pause. A rustle. A clink. A thud. Footsteps coming back.

She came back, sat in my lap - wriggling a little to get my hard cock between her ass cheeks - and held her phone where I could see it. She pulled up her contact list, found "Call me," and, with a naughty little smile, edited it to "Daddy."

"That's my good girl." Her smile became a grin and she threw her arms around me, hugging me so tight my ribs creaked a bit. She kissed me on my cheek, repeatedly. Then the other. I slid my hand up her back, up her neck and stroked my fingers on the back of her skull. She shivered a little but didn't stop kissing me.

Until I wrapped my hand around a pig tail and brought her lips around to mine and kissed her hard, passionately. She moaned, opened her lips and sent her tongue questing into my mouth.

I pulled her hair back and attacked her throat with my lips, tongue, and teeth. She whimpered, shivered, moaned, and gasped. Her hands dug into my shoulders, then my back. I kissed lower, flicked my tongue into her very ample cleavage, tasted the salt from her nervous sweat. She whimpered again and started rocking her hips, rubbing herself on my cock. I bit the top of her left tit and she cried out, "Daddy," and rocked herself hard.

I felt her right hand leave my back, hoping she'd move it down to stroke her sex. I smiled into her shoulder as I watched her hand pull up her skirt and her fingers begin rubbing her pussy through her panties.

I wrapped her wrist in my hand and pulled hers away from her body. She gasped. "Daddy? Wha-"

I stood up, her ass bouncing onto the floor. I released her hand, grabbed her other pigtail and pulled. Hard, but not enough to cause serious pain. She winced and stood rapidly. I lead her to the couch and sat down.

"Get down on your knees. Over my legs, Princess. You were a naughty girl. You started playing with yourself. Little girls don't get to play with themselves unless Daddy says so. Assume the position."

She flushed and sucked in so much air I could hear the buttons on her shirt strain. She hesitantly lay down over my legs. I slid her skirt up and spent a moment just gazing at her black and pink lace panty covered ass.

SMACK! I spanked her cheek; she literally jumped. She looked back at me, blushing, then lowered herself back into position. SMACK! She jumped again. I alternated spanking each cheek, she was jumping less and less, and getting wetter and wetter.

After ten spanks she was moaning and trying to rub her clit against my leg. I slid a finger along her panty-covered lips, rubbing, stroking, pressing harder and harder. She rubbed her clit against me harder.

"I can see we have a long way to go."

"What do you mean, Daddy?"

"You're playing with yourself. Using my leg." I spanked her cheek more violently than before. She cried out. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I won't do it again! I promise. No more playing with myself."

I stroked her ass, caressing it. "You can play with yourself, Princess. But not without Daddy's permission." A lighter swat on her ass. She giggled, and I shoved two fingers in her dripping pussy.

She gasped, made a noise like she was strangling, then cried out. Her pussy grabbed my fingers like a vice as she came. And came. And came. Her orgasm lasted at least forty-five seconds. When she finally wound down, I pulled her up, settled her in my lap and kissed her gently, tenderly, lovingly.

"That's Daddy's good girl."

Shyly, she looked up at me, wonder giving way to satisfaction. Finally, she snuggled up against me and mumbled, "What now?"

I kissed the top of her head and whispered, "Now, you learn to take care of Daddy."

* * *

To be continued...