Her Daddy, Dom, and Neighbor in One

All of the participants of this are of legal age. This is a story from a particular segment of the BDSM community depicting a DD/bg relationship. This is NOT a tale of incest!

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In a small corner of her mind, she felt shame. With a lock on her emotions and thoughts, she resolutely pushed the shame down and locked it up tight with a mental heart-shaped lock and key.

Her heart pounded. Ironically, her palms were sweaty, but her throat was dry, arid as the cruelest desert. She absentmindedly slicked her palms down the skirt of her pink prim A-line dress and typed the first few characters of a URL she knew by heart in the white bar of her monitor.

Nervous, she reached for something comforting to grasp and stroke as the chat site appeared in the soft glow of the monitor. By routine, she glanced apprehensively over her shoulder, but then she castigated herself for her foolishness. As her fingers stroked the soft, bright pink hair of her favorite My Little Pony, she laughed inwardly reminding herself (yet again) that she lived alone at the ripe old age of twenty-five, had never been married, and had hardly ever been kissed—or fucked, some devilish part of her mind inserted snidely.

Sure, she had the requisite one-night stand or two in college, but they had left her feeling cold and unfulfilled. Only her fantasies revealed in the stories she had read and had written to be published on a website could make her burn and her scorching pussy drip—and then gush—in unbelievable pleasure.

Those fantasies were her dirty little secrets. She—Cassie—had long known she was submissive and even a masochist. But lately her fantasies had taken a decidedly different turn.

Cassie took a long sip of her juice box and smiled happily at the fruity flavor that cooled her and quenched the parched aridity in her mouth.

While nearly mindlessly clicking the tab to select a new room, she glanced searchingly down the list until she spotted the room where she first spoke to HIM two weeks before.

Her heart skipped a beat then trip-hammered as Cassie remembered the topic he introduced last night. She had mentioned to him that she enjoyed juice boxes, cartoons, her childhood blankie, and My Little Ponies.

His response shattered her. "I think you need a Daddy Dom, and I think I am he. I think you would be just the baby girl for me."

Dumbfounded, she tasted the familiar words in her mouth, her lips trembling at their odd use. "Daddy Dom????" she typed. "babygirl?????"

His answering reply was immediate, as if he were expecting her confusion. "We've talked about you serving me as my submissive; this is just a different type of dominance and submission. A gentler kind."

"Does that mean you wouldn't spank me and stuff?" Cassie had first been drawn to him because he demonstrated a proper over-the-knee spanking the first night she had discovered the room. She thought back to her reaction as she reclined on her couch, slack-jawed, at what appeared to be an expert spanker administer a thrashing to a woman pretending to be a willfully bratty submissive.

Telltale traces of moisture stained her pale-pink cotton panties and her cheeks burned hotly. How she had yearned to be on the receiving end to experience that hand, that paddle, first on her skirt-covered ass and, then, as her bottom warmed, with skirts lifted up and panties pulled down—on the bare.

She still did not understand how she got up the courage to ask that first tentative question in the room. Her "Have you ever given a spanking in real life?" seemed to hang on the air for a few moments as her cheeks burned in embarrassment at her silliness. A few people typed "lol," and she knew they were laughing at her, the shy little newbie.

He answered her in a question, "little one, may I PM you?"

Blushing a bit because she saw this as a sign of gentlemanly chivalry, some code of politeness not many followed in chat, she typed '*nods,*" and he quickly messaged her.

In the two weeks that followed, Cassie learned the answer to that question and many others that she hesitantly asked. She learned that yes, he was very experienced in spanking undisciplined subs, that he had been Sir or Master to three different women in real life and several online (although he didn't have a submissive presently). He was thirty-four years old, college educated, but very reticent about telling her where he lived or what he did for a living.

Her mind snapped back to her previous reverie. Last night, he had promised her that spankings were indeed still a part of being a baby girl. But, then, he had given her a task.

"You and I have talked for a couple of weeks, but we've never shared much about our private lives. I've never seen a picture of you, have never talked to you on the phone. If you are going to be my baby girl, that has to change. I will, of course, be more open with you.

"But you have to make that decision. If you decide that you are going to be mine, you will log on tomorrow at 6:15 Eastern time and present yourself to me in PM. If not, I will be sad, but I will consider our association at an end." He logged out soon after that.

At about midnight, she gave up on restless sleep. After several hours of research, Cassie thought she had her answer. All day, weighted down by sleeplessness, she vacillated. What started out as a definite "yes" in the cold light of dawn was a tentative "no" while she changed into her favorite pink dress doomed to be a creased mess within two hours of kneeling on the floor with her kindergarten students.

A dozen more times she changed her mind—as she pulled her reddish-brown hair into a perky ponytail secured with an equally perky pink bow, slicked pink gloss on her lips, and swiped mascara on her eyelashes that fanned above anxious brown eyes that stared back at her in the mirror. Her troubled mind continued to volley between "yes" and "no" while she ate breakfast and watched cartoons, stepped out in the early morning sunshine before settling black sunglasses over her eyes, locked her door carefully, waved to her next-door neighbor who also was her brother's best friend (Max Phillips), and slid into the driver's seat of her car, a late model white Hyundai Elantra. All through the day, even as she enjoyed her students' efforts to count to 100 with a smile spreading her lips, her mind raced to come to a solution.

She looked at the clock when she realized he wasn't logged on. 5:00. She was fifteen minutes early as she felt the air conditioning crank into high gear to combat the stifling Texas heat. He had said 6:15 Eastern time. Did that mean that he lived somewhere on the East coast? Cassie hoped she would find out where he lived.

Her daydreaming—or woolgathering, as her grandmother called it—was interrupted by a knock on the door followed by a ring of the doorbell. Cassie looked at the time on the monitor again. 5:03. Drat! She needed to get rid of whoever was at the door ASAP!

With a sigh, she recognized Max. He was holding a box—a box with an address label she hoped he did not recognize. "Hi," she beamed brightly, innocently. Her eyes lit on the package. "Did the UPS driver deliver my package to your house by mistake?"

A long steady pause from her brother's usually gregarious best friend as he studied her before answering. She felt the laser blue frost of his gaze. "No," he spoke slowly, deliberately. "I've ordered from this company before. They needed a signature; I was outside earlier when they arrived. I offered to sign for it."

Cassie's cheeks burned. After her discussions with HIM, she had ordered a riding crop from her favorite toy store. She curled her fingers around the long, narrow box, clutching it to her. Grasping it. Desperately trying to melt under the floor so that she wouldn't have to face him—or Zander, her brother—ever again! (because surely Max would tell Zander that his baby sister was ordering toys from an online sex toy store)

Mumbling "I need to go," she slammed the door in Max's face. With a glance at the screen, she noted that HE was still not in the room, so she greedily ripped open the package, tossing the packing material aside like a kid opening a Christmas present. Inside the box nestled the riding crop. She stroked it reverently before lifting it and inhaling the leather scent. Just as she was about to whap her ass with a practice swat, she heard a chime from her laptop.

HE was on!

Master Enigma: You are here. I am pleased, baby girl. Present yourself.

Innocent Submissive: *kneels before HIM, hands behind her back, back slightly bowed to offer up her breasts for HIS inspection and use, eyes looking up devotedly into his*

Master Enigma: Very good, baby girl. Do you have any questions?

Innocent Submissive: Tons! What am I to call you? Where do you live? Are you in a real life 'nilla relationship? What is your name? What do you do for a living? What happens now?

Master Enigma: You are to address me as "Daddy," unless I am having to discipline you. Then, you will address me as "Sir." I am American. I live in the Central Time Zone, in Texas. Dallas. I am not presently in a real-life relationship. I do not give out my name online—ever! I work in a white-collar field, I guess. As to what happens now: you serve me as MINE. Now, little one, the same questions to you.

She was a bit disappointed by some of his answers, but she could understand. Online safety and all of that. But the fact that he lived so close!?!?

Innocent Submissive: I live near Dallas, too. I haven't been in a real-life relationship since college. I go by Abby on here. I work in the education field, as a teacher. I love teaching! How am I to serve you? Online? Real-life as well because we are so close?

She waited several breathless moments for his response. When it came, she nearly dropped the crop she was maneuvering with admiring fingers.

Master Enigma: We could attempt a rl relationship, if our online one blossoms.

For several moments, she stared at the screen, unable to respond.

Master Enigma: baby girl? pet? Abby?

Innocent Submissive: Sorry. I've never thought about having an rl relationship like that. D/s.

Master Enigma: Would you be opposed to it?

Innocent Submissive: No, Daddy. I wouldn't be opposed to it. But my family is very protective. How would I introduce the subject with them?

Master Enigma: lol. You don't have to say I'm your Master or your Daddy. I dated one submissive throughout college, and her family simply thought that we were extremely close. No one in my 'nilla life knows my need to control.

Then...

Master Enigma: I recently almost revealed myself to a friend, maybe in part hoping she would be willing to be my submissive, but thought better of it. There were...complications.

A spurt of jealousy shivered down Cassie's spine. She knew it was irrational, but she couldn't help feeling a bit put out by some mystery woman her new Master...her new "Daddy"...wanted in real life. To him, however she wrote:

Innocent Submissive: That's too bad.

It was as if he heard the irony in her statement.

Master Enigma: LOL.

Innocent Submissive:???

Master Enigma: baby girls are notoriously possessive and jealous.

She was lucky he could not see her cheeks blushing a far brighter pink than her dress. What he typed next made the blush so much worse.

Master Enigma: Now, for your second task. Your first official task as MINE. You will strip and send me a picture of you, neck to knees. You don't have to include your face, but I want to see what is MINE.

She shivered. She had never taken THAT kind of picture before, but, all the same, she stripped (after first making sure no one could look in) and snapped a photo with one added accessory: her new crop held diagonally across her so that the tabby end tickled her shoulder.

Master Enigma: Still there? Send it to my e-mail address that I have you previously.

Innocent Submissive: Yes, Daddy. I have it ready to send.

Cassie sent the image, definitely reluctantly, as he directed. She waited several anxious moments for his response.

Master Enigma: Very good baby girl. Good girl. You have pleased me. I am proud to call you mine. Now, I must go. Real life calls. I must go out with a friend this evening. Sweet dreams.

She logged off with a frown on her face. Had her picture disappointed him? He didn't sound disappointed, but then he left so quickly.

Settling in with a story she found on the website that included a Daddy Dom/baby girl relationship, she tried to put his abrupt departure out of her mind.

***********************

In a room not too far away from where Cassie tried to blot out her concern about Master Enigma's leaving, the object of her reluctant thoughts sat, entranced by the submissive perfection on his screen. Pale skin begging to be marked by him. White and pink beauty—obviously with English ancestors. Her breasts, the heaviness making them sag slightly, with pink-tipped hard nipples that made his fingers itch to twist, to tug, to pinch, to slap with the crop that nestled teasingly against her. Then, more creamy skin and that little patch of soft reddish-brown curls hid the lusciousness within.

Part of his mind compartmentalized the differences between his baby girl and the girl for which he hungered, real life. Her skin was a shade darker, the one who occupied his dreams and waking fantasies. Her breasts were smaller. He couldn't imagine her ever with a crop, which is why he came to the chat room and sought out more amenable beauties to assuage that desire to control. That thirst to possess.

No, he mused sadly, the one who tempted him wildly would never be his.

But...now he had a promising new pet.

***********

In her dreams Cassie was able to fully focus on what her Daddy's dominance might entail. His voice, roughed with the desire she caused in him, would order her to do things that she had only read about in stories or seen in BDSM porn.

With her new research on the DD/bg lifestyle, the dream that drove her unconscious wild began innocently enough...

Whistling the theme of Powerpuff Girls, Cassie sat at the kitchen table coloring a picture. It was her house, and she wore what she could only term fetish wear for the lifestyle.

Her hair was in reddish brown pigtails out from the sides of her head. Handles, she had heard the hairstyle referred to as, and she blushed in her sleep at the images she had seen of men using the pigtails to grasp for a more forceful blow job. She also wore a little school girl uniform, with tiny pleated skirt, knee high socks, a button down shirt with a little dickie collar, and Mary Janes shoes (albeit with a 3-inch heel).

A key jangled in the door, and in walked Master—no, Daddy, she corrected herself—at home and at ease. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and checked the pots on the stove.

Her mind supplied the details she didn't yet know. He would be dressed all in black: black pants, black shoes, and black button down shirt. He walked back to her stroking her head, caressing her pigtails.

"Has my little one been busy this afternoon?" In her mind, his voice was rough, raspy, and deep...and oddly familiar. Her unconscious discounted that as pure fiction.

She nodded happily, swinging her legs girlishly. "Yes, Daddy. I've colored and done my homework. I've cooked supper and even groomed properly." Again, in her sleep, she blushed as her dream-self glanced down at her lap knowing that the "grooming" meant a freshly shaved pussy.

A devilish glint appeared in a set of brown eyes that, again, looked like someone else's. "Well, let's see, then, my sweet baby girl."

Dreamily, even within the context of the dream, she stood and followed him to the bedroom. Halfway there, she laced her fingers in his trustingly. He smiled down at her with lips that were at turns wicked and nurturing.

When he led her through the bedroom door, he shut it behind them and said, "Now, my sweet little one. You know what to do. Up on the bed edge, legs spread for Daddy's inspection."

She hopped up on the bed, a giggle escaping her lips, as she spread her legs, revealing her freshly shaved nether lips framed teasingly with the flirty hem of her black and white plaid skirt and, lower down, by her knee-high white socks. Blushing, she realized he could probably see, even as he stood by the door, the moisture that dewed at her lips.

He walked to her, kneeling before her so that his face was at the same level as her pussy. "Mmmmm," he murmured, his fingers sliding along her slit, gathering some of her juices while testing the freshness of her bare pussy. "My delicious baby girl is dripping already." Daddy lifted his fingers to his lips slurping on them, tasting her juices before he slid his fingers against her slit again, spreading her lips and finding the hard little nub of her clit already slick with her juices.

Head falling back, Cassie mewled deep in the back of her throat. "Look at me," he commanded. I need to see your eyes."

"Yes, Daddy," she whispered as he loomed over her, solid and strong. He cradled her chin between two fingers and tipped her head up to stare at her, deep into her eyes.

"There's my baby girl, my sweet little one." His fingers trailed lower to tease at the buttons, slipping them readily through the holes and revealing her creamy skin, inch by inch. Daddy clucked his tongue when he saw the sheer black bra she wore. Naughty lingerie was her weakness, her one concession to her inner slut. A flick of his fingers parted the front closure of the bra, her 36DD breasts spilling out of the cups.

He tugged her shirt off and left her there, bare above the waist, with skirt, knee-highs, and shoes still present. When he reached for the belt on his pants, she looked confused. Daddy stroked her cheek with his other hand. "Oh, pet, you look so delicious like that. I want to fuck you just...like...that." His last three words were punctuated with kisses of searing intensity. As the last one ended, she clung, enjoying the feel of the silky linen of his shirt against her skin. With a whimper, she let go as he set her back from him.

His belt slid from the loops with an audible swish, and her pussy dewed further. Cassie's Daddy didn't cotton with calling her pussy her princess part or anything like that; enough of his masterful dominance rose to the fore to want the dirty talk of "pussy," "fuck," and "cock" to come forth from her pink-tinged lips.

"Back up on the bed, kitten," he directed. "Assume the position, hands clasped above your head, fingers touching the headboard." When she did as bid, he wrapped her wrists with the belt before securing her wrists, via the belt, to the slats on the headboard.

Daddy stood back to admire his handiwork. With a careful, gentle fingertip, he traced the rounded curves of her breasts, briefly pinching her nipples and eliciting a gasp from her. He chuckled low in his throat. "Not quite yet, little one. Daddy brought you home a special prezzie."

"A prezzie, Daddy? What is it? A new stuffie?" she asked, eager to see her prize.

"Nuh uh, my sweet one," he said, drawing a chrome chain with three pincher ends. Cassie shuddered, knowing instantly what it was. For months, she had wanted nipple clamps, but she had been too chicken to try them. And, now, Daddy had gifted her with her very first toy from him.

But... "Daddy? What's the third pincher for?" Another gasp burst forth from her lips as he pinched her nipples with two of the ends. Instantly, all of her focus was on those dual seats of pleasure-pain. The third part of the chain was longer, and he trailed it lower, down her belly, and then lower to rest against the top of her mound.

"Daddy?" Cassie yelped as he grinned evilly at her. He ducked down and licked lightly at her clit, as she would a lollipop to tease him with. She cooed softly, then moaned, her fingers clutching together in their black leather prison, as he continued to lick and taste her.