by Kitty Jones
“Most people do, you know. Most people don’t want their partner to know what turns them on or makes them excited. People get embarrassed by their kinks.”
“And you?”
“Am I embarrassed?”
He nods.
“A little,” I tell him. “I like being treated like a little. I enjoy that. I like being submissive. I like being bossed around a little,” I smile. “I’m not like that in my real life,” I say. “In real life, I have to constantly be alert and aware and make decisions and sometimes…”
I sigh.
“It’s all a bit much to handle, isn’t it?” He murmurs.
He understands.
And that makes me feel so, so good.
“Yes,” I tell him.
“Sit down on the edge of the bed,” he says.
I do what he says.
He kneels before me and he takes off each of my shoes. First one: then the other. He places them carefully to the side and there’s a part of me that’s really, really happy he didn’t just throw them. They weren’t cheap, and I don’t make a lot of money. I’d hate to have them scuffed up or damaged on a night like tonight. Plus, knowing myself, I’d spend the rest of the evening stressed out about it.
Now I don’t have to worry.
Is it wrong that I love this so much?
Peter finishes undressing me and then he pulls me to my feet.
“You look lovely,” he says, and he kisses me on the end of my nose. It’s a sweet gesture, almost innocent, and then he leads me to the en-suite. We walk through the doors and it’s like magic.
“This is your bathroom?” I ask. I’m totally shocked at the space before me. It’s beautiful.
“It’s my guest bathroom,” he clarifies.
“How often do you have guests over?”
“Are you jealous?”
“I’m curious.”
“Not as often as you might suspect. I spend most of my free time at the club.”
“Why?”
“My, my, you are a curious little kitten.”
He sits down on the edge of the tub and turns on the water. He gets it to just the right temperature and then he starts to fill the bath. He adds bubbles and some scented oils, and then he turns back to me.
“I lead a busy life,” he says. “I don’t often have time for complications.”
“Relationships are complications?”
“They can be.”
“I understand.”
“Relationships, especially of a D/s nature, can be demanding.”
“You aren’t wrong,” I agree.
I like that we’re talking casually about this, that we’re openly discussing the world of BDSM like it’s not the most important thing either one of us is currently dealing with. I mean, we’re both obviously interested in the scene since we’re kind of in one right now, but I like that we’re able to sit and just talk about how things are working or not working.
He’s right.
Being in any sort of relationship is hard.
A BDSM relationship, however, can be downright impossible, especially if you aren’t careful. It takes a special sort of person to love a Dominant or a submissive, and that type of person isn’t always the most understanding or the most kind. Finding someone you can relate to, that you can trust, can be hard.
“It’s not that I don’t want a relationship,” he says.
“I understand.”
“My job keeps me quite busy,” he says, and he looks up at me with a sad sort of smile. “And when I’m not working, I…well, this is just perfect,” he says. He gestures toward the bath and motions for me to come over. I do as he says and Peter carefully helps me climb into the tub. I love how warm the water is and how high the bubbles go. Laughing, I pop a couple of them.
“I’m glad you like this,” he tells me.
“I do.”
“Do you often take baths at home?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have a tub.”
My apartment only has a shower. It’s a little weird to admit, but it’s the truth. Maybe he’ll think I’m strange for not having a large bathroom, but I can’t really find it in me to care too much about that right now. Right now, all I have to do is listen to him.
All I have to do is please him.
“Well,” he says. “Then tonight should be quite the treat.”
He uses a small cup to pour hot water over my body. I lean back as he washes my hair, rinses it out, and then conditions it. This pampering makes me wildly uncomfortable, but at the same time, it feels good.
Right.
Wonderful.
I shouldn’t be enjoying it nearly as much as I am. I shouldn’t be loving the way he’s touching me, caressing me, spoiling me.
But I am.
“Spread your legs,” he murmurs.
“I can wash there myself,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow, but I double down. Taking a bath is one thing. Having him clean me…there…well, that’s another thing entirely.
I reach my hand out for the washcloth.
“I believe we have an agreement for this evening, love,” he says. “Are you trying to get a punishment so early in the night?”
“You don’t need to wash me there.”
“Little girls don’t need to worry about anything except pleasing their daddies.”
But this is so…
Embarrassing.
And I haven’t had anyone else touch me or clean me there, well, ever. All of the boyfriends and girlfriends I’ve had in the past were perfectly content to let me shower, bathe, and wash on my own. None of them really expected anything from me.
Then again, maybe that was part of the problem.
Maybe they should have.
With a sigh, I spread my legs. Tonight is all about pushing my boundaries, right? And if nothing else, I’m going to walk away with some money. I’m also going to walk away with something else: the memory of his touch against my skin.
It’s like fire.
He smiles and nods, as though he’s silently thanking me, but I haven’t done anything.
Not really.
I’ve just given him my trust.
My admiration.
My desire.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and he moves the washcloth between my legs. At first, he just gently washes my thighs, but when he moves the cloth higher, and he touches me there, I feel like I might actually explode.
I might totally, completely come apart.
I gasp, sucking in a little breath, and he chuckles.
“I see you like that.”
“A little.”
“Just a little?” Hmm. How about this?”
He presses the cloth against my skin and moves it up and down across my pussy lips. Then he centers it on my clit and starts to rub.
Oh…
Yes…
Yes, I like that very much.
I nod quickly, showing him just how much I like it, and he smiles.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Somehow, that compliment is my new favorite thing. There’s no rhyme or reason as to why. I just really love the way I feel when he says that to me. I feel like I really am being good for him. I feel like I’m doing exactly as he wants.
“I like when you say that to me,” I tell him in a moment of boldness. He seems a little surprised.
“Good girl?”
“Yes.”
“You are a good girl.”
“Thank you.”
“You like being verbally affirmed,” he says.
It’s not a question.
I do.
We both know it.
“At the club, it’s always one of the best parts of play for me,” I tell him. “When the scene is over, and my partner thanks me. I love it.”
“Very interesting,” he says, and he pushes a little strand of hair back from my face. “I’ll have to make a mental note to remember this.”
&n
bsp; “Okay.”
“I think it’s time to dry you off.”
He reaches down into the tub and pulls out the plug holding the water in. Then he grabs me gently and lifts me up and out of the tub. Peter sets me down on the soft towel on the floor and starts to dry me off.
I close my eyes and hold perfectly still.
“Have you had a lot of littles?”
“No.”
“Any?”
“Some.”
“What makes you like being a Daddy Dom?” I ask.
“I like being able to make someone feel good,” he tells me. “BDSM is all about trust. It’s all about taking and giving. It’s all about an exchange of power. Sometimes that power involves giving or receiving pain. I like that, too, but my favorite thing about kink is being able to spoil someone and let them forget about all of their worries.”
“That’s why you like the Daddy/little girl dynamic.”
“Yes.”
“You like letting someone forget about their troubles.”
“Yes.”
“And you take care of everything for them.”
“Yes.”
Will you take care of me?
The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t dare ask him. I’m not about to get so forward and I’m not about to ask him for something that’s not mine to take. Peter is a good man. A strong man. A kind man.
A fierce man.
And he’s not the kind of man who needs someone throwing themselves at him.
Not like this.
And not tonight.
Chapter Five
Peter
She was about to open up to me.
I could feel it.
Something caused her to shut down, though, and I’m not sure what it was. I instantly feel the loss of her trust, but that’s okay. I have all night, I remind myself, and that’s plenty of time to break down the walls Heather has built up around herself.
I finish drying her off, blow-dry her hair, and lead her back into the bedroom. This is when she notices the dress and stockings that are hanging in the room.
“What’s that?”
“That’s what you’re going to wear tonight,” I tell her.
“For what?”
“For our tea party, of course.”
She looks at me curiously. She seems to have forgotten her own nudity because she’s not covering herself or trying to avoid my gaze.
“A tea party?”
“Yes.”
“Why are we having a tea party?”
“Because it pleases me.”
“Oh.”
“Heather?”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever had a tea party?”
She hesitates for just a second too long, and then finally shakes her head.
“No. I’m afraid I don’t even know where to begin.”
What kind of child never got to have a tea party? There’s a lot about Heather I don’t know or understand, and I hate that she has been through so much alone. She’s the kind of woman who always has to be brave and strong for other people, but when is someone going to be brave and strong for her?
That’s what I want to know.
When is someone going to take care of her?
To worship her?
To honor her?
When is someone going to take care of everything in her life, so she doesn’t have to?
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll show you.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
The gratitude that’s evident in her voice is incredible, and it makes me feel like I’m just not worthy. Heather has a lot of love to give, and I realize that her gentleness is something that often gets overlooked by other people, which is unfortunate because she’s wonderful.
“Sit on the bed, princess.”
She moves over to the bed and sits down. I’m going to help her get dressed, but first, I want to taste her.
I move over to her and cup her cheek before bringing my lips down on hers. She tastes sweet: like cherries, and I take what I want from this moment. She kisses me back eagerly. Heather never holds back at the club and she’s definitely not holding back now. This may be her first time with a Daddy, but I’m going to make it a night she’s never going to forget.
There’s a part of me that’s holding out, that’s hoping she’ll want more from me than just one night. I know that’s not very fair for either of us. She doesn’t want this, and I shouldn’t want to be with someone who doesn’t share the same needs or interests at me.
Still, I can’t help but wonder what if.
“Okay,” I murmur, pulling back regretfully. “Time to get dressed.”
I help her into the stockings and the lace dress. It’s poofy and pretty and has petticoats nestled underneath. She looks positively adorable in the dress, and I pull her to her feet.
“No shoes?” She asks, looking down.
“Not today.”
“It’s poofy.”
“It’s beautiful.”
She looks up at me and she smiles.
“Thanks,” she says. “I kind of like it.”
“When was the last time you dressed up?”
“I mean, I dressed up tonight,” she says with a little laugh.
“You dressed incredibly sexy tonight,” I say, thinking about how she looked in the tight little black dress. She followed my instructions precisely, but me asking her to wear that was more so I could see if she was able to follow directions outside of the club. Every woman has a little black dress in their closet, and I didn’t want to ask her to wear something that she’d inevitably have to go buy or purchase.
She’s a graduate student, after all. The last thing she needs is to have to go spend money she doesn’t have just in order to enjoy a night with me.
Besides, tonight I want her to have fun.
I want her to relax.
Most of all, I want her to submit.
“Shall we go?” I ask, taking her hand. She nods, and I lead her back through the house. It feels good to have her here. It’s a big home and it’s far too empty without someone to share it with. I love having her around the house with me. I love knowing that she’s here to play with me and have fun with me.
We reach the dining room and I show her where we’re going to have our tea.
“It’s like a proper tea party,” she says. “But at night.”
“Of course,” I say with a smile.
“I’ve never done this before.”
“It’s important that you learn.”
“Why?”
“Being submissive is about more than kneeling and following orders. It’s about meeting your Daddy’s requests.”
“And what you request is for me to serve you tea.”
“Of course.”
I go into the kitchen to make the tea – I won’t make her do that much – and then I help her prepare the tray.
“All right,” I tell Heather. “You’ll need to put everything on a tray and bring it out to me. You’ll set the tray down and remove the teacups and the treats. Then you’ll pour the tea. No spilling, though,” I wink at her.
“Okay,” she says. “I think I can do this.”
Chapter Six
Heather
What was I thinking?
There is no way I can do this.
I stare at the teapot and the teacups and the assortment of cookies and muffins and I really have no idea what I’m doing, all of a sudden.
A tea party?
The bath was strange enough, but now we’re having a tea party.
A fucking tea party.
The problem is that this idea makes me feel so very excited. I love the idea that I’m going to get to do something I’ve never done before.
Does that make me a freak?
In the world of academia, all I do is read, write, rinse, and repeat. Seriously. My entire life is a series of lectures and papers and research. I have very little time to myself, and when I do, I always feel
obligated to spend that time studying. It seems wrong to spend my free time actually relaxing when there’s always something that I could be doing.
But right now, I don’t need to worry about tests.
I don’t have to worry about theories or papers.
I don’t have to worry about classes or professors or deadlines.
All I have to worry about is making this tea and delivering it to Peter.
Yeah, maybe I can do this.
It’s not such a big request, really.
You’ve got this.
I prepare the tray carefully. I set the teacups and the teapot on the tray. Then I pick a little plate and choose a few of the delicate treats he has carefully set out. Apparently, Daddy Peter has quite the sweet tooth. There’s an assortment of treats to choose from: candies, muffins, biscuits, and even cookies. There are a few cupcakes, too.
Did he bake before I came here?
I think about choosing a cupcake, but then I stop myself.
What if he asks me to feed him?
What if he wants to feed me?
Muffins and cupcakes are messy. I’ll skip those.
Instead, I choose a couple of cookies and a small biscuit. Then I arrange everything carefully on the tray and take a deep breath.
I can do this.
I almost look like a sort of gothic fairytale princess in this outfit. I wonder if he bought this dress specifically for us to use tonight. It’s my size and fits me perfectly. It smells new. I don’t even think it’s ever been washed before. It must be new. The dress is low-cut enough to be seductive and it’s very short. The stockings come up to my thighs and I’m not wearing any undergarments.
Still, it feels…special.
It really does feel like something a princess would wear.
It feels like something his princess would wear, and so I wear it.
I pick up the tray and take my time walking to the dining room where Peter is waiting at the head of the table. I move to him and set the tray down on the table. Very carefully, I lower it and make sure that the teacups don’t jostle too much.
“It looks perfect,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“Will you pour us tea?”
This is it.
This is the moment of truth.
I’ve never done this before, and I’m nervous. I want tonight to be so very perfect. I want everything about this moment to be something he’ll remember forever and always. I lift the teapot and I begin to pour. The first cup is perfect. I manage to fill the teacup and set it down without spilling a drop.