GOODGIRLS SAY PLEASE

by Dani Wyatt

  I never asked about him since we moved. I know he’s probably dead but the idea of having any certainty—one way or the other—didn’t seem to be important to me once we got on the plane and started our new life.

  Since Daddy started writing, I’ve done a few books as well. I love being his babygirl, wife and mother to the children, tending the gardens and all that...but I wanted something else. Along with the girls, we’ve created a series of faerie fantasy books. They all revolve around our own faerie garden and the adventures of a group of magical but sometimes naughty faeries. It’s fun and to my surprise, I’m gaining a bit of a following myself.

  Daddy encouraged me in the beginning. Being dyslexic, my words were misspelled and sometimes out of order. He helps with editing and we hire a team of proofreaders and other professionals to help. In the end, my work is as polished as anyone and I admit it gives me a sense of pride seeing that even someone with my disability can create something other people enjoy.

  Oddly enough, I have no ill feelings toward my family any more. I am not sure what has become of them either, but sometimes that’s okay too. Family is not who you are born into, family is so much more. And Stas understands that now as well.

  “I better go check on dinner.”

  “I’ll go with.” Geraldine follows me through the crowd and we gain a few other of our friends on the walk.

  Our Thanksgiving tradition is for Stas and I to make some of the main portions of the meal, but our friends all have access to the obscenely large kitchen and everyone brings ingredients to cook and help with the meal as well.

  When we get to the kitchen, it is alive with sound. It’s mostly the women cooking and gossiping and they greet me with hugs and smiles as we move into the loving fold of the scents of comfort food that fill the kitchen.

  “So.” Lennie, one of our other friends, comes over with a warm hug. “When is the next one coming?”

  They all tease me that I’m a baby making factory. For some reason, they think I’m crazy, but I love being pregnant. I love the craziness of the kids and the way the house is always in a state of disorder to some extent.

  “I don’t know.” I laugh and rub my belly. “It’s been six weeks.”

  “I don’t know how you do it. I didn’t let Roman touch me for three months after Cinco was born.” Lennie adds, going back to mixing the bowl of greens and rice.

  “I’m crazy, I guess.”

  They all laugh in agreement and I feel the twitch of fullness in my breasts as the sound of Elijah’s crying filters through the other noise.

  Just as I turn to the door, Stas appears holding the sobbing baby.

  “He needs you, Babybear.”

  Stas tips his head to the hallway that leads off the kitchen and I follow without hesitation, knowing exactly where we are headed.

  Inside the guest suite, Daddy locks the door behind us and I take my seat on the small sofa, unbuttoning my blouse.

  Daddy places Elijah in my arms and I unclip the tops of my nursing bra and settle the baby to feed on me as Stas takes a seat next to me and puts his own mouth on my other breast.

  “You are a mess, Daddy.” I giggle as he looks up at me but he doesn’t stop sucking. “Don’t take too much or our little glutton here will fight you for it.”

  Daddy nods and makes a contented sound as he reaches down under my skirt and begins to strum my clit.

  We’ve carved out a life of our own. We do things our way. And although some of our friends have picked up on our particular lifestyle, no one here judges us.

  I call him Daddy or Daddybear in front of anyone and everyone. It is who he is to me and he calls me his Babybear without shame.

  We love each other madly. We love our family with the same passion.

  I don’t regret any of the challenges we’ve faced. It hasn’t always been easy. Like Daddy said a long time ago, we will screw up. We will hurt each other now and then.

  But, we will love each other. We will learn. We will grow. And we will be better for everything we go through as long as we go through it together.

  E P I L O G U E T W O

  Stas

  TEN YEARS LATER

  “I still feel like I’m sixteen around you.” I pull my hand back and lay a stinging swat on Ginger’s ass as she sashays by, holding our youngest, Elliot, on her hip.

  He’s just turned three and we decided he will be our last. The house is full and wonderful with eight children and a yard full of animals—so many I’ve lost count at this point.

  Out in the yard, the other seven kids are playing Red Rover with a gang of friends that are spending the weekend in a crazy sleepover that we host once a month.

  Our friends think we are crazy. But truth is I can’t imagine a different life. I mean, once you have eight kids of your own, what’s adding another ten or so for a weekend? It multiplies our joy listening to all of them hoot and laugh.

  Sure, there are fusses and struggles, but for the most part I find if you let the group figure things out, they usually do. Ginger and I are around to referee if things get out of hand, but it’s rare we have to intervene.

  By ten o’clock, nearly all of them are passed out on the giant padded floor we installed in a playroom off the back of the main great room. There’s a huge screen TV, blankets, pillows and enough room for everyone to sleep comfortably on the floor. It’s quite a sight, and Ginger and I spend most of our days laughing and yawning.

  But I wouldn’t trade a moment. I can sleep when I’m dead.

  “Daddy!” Her voice breaks me from my daydream.

  “What, baby?” I push off from where I was leaning on the kitchen counter and she hands me my cup of Earl Gray.

  “Your tea, Daddy.” She does this little curtsy as she holds it out in her open palm and Elliot smiles and giggles, one hand tugging at her hair.

  She’s only become more beautiful with the years and with each child. Her tits have not been without milk since our first was born and my sharing that part of her has been a sweet, intimate part of our life ever since.

  “Thank you.” I reach over and pull her face to mine, opening her lips with my tongue as I take the tea from her hand and taste the sweetness of her kiss.

  An hour ago, I was deep in her cunt following eating her to a few orgasms, and the scent of her sex is still on my face.

  “We’re going to be ninety and still caught up in the tinsel.” She smiles as we pull back from our kiss.

  “God, I hope so.” I brush her hair from her face, then move my hand to give a playful squeeze to Elliot’s rosy cheeks.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with the change?” Ginger turns to the refrigerator and pulls a bottle of juice out, handing it to Elliot.

  “Yes. I’m ready. We don’t need the money.”

  I’ve quit working this last week. I’d pulled back over the last year but finally just made it official. We live well here, I made some investments that paid us back in spades and frankly—besides food and things for the kids—we aren’t big spenders.

  We seem to have everything we want right here with each other and our life.

  “Well, if you keep buying presents like you have, we may need the money. I looked in the storage room. You are going overboard this year.”

  “I know.” I nod, admiring her curves and feeling my cock twitch. “It’s just, with us officially off the baby making circuit, I’m feeling it more. And you know I love Christmas here. I love seeing the magic in their eyes.”

  “You are the best husband and father I could have ever hoped for, Daddy.”

  “And you are the best babygirl a Daddy could ever dream of.”

  What she doesn’t know is, I have the best present coming for her. We lost Romper and Geisha last year, a few days apart. It was horrible. Somehow they got into an old bag of fertilizer in a shed. They pushed open the door and made a huge mess and we didn’t realize what had happened until it was too late.

  Ginger sobbed for days and the kids—God, the kids—I
thought they would never stop crying.

  We had a little service and I buried them in the meadow, where we have buried other pets over the years, and planted an orchid garden over where they lay.

  It took Ginger a month to stop going out there everyday and coming back red eyed and pale.

  I have eight miniature donkey babies coming on Christmas morning. One named for each of our children. I have a new pasture and stables being built as well. I told Ginger it was just for the animals we already have. But on Christmas morning, when we all take our walk like we do after breakfast everyday, they will all see the real reason for the changes.

  I look over to see Elliot sucking his bottle and his little eyes drooping closed.

  “Let me take him.” I step to her and extend my arms, taking his warm little body and pulling it against me. “Nap time for this little man.”

  “Thank you.” Ginger smiles and she still nearly stops my heart every time she does.

  Waking up next to her every day, I know I am the luckiest man alive. The universe, or fate, or whatever you want to call it, put her in my path that day at the greenhouse and changed me into the man I should have been.

  “No, thank you.” I lean over and slip a hand behind her neck, pressing my lips to the top of her head. “Meet me upstairs in ten minutes. My cock needs you.”

  “Yes, Daddybear.”

  In all these years, she’s never broken my rule. She’s never denied me when I’ve reached for her, and I sure have never denied her. We are as needy for one another as ever but it’s so much more.

  I laugh more with her than I thought possible. We just fucking love being with each other, whether it’s doing things with the kids, playing rough with each other, doing projects or sitting quietly after everyone else is in bed...everything is just better with her.

  I have another surprise for her coming just after Christmas, too. Seems after we left, George hired Sarah as well as Contessa. Now? George and Sarah are married, a baby on the way and Contessa is still their housekeeper and soon to be nanny.

  I decided it was safe enough after all this time and got in contact with George. He’s out of the life too, gone straight like me. They are all coming for a visit just after the holiday and it will be another Christmas morning surprise for Ginger when I tell her.

  “See you upstairs, my love.”

  “Anything in particular you’d like me to wear?” She asks on a seductive smile.

  “That new babydoll nightgown I bought you. And I want pigtails and ruffled socks. Be on your knees, Daddy’s cock needs your mouth first. Be ready like a goodgirl.”

  With that I’m down the hall, listening as she races up the stairs to do as I ask.

  Like I said, I’m the fucking luckiest man in the world.

  T H E R U L E S

  THE RULES FOR BABYBEAR:

  #1 Never say ‘no’ to Daddy.

  #2 Never lie to Daddy.

  #3 Goodgirls say please when they ask to cum. And you will always ask to cum.

  #4 You will not talk badly about yourself. You belong to me and will show yourself the respect you deserve as my babygirl.

  #5 You will address me as Daddy, Daddybear or Sir.

  #6 Daddy is the boss. You have a voice, but the final word is His.

  #7 Get permission before eating or drinking anything that is unhealthy.

  #8 When Daddy raises his finger, it’s time to stop talking and listen.

  #9 Worship Daddy’s cock. Worship Daddy.

  #10 Keep yourself smooth and clean as this is Daddy’s preference.

  #11 Always be ready for Daddy to have you at his pleasure. All of you, all of your holes, belong to Daddy.

  #12 Remember, when you dress, that Daddy enjoys looking at you. Dress to please Him. Ask each day if you are to wear panties or not.

  #13 Always tell Daddy what you are thinking and feeling. Do not hold back, this is part of you and in order for Him to take care of you, you must be open at all times.

  #14 Always use your safe word, ‘RED’, if you need Daddy to stop any activity that is pushing you too far.

  #15 In everything you do, you represent Daddy. You will do your best to be your best and strive to make me proud.

  #16 You will refrain from cursing and using undesirable language.

  #17 No touching yourself without asking Daddy first.

  #18 We are a team. You will use respectful language with Daddy and never speak ill of him to anyone else.

  #19 You will make Daddy his tea in the morning when you wake, and just before bed. It will be presented cup in your palm, handle outward.

  #20 You belong to Daddy and only Daddy.

  #21 Trust and respect Daddy always. He wants what is best for you.

  Rules may be added, changed and removed at any time at Daddy’s discretion.

  The Parting Glass

  Oh all the money that e'er I spent

  I spent it in good company

  And all the harm that e'er I've done

  Alas, it was to none but me

  And all I've done for want of wit

  To memory now I can't recall

  So fill to me the parting glass

  Good night and joy be with you all

  Oh all the comrades that e'er I've had

  Are sorry for my going away

  And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had

  Would wish me one more day to stay

  But since it falls unto my lot

  That I should rise and you should not

  I'll gently rise and I'll softly call

  Good night and joy be with you all

  Good night and joy be with you all

  1

  Brann

  YOU WILL ONLY UNDERSTAND when you understand.

  My father’s words come back in a rush as I step into the war-torn Parting Glass pub and my eyes land on her.

  She comes out from behind the bar and I forget how to breathe. The restraint it takes to hold back the rumble that wants to tear from my chest hurts.

  It’s not simply the way her ass would fit perfectly in my hands. Or that her hair teases for me to clutch it at the roots and pull her lips to mine.

  It’s the fact that—I swear to Christ—there’s a fucking halo over her head.

  And bells are ringing in my ears.

  I blink a few times adjusting to the dim light inside from the mid-March snow glare in the street. But even the lower light does nothing to minimize her impact on me.

  And on my dick.

  Peanut shells crunch under my steps, and the open space of the bar floor is set with a haphazard selection of empty mismatched wooden round tops and chairs. The few patrons seated along the massive carved wooden bar look as much as fixtures as the line of antique beer tap handles lining the back wall.

  The uneasy buzz of the neon Guinness sign tells me it needs a new ballast. This place could use a few dollars in its maintenance budget but it’s warm and inviting and I feel like I’ve come home.

  The dusty light filtering through the expansive cracked front window adorned with the name of the pub in chipped paint catches in silky waves of red fire that pop from the top of her head in a single ponytail. The length of that waterfall of red falls back and down to settle beneath her set jaw brushing skin that reminds me of the inside of an oyster shell.

  An easy smile hinges on her lips as she speaks to someone sitting at the bar and I love the way it extends all the way to her emerald eyes. Bold, unapologetic eyes that contrast with her fragile, doll-like complexion. Her nose wrinkles a little as she smiles, the action puts cute at a whole new level, animating an arch of freckles decorating her nose as she circles a spot on the bar with a white towel.

  Her eyes catch mine as she flips the towel up to rest over her shoulder and I stutter on an inhale, my chest tightening as I fight to release our glance wondering if she’s truly seeing me or just looking out the window.

  But I’ve seen her.

  God, I’ve seen her.

  She m
oves away from the customer, but the smile stays perched on perfect pink lips that are moving even though she doesn’t appear to be addressing anyone in particular.

  Five more steps inside and closer to her, my ears prick at the sound of her voice. She’s singing The Parting Glass, the song after which I can only assume the pub is named, and the sound is like crystal wind chimes from some long-forgotten dream.

  My cock is high and tight as I fight for my next breath.

  I’ve not gotten hard at the sight of a female since I was a freshman in high school back in Cork. My interests in girls, and later women, has always been complicated.

  For me, there was always something missing. I wasn’t like most guys. Their main objective seemed to be getting into a girl’s pants, but not me. Made me the mockery of a lot of my friends back in the day. Inner-city schools in Ireland can be tough.

  Hell, even more recently as an officer in the Garda my lack of interest in the more banal functions of most of my comrades raised their eyebrows, but fuck if I care.

  Like an old clock or a dusty sideboard that’s been handed down from generation to generation we have a family legacy that is burned into our genes and twisted around our hearts.

  As the legend goes, it is impossible for the first-born male in my family to lay with any other woman besides his one. And that one could take a lifetime to find, because she could be anyone, could be anywhere, but one look and everything will come clear.

  When that happens, it will be as though the world before existed in tones of black and white and suddenly you see everything in brilliant color for the first time.

  The family legend always did sound crazy to me. Truth is I wasn’t a believer until right fucking now. Those old stories told to me by my father and my grandfather suddenly reverberate inside of me as if we were sitting around the stone fireplace back home.

  But even if I didn’t quite believe the legend, I’ve still always been my own man. And the hell if I’m sticking my dick in anything that isn’t right for me. My whole life, I couldn’t seem to find anyone that made me want to connect with them. Couldn’t find anyone that made me sit up and take notice.