Hello funsters,
This started out as a series of roleplay prompts, then they started linking up nicely together, Butt-Atlas style. I decided that it could serve as it’s own stand-alone story, or at least the first chapter of each.
All of these stories are full of women being Dominated, humiliated, used, and/or abused, some willing, some less so. There are also smattering of romance, and affection, or at least friendship that is being slowly twisted into something more.
And, Also, there is quite a lot of Daddy/daughter style incest, or DD/lg style D/s dynamics.
And it gets a little violent toward the end.
I think that’s warning enough. Enjoy! Feedback appreciated.
**Happy Endings.**
Ascending is difficult. Not because of the physical exertion – as steep as the incline is, I can handle that. I’m well-rested enough. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep, were it not for the help of booze and medication, but it got me there. It’s the destination that puts me off, even though I know this his to be done.
It’s peaceful at least, and the view is pleasant. The main sound to be heard is the chirp and warble of the few birds who have started to awaken at this early hour. There’s just enough early morning sun to light my way. Already, I can see a view of almost the whole town.
The ascent is uneventful, as least as far as external stimuli go. Inside, however, I’m a hive of activity. I go over the training I’ve been given, the counselling, the reading I did, the videos I watched. They pulled no punches, and allowed me to see, in a way that could not be denied, that I was not the first, and that some had it worse. But that was cold comfort.
*There’s nothing more I could have done to prepare. There was more advance warning, in our case, than most could ever dream of. But still, it doesn’t seem like even a fraction of enough.*
I reach the plateau, and there she is, just standing there, at the edge of the small, tasteful memorial garden. The way the early morning sunlight lights her up makes her look angelic. Not that my eyes ever needed any help seeing her as such.
A twinge of guilt stabs at my heart when I see her in that outfit. The blouse barely manages to stay buttoned, the buttons looking fit to pop open at any moment. The red tartan skirt. If that skirt didn’t deserve the adjective ‘micro’, then no skirt did.
*And those heels.*
I can’t stop the thoughts of what happened that day, the last time I saw a pair of heels just like it.
I don’t deserve this, and neither does she. We talked this over so much, in the all too short she had. As sweet as she was, she inevitably broached the question of what *she* could do to make this easier on me. I was surprised at the time, though I really shouldn’t have been. She’s my daughter, I’ve known her all her life. Her compassion and kindness knows no limits, especially not for those she loves.
I wracked my brains, for days after, trying to think of an answer. I told myself at the time this was just to placate her, that I *shouldn’t* even by trying to make this easier on me. I eventually told her the one honest answer I could come up with. If she wore the same outfit I found that *thing* in, the day it took my wide, her mother away from us, that might help me to hate her just enough to go through with this. Now that she’s given me what I asked for, I’m not sure if I should be regretful, or filled with pride.
She smiles upon sighting me, and beckons me over, in a way that brings up further painful memories. Coming to her, I embrace my poor, tragic daughter, holding her close. Our embrace feels wrong, no way for Daddy and daughter to hug. But none of that matters any more.
I’m about to tell her what’s on my mind, when she speaks up.
“Are you ready, Daddy?”
Again, I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s her asking me this. For all I know, she’s more worried about what today will do to me than what I’ll end up doing to her.
*What a stupid question!*
Now is not the time for complete honesty, so I instead speak a softer truth.
“I’m so sorry, Sweet-Pea. I wish there were another way.”
She smiles, and buried her face in my chest, slightly too late to hide the tear that has started to roll down her face.
“Don’t be, Daddy. Please, promise me, you won’t let your guilt destroy you, after today. I know you didn’t want this, and I hope you know that I wouldn’t want to be with any other man right now.”
I squeeze her tighter. Unable to pull her in any closer to me than she already is, yet unable to resist trying.
“Give me a moment, Sweet-Pea.”
I collect myself, thinking back on happier times.
**Bait and switch.**
The morning of my birthday, I wake up early, excited, like a kid who slept in the candy store, the night before heading off on a trip to his favorite amusement park.
As a man in his early forties, it’s not every day I feel this excited, this eager, impatient even, to start my day.
I wouldn’t be, either, even on my birthday, if it weren’t for my sweet Pumpkin. For over a month leading up to today, she has been talking up the gift she had planned. Dropping cryptic hints as to what it was, how it was shaping up. She mentioned that she had bought parts and ingredients far and wide, done her homework, put in hours, sought out what help she could, without spoiling the surprise.
But these hints, as accurate as they may have been, were clearly only meant as a tease. I still had absolutely no idea what my gift could be.
I grab my phone from the bedside table, seeing the notification LED light up in light purple, the color reserves for my darling daughter.
*Morning, Daddy. Grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen. I just made a fresh pot. Then head down to your rumpus room. I know I said I’d cook your breakfast, and I will, but your gift is ready. Don’t keep us waiting too long.*
I throw on a dressing gown, quickly as I can, and don’t even bother with my slippers. I descend the stairs at a steady pace. I want to go faster, but It wouldn’t be me, not the normal me, and she could be watching. We are close, and really, there are no secrets between us, not in any way that matters, but we have always played this game, teasing each other whenever one gets a rise or reaction out of the other.
Pouring my coffee, as quickly as I can, I head to-wards my ‘Rumpus Room’. Shortly after her mother moved out, I started making the basement my own, setting it up as my own private space, where I could bring girls home, or just make myself scarce when I wanted to let my little girl have the run of the house. It was she who started calling it my ‘Rumpus Room’, after a particularly noisy lover. She didn’t win that round – I made no further comment, and installed sound-proofing.
Descending the second set of stairs, exhibiting outwardly a patience that I certainly don’t feel inside, I have to steady myself, grabbing hold of the handrail with my free hand, when I catch sight of my daughter, standing in the middle of the room.
Before consciously processing, I can see, immediately, that something is very different about her.
The clothes are simply not her at all. The red bikini looks like it’s the smallest, skimpiest one she could find, and that she *really went looking. The semi-transparent sarong, covered in prints of pink flowers (even if I were a botanist, I doubt I would have the presence of mind to identify at that moment), contrast nicely, though the way it wraps around her waist does more to decorate than conceal her body.
The shoes, I’ll grant, are a *little* like her – wedge heels, red leather, wedges lined in jute, are, like my darling daughter, simple, playful, yet elegant. They were probably also the easiest for her to walk in.
*But when was the last time she wore heels?*
I can’t remember. While trying not to stare, my frantic, panicked, confused eyes take in her pigtails, very much unlike her, and the subtle yet simple and colorful make up she has applied.
*Don’t be shy Daddy, come closer.*
Never one to say no to my daughter, and not knowing what else to do, I approach, noting as I do that her curves, revealed by her outfit, seem even more shapely than I had realised, and that her breasts seem to sit a little larger in that bikini than I had noticed.
She throws her arms around me, hugging my tight, her ample breasts pressing against me, her body grinding against mine, in a way that makes me even more confused.
“Happy birthday, Daddy! I hope you like your gift. I’ve seen the way you look at me, and I wanted to give you an extra special day.”
My mind, frantically, tries to come up with an interpretation for this, besides the blindingly, alarmingly obvious. *How could she know?* I was always so careful. I made sure never to let on, to make her feel comfortable. Besides, it wasn’t exactly hard to do so. They were really only fleeting thoughts, the kind any one has. Unwanted, outlandish, perverse, but easy enough to recognise and dismiss as the by-products of the more unruly parts of the mind.
My daughter waits no more than five seconds before becoming impatient with my hesitation. She lets her left hand, nails panted hot pink, stray down between my legs and starts…she starts to stroke my manhood. My dick.
“Come ON Daddy! Play with me. You’ve been so good, for so long, now it’s time you had some real fun. I’ll show you a better time than all those other women, those whores.”
I’m still struggling to find the right words when I hear the gentle footfalls coming down the stairs. Pushing my daughter away, I turn, to see my *real* little girl, the women I care about the most, descending, barefoot, in a long flowing summer dress, sans makeup and pigtails.
She smirks, thus claiming victory for once again getting a proper rise out of me.
“Happy birthday, Daddy. I hope you enjoy your gift. I put a lot of work into it, tried my best to make it just as you would want. I hope you like it. You do, don’t you?”
She pouts a little, subtle enough to make me unsure as to whether or not she means it. I turn back to the Doll, look at it’s smiling face, and raise my hand.
**Business First.**
As the slap lands, I can’t decide if I am taking back control of the situation, or starting to lose some of that which I have left inside me. Watching her stumble back in her strappy heels, the ones I put her in, and fall down onto her ass, into the pink beanbag that *one* of us put there, I still can’t determine which is the case.
I could ask the only other person in the training room, but she is far too busy, caught up in the moment. Easy enough for her – she doesn’t have a job to do. Her black spaghetti dress, the mile she took after I granted an inch, has ridden up enough from the fall that all she has to do is spread her legs, put her hand between them, and start rubbing. Looking up at me, she gives off a sound halfway between a chuckle and a grunt, with a wicked grin on her face, licking her lips before opening her filthy mouth.
“Well it’s about fucking time, you limp-dicked pansy. I thought you would never start acting like a real man.”
I weigh up my options, and realise that I don’t even have the comfort of limits. I’m in unfamiliar territory. I’ve always like the problem cases, the girls given up on as hopeless. I’ve helped shy, delicate flowers blossom and open their petals. I’ve helped dyed in the wool lesbians hide their true nature, while enjoying it on the sly. I’ve tamed my fair share of brats before.
But never one like this. Almost straight away, she started playing games with me. Resisting for just long enough to wind us both up, then dropping subtle hints. her protests always seemed over the top, yet also genuine. Already, I had seen signs that her feisty attitude was just a mask, though I still hadn’t managed to get her to drop it.
I couldn’t exactly give myself the excuse of not being ‘permitted’ to take this as far as it needed to go. This little bitch had already caused enough trouble, shown up enough trainers, caused enough embarrassment all round, that I had received, loud and clear, that I could do whatever I saw fit, with this little Pain in the Ass, and the authorities would look the other way, as long as I got the job done, and didn’t do her any lasting harm. Permanent.
Failure was also not an option, not really. My reputation was on the line. I was the man who could fix any woman.
I wonder if perhaps I’m over-thinking this. She’s a brat, that much is clear. She has responded favourably to a taste of Rough.
*Why not give her more?*
Not being able to come up with a better idea, realising the dangers of hesitation, I step in close, looming over her. Briefly, I wonder how much after-care she might want, when it comes to that. Whether she will ever admit, even to me, how much she is actually Asking For It. If I’ll ever see the real her. If we will ever bond, or just enjoy bondage together.
*Plenty of time for all that later.*
I’ve been all business so far, and that has only gotten me to this point. Now it’s time for a little pleasure.
Grabbing a thick bunch of her hair, I pull her off the beanbag, using my free hand to manhandle her. Pressing her against the nearby wall, I let go of her hair, and grab her by the throat, squeezing just tightly enough so that she feels it, without restricting her breathing. I drag her up the wall, until she stand against it.
I hope, from her point of view, that this little manoeuvre feels just as impulsive as the slap was, even though this time I’m relying on years of practice. There’s a real art to making a woman feel roughed up, manhandled, endangered even, without ever actually hurting her, or putting her in any real danger.
Staring into her pretty blue eyes, smiling at the way they suit her long blonde hair, how this all contrasts with her little black dress, the look on her face tells me that the trick has worked. I lean in close to her, letting her feel my erection press against her. That’s something new that has just ‘popped-up’ Now that I’ve decided to let go, and live a little, that part of me, which was never as conflicted as the rest, has decided to make my feelings known.
“Wrong again, little slut. Shall we start over?”
**A Teachable Moment.**
Almost the whole class erupts in a cacophony of titter, giggles, chuckles, gossipy comments, excited whisper and general outbursts in response to her answer.
“Sir, please, I..I’ve never done anything like that before, honestly. I have no stories to tell.”
I gesture with my hand, letting the girls know it’s time to calm down, and pay attention, and soon enough, they do. I let her stew until the others have settled down, before pressing her further.
“Is that really the best answer you can come up with? Can you not think of anything more to say, or are you just holding out on me, because you think you’re above the rules? If you’re going to waste my time, then maybe you should go with the dare I offered, and let us get on with the class.”
Her porcelain skin blushes an even deeper shade of red, contrasting ever so nicely with her jet black hair, and the black satin of her dress.
“B-but S-sir, I can’t do that. I-”
“Can’t, or won’t? You really a disruptive little minx, aren’t you? Showing up late, then refusing to take your punishment.”
“Can’t. N-not wearing any.”
The class after erupts, this time mostly in laughter, though a few girls are impressed, and comment accordingly.”
I take pity on the poor girl, and turn her around to face me, holding her close. I’ve made enough girls blush, publicly humiliated more than my fair share. I can tell when a woman is putting on an act, and when she is genuinely terrified of what is happening to her. This is clearly the latter.
I gently stroke her bet red cheek with the back of my hand, and speak softly, just loud enough for her to hear.
“I’m sorry, but this needs to be done, for my sake, as much as yours.”
Reaching around, grabbing the hem of her Mini-corset dress in both hands, and lift it up, revealing her derriere, covered as it may or may not be, to the class.
I give one further command, before letting go, and stepping back, keeping the ‘trouble student’ between my class and I, concealing from their eyes the undeniable evidence of my own excitement.
“Well, Ladies, is the new girl finally telling the truth?”
Answer are forthcoming, confirming that indeed she is, commenting about her nice her ass is, even a few expressions of jealousy.
“Well that explain part of your behavior, though gives rise to several further questions.”
Steeping back in close, I turn her around, whispering again in her ear, providing her with an option of sorts.
“You can close your eyes, if you wish.”
Slowly, in front of all her peers, I unzip her dress, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I want you to remember this moment, Sarah, and keep it in mind, the next time you think it might be OK to show up late, or if you wonder whether it’s good to be a good enough excuse that you ‘Got Lost'”
Down the dress comes, soon her ample breasts are revealed, and my hands reach around to cup them.
“Take it off, sweetie, pull that dress all the way down.”
She obeys, and fumbling and tugging at the garment. On two occasions, I pinch her left nipple, and egg her on.
“Faster, little slut.”
When the dress is in a heap around her ankles, I let her go, commanding her once again.
“Now step out of that lovely little dress, and go take your seat in the front row. Stay behind after class, I want to see you in private.”
As she walks away, the tent pitched in my trousers becomes obvious. I had tried to focus, and calm myself, but already this ‘naughty schoolgirl’ has gotten under my skin more than most.
“Oh look, Sit likes her.”
“He’ll be seeing a lot of her after class.”
“She’ll walk with a limp tomorrow.”
I let the girls have their fun, as I pick up her dress, and walk over to the naked, defeated, humiliated young lady who bravely sits, with her head up, attentive, ready to learn.
“You forgot this, silly girl. Such a pretty dress too. Looks expensive. Thank you for making some effort, at least. If this all gets to be too much for you, you can put it back on, or scurry out in shame, and wait for me somewhere safe outside.”
I hold out the dress, and she takes it, clutching it to her chest instinctively, before giving up on modesty, and putting it down on the empty seat beside her.
“But I would much prefer it if you would show me just how brave you can be.”
I take pity on the girl, turning away from her before she even has a chance to respond. I didn’t want to be so cruel, but I have to make an example of every girl who breaks the rules, whether they meant her or not. Inwardly, I sigh, and look forward to helping this poor wayward girl, while lamenting that she fell through the cracks. She is obviously a special case, in need of one on one tuition. That’s something, at least.
*I’m so glad it was me who found her first.*
This thought gives me comfort, as I walk back over to my desk, ready to resume teaching.
**Bargain Bin.**
I stand behind your little display area, where you stand, arms raised, in front of the shop window, and hover my hand over the button that lowers the ceiling of your section.
“May I?”
The shop-keeper nods, and I press the button, then grab your cuffs, unhooking you as soon as it is low enough.
Standing behind you, I bring your hands down, then turn you around to face me. I lean in close, my half-mast erection, which woke up for some reason, poking against you, your bare tits squashing against my chest. I whisper in your ear:
“Play along, Pumpkin. Don’t let on that we know each other. Struggle and be your feisty self, that will make you seem less valuable as a pet, then I can get you out of here without too much fuss.”
I drag you, pulling the chain that links your cuffs, leading you over to the counter. Lifting you up onto it, grabbing your ass, and putting you down, spreading your legs, I stand back, and look you over. Reaching out, I squeeze your left breast, pinching the nipple, then withdraw my hand, and give it a nice firm slap on the side.
“Nice titties – a little bit of titty Gro will make them a decent size.”
I grab your chin, twisting your had this way and that.
“Pretty face too, no scars.”
I grab hold of your throat, just firmly enough to hold you in place, without cutting off your breathing, though I easily could. My other hand goes between your legs, fondling your moist cooze.
“And excitable too – it’s already a little wet.”
I’ve bought so many pets before, but I am rarely this crude, or business-like, when inspecting a new potential purchase. I was never one to pretend that even the most committed of pets is still a woman, a human being. What’s more, I never would have imagined I would ever inspect you like this, grope and feel you up, talk about you instead of to you, call you an ‘It’.
But here we are. I tried to caution you against this, but you had none of it. You had a point to prove, and nothing else seemed to matter to you. You had always looked up to me, in your own way, were always grateful for the ways in which I sheltered you. But such shelter gave you several wrong ideas about the world. I tried to warn you to ease into this, to do more research. I tried to make you see that this lifestyle was not to be trifled with, that the customs and laws surround it made no exceptions, or apologies.
You told me you would ‘take that into consideration’, but I could tell from your tone that you dismissed my concerns as a ‘patriarchal need to control’, or some-such. Still, I had been hopeful that you would see reason, or at least come to me with a plan, let me help you.
But no, instead, I find myself her, in this dinky little pet shop, my Sunday interrupted when I spied you hanging in the window. I couldn’t believe it was you at first. You looked at me so defiantly as I looked you up and down. Your breasts, the exact contours of your curves, your neatly groomed little womanhood may all have been new sights to me, but I would have recognised that look anywhere.
I slip my finger an inch past your lips, hoping that the shop keeper can’t see that I’m going only that far, and not inspecting you thoroughly.
“And tight too. Should be a lot of fun, until it gets stretched out.”
I pull my finger out, and hold it up to your lips.
“Lick.”
I turn to the shopkeeper, before even waiting for you to respond, assuming that you will.
“But you said it just came in of it’s own accord this morning, straight off the streets? So no papers, or medical history. Probably not trained either.”
I turn back to you.
“What’s your deal, little slut? Is the man right? Are you just a little cunt with Daddy issues, who got too drunk and lost her owner? Do you even know how to fuck?”
Your nose, still wrinkled up at my finger, relaxes when I pull it away. By rights, to keep up appearances, I should force the finger down your throat. A pet must obey, even a man who is not her Master. But still, I’ve known you for so long. It feels as if *that* would be crossing a line.
Emboldened by this little victory, you speak up, suddenly full of confidence, and also lies.
“It was a bet. My friends said that I couldn’t survive being a pet, that I’d break mentally but I said I could. I told them I would survive and even give my owner hell! As if some asshole is putting his filthy hands on my body and I’ll just take it compliantly. For all you know, I could be untreated, carry all types of stds. And if you really think I’m licking your fingers, you’ve good another thing coming.”
*Well at least she’s not making it TOO difficult.* I think to myself, as I refute your statement by back handing your pretty face. I’m mad at you, I realise. I feel betrayed, that you went through with this, without involving me. It’s certainly for the best that you didn’t give the *real* reason why you’re here. Feminists always fetch a higher price. Far too many men get a perverse pleasure out of breaking the defiant ones. My only hope of getting you out of here is to let him think you’re worthless, wit for the right moment, and offer to take you off his hands, as if I’m doing him a favor.
Grabbing a thick tuft of your hair, I drag you back over to the window, as you kick and scream in your heels, calling me a pig, swearing at me, demanding that I let you go. Your protests fall on deaf ears, and the burly, sweaty shop keeper just chuckles as I hang you back up, slapping you firmly on the ass. I lean in close, reaching around to grab your tits.
“Keep this up, you little pain in the ass, and no-one will want you, except me. Maybe I’ll decide to buy you, maybe I won’t.”
Surely, by now, she must be starting to worry, must be convinced that she was more right than she ever realised, if even I, a man she looked up to, is willing to treat her like this, given half the chance. IN which case, it’s cruel to taunt her like this.
*But I can’t help myself.*
I walk myself back over to the front counter.
“Quite a handful, that one. suggest a ball gag- her mouths no good, and probably a biting risk. I certainly wouldn’t put anything in there that I valued. Good luck selling her.”
“Well, you never know. The right meds could sort her out, take some of that edge off her.”
“Here’s hoping the necessary dosage doesn’t kill her first. After all that, the used model you mentioned sounds more and more attractive. Even if she has had several owners, she might be worth my time, if she’s still in good shape, and properly broken in.”
“Oh, she is certainly that last one. You can check out her shape for yourself, if you want. Free no-obligations trial.”
“I could do with venting some frustration. Show me to it.”
Taking a key from behind the counter, the shop-keeper unlocks a door behind it, pushing it open, giving me a view into a dimly lit cellar.
“After you, Sir.”
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/70lyel/what_does_it_all_mean_str8_mfmf_nc_fsub_mdom