Ummm...Daddy?

Sometimes Daddy has to change our plans. It's not his fault; he has a job that keeps him in contact with the most influential people in our city. We are often asked to dinner, and that requires that I be prepared to change evening plans at a moment's notice.

It was about one o'clock that afternoon when my phone buzzed, signifying the arrival of what I found to be a text message from Daddy. Three of them, actually. The first was a picture of a complete vintage 1970s outfit. The second was a Google Maps picture of our local vintage clothing store. The third were instructions from Daddy.

Hi Princess. Go pick up the outfit; I've already paid for it. Honeysuckle for the bath then straighten your hair. See you on the rug at six. I love you.

I sent him back a quick text confirming the instructions I had been given were received, returned the love, and set out to complete my tasks. It didn't take long to reach our local vintage clothing store, Tie Dye Me Down, where I picked up the outfit and hurried back home. I was going to be pushing it to get everything finished by six.

I bathed, using the honeysuckle body wash, shampoo and conditioner. I shut off the water and slid open the glass shower door, allowing the trapped steam to escape in a rush. Daddy had special mirrors installed for me in the bathroom that did two things, kept the mirrors from fogging up and each mirror had lights that I was able to turn on to put on my makeup.

After drying myself and wrapping my hair in a towel, I stood naked in front of the mirror while I applied a light base of foundation and then powder to my face. I applied a smoky eye, added a lipstick only slightly darker than my natural lips, a peach blush and applied mascara to my top and bottom lashes. I unwrapped the towel from my head and dried my long hair straight. My next stop was the walk-in closet for charcoal colored boy shorts and matching bra. I hurried into the bedroom and ripped open the bag from Tie Dye Me Down. Inside was a par of blue jeans, a shirt, a scarf, and a pair of shoes.

The shirt was a flowery purple and was reminiscent of a shawl. Long and flowing, made with a light, airy material and had fringes hanging from the end. The jeans were denim until just below the knee where they flared out into large bell bottoms made from the same material and pattern as the shirt. The scarf matched as well and had long fringes that hung from each end. I wrapped the scarf, headband-style around my head and tied it. A pair of super-cute chunky heels, wooden on the bottom and black on the tops finished the outfit off. I was standing on the rug and putting in my silver hoop earring when Daddy walked through the door.

Daddy gave a quick once-over, smacked my ass, kissed me and hurried to the shower. I sat on the couch in our bedroom and waited for Daddy to finish his shower. I still didn't know where we were going or what we were doing. That question remained unanswered for another ten minutes, but Daddy explained while he dressed that the recently appointed chief of police in our city had extended an invitation for dinner and drinks with he and his wife. I was a bit excited for this dinner, and I wondered when the invitation was going to come.

Daddy and I stood outside the door to the home of the chief of police, his hand on my ass, preparing to knock on the door when it swung open and we were greeted by Chris Hawl and his wife Kurba.

Chris and his wife were all the talk in Wayshear, as Chris had been newly appointed to his current position under some eyebrow-raising circumstances. A notice was given within the Wayshear Police Department that the position was open, and it was made clear that the person for the job would be hired from within the department. Though quite a few applications were received, only Chris was considered for the position. A meeting of the city council was held, and in a closed-door four minute session, Chris was voted into his current position. Though Chris had achieved the rank of lieutenant within the police department, he didn't have a particularly stellar career. In fact, he was pretty young and didn't have much experience at all. The whole situation was...curious.

"I heard you pull up! Come on in, make yourself at home!"

Chris was an even six feet tall, and bright red hair topped his head and rimmed his face. He wore a pair of jeans and blue t-shirt with the word POLICE written in white across the chest. Kurba was barefoot and wore blue jean shorts that appeared to be painted on and shirt that matched her husband's in color and read COP WIFE. Her hair was "let me speak to your manager" short and blonde.

We were led into the dining room, where we were seated, and drinks were immediately served. Daddy had his normal rum and cola, and breaking a tiny rule of Daddy's, I asked for a shot of Fireball. Chris sat down and Kurba brought the food to the table. We had a rather delightful dinner of spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread. We made small talk throughout the meal and retired to the living room for drinks when we were finished.

Something was off with the whole situation. It didn't take long until the talk began to have sexual innuendos and hints of less than professional talk. I also took notice that Kurba had unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts while Chris moved closer and closer to her. The conversation continued and Kurba excused herself, leaving the room for about ten minutes, and when she came back, she had changed clothes and was wearing grey jogging pants with an over-sized POLICE t-shirt. It was just a few more minutes before Kurba again excused herself. Five minutes later, she yelled for Chris and he, too, excused himself.

It was at that point in the evening that things got crazy. When the couple reentered the room, it was a sight to see. Kurba was wearing barely there leather shorts that zipped from the front of the waistband to the back of the waistband, a leather bralette that also had a zipper and a pair of black six inch stiletto heels. A leather, spiked bracelet was wrapped around her right wrist, in her left hand was a black leather handle that was attached to a long silver chain. At the end of the chain she held in her hand was a collar that matched her bracelet fastened around the neck of Chris. He was on his knees, his fire-red hair and super white skin making the black leather thong he wore stand out.

I looked at Daddy and his face showed shock, disgust and then anger. He managed to control himself and asked Chris what he hoped to accomplish with the obviously pre-planned act. Chris didn't answer, but instead looked to Kurba while remaining in position on the floor. Kurba told him to remain in position, but he was permitted to speak. Chris answered by thanking her for allowing him to speak and ended the sentence by addressing her with "Mistress Shadow."

I got it immediately and so did Daddy, and we told Chris as much, but he continued to explain his actions. He thought we were swingers, and it was common knowledge that we live a BDSM lifestyle. This was their invitation to join them. Daddy politely declined, explaining that he would never allow another man to touch his Baby Girl. He ended the conversation with a promise that the night would stay between the four of us, and we excused ourselves and set our course for home.

The following morning I couldn't stop thinking about Kurba. She was a dominatrix and Chris was her slave. I wondered how the relationship worked, and if it operated anything like the relationship I have with Daddy. Daddy had left strict instructions that night, and then reiterated the following morning, that I was not to have contact with Chris and Kurba without his presence. I'm a Brat, though. I'm supposed to break the rules, and that is just what I did when I sat down at my computer and typed a lengthy email to Kurba. The email was full of questions, and I hoped that she would quietly return the email with my questions answered and Daddy none the wiser.

I woke the next morning to find a reply to the email I had sent Kurba. The subject line just said DON'T GET CAUGHT. I opened the email and there were no written words in the body of the email, just a video attachment. I clicked on it, allowed it to download and pressed play.

The screen flashed to life and I could tell a camera had been mounted on a tripod in order to film the scene before me. Chris was in the middle of their queen size bed face down and naked. The collar was still around his neck, and a ball gag had been placed in his mouth. Each wrist had been bound with individual leather cuffs that were attached to long leather strips that were secured at the bottom of each corner of the bed, stretching his arms out and holding his chest to the bed. Long, thick leather straps wrapped around the back of each knee, pulling them to Chris' chest, each secured to the bottom of the bed. A leather cuff had been placed around each ankle and leather straps were used to secure them to the corners of the opposite end of the bed. The restraints held him in a position that elevated his ass and allowed for no movement from him. Kurba appeared on the screen as she was climbing onto the bed. She was naked except for the ten inch strap-on she wore and the same stiletto heels she had worn the night we went for dinner. She didn't hesitate when she stood on the bed and dug the heel of one of her shoes into the fleshy cheek of his ass, causing Chris to moan in pain. Her voice was loud and thick with spite as she began to degrade and belittle Chris in every way possible. It seemed the meaner she was the hornier he got. I watched as she questioned his manhood, his financial status, the vehicle he drove, his current position within the community and even if his named father was really his father. She dug her heels into his ass, legs, head and hands before giving up on that method of torture and moving on to the next. Kurba grabbed the lube from what I assume was their bedside table and rubbed it on the strap-on that she wore. She eased up behind him and touched his asshole with the lubed up tip of the strap-on, and Chris moaned and tried to push back against it. She jerked away from him, standing and digging her heel into his ass again, that time drawing blood. She called him a mommy's boy and a homosexual. At least five minutes of her tirade was spent on the things he freely admitted he would love to have the men in his custody trade for freedom. A blow job and then forced anal sex on a man in his custody was one of Chris' biggest fantasies.

She changed position and tactic and knelt in front of Chris on the bed, forcing him to put the strap-on in his mouth and suck it. While I watched the video, she forced the strap-on down Chris' throat, making him gag and gasp for breath. When she tired of that game, she stood, stripped off the strap-on and walked off camera When she came back into view, she had exchanged the strap-on for a double dildo. The thing was massive! While I watched, eyes glued to the computer screen, she got on her knees behind Chris and inserted one end into his ass. Chris moaned, and I could not believe he was able to take not the just the length, but the girth of the massive dildo. She swung herself around, opposite him on her knees and inserted the opposite end into her pussy. They fucked this way for about ten minutes, the entire time Kurba hurled insults at him. The more she belittled him, the more excited he got. He begged for permission to release and was denied time and again. As she neared orgasm, he could no longer obey her command to not cum and exploded with a loud moan. She reached orgasm seconds later, but she wasn't finished.

Kurba disappeared from the screen once again and when she reappeared, she had a small riding crop that she wasted no time in using on his ass over and over again. Each swing turned his ass a deeper shade of red and by the time she was finished, Chris' ass had morphed into deep shades of blue and purple.

I was enthralled with the scene playing on the computer screen, and I had no idea that Daddy had come home. Not only was he home, but he had been standing in the doorway watching me watch the video as it played on my computer screen. I have no idea how long he had been home, or how long he had been watching me, but when he spoke I looked up to find a smirking Daddy with a bag of rope in his hand.

"Shut it off. I want you on the rug in five minutes. Leave your clothes in here. You won't be needing them for the duration of the weekend."

Shabari. I had pushed Daddy all the way to Shibari. I was in for a very long weekend.