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Making love to my daughter on the small island in the river was definitely the highlight of our weekend canoeing trip, and it also marked the beginning of a more profound relationship. While Jo and I had always been close – which is almost certainly inherent between a parent and a child when the child never knew the other parent – our relationship had transformed into an onion due to its many layers. We were father and daughter, of course, but we had also become lovers, and there seemed to be the potential for more as well.
For some time, I had been following the posts of jo4daddy on my favorite blog site, a fairly popular site which I happened to use as well. I had only seen a very few posts which Jo had either forgotten to Friends-lock or had purposely left unlocked for me to discover, but just those few posts had allowed me a view of my daughter which I had not considered, and that discovery had begun the process which ultimately resulted in the weekend canoeing trip and the lovemaking on the island in the river.
Only after that weekend had ended did my precious Jo reveal to me that she was indeed jo4daddy on the blog site, and things finally began to make much more sense while also answering the mystery which had practically consumed my mind for quite some time. That also began to fill in the details for me, allowing me to truly see inside her.
Perhaps Jo had changed, or perhaps she had long been this way but I simply had not recognized it across the years. She was very much a sexual woman with some rather kinky fantasies. Many evenings and also some mornings before heading to the office, I would comb through the many entries in her blog – usually at least one entry per day – and be amazed at writings of what she enjoyed and what she wanted to try. One older entry in particular captivated me one evening:
My close friend G tells me fairly often about her relationship with N. I’m envious in a way. For over a year I’ve been fantasizing about being a sexual slave, especially about being bound and taken with no choice in the matter. N will often do that to G, sometimes by playing out some of her rape fantasies and sometimes by using various forms of bondage and taking his pleasure from her, leaving her gasping and frustrated afterward because she hasn’t been permitted to cum but she’s bound in such a way that she can’t touch herself to give herself the relief she needs. Sometimes he’ll also hurt her, although there are certain pains which she just cannot enjoy although she somehow endures them because she knows that N loves doing those things to her and enjoys having her suffer for him. Yet they’re not truly Master and slave, although she’s admitted to me that she wishes it could be more formalized. She wants to be officially a slave to him.
I want that for her, but I also want the same for myself. I think I know someone who would probably be a good Master for me, but I just don’t know how to broach that subject with him. In fact I sometimes wonder if he realizes that I’m a woman now.
Given the date of the post, I had not truly realized that she was a woman then, even though she was then a sophomore in college. I certainly knew it now, for over the past month or so, she had shown me her womanly body more than a few times, and she had allowed me inside her and reacted very much in a womanly manner.
Although I read many of her other older posts, that one in particular stayed at the forefront of my mind for several days, even inhabiting my dreams at night as I imagined her as “G” and myself as “N.” But it did make me wonder, however, if I truly could be a Master to my own daughter. Thinking about my own experiences as a Dominant when I was in college, I tried to envision how I might act and react to having my precious Jo bound to the bedposts, naked and vulnerable, begging for me to fuck her as I contented myself with simply eating her and squeezing her breasts. I thought of how it might feel to have her kneeling in front of me, tears streaming down her cheeks, her makeup running as I held her head in place and took my pleasure from her gagging throat. The more I thought of those situations, the more I realized that I could probably do the first scenario quite easily – but the second scenario deeply concerned me, even though I knew from the experience on the river island that she wanted to be able to deepthroat me, but the possibility of making her cry was what was holding me back.
The many jo4daddy posts gave me a lot to think about, and with Thanksgiving forthcoming, with my daughter and lover sharing four full days with me, I knew that the long holiday weekend would be the prime opportunity to experiment with bondage with her and begin to explore her kinky side – and once again get in touch with my almost-forgotten kinky past – early enough in the relationship that, if things did not go well at all, at least we would not have invested too much time in something which would fail.
*****
In the weeks leading up to Escort bayan Thanksgiving, I spent plenty of time online perusing various adult Web sites and generally trying to find articles, video clips, pictures, and anything else to help me “relearn” kink and acquire a few things. I suppose it was not so much a “relearning” process as it was a “coming up to date” process. Fortunately, the Internet made it far easier than it was when I was in college to obtain good information about anything kinky and especially about being safe during kinky activities. The time online also showed me some kinky activities I had never considered, such as filling a bathtub and holding a woman underwater so she could not breathe.
The time was also spent with the few bondage supplies I had kept from my college days and acquiring others. Thank goodness for the Internet, as that allowed me plenty of options from across the country (and from around the world, if I had wanted to order something from overseas) and have it delivered by mail. There was no embarrassment with going to a brick-and-mortar adult store and possibly being recognized by someone I knew, and no need to travel well outside the city to an adult store where I was certain to not be recognized by anyone I knew.
As I spread out the old lengths of chain and the fake-fur tethered cuffs and the faux-leather collar, I thought of Betsy and the evenings we had spent in college with her bound to my tiny bed, and tried to envision my own daughter in Betsy’s place. The tethered cuffs needed to be replaced and the collar had not borne the passage of time particularly well, so I sought replacements online and placed the order. Chain is chain, so I kept those, although I did buy replacement snap-hooks for the ends of the chains. One Web site had a nice black blindfold made of leather and lined with fake fur, with a “cutout” for the bridge of the submissive’s nose; I ordered that as well. As the various items arrived in the mail, I began to feel more confident about using them on Jo, about wrapping her naked body with the chains and ensuring one of the chains split her labia and remained pressed firmly against her clitoris, about keeping her blindfolded so I could surprise her with my every act, about having my young lover collared and leashed to lead her around the house like a beloved pet being taken out for an afternoon walk.
I had read so many of her jo4daddy posts that I could not decide which of her bondage-related fantasies to bring to reality for Jo. It took a while, but eventually, I finally decided:
One of my fantasies is for the older man to collar me as soon as I walk into his home, then add a leash and order me to my knees to suck him, not necessarily until he cums down my throat or all over my face, but to at least suck him while he towers over me, making me feel small, making me understand that I exist to serve him and ensure his pleasure over mine. Then in the fantasy he leads me through the house, making me crawl behind him like a dog, and eventually leads me to his bedroom where there are already leather cuffs ready for me. After he cuffs me, he secures me somehow to the bed (hopefully to the bedposts, as that really appeals to me), then uses a pair of scissors or even a knife to cut away my clothes until I’m completely naked and probably quite wet, and then finally he makes use of me, fucking me until he cums inside me, and not even caring if I can cum or not. Then he leaves me there, alone on the bed, bound and vulnerable with his cum leaking from me, leaving me alone with my thoughts like a discarded whore left in her bonds while the john walks away, using her and discarding her.
Now I need to stop writing this post and furiously masturbate before my roommate returns from her biology class. She probably wouldn’t appreciate seeing me kneeling on the floor with my hand down the front of my jeans.
I gave that particular fantasy a lot of thought. There were several variations of that fantasy which filled my mind, and as Thanksgiving approached, they all vied for my attention, eager for me to make some small changes to make her fantasy our combined reality. Ultimately, I decided, making the changes to personalize her fantasy – which had also become my fantasy – so that it was unique to us.
In those final hours before my daughter arrived for the four-day weekend, I kept going around the house, ensuring that everything was just right, that everything was in place, so that her/our fantasy would be even better than envisioned.
*****
Only when Jo closed the front door did she finally see me. She hugged me tightly and we shared a kiss before she realized that my hands were still behind my back.
“Turn around, take off your shoes and your backpack, and hold up your hair,” I instructed her as authoritatively yet as lovingly as I possibly could. With a smile spreading across her lips, she complied, and only then did I add the leather collar to her dainty Bayan escort neck, closing the buckle and sealing the collar to her with the small padlock I had bought earlier that day at the hardware store down the street.
“Does this mean that I should call you ‘Master’ now?” Jo asked, the eagerness evident in her voice.
“Maybe,” I mused, “maybe not. We’ll see where all this leads. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” she agreed, allowing her lengthy hair to fall back into place.
“Good. Then turn around and kneel.”
She complied with a smile still on her face. She beamed, her eyes sparkling with love and the realization that something she had envisioned for a long time was finally becoming reality.
“Between now and sunrise,” I informed her, “you need to first secure my permission before you have an orgasm. Is that understood?”
“Yes, but…?”
“‘But’ what?” I challenged her as I unzipped my slacks.
My daughter’s eyes dropped to the action of my hands for a moment before returning to my face. “What if I don’t have your permission first, Master?”
I simply raised an eyebrow.
She got the message.
In very little time, she was sucking me. She was actually quite enthusiastic about it, taking to her commanded task with the excitement of a little kid more than ready to open the presents on Christmas morning. With her mouth and her hands, she had me throbbing and dripping. My hands in her hair guided her head, her hands and her tongue providing the rest of what I needed…
I withdrew from my daughter’s willing mouth, and as she breathed fast and hard, I gave her a facial for the first time. The streaks of white extended into her hair, and even as she tried to regain her breath, her face beamed proudly.
That was when I realized that, although I had claimed her more than a few times, although I had several times filled her body with my seed, this was the first time that I had truly marked her as mine.
Jo was mine.
…not necessarily until he cums down my throat or all over my face, but to at least suck him while he towers over me, making me feel small, making me understand that I exist to serve him and ensure his pleasure over mine.
I hoped that she felt small. I hoped that she realized that she was to put my pleasure before hers – at least until sunrise.
Once I was socially acceptable again, I turned to the bookcase and picked up the short chain I intended to use as a leash. Once Jo stood on command, I clipped one end of the chain to the D-ring at the front of her collar and admired her white-streaked face once more, temporarily getting lost in her eyes, peering into her soul and finding that she was overflowing with love and with joy.
“Down on your hands and knees,” I commanded, and she obeyed, her streaked hair descending toward the floor. I noticed just how well her black jeans were practically molded to her, and that vision made me think for a moment of a spanking video I had seen online earlier in the week, and for just a moment I envisioned my daughter bent across my thighs as my hand hurt her again and again and again…
But there would hopefully be a time for that later.
I took the lead, and she obediently followed, my seed congealing on her face and in her hair as she crawled behind me up the stairs to my bedroom.
…to what was appropriately called the Master bedroom.
I stopped next to the bed, and Jo stopped beside me, leaning back on her heels. “Good girl,” I praised her as if she was a dog which had just heeled on cue. She looked up at me with smiling lips and smiling eyes, the drying white on her face and in her hair obscenely imprinting itself on my memory.
Once I could see past the drying streaks, I took a greater assessment of my daughter. Jo was still wearing her jacket, open to reveal the close-fitting blue turtleneck. A silver necklace swung nicely beneath her, the crescent moon pendant reminding me of her longtime love for Sailor Moon and providing an interesting contrast between her innocent interest and her far-from-innocent appearance.
“Climb up on the bed and lay on your back.”
Obediently, she complied.
…and eventually leads me to his bedroom where there are already leather cuffs ready for me.
As I thought of the words from the jo4daddy blog post, she discovered the black leather cuffs on the bed, one strategically placed near each bedpost. Her gasp of delight/surprise was soft but quite prevalent to my ears, and despite the semi-strict role I was trying to portray for her, I felt a smile forming. Her enthusiasm and her surprise touched me, and the fact that it was my own daughter who was so enthusiastic and so pleasantly surprised tugged at my fatherly heart, even though I was involved with her in a very unfamilial manner.
Without needing to be so instructed, Jo positioned herself on the bed with her limbs stretched toward each escort bedpost. It was a position which somehow made her breasts even more noticeable – they were not large by any means, but definitely enough to squeeze, to seize roughly in my hands and use as leverage when taking her from behind.
…as I had already done a few times.
In my mind’s eye, I saw targets emblazoned on each of her twin swells. Thinking of a BDSM video clip I had recently seen online, I recalled a woman – topless – restrained in a similar manner on a bed, while her Mistress removed the belt the bound woman was wearing and then used it to beat the bound woman’s breasts.
Suddenly, even though that was not part of the fantasy in the post I had been using for guidance, even though that had not been part of my planning, I longed to batter my daughter’s chest. I wanted her to grunt and groan like the bound woman in the video clip I had seen. I desired to watch her struggle in her bondage, to pull uselessly in a futile attempt to escape the belt, just like I had seen online.
I needed to see her in pain.
First, however, I needed to restrain her. While I know I took my time moving around the bed and encasing her wrists and her ankles in the leather cuffs and then using the old rope from the basement to secure each cuff to the nearest bedpost, I do not truly remember actually doing any of that. I only recall that at one moment, I was standing beside the bed, admiring my precious Jo’s breasts as they were highlighted by the tautness of her turtleneck, and then in the next moment standing on the other side of the bed with my own leather belt doubled over in my hand…
She was already squirming in her bondage. It was clear what was about to happen: I was going to hit her with my belt. I could see in her eyes that she wanted this, and it brought to mind yet another jo4daddy post:
I enjoy playing with my tits. They’re not particularly large, but that may be good, as I’ve heard and read various accounts of smaller breasts being more sensitive. I’m certainly far from needing a training bra, but I do wish my breasts were more sensitive. Still, it feels good to play with them, and much better when someone else plays with them. I want that older guy to eventually play with them; it would be so naughty and so delicious at the same time to have him playing with my tits, squeezing and pinching, perhaps biting. I wonder if he’d be willing to hurt me, and especially willing to hurt my breasts, and I wonder just how much pain I could handle from him. He’s hurt me in the past, although definitely not in a sexual way, yet on a deep level which I didn’t understand at the time, I liked it for some strange reason, a reason which to me is now sexual. But I wonder if he could hurt me beyond just an occasional (and needed and deserved) spanking. I want him to look at my breasts and think of ways to make them hurt.
I lashed out with the belt.
There was unfortunately no sound – at least, not from her mouth. The impact of the belt across her chest was sharp and loud, even with a turtleneck and a bra nullifying a bit of the blow to her breasts. The bed protested briefly as she lurched in her bonds, the little slack in the ropes suddenly eliminated and holding her in place. Her eyes and her mouth were wide open as the first searing pain permeated her chest.
Seconds passed, and she finally began to sag back into the bed. She was breathing again, her mind finally able to wrap itself around the agonizing stripe across her chest. Her eyes closed…
“Daddy…” she moaned, and for a moment, I was no longer a potential Master. I was a father heartbroken at seeing his precious young daughter in a state of distress.
“Daddy…” she moaned. “Master…” she quickly corrected herself, even though we were definitely not at the Master/slave stage of things yet, and likely would not reach that stage for quite some time.
I took her correction as permission to continue, so I lashed out at my young daughter’s chest again, but not with nearly as much force the second time. The impact was not quite as loud, and her reflexive reaction was not nearly as impressive, but she did grunt aloud, pulling again at her bonds.
Again I waited, and when she finally partially opened her eyes and turned to look directly at me, I knew that the pain I was giving her had touched something deep within her.
“Please…” she requested, her voice soft and slightly wavering from the pain, yet with a hint of a little-schoolgirl whine.
For a few minutes, I gave her more. It had always been difficult at best to resist giving my precious Jo something she truly wanted, and this was no different. This time, I was not giving her a doll or a car, nor was I giving her spending money or an extra scoop of ice cream. Instead, this time, I was giving her something far more significant, something far more intimate:
I was giving this sweet young woman loving pain.
For those few minutes, I hurt her – I purposely hurt my daughter with my love. The belt was the conduit, the accelerant to increase the pain I could grant her. Perhaps it was fitting that I was focusing the pain on her chest, beating her as close to her heart as I possibly could.
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