2 comments/ 11440 views/ 7 favorites Worst Day, Best Night By: aislynd This is Chapter 1 of a story I am calling "Worst Day, Best Night". This story is about two consenting adults who participate in the DaddyDom/babygirl dynamic. I hope you all enjoy the writing. ***** It had been the worst day ever. I work as a victim advocate, providing support for surviving family members of homicide victims. I had sat through an entire day of trial during which I had to hold the hands of the family while the defense basically blamed their daughter for her own murder. After doing this for a while, you get a feeling for how a jury is leaning, and looking at them, I just knew that after closing statements on Monday, they would go out, deliberate, and return as a hung jury, almost evenly split, because there just wasn't enough forensic evidence. Everyone wants "CSI" endings with fingerprints and DNA, and that's just not the real world. When the mother asked me how I thought it was going, I just wanted to cry. I didn't want to leave her without any hope, but I also didn't want to lead her on with a more than rosy outlook when I just didn't believe it to be true. I had done this tightrope walk before, but this one was particularly difficult. This mother had previously lost her only other child to leukemia, and now her beautiful and talented daughter had been taken from her. While she had never blamed anyone for her son's death from the cancer, she had someone upon whom she felt she could place responsibility for her daughter's death, but she needed those 12 people in the jury box to validate her belief, and I just didn't think it was going to happen. I told her that we'd know more after the closing statements, and to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. I told her to call me if she needed to talk over the weekend, then placed her hand in her husband's and watched them slowly walk out of the courthouse. As I watched them walk away, I knew the sorrow hung deeply on him as well, but that he always tried to remain strong for his wife. I went back to my office to pack up a few things and decided to check my e-mail. Before I could get to my inbox, I saw the daily news flash about the trial; it was getting a lot of publicity. The defense attorneys looked particularly pleased with themselves as they answered as many questions as they could without violating the judge's "gag" order. I was just glad the murder victim's parents had decided, upon my advice, not to watch any television coverage of the trial. Checking my e-mail, I found that the next Tuesday I had a parole hearing for a murderer who had served a total of five years on a 25 year sentence for killing his best friend. That was going to be a rough one. The wife of the murder victim still called me at least once a week to "check in." She was going to be freaking out the following week. I made a note to call her over the weekend and packed my things up to leave. By the time I walked out of the building, the skies which had threatened rain all day had finally opened up. Of course, I didn't have my umbrella. I was soaked before I got to my car, which, thankfully was in the parking garage. I threw my briefcase in the back seat, and as I looked down, I couldn't help but curse out loud as I noticed the flat tire. "What else?" I cried. I wanted to just sit there and sob, but the storm was raging, and the tornado sirens had started going crying out their warning into the darkness. I decided to fix the tire and try to make it home as quickly as possible. Not the brightest idea, but the thought of going back into the courthouse was just beyond comprehension, and staying on the sixth floor of the parking garage didn't seem too bright. Finally, after fixing the tire, battling the weather and horrid traffic due to the storm, I arrived home an hour later. I pressed the button for the garage, just wanting to slink into the house, get out of my now damp cold clothes and slip into a warm shower. Nothing happened when I pressed the button. I tried again. Nope, nothing. And then I realized that the porch light wasn't on. Nor were there any lights on. "Great, just perfect," I thought. "No power." I threw the car into park and turned off the engine, grabbed my briefcase, and sprinted for the front door. As I turned the key in the lock I groaned, "This has been the worst day ever." Suddenly, my briefcase was taken out of my hands, my wet blazer removed from my shoulders, and my body pulled into strong, welcoming, warm arms. "Babygirl," Daddy whispered into my ear. "I've been so worried about you. Why didn't you answer your cell phone? Why has it been the worst day ever?" Suddenly, I realized I hadn't turned my phone back on after leaving the courtroom. I began to sob uncontrollably in Daddy's arms. He led me over to the cuddle chair and began to remove the rest of my wet clothing, but I threw my arms around his neck and sobbed. I finally noticed the candles lighting the room and the warm fire blazing in the fireplace. I glanced briefly at the pot in the fire, but quickly shifted my attention back to Daddy. I blurted out the whole story to him, and I apologized over and over again for forgetting to turn my phone back on. "I didn't...even...think...about...calling...you because you said you...were...working...late...tonight," I choked out between sobs. I did my best to regain my composure. "You said you'd be unreachable until after 9, and it was not quite 7 when I left the office." "Oh, babygirl," he sighed into my neck. "I'm sorry. I only told you that because I wanted to surprise you. This wasn't exactly the romantic evening I had planned, but it will be even better. I will change this worst day ever for you." "Oh, Daddy," I cried. "You're so good to me. What is all this for?" I asked as I noticed the fresh roses on the mantle and the rose petals on the floor. "Babygirl," he said, in that way that just made me melt. "I know how hard this trial has been for you, and I've been following the news reports. Also, it seems you've forgotten something." I stared at him blankly. Our wedding anniversary? Nope, that wasn't for three more months. The anniversary of the day he first collared me? Nope, that was next month. His birthday? No. My birthday? No. "I give up, Daddy," I sighed in frustration. "I'm sorry." "No need to be sorry, babygirl," he said. "I'm sorry that you've been so busy you haven't had time to realize that it was 5 years ago today that you finally agreed to give me your phone number, after deciding I wasn't an Internet predator, and probably running me through the FBI's criminal database." I giggled at that, and he smiled back at me. "Now there's my gigi," He said. "There's my giddy gigglebox." "A lot of people at the office did offer to run you through the system," I giggled, as I looked into his ever-changing eyes. Today they were a deep green, just like the forest-colored button down he wore. "I am sorry I didn't remember, Daddy. But I'm so glad you did." "I'm sorry this was the worst day ever for you, babygirl," was his reply. "But I'm going to make it the best night ever." With that, he whisked me up and into the bathroom, which was lit by candles. The tub was filled with water. I shuddered, thinking how cold it must be, but, putting my pinky in, I was surprised to find it was warm. "I'll warm it up while you finish getting undressed," he said. As I removed my blouse, skirt, and hose (the shoes had fallen off in the living room), Daddy went to the fire and retrieved the pot. He had heated water over the fire to keep the tub water warm, and as he poured the water in, I smelled the lavender, chamomile, and vanilla scents rise from the Roman-shaped jacuzzi tub. Slowly I slipped into the bath he had so lovingly prepared for me. The temperature was perfect...not too hot, and not too cold. Daddy put on the wash gloves and began soaping me with the most amazing smelling soap. I felt the day's tension begin to drain from my body and for the first time since I got home, my tears stopped. As Daddy ran his hands over my whole body, I moaned. He seemed to spend a great deal of time washing my nipples, and the slight roughness of the gloves caused them to stand out like little pebbles. I moaned again, more loudly, and then Daddy began running his hands down my belly. I giggled as he cleaned my bellybutton and groaned as he skipped over my private areas to wash my thighs and calves. When he got to my feet, I kicked in the water...just a little bit...because it tickled so much. I was laughing now, and I could see the smile on Daddy's face, the pride that he had gotten me to laugh out loud. "You're such a good girl," he said. "I love you, and no matter how bad your day might be, your nights with me should always be wonderful." When He leaned over and kissed me, I thought I would cry from happiness and joy that I had such a wonderful Daddy to whom I came home every night. Still ignoring my privates, Daddy took off the gloves and began to wash and then condition my hair. "Mmmmm, Daddy, that feels soooooooo good," I moaned as he ran his firm fingers through my long cinnamon-coloured hair. He playfully put some suds on my nose and I giggled again. After he had rinsed my hair, I began to notice the water was getting a little cool. I might have asked for a towel, but Daddy finally decided it was time to clean my private parts. His strong hands touched my special places and suddenly I forgot the water temperature because my entire body seemed to be on fire. He kissed me, gently at first, then with more and more Daddy passion, always keeping his fingers moving on my clitty. "Whenever you're ready," He said to me, an indication that I didn't need to ask for permission to cum. Within seconds, I felt the first wave begin to hit me, and my moans turned to screams of pleasure. Wave after wave flowed through my body like a million champagne bubbles, and I slumped down. I might have gone under the water if it wasn't for His strong arms lifting me up. Once he was certain I wasn't going to drown myself in after my orgasmic bliss, he left the bathroom, promising to return quickly. I was still floating with pleasure a few seconds later when He returned with a towel, a warm towel He had retrieved from in front of the fire place. He took me from the bathtub and dried my hair and body with the warm, thick, fuzzy sheet-towel. It felt like being touched by clouds as he ran the towel all over my body. "Oh, Daddy," I sighed. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I'm sooooooo glad I gave you my phone number. I am. I am. I am. This just may be the best night ever." He just laughed that deep Daddy laugh at my repetitions. As he finished toweling me dry, he wrapped me in my fluffy pink bathrobe, grabbed my wooden hairbrush from on the vanity, and led me, still giggling with happiness, back into the living room. "Babygirl," he said. "The night has just begun." To be continued... Worst Day, Best Night Pt. 02 This is Chapter 2 of a story I am calling "Worst Day, Best Night". It will make much more sense if you have read the first part. This story is about two consenting adults who participate in the DaddyDom/babygirl dynamic. I hope you all enjoy the writing. ***** I took my place at his feet, sitting on my comfortable pillow, my toes nestling in the soft flokati rugs under the pillow that stretched out towards the warm fire. Daddy sat in his comfortable leather chair, his legs spread so I could nestle between them as he slowly began to brush my hair. I never feel quite as much of my babygirl self as I do when Daddy is brushing my hair. He nuzzled my neck, murmuring, "You smell so good, babygirl. I could just eat you all up." His voice was strong, controlled, but with an edge. As he finished brushing the knots out of my long, wet, cinnamon hair, I began to sink into him further, trailing my hair down on his thighs, then starting to turn to face him, as I had felt his erection through his pants. He quickly stopped me by grabbing both my wrists with one strong hand in his firm grip. "Not so fast, my dear," he fairly growled at me. Within seconds I found myself twisted around onto my knees, but face down over the chocolate brown leather ottoman that matched his chair, my arms held above my head until I felt the wrist cuff going around the first one, then the other before being attached to the legs on either side of the ottoman, immobilizing me. Next, I felt him place the ankle cuffs on me and attach the spreader bar that would keep my legs stretched apart. I was totally at his mercy. I knew better than to ask, but I knew this was not being done as a gift or a present. This was my punishment position, and any questions I might have had about reward vs. discipline were quickly answered as the wooden back of the hairbrush came down hard on my ass. "Do you know why you are being punished, slut?" he asked, and in a moment, he went from being my nurturing Daddy to being my disciplining Dominant. I wracked my brain. What had I done wrong? "I...I...I forgot that today was the day I gave you my phone number," I stammered, somehow knowing he would not punish me for that, but my mind was spinning from the first sting of the brush, and nothing else had leapt to the forefront. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Four rapid stinging slaps with the hairbrush rained down on my normally pale white ass. "That's wrong, and you know it is," he said. "Take your time and think, slutty little girl." He walked around in front of me and tilted my chin up so I could see him. Time. That was it. I hadn't turned my phone back on when I was supposed to do so. He hadn't been able to reach me in the middle of a horrible tornado-spawning storm. He must have been frantic, but he would never let me see that, as he was always calm, cool, collected, and in control on the outside. That's why I could give myself up to him. He must have seen the realization come across my face because he returned to his spot behind me and brought down five more hard slaps on my now-reddening ass. "Well, slutty little girl? What do you have to say for yourself?" His voice was strong, commanding, controlling, and I shuddered before I responded. "I forgot to turn my cell phone back on," I whimpered, my ass beginning to ache. "And you couldn't reach me." "That's right," he answered. "And for how long was I unable to reach you?" I did some quick math and realized that for two hours, as the storm first loomed then raged, I had been out of communication. "Two and ½ hours, Sir," I answered disappointment in my voice. I had let him down, so much so that I couldn't even bring myself to call him "Daddy." I didn't deserve to at the moment. "And how many minutes is that?" he asked, bringing down five more hard swats on my ass. "And why aren't you counting, my little slut?" I quickly did the math. "One hundred and fifty minutes, Master," I answered, before quickly counting, "Onetwothree fourfivesix seveneightnine teneleventwelve thirteenfourteen fifteen. Thank you for your correction, Master." "Good, my little one," he said, his voice calm and controlled, yet I heard the concern that was underlying. "I was very worried about you. You've done this before, and I warned you that the next time the discipline would be enough to make certain that the behavior was corrected and you never did it again. So tell me, with one slap for every minute you were out of communication, how many more do you owe me?" I gasped as I realized he truly intended to spank me with the brush one time for every minute. "That's...that's...135 more, Sir," I said, frightened that I might not be able to take that much. He'd never spanked me like that before. He rarely had to spank me at all. My punishments rarely involved pain. More often I found myself writing an essay for him or doing some sort of work I truly detested. I heard the intake of his breath as the next five slaps came down hard on my ass. SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! I gasped in pain but counted quickly from sixteen to twenty. "Good little slut, remembering the rules now," he said before slowly rubbing some soft velvety material over my ass, which I could only guess was as red as the embers in the fireplace in front of me. My face was flushed, both from the heat of the fire and from my shame at having disappointed him. "Remind me again, my slutty little girl, why are you receiving this punishment?" SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! Numbers twenty-one through thirty came flowing out of my mouth as quickly as possible: "Because I...I...I...didn't turn my phone back on, Sir." "And why is that an issue, my little slut?" SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! "Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, Sir. Thank you for my discipline," I gasped, feeling my rear turning raw and wondering how I would ever endure more than another 100 of these. "Because you couldn't...couldn't...reach me, and you were concerned for my safety, Sir." The softness of the velvet again on my burning ass soothed the pain some. "Exactly! Do you feel you have learned your lesson this time, my slutty little girl?" he asked. "Yes, Sir, yes, yes," I fairly cried out. "I've learned." "Good girl," he said, his voice softening for a moment. "Then try to enjoy the rest of your punishment." And with that he resumed the beating of my ass with fifteen quick smacks, not nearly as hard, but still stinging. Somehow, I remembered to count to fifty and slowly the realization hit me that I was only 1/3 of the way through my punishment. He began to rub my ass again, and the soft fabric made the pain lessen a tad, and then his fingers began to roam from my ass down to my sweet, shaved pussy. I felt his fingers stroke along my lips, and he laughed an evil laugh. "My little slutty girl," he growled. "Even when being punished, you can't help but get wet. I wish you could feel how wet you are, but since you can't with your own fingers..." he broke off, and suddenly I found his fingers shoved into my mouth as I tasted myself all over him. "Suck them clean, like a good slutty little girl," he ordered, and I removed all of my taste from him. When I had cleaned his fingers, he moved back behind me, and I heard the drawer of the table next to his chair open. I know he kept things in there that he used on me sometimes, but I had no idea what was coming next, as I was facing the opposite way and couldn't maneuver my head around the ottoman to see. Suddenly I felt something rubbing up against my pussy, teasing my lips and my clit, but as he pulled it back towards my ass, I realized that it wasn't meant for my pussy; he had just been lubricating the plug that I knew was about to be plunged into my tight ass. "Relax," he commanded as he pushed what I assessed to be a medium sized plug against my anus. I tried to push back against it so it wouldn't hurt so much, and after a few moments of wiggling it at the opening, he shoved it hard inside of me until my tight hole closed around the narrowing before the base. Quickly, he brought down a flurry of smacks against my ass, occasionally hitting the plug. I had a hard time keeping up as twenty-five fast hits nearly took my breath away, and I struggled to keep counting, but I did. Suddenly the knowledge that I was halfway there hit me, and I sighed. He knew exactly why, and I heard his chuckle, just as the next 25 came, fast, but not nearly as hard, followed quickly by the lovely velvet cloth on my burning bum as his other hand began to finger my clit. I moaned, the mixture of pleasure and pain beginning to overwhelm me, and he leaned into my ear: "Remind me why you are bent over with an ass that is red as the devil himself." "For...for...forgot to turn...turn...turn...on my cell phone," I groaned out. The velvet stopped, and ten more quick swats came with him continuing to finger my swollen clit. I counted and made it to 110 before he began alternating between fingering my clitty and finger-fucking my pussy. With the next ten swats, he inserted a second finger, and with the next ten, a third. By the time I had counted to 130, three fingers were sawing in and out of me. The next ten swats came down on the end of the butt plug, as if to remind me it was there, like I could have forgotten. I was on the verge of having the orgasm of my life, holding back, and knowing better than to even think of asking for permission, and then, he stopped, everything. No velvet, no fingers in my pussy, no touching my clit. He got up and walked away for a moment, and I was left writhing in my bonds, my pussy aching with need, my ass aching from the beating, and my anus stretched and full. I felt a tug as he wound his fingers in my hair and pulled my head back, kissing me hard. When he broke the kiss, he rasped, "These last ten are going to be the hardest. Be prepared. Take them, count them, and thank me for them, and this punishment will be over. Do not disappoint me." I knew from the tone in his voice he was not kidding, but I could not imagine how they could be any harder than what he had done earlier, but as the first one came down, I realized: he was hitting me full force, but not with the back of the brush, but with the wire bristles. The pain seared through my already burning buttocks as I counted each one from 141 to 150, finishing with, "Thank... you... for... disciplining... me, Sir. I...I...will... never ...ever...forget my phone again." I hadn't shed a single tear during the punishment, but I felt spent, and my words came out ragged, though my pussy was still achingly empty, and my anus was still tremendously filled. "Good girl," he said. "That's my girl." He tossed the brush aside, and I realized that when he had walked away before, he had removed his clothes as he entered me with one swift stroke, replacing the emptiness my pussy had felt from the withdrawal of his fingers with his hard, thick, throbbing cock. He moved hard against me, grunting, pushing into me, driving the plug into my ass with every stroke into my pussy. I groaned under the pressure, and I felt like I was going to explode at any moment, but even though my "punishment" was over, I could not bring myself to ask permission to come. I just didn't feel I deserved it, and it appeared that he was not going to give me the right as he pushed harder and harder, over and over, strong, swift, deep strokes to my very core. And then, as his body stiffened and his own orgasm began to overtake him, I heard the words, "Cum for me, babygirl. Come for your Daddy." With that my pussy spasmed, grasping his cock, and being so filled, I came over and over and over again, the juice spilling past his cock out of my pussy, making a mess on the flokati rug I was sure, but I just couldn't care. "DADDY!!" I screamed, and then, and only then, I wept, the tears flowing out from my eyes as the cum flowed from my pussy, draining me completely, even as he withdrew his still-hard cock from my pussy, undid my bonds, and pulled my quivering body over to my pillow where I could lay my head on his strong thigh and suck my juices off of his cock. "Oh, Daddy," I murmured around his thickness when I had regained the power of speech. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank. You. This is the best night ever." "Oh my darling babygirl," he said, his voice husky with love and lust, "the night is still young." To be continued...