Her Daddy Dom and Neighbor in One

All of the participants of this are of legal age. This is a story from a particular segment of the BDSM community depicting a DD/bg relationship. This is NOT a tale of incest!

*************

Cassie followed carefully behind Max to the boat launch on the lake. Although they were planning on telling Zander about their relationship, Cassie couldn't help but be excited. Last night could have been considered a kinkster's "night in," but this would be her first date with Max—in public. Out in the open.

She looked down at her demure pink-and-white gingham bikini with Max's white button-down shirt, unbuttoned, as a cover-up. Her sunglasses dipped low on her nose, and she pushed them up with a single finger. The pigtails were in attendance again, albeit lower down on either side of her head.

Parking her car behind Zander's light truck, she checked her reflection in the mirror. They had agreed, while snuggling in the early morning hours, to arrive separately, to ease Zander into the idea that his sister and best friend were "dating."

Was that what it should be called? Cassie supposed, to the 'nilla world, "dating" would be the tamest euphemism to describe what Max and she shared yesterday and this morning.

Slipping her feet onto the ground and swinging out of the car, she almost missed a scantily-clad red blur jump Max. Cassie seethed, seeing red.

Lucinda Graham. Debutante and socialite. And Max's confident girlfriend. By contrast, Cassie felt frumpy and unsophisticated.

"And he called me earlier and said I had to come, that he missed me terribly," Lucinda was drawling, cloyingly gripping Max's arm.

"And I said, 'Daddy Max, I will be there, just as you like me,'" she continued, her drawl perverted into a falsely light coo.

Cassie reared up as if she had been unexpectedly struck by her crop. Her eyes looked up at Max, silently pleading for him to refute it, but he turned toward Zander, saying nothing.

Zander had brought with him Cami, one of Cassie's best friends. Cassie made a beeline to her.

Cami noted her friend's sudden pallor. Cassie was usually pale, but now her face was ashen, her complexion chalky. "I'm fine," she reassured Cami before Cami could ask. Then, she raised her voice so that everyone could hear. "My date from last night got cold feet," she added, summoning up a gamine grin.

"The coward," Zander scoffed.

"Yes," she agreed with her brother, all the while looking Max square in the eye, "he's a coward."

Something seemed to flare in Max's eyes, and for a few poignant moments he seemed about to say something, to acknowledge their relationship. Then, his eyes shuttered, and the moment was lost before it was found.

"Too bad about your date not showing," Lucinda said, rubbing it in a bit more. "But, hey, at least Max and I are back together. Can you believe it? Some little nonentity caught his attention briefly in a chat room we both go to. She was so boring; her name was even 'Innocent Submissive,'" Lucinda's words ended on a brittle laugh.

Cassie looked at the four people, two couples. And Cassie to make the very awkward fifth wheel. "Oops, I almost forgot!" she announced, putting on the best performance of her life. "I have to make treats for the annual bake sale at school! What a dunce, huh?" She even slapped her forehead to further show evidence of her forgetfulness.

Zander started to say something, and Cassie rambled on, words that sounded jumbled in her mind but thankfully made sense when spoken. "And, besides," she pressed on, overstating the obvious, "with the four of you, it's like a double date. I'm just the fifth wheel, the interloper."

Cami appeared on the verge of adding things up, and so Cassie scuttled away as fast as her Crocs could carry her. Not surprisingly, she arrived at her car crying so hard that she could barely see to unlock the car. As she closed the car door, cocooning away the pain of the outside world, the torrential storm that had threatened within her for the last several minutes came crashing down, destroying everything in its path.

********

Max looked in the rearview mirror. Cassie was behind him. He could see his shirt wrapped around her, and its image caused a surge of possessiveness to flash through him. She was his.

His phone rang. Looking down, he noticed Lucinda's number. With a groan, he answered it.

"Hello?" The word was tersely spoken.

A shrill giggle. "I just saw online that you and Zander are going to the lake today. I'll be there, too, so we can talk about getting back together."

"Lucinda." Then, "You know what? We do need to talk, but not as a couple."

"Of course we need to talk about getting back together. Silly." A clicking sound let him know that she had disengaged the call.

He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel, hoping—but not holding out much hope—that Luce wouldn't cause trouble.

Carrying the drinks he had brought (including juice boxes for Cass), snacks (with goldfish crackers and animal crackers for Cass), and sunscreen that he hoped to slick and smooth over Cassie's delicate and soft skin, he exited his truck. Just as he pulled back from stowing the stuff in the boat, Lucinda slammed into him. He happened to look over at Cassie when it happened, and he noted the numb expression followed by a look of betrayal, followed by numbness again.

Max felt trapped. A gentleman could never refute what Luce was explaining now without appearing a boor and a liar. Each word out of her mouth made things worse. It shredded his guts to turn away from Cassie's mute appeal and act as if everything were normal.

It was almost a relief when Cassie made her excuses to leave.

********

Through her sobs, Cassie heard the whir of a boat motor. The unbroken remainder of her heart—the part that had held on to a brief bit of hope—crumbled into sand and scattered. Eyes suddenly dry, she slid the car into reverse and sped away.

On autopilot, she drove home with the intent to bake through her angst. Heart hardened against the memories of her "training" (as Max had called it), Cassie reduced her kitchen, bedroom, living room, and bathroom to just that—rooms in which she lived. Silly her for equating training with a relationship.

Stripping off Max's shirt, she covered her bikini with a bright pink frilly apron. For a moment, her natural whimsy supplied the title "Bikini Baker," and she nearly chuckled before she remembered.

Over the next several hours, Cassie baked: twelve dozen cookies, rice krispie treats, four pans of brownies, four dozen cupcakes, and two sheet cakes. While waiting, she logged on to the chat room.

At one point, SaucySub messaged her. "Guess where I am?" Even through text, Cassie could hear her vicious malice.

Numbly, Cassie took the bait. "Where?"

"On a pleasure cruise with him. You blew it. He said he'd never been so turned off by a submissive as he was by you. He can't keep his hands off of me. So, for that, I should thank you. You brought us back together. Laughing at how ridiculous you are did it."

If her heart weren't already destroyed, that would have killed her utterly. "I'm glad I could be of some help, then," she typed woodenly.

"He and I are going out to a club tonight. He is such an amazing dancer, almost as amazing as he is in bed."

An idea formed in Cassie's mind. The new BDSM club had opened, and she had been dying to go. But, as with many things in her life, she had chickened out. And, with that thought, she decided she was no longer going to let life pass her by.

********

As she stood, she didn't realize that Max watched her as day faded into night, hungrily eating with his eyes the confection she made in a bikini covered by an apron. He sighed.

Max had promised to take Lucinda to Lashesexxx, the new BDSM club tonight. Max had hoped to take Cassie there, to show her off as his, but now he was going to use this as an opportunity to separate himself from Lucinda—permanently.

********

Cassie looked down at her ensemble and almost reconsidered as she pulled up to the busy, new, trendy club. Lashesexxx was openly a milieu of BDSM devotees, but, since the publication of several mainstream works of BDSM erotica, 'nilla "fans" had descended on the club in droves. The result? A high-end club where kinksters and wannabe kinksters could mingle without a judgmental word spoken between the two groups.

The dress code was nearly red-carpet formal. If you were female and a submissive, pants were not allowed. A few more outlandish guests were known to appear wearing a trench coat with nothing but restraints and a collar on underneath—which was acceptable—but a female in pants meant that you were a Dominant looking for a submissive.

Paparazzi clamored for a shot of celebrities—local and beyond, socialites, and other notables in Dallas society. Being the daughter of a local doctor, and the grand-daughter of a fairly-legendary Texas Marshall, Cassie's notoriety was unfortunately enough to gain notice from the camera-lugging parasites. Coupled with that, Zander was one of the area's up-and-coming environmental attorneys, and his little sister was tabloid gold.

Cassie wasn't worried about her reputation. She didn't have one, after all; she was too boring. If she had arrived with Max, though, that would have turned heads. Max, whose dad was in the same medical practice as Cassie's and Zander's dad, was a local celebrity, a best-selling author of hardboiled detective novels.

As she stepped up to the bouncer, she became a bit shy. "I'm sorry. I know I don't have a reservation," she began, realizing the line for people waiting to enter was troubling.

The bouncer took in her appearance. Cassie truly didn't realize the impression she made, a picture of slutty, classy elegance. Her status as a submissive shown through every clothing decision she made that evening, and the bouncer knew that to not let through this uncollared, obviously innocent, fresh meat of a submissive would be the mistake of his career. Inside were wolves on the prowl, Doms who hoped for the chance to gobble a morsel like this one, albeit Doms who were members of country clubs and had large...estates.

A hush fell over much of the club as Cassie entered. Her reddish brown hair had been tamed into an upswept chignon, with a few corkscrew tendrils to tease at her cheeks and neck. A collar-less neck, many of the voracious Doms in the crowd noted. Her shoulders were bare.

Shimmering in the twilight, her dress flirted with indecency any time she moved. The fabric of the dress was white, tightly fitted, with silvery tinsel fringe that covered the front and the back, flapper style. Her breasts were put on display as the fabric clung just above the nipples before shushing down to just below her pussy lips in front and the lower curve of her ass in back. As to the back, the fabric plunged in a U ending only one inch above the outward jut of her rounded ass. The truly scandalous part of the dress were the sides that were stitched together only with bits of metallic cord, shoelace style. Globes of creamy side boob, torso, and hip were revealed every time she moved.

To finish the outfit were a teasing hint of sheer white lace in the guise of a thong and a pair of high-heeled sandals to make Cinderella's glass slippers envious with a few sparkly rhinestones thrown on the ankle for effect.

Her face was made up to reveal the dichotomy she hoped to portray tonight: the Ice Queen who wished to burn from a Dom's touch. The elegant slut. The classy whore. Little rhinestones that duplicated the pattern on the heel of her shoes decorated the corners of her eyes and curve of her cheek.

As she walked down the metal curving stairs from the balcony, her heels setting off a not-unpleasurable clink-clink, she was besieged by admirers. For a moment, she thought she was again a victim of the slavering paparazzi hounds outside. When she neared an empty table, she realized they were here to court her favor and almost laughed at the fantasy of it. Cassie, "the boring one" as Lucinda had called her, being courted as the most desirable submissive in the place.

She soon was able to separate the possibles from the not-ever-going-to-happens and was left with three Doms at her table, vying for her attentions.

Paul was an advertising exec who liked to work hard and play harder. He admitted to her as he handed Cassie her first drink of the evening, a sweet Moscato, that he was a Sadist who liked to mark his property with all manner of implements. The pain slut in Cassie turned to warm drippy honey from that thought as she thought of those strong hands curled around her crop, eliciting shrieks and pleas from her. When she shyly whispered to him about her crop and the way it made her wet, he slid an arm around her, reaching down to scrape his nails along her exposed side boob. Rather than cringe away, Cassie moaned and melted into him.

Edward's stare scared her and made her want to kneel at his feet. His kink, it seemed, was humiliation and degradation. When he whispered the filthy things he wanted to do to her, to strip her at that table and make her stand, in view of everyone, as he spat on her and called her a nasty whore and forced her to suck the cocks of all men in attendance, she grew a bit wet—and more than a little terrified. She knew him previously as an acquaintance of Max's, and they were both seeing each other in a new light tonight.

The third—Ryan—was new to the area, although not new to kink. He was twice her age, celebrating the big 5-0 that evening, and he wanted a girl like her for his birthday, he said, bringing her up onto his knee like a tot then sliding his hands over her body to rest over her breasts, squeezing them hard enough to draw a pained gasp from her and the eyes of the still-surrounding male Doms who would kill for a piece of her.

It was this atmosphere that one couple unknowingly entered into a few minutes later. Lucinda's flat front was covered in strips of gold lame in what was supposed to be a gaping wrap-around top, belted with a gaudy gold bejeweled belt with the fabric descending in a fountain of gold to her ankles. Gold Roman-slave style sandals completed the clothing part of her outfit. Her blonde hair was in wild disarray down her back, and gold lipstick adorned her wide mouth. As she looked around, she couldn't understand why none of the men were paying her any attention.

Max, by contrast, was subdued. He wore a black button down shirt beneath a black suit coat. A black tie disappeared into the gloom of his outfit. Black shoes, black slacks, and black belt revealed the unrelieved sobriety of his mood.

His agent, Jason Gregg, approached him almost bubbling with excitement. "Fresh meat, man, over where all of the hounds are gathered. She has even the subbie dudes wanting to have a go at dominating her. No collar. But classy." He spared a derisive glance at Lucinda's fashion don't before pointing in the direction of the crowd. "Never seen anything like it. A princess, offering herself up. And being happily groped by three guys all at once. Mmmm...to have a go at her."

Lucinda stalked off in a huff to see who had taken away her limelight. Even in a chat room, Luce was nothing but an attention whore. But take away from her grand entrance in public, in real life? That was grounds for homicide! With no grace, she elbowed her way into the fray, stopping dead as she recognized the cause for all the fuss.

Max's attention, on the other hand, was diverted by a phone call from Zander who sounded worried. "I can't get in touch with Cass. Her phone goes straight to voice mail. Cami can't get her, either."

"I think she was at home baking still when I left." Max tried to block out the image of her he had spied through the window, bikini clad, covered in a sexy apron with a dab of flour on her nose, the embodiment of every domestic fantasy he had. The embodiment of every fantasy he had ever had, period.

Zan still sounded worried. "Cam and I just drove by her house a minute ago, and she wasn't there."

"Maybe she went to the store for flour or something. You know how she gets when she starts baking," Max said, trailing behind Jason now back toward the crowd that had gathered. As he caught sight of the focus of the Doms' lust, his stomach clenched, and he growled into the phone. "Man, I'm going to have to let you go."

The primal part of him, that part he kept in check whenever Cassie was around and only partially revealed to her last night, roared to the surface. MINE! he inwardly screamed. How dare they? How dare she? She sat there, innocently teasing an audience of men who wanted to do nothing more than use her, allowing three men to grope and touch his finest possession and—he couldn't stand it. His brain simply shut down.

Jason saw the expression first. Fury. Jealousy. Rage. Worry. Hurt. Betrayal. Anguish. Confusion. Murderous hatred. All rolled into one mask of horror. Jason scuttled back, not realizing fully what caused that torment on Max's face. One by one others in the crowd backed away uneasily, leaving Max, a seething Lucinda who was unaware of Max's turmoil, the three Doms groping Cassie, and Cassie herself.

Ryan, the birthday boy, saw Max and jovially said, "Don't worry, son, we're glad to share her, until she makes her choice of us." The other two chuckled, but Edward stopped when he saw the glare Max shot him.

"No. You won't. Share her. She's mine. Cassie, come here!" he demanded.

Upon sensing Max's presence, the light and grace that Cassie had bestowed on her tablemates for the previous half hour vanished. She looked blankly at him, as if confused.

Lucinda, realizing exactly who Innocent Submissive was, curled her fingers around Max's forearm possessively. Cassie flinched. Max shook her off as he would a mosquito that pestered him. "Go. Away," he growled, all pretense of chivalry, of protecting Lucinda's feelings and ego, gone. Protecting her when he should have protected Cassie had brought him to this point.

And still that man touched her, his hand resting on her mound. "MINE!" Max declared, and he didn't care how it looked. "I've let her alone for seven years, waiting for her to comprehend her need to be mine. Wanted her. Hungered for her. Protected her. I'm not going to let any of you or her"—he said with a thumb hiked back in the direction Lucinda had retreated—"keep us apart any longer. She's mine. Not yours. MINE."

"Seven years?" Eyes luminescent with tears and lips trembling, Cassie presented the most hauntingly beautiful image of the night. She stood, walking over to him.

Max nodded. "Your eighteenth birthday was the first time I allowed myself to want you. I already knew what I was. To expect you to be able to return that depth of emotion then was unfair, to meet the demands I knew I would have of you. Even now, it's not fair for me to ask it of you."

"Fair to ask what of me? Devotion? Done. Submission? Done. L-lust?" she whispered, struggling over the word, perhaps substituting another word with it, "Done."

"All that and more, my little one. You. Are. Mine. My babygirl. My submissive." He reached out to trace the pattern the rhinestones made then looked down in shock when she dropped down to her knees.

A small grin was his response. "Then, forgive me, for being so remiss and not greeting you properly, Daddy." She pressed her lips to his black-shrouded bulge and smiled up at him kittenishly.

He growled, the only measure of a lack of control he allowed himself. Surely she was not going to... In front of the entire club... There were rooms set aside for that.

But no. His shy little girl seemed determined to blow him on the middle of the dance floor. He felt, as she did, too, he knew, all of the eyes of the patrons focused on them.

Eyes revealing her liquid need gazed up at him, glazed with desire. With impatient fingers, he unbuckled his belt, unthreading it through the loops. Several eyebrows raised throughout the club as he wrapped the belt around her neck like honor cords on graduation day.