On Becoming a Daddy
I was thinking back to the first time someone used an Honorific with me and how much I’ve evolved from that moment.
Credit: TheMeanistPeen, Photographer and Model
For context, I was freshly divorced from a very vanilla marriage and while I wasn’t jumping headfirst into the BDSM community, I was quite interested in exploring the kinky side that had been denied me for so long during my marriage. I was on a date with a woman I had met on Yahoo! Chat, which may clue you in on how long ago this occurred…
After meeting for drinks, we went back to her place; passions were ignited and things escalated very quickly. She was hungry, as was I, and it wasn’t long before clothes were torn off and we were both in bed. At one point, I had her on all fours and was fucking her from behind, my hands firmly gripping her hips as my mind and sensations relished what I was feeling. She was enthusiastic in her responses, which I thoroughly enjoyed...until it became too enthusiastic. In the midst of her moans of pleasure, she screamed:
“Fuck me, Daddy!”
**Insert record scratch**
“The fuck she just call me?!?!” my mind recoiled in response. “Just let it slide, dude”, my cock muttered, “You’ve heard how some women are into that shit. Besides, I’m almost done and we can discuss it later.”
But my mind wasn’t having it – as a father to two young daughters, Daddy was sacrosanct to me, a term only allowed from the two of them. But to hear it from a grown woman and in the middle of sex? I wasn’t comfortable with that. At all. She sensed something was amiss and asked if everything was okay – perhaps it was my pace or intensity lessening, or the lack of reply to the exuberant utterance that had caught her attention.
“Yeah, just...just don’t call me that.” I replied. She quickly apologized and we finished, of sorts, with no further awkwardness. I certainly don’t rank it as a phenomenal sexual experience. We cuddled for a bit before I got dressed and left. We stayed in contact for a period of time, but there was no second date. I chalked it up to a lesson learned and made sure I was clear with future sexual partners: “Just don’t call me Daddy.”
Now, in hindsight, I know this woman wasn’t saying this out of any attempt to establish a dynamic between us. Hell, I didn’t even know about dynamics at that point in my life. She was simply getting into an enjoyable sexual experience she was having, nothing more. I lay no blame at her feet: people say a LOT of things in the height of passion and may even acquiesce to those they deem reasonable. For example: how many times have you asked someone to say your name during sex?
Needless to say, Daddy was put into a box and placed high on the shelf in the closet, seemingly with no objective to retrieve it. Ever.
But, if the exploration of kink is anything, it’s an evolution, and that which you may not be into now could very well be what you want at a later date. It wasn’t long before I met my current wife and we started dating. And while we didn’t jump into dynamics per se, we did tacitly (if tongue-in-cheek) experiment with it: I called her Mistress leading up to one of our planned weekend dates (which is as close to being submissive as I’ve ever become) and expressed that I wanted to worship her pussy with my tongue. But, we found we were happy with just being kinky partners enjoying one another, so BDSM was on the periphery of our exploits.
Eventually, the Daddy box did come off the shelf and crack open. Actually, that’s not entirely true: more like it burst out of the closet and the lid blew off. Some years later, my wife and I stepped back into the alt lifestyle and opened our marriage. I met a woman who was beginning her “sexual rebirth” after years in a stagnant, one-sided relationship. We connected rather quickly and she shared what she was hoping to explore. While DDlg was not specifically discussed, her Daddy kink was apparent, which led to her asking if she could call me that.
Surprisingly, it felt...right. Maybe it was because I had evolved while that box was in the closet; maybe it was because my daughters were much older and Daddy fell out of fashion with them – I was just Dad at this point. Either way, I was comfortable with her calling me Daddy and it immediately became her term of endearment for me. I say term of endearment because it was genuine and much more than a woman wanting to call a guy Daddy during sex. She didn’t have tasks or punishments, but she was very submissive when we were together, and open to any suggestion I had that was within her bounds of consent. It was a beautiful moment in my life, and though I was saddened to see it end, I still think of her fondly, even though we haven’t spoken in years. While I did not consider it a true dynamic, it was instrumental in me finally taking the plunge into BDSM.
The Daddy Spark within me was alight following that relationship, and not simply because I enjoyed being called it. It beckoned my nurturing side, while also stirring the authoritarian within me, and I knew I wanted more. I wasn’t content with someone randomly calling me Daddy while my hands explored their body: I wanted a connection, a bond, something that was special between us, much like I had with the partner I mentioned above. It also began my journey into BDSM, a field of kink that I had kept at arm’s length for many years. I began to read about dynamics, the roles between Dominants and submissives, the formal dos and don’ts, and the standard protocols. I was far from an expert - and still am not, in my honest opinion - but I was eager to learn, be educated, and hopefully, put that knowledge into practice.
Which leads me to what I consider to be my first true dynamic with another. She was poly, a middle/brat, masochistic, clear in what she wanted in a Daddy Dom, but she did not want to jump right into a dynamic. All of this was perfectly fine to me, especially the last part. As much as I wanted a dynamic and to begin fully exploring the role of a Daddy, I wanted a solid relationship even more so. We agreed that we would date, see how we connected, explore some kinks together, and revisit the topic of dynamics at a later time.
In the meantime, we developed a relationship and we had fun in the process – we connected remarkably well sexually, her submissive side often coming out in response to my Dominance. She gave up some of her control, particularly while I edged her – she would whimper, say “Please...” and I would deny her, forcing her to pull back only to elevate her to that point several times before allowing her to cum. Then one night, the inevitable happened and I will never forget it…
I was laying beside her, one arm curled under her neck and holding her close as the other gently fingered her. We went through our process of edging – the build up, her pleas to be allowed the release, my denial and her subsequent pulling back, over and over again. After one potentially strong orgasm was denied, I pulled my hand away and allowed her to catch her breath before resuming my stimulation. I remember turning my head away and looking down between her legs, noting how wet our activity was making her, when I heard with the deepest sincerity and yearning:
Credit: TheMeanistPeen, Photographer and Model
“Please...Please...Daddy...”
I paused – did I hear that right? My heart began to race and as a warm sensation swept over my body. I turned my head and looked into her eyes.
“Are you sure?” I said incredulously.
“Yes, I’m sure. Please...please may I cum...Daddy?” her voice entreating, her eyes focused completely on me.
She was eager for a response of affirmation and not simply for the pleasure she wanted to capture; she was hopeful I would accept her gift of full submission, to go where we both wanted to venture. The shock of the moment made me briefly lose grip with reality. Is this really happening? Holy shit, this is really happening! In my exhilaration, I lost focus on what I was doing – I was filled with absolute elation – and I wanted to reward her. I leaned my head down closer to her and whispered:
“Yes, babydoll. You may cum.”
And that she did...Intensely.
What followed that night was an intense albeit brief dynamic between us. Daily tasks were established, mostly revolving around her taking care of herself while I was away (drinking plenty of water, eating breakfast, a healthy dinner) as well as those of a sexual nature. Rewards and punishments were established and most every visit included a scene or two. We expanded our experimentation and I even allowed her bratty side to Top me on occasion. Because we lived several counties apart, our visits were not as frequent as we would have liked, but we made the best of it through text and phone calls. Almost every day, I awoke to a Good Morning, Daddy text from her; on those I didn’t, she awoke to a Good morning, Babydoll text.
Those morning texts meant everything to me because of what was behind them: love, devotion, willful submission, and trust. They meant so much to me that when I stopped receiving them, I felt the loss of their impact and the ensuing void that took their place for weeks. For a time, I had a dynamic that was real and tangible, and regardless of how I view the relationship as a whole, I can say unequivocally that the dynamic within it was pure. Because of this, the term Daddy means something to me, and I don’t take its use lightly.
About the Author: TheMeanistPeen is a Gentleman Sadist and Daddy Dom with a heart as big as his arms and a penchant for photography and piercings.
