HairCare – a Black BDSM Love Story

“Sit down, Babydoll. Daddy’s doing your hair today.”

Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say out loud and in English. Maybe one or the other but not both. But the thing is, Babydoll sometimes has a thing about rocking her natural hair. She like a certain look and if it’s not just so she prefers to go with a different look like a wig, sew-ins, braids, or something else. And do not get me misconstrued here; she looks beautiful in them. She can rock those wigs better than most professional actresses I’ve seen.

But I wanted her natural hair this particular day, and said as much. When I asked, she made the pouty face and looked down at her shoes while chewing her plush little bottom lip.

“It doesn’t look good enough for Daddy to see,” she said.

It actually hurt me when she said that. I can’t lie: in the deep little pit where my heart allegedly hides out, I felt a distinct and sharp sort of stabbing pain. And I honestly became angry for a  moment – not at her, no. Not at anything she’d done because she’d done nothing wrong. I was angry at anyone who’d dare say my baby girl’s natural hair didn’t look pretty. And if she didn’t like it, I was willing to rectify the situation.

And so I told her to sit down and let Daddy do her hair. I’d never expected those words out of my mouth until I had a child of my own, but the way she’d looked had gotten to me. And so I spoke not a word at first: I merely grabbed a couch cushion and tossed it on the floor and blurted out those two simple sentences.

She looked a bit surprised at first, then glanced from the cushion to my eyes. I never know when I’m making the face or giving what my Babydoll likes to call ‘that look’. She glanced at my face and the way she hopped into place on that cushion let me know I was indeed giving her that look’ the look that said, in no uncertain terms, that what I said was no suggestion but a demand. I let her sit there, then patted her head and told her to have the wig off when I got back.

When I returned,  had a bag full of hair supplies that I’d acquired over the years; shampoo and conditioner, oils for the scalp, tut combs, regular combs, brushes, hair clips I used on my own head sometimes. In my other hand, I held a simple beige towel, something that wouldn’t change color. I sat down with my baby girl’s head between my legs and grumbled slightly to myself, looking over her hair and testing the texture to the best of my ability. I was no professional, but I had a younger sister and a mother who showed me how to care for hair quite painfully over the years. It didn’t take me long to figure out a plan of attack and how to progress.

“This is probably gonna hurt, Babydoll,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Try to be a big girl for me, will you?”

“I’ll try, Daddy,” she said, nodding her head.

 

It was one of those – what my parents would call an all-day sucker – when it came to working on her hair. I took her to the sink with me to wash out her hair and scrub her scalp roughly, giving her head a nice and therapeutic deep clean. I tried to be both as thorough and yet as gentle as possible, attempting to make as much casual conversation as I could while focusing on her head and keeping her still so none of the soap or conditioner got into her pretty Smokey Quartz eyes as I worked on her hair getting as clean as possible first.

I gave her the towel and brought her back to the couch, hair still a bit wet, and began parting her hair and working on her scalp a bit more. Again, it was one of those moments where I attempted to be both as gentle as possible but just as thorough. She’d been quite still when I worked on her hair at the sink, for the most part – it only took a bit of direction to keep her from squirming all about like the fidgety little thing she is. Before I was even 1/8th done with her hair I paused to turn the Netflix on, letting her catch a bit of some anime she’d been begging me to check out while I went to work. She still flinched every so often, and made those plaintive whimpers and whines as I continued to separate and oil her hair and scalp. She winced and hissed through her teeth some, but was otherwise very quiet and intent on the TV.

“Is this gonna take a long time, Daddy?” she asked,  hissing through her teeth as I tugged on her hair to move her head back into place.

“It looks like it, sugar-lump…” I said, taking out a rubber band to hold part of her hair out of the way. “You got a lot of hair here, and it’s just like you.”

“Like me?” she asked.

“Yup,” I said. “This hair is tough, strong, pretty, healthy… and stubborn as a mule, just like my little princess.”

She giggled a bit at that and it seemed to ease things for us, at least for a while. It was relatively smooth sailing for the next 30 minutes or so, though with the occasional wince or hiss from her. She actually yelped when I yanked a bit of hair into place to get her to stay in place while I worked.

“Owwie!” she yelped, pausing to look up crossly at me. “Daddy!”

“Little girl, I pull your hair much harder than this on an almost nightly basis…” I teased at her. “Are you telling me this hurts now?”

“Yes!” she said, huffing and crossing her arms. “It did hurt, Daddy, it did.”

“Alright, alright… I’ll try to be more gentle.”

“… Well.. maybe you don’t need to…” she muttered, arms still folded. “I mean… I just said it hurt, not that I didn’t like it.”

I froze for a moment, then chuckled and got back to work on her hair. “As you command, my princess…”

To be fair, I must admit that I’m far from a professional when it comes to doing hair. Part of what I know to do is self-taught from research on my own hair, part of it is gleaned from watching my mother, aunts, and sister working on their hair or other people’s hair, and the rest… I just wing it based on what looks right. I got a bit better as I went along with it, if I do say so myself: partially because Babydoll got more used to me working on her hair, and stopped fighting me at every turn; and partially because I was working on her hair enough to get into a rhythm and a pattern.

By the time Netflix asked me if I was still watching the anime, she’d dozed off and drifted into dream land, looking so gentle and serene it was absolutely adorable. I couldn’t help but smile warmly at her as I used my thighs to keep her head in place while I finished up the rest of her hair. I kissed her forehead, then continued to separate and moisturize her hair and scalp while humming to myself.

She slept on and I kept going, soon enough finishing up with one last rubber band and a bit more oil and conditioner o her hair and scalp to come through her hair. By the time I was ready to take her rubber bands off and finish styling her hair on up, she was just starting to wake up, and as she yawned and stirred  I put the finishing touches on the styling as well.

“Hop on up, Sugar-lump,” I encouraged, smiling warmly at her. “I want you to see what Daddy was able to do while you fell asleep.”

She got to her feet and stretched a bit, walking with me to the bathroom to check herself out in the mirror. I was actually a bit nervous as I checked out her reactions to the mini-fro poof I’d given her. After a bit of mugging and posing, examining her reflection at all possible angles, I  finally managed up my courage to ask her the simple question:
“What do you think?”
She spun around and hugged me, pressing a kiss to my lips so vigorously that slammed me to the back of the bathroom wall with an audible thud. I felt the air leaving my body leaving my chest as she held on until I was light-headedly able to outright force her to let me breathe.

“I take it you like it, lil’ one?” I asked, panting and smiling broadly.

“Oh Daddy, I love it!” she said, bouncing excitedly. “Not only does it look pretty, pretty, pretty… but my Daddy did it, just for me! You made me look so perfect!”

“Ah, ah… I didn’t make you look perfect, Babydoll…” I corrected, placing a little kiss on her forehead. “You’re already perfect, you’re always perfect. Daddy’s perfect little sweet thing. And you will never forget that, will you?”

She shook her head, then smirked and licked her plush, full lips. The shimmer of her piercings made kissing her look even more appetizing, and I was just about to do so… but then, she placed a hand on my chest gently.

“Can I thank you, Daddy?” she asked, putting on the full on little one charm as she locked her hands behind her back and swayed side to side almost demurely. “I want to give Daddy a very special thank you – I wanna thank you like a big girl.”

I was still inwardly guessing at what she meant by that before she started taking my belt and pants loose. I loved the way she could act throughout, I noted – her face and tone kept the sweet, demure, almost nervous energy of the precious little angel.. but her hands yanked me around and threw the belt on the floor screamed of the grown woman, the Dominatrix, the Her Highness energy that was always just inside her.

“Are you gonna let me thank you like a big girl, Daddy?” she asked, already snatching my pants and boxers down to greedily grab and tug at my cock. “Please? I really, really need to thank my Daddy…”

I barely got a chance to nod my head and mumble out a ‘yes’ before she was on me. She was still talking and speaking like she was just Daddy’s hapless little Babydoll… but the actions, in a jarring reversal, were 100% Her Highness. It was delicious in a way… After all, very few things are quite as wild as a beautiful young woman throwing you against the wall, pinning one pretty manicured hand around your neck, and choking the hell out of you while she drops to her knees enough to ravenously slobber and lick all over your cock.

Now normally, I’m not a big fan of getting my dick sucked. But Babydoll does not suck dick… No, Babydoll is a dick-sucker. Now some of you reading this may be wondering what the difference is, and I can sum that difference up in a single word:

Enthusiasm.

I do give Babydoll orders about sucking my dick, as a good Dominant should. But the main reason I give her these orders is to keep her from, in an overly excited haze of desire and lust, sucking the very soul out of my testicles. When left to her own to her own devices that big-eyed baby-faced fuckdoll will literally gag herself silly on my dick at any time: even with me giving her orders I’ve still woken up to her lapping hungrily at my shaft and whimpering about how badly she “needs” to play with “Daddy’s big special toy”.

The enthusiasm she has gives her a certain level of skill that can never be taught and only comes from loving what one does and doing what one loves. She doesn’t just suck me to make me cum, she sucks me because she loves it, because to her it’s more fun than most things anyone could come up with. She makes love to my dick with her skille, warm, and eager little mouth, even though she can’t always fit all of it into her throat, and as she was doing this I felt myself slamming back against the back of the bathroom door and groaning out in pleasure, hissing through my teeth as she worked my cock with gusto.

“You’re making noisy noises, Daddy…” she commented, popping my cock out of her mouth audibly before grinning up at me. “Does it feel that good? Does Daddy love how his little princess’ mouth feels?”

I nodded, panting heavily and trying to regain my composure. I’d been restraining her from doing as she pleased with my dick for so long I’d almost forgotten how good she was.

“Naughty Daddy… getting this hard from getting his dick fucked by my mouth? Naughty, naughty…” she ginned up at me, taking my balls into her mouth and caressing them with her tongue while pumping my dick like she wanted to drain it dry. I let my head loll back and she squeezed my neck, releasing my nuts and glaring up at me.

“Bad Daddy. You know your Babydoll wants to put on a show for you.” She kept pumping my cock, then kissed the head, still staring up at me. “So look at me. Look at what a dirty little whore you’ve turned me into. And don’t look away from me until you cum, okay?”

“Fuuuuuuuck…” was all I could say, placing my hands on her head and doing my best to maintain eye contact.

“Good Daddy.”

She was a messy eater, sloppy and noisy as she slurped and bobbed her head back and forth on my dick. It wasn’t long before I was bucking my hips and gritting my teeth as I poured my first load straight down her throat, letting her drink every last drop. She didn’t go of my dick until I literally yanked her off of my dick, panting and shivering as I tried not to let her see me collapse onto the floor.

“That was yummy, Daddy…” she mused, , licking what little cum she couldn’t swallow off her lips. “I thought this was supposed to be a treat for you doing my hair, but it seems like it was more of a treat for me. I guess the princess always wins, huh?”

When I got my bearings back, I growled at her and grabbed her pretty little throat, yanking her back up to her feet.

“Now, Daddy’s going to get what he wants as a treat now,” I snarled, ripping off her shirt. “Now, get on the floor and crawl on all fours to my room. I’ll be dealing with that little burst of insubordination in a moment.”

Not that I wasn’t going to anyway, but sure enough I went into that room to deal with her… but since this story is running a bit long, I’ll sum it up simply by saying that she ended up a very sore and apologetic little princess with marks around her neck, wrists and ankles with a very sore pussy, ass, and tits marked up with prints from my belt and hands.

The only regret after that one was that, in the end…  I had to redo her hair after I was done using and punishing her. But with the title of ‘Daddy’ comes grand responsibilities… including, but not limited to, giving your little one orgasms and cuddles, talking to her stuffies, disciplining her so she doesn’t act up in public… and yes, sometimes, doing her hair after you’ve spent a long night pulling on it during rough kinky sex.

I’d be lying though if I said it wasn’t worth it.

“Sit down, Babydoll. Daddy’s doing your hair today.”

Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say out loud and in English. Maybe one or the other but not both. But the thing is, Babydoll  sometimes has a thing about rocking her natural hair. She like a certain look and if it’s not just so she prefers to go with a different look like a wig, sew-ins, braids, or something else. And do not get me misconstrued here; she looks beautiful in them. She can rock those wigs better than most professional actresses I’ve seen.

But I wanted her natural hair this particular day, and said as much. When I asked, she made the pouty face and looked down at her shoes while chewing her plush little bottom lip.

“It doesn’t look good enough for Daddy to see,” she said.

It actually hurt me when she said that. I can’t lie: in the deep little pit where my heart allegedly hides out, I felt a distinct and sharp sort of stabbing pain. And I honestly became angry for a  moment – not at her, no. Not at anything she’d done, because she’d done nothing wrong. I was angry at anyone who’d dare say my baby girl’s natural hair didn’t look pretty. And if she didn’t like it, I was willing to rectify the situation.

And so I told her to sit down and let Daddy do her hair. I’d never expected those words out of my mouth until I had a child of my own, but the way she’d looked had gotten to me. And so I spoke not a word at first: I merely grabbed a couch cushion and tossed it on the floor and blurted out those two simple sentences.

She looked a bit surprised at first, then glanced from the cushion to my eyes. I never know when I’m making the face or giving what my Babydoll likes to call ‘that look’. She glanced at my face and the way she hopped into place o that cushion let me know I was indeed giving her that look’ the look that said, in no uncertain terms, that what I said was no suggestion but a demand. I let her sit there, then patted her head and told her to have the wig off when I got back.

When I returned,  had a bag full of hair supplies that I’d acquired over the years; shampoo and conditioner, oils for the scalp, tut combs, regular combs, brushes, hair clips I used on my own head sometimes. In my other hand I held a simple beige towel, something that wouldn’t change color. I sat down with my baby girl’s head between my legs and grumbled slightly to myself, looking over her hair and testing the teture to the best of my ability. I was no professional, but I had a younger sister and a mother who showed me how to care for hair quite painfully over the years. It didn’t take me long to figure out a plan of attack and how to progress.

“This is probably gonna hurt, Babydoll,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Try to be a big girl for me, will you?”

“I’ll try, Daddy,” she said, nodding her head.

 

It was one of those – what my parents would call an all-day sucker – when it came to working on her hair. I took her to the sink with me to wash out her hair and scrub her scalp roughly, giving her head a nice and therapeutic deep clean. I tried to be both as thorough and yet as gentle as possible, attempting to make as much casual conversation as I could while focusing on her head and keeping her still so none of the soap or conditioner got into her pretty Smokey Quartz eyes as I worked on her hair getting as clean as possible first.

I gave her the towel and brought her back to the couch, hair still a bit wet, and began parting her hair and working on her scalp a bit more. Again, it was one of those moments where I attempted to be both as gentle as possible but just as thorough. She’d been quite still when I worked on her hair at the sink, for the most part – it only took a bit of direction to keep her from squirming all about like the fidgety little thing she is. Before I was even 1/8th done with her hair I paused to turn the Netflix on, letting her catch a bit of some anime she’d been begging me to check out while I went to work. She still flinched every so often, and made those plaintive whimpers and whines as I continued to separate and oil her hair and scalp. She winced and hissed through her teeth some, but was otherwise very quiet and intent on the TV.

“Is this gonna take a long time, Daddy?” she asked,  hissing through her teeth as I tugged on her hair to move her head back into place.

“It looks like it, sugar-lump…” I said, taking out a rubber band to hold part of her hair out of the way. “You got a lot of hair here, and it’s just like you.”

“Like me?” she asked.

“Yup,” I said. “This hair is tough, strong, pretty, healthy… and stubborn as a mule, just like my little princess.”

She giggled a bit at that and it seemed to ease things for us, at least for a while. It was relatively smooth sailing for the next 30 minutes or so, though with the occasional wince or hiss from her. She actually yelped when I yanked a bit of hair into place to get her to stay in place while I worked.

“Owwie!” she yelped, pausing to look up crossly at me. “Daddy!”

“Little girl, I pull your hair much harder than this on an almost nightly basis…” I teased at her. “Are you telling me this hurts now?”

“Yes!” she said, huffing and crossing her arms. “It did hurt, Daddy, it did.”

“Alright, alright… I’ll try to be more gentle.”

“… Well.. maybe you don’t need to…” she muttered, arms still folded. “I mean… I just said it hurt, not that I didn’t like it.”

I froze for a moment, then chuckled and got back to work on her hair. “As you command, my princess…”

To be fair, I must admit that I’m far from a professional when it comes to doing hair. Part of what I know to do is self-taught from research on my own hair, part of it is gleaned from watching my mother, aunts, and sister working on their hair or other people’s hair, and the rest… I just wing it based on what looks right. I got a bit better as I went along with it, if I do say so myself: partially because Babydoll got more used to me working on her hair, and stopped fighting me at every turn; and partially because I was working on her hair enough to get into a rhythm and a pattern.

By the time Netflix asked me if I was still watching the anime, she’d dozed off and drifted into dream land, looking so gentle and serene it was absolutely adorable. I couldn’t help but smile warmly at her as I used my thighs to keep her head in place while I finished up the rest of her hair. I kissed her forehead, then continued to separate and moisturize her hair and scalp while humming to myself.

She slept on and I kept going, soon enough finishing up with one last rubber band and a bit more oil and conditioner o her hair and scalp to come through her hair. By the time I was ready to take her rubber bands off and finish styling her hair on up, she was just starting to wake up, and as she yawned and stirred  I put the finishing touches on the styling as well.

“Hop on up, Sugar-lump,” I encouraged, smiling warmly at her. “I want you to see what Daddy was able to do while you fell asleep.”

She got to her feet and stretched a bit, walking with me to the bathroom to check herself out in the mirror. I was actually a bit nervous as I checked out her reactions to the mini-fro poof I’d given her. After a bit of mugging and posing, examining her reflection at all possible angles, I  finally managed up my courage to ask her the simple question:
“What do you think?”
She spun around and hugged me, pressing a kiss to my lips so vigorously that slammed me to the back of the bathroom wall with an audible thud. I felt the air leaving my body leaving my chest as she held on until I was light-headedly able to outright force her to let me breathe.

“I take it you like it, lil’ one?” I asked, panting and smiling broadly.

“Oh Daddy, I love it!” she said, bouncing excitedly. “Not only does it look pretty, pretty, pretty… but my Daddy did it, just for me! You made me look so perfect!”

“Ah, ah… I didn’t make you look perfect, Babydoll…” I corrected, placing a little kiss on her forehead. “You’re already perfect, you’re always perfect. Daddy’s perfect little sweet thing. And you will never forget that, will you?”

She shook her head, then smirked and licked her plush, full lips. The shimmer of her piercings made kissing her look even more appetizing, and I was just about to do so… but then, she placed a hand on my chest gently.

“Can I thank you, Daddy?” she asked, putting on the full on little one charm as she locked her hands behind her back and swayed side to side almost demurely. “I want to give Daddy a very special thank you – I wanna thank you like a big girl.”

I was still inwardly guessing at what she meant by that before she started taking my belt and pants loose. I loved the way she could act throughout, I noted – her face and tone kept the sweet, demure, almost nervous energy of the precious little angel.. but her hands yanked me around and threw the belt on the floor screamed of the grown woman, the Dominatrix, the Her Highness energy that was always just inside her.

“Are you gonna let me thank you like a big girl, Daddy?” she asked, already snatching my pants and boxers down to greedily grab and tug at my cock. “Please? I really, really need to thank my Daddy…”

I barely got a chance to nod my head and mumble out a ‘yes’ before she was on me. She was still talking and speaking like she was just Daddy’s hapless little Babydoll… but the actions, in a jarring reversal, were 100% Her Highness. It was delicious in a way… After all, very few things are quite as wild as a beautiful young woman throwing you against the wall, pinning one pretty manicured hand around your neck, and choking the hell out of you while she drops to her knees enough to ravenously slobber and lick all over your cock.

Now normally, I’m not a big fan of getting my dick sucked. But Babydoll does not suck dick… No, Babydoll is a dick-sucker. Now some of you reading this may be wondering what the difference is, and I can sum that difference up in a single word:

Enthusiasm.

I do give Babydoll orders about sucking my dick, as a good Dominant should. But the main reason I give her these orders is to keep her from, in an overly excited haze of desire and lust, sucking the very soul out of my testicles. When left to her own to her own devices that big-eyed baby-faced fuckdoll will literally gag herself silly on my dick at any time: even with me giving her orders I’ve still woken up to her lapping hungrily at my shaft and whimpering about how badly she “needs” to play with “Daddy’s big special toy”.

The enthusiasm she has gives her a certain level of skill that can never be taught and only comes from loving what one does and doing what one loves. She doesn’t just suck me to make me cum, she sucks me because she loves it, because to her it’s more fun than most things anyone could come up with. She makes love to my dick with her skille, warm, and eager little mouth, even though she can’t always fit all of it into her throat, and as she was doing this I felt myself slamming back against the back of the bathroom door and groaning out in pleasure, hissing through my teeth as she worked my cock with gusto.

“You’re making noisy noises, Daddy…” she commented, popping my cock out of her mouth audibly before grinning up at me. “Does it feel that good? Does Daddy love how his little princess’ mouth feels?”

I nodded, panting heavily and trying to regain my composure. I’d been restraining her from doing as she pleased with my dick for so long I’d almost forgotten how good she was.

“Naughty Daddy… getting this hard from getting his dick fucked by my mouth? Naughty, naughty…” she ginned up at me, taking my balls into her mouth and caressing them with her tongue while pumping my dick like she wanted to drain it dry. I let my head loll back and she squeezed my neck, releasing my nuts and glaring up at me.

“Bad Daddy. You know your Babydoll wants to put on a show for you.” She kept pumping my cock, then kissed the head, still staring up at me. “So look at me. Look at what a dirty little whore you’ve turned me into. And don’t look away from me until you cum, okay?”

“Fuuuuuuuck…” was all I could say, placing my hands on her head and doing my best to maintain eye contact.

“Good Daddy.”

She was a messy eater, sloppy and noisy as she slurped and bobbed her head back and forth on my dick. It wasn’t long before I was bucking my hips and gritting my teeth as I poured my first load straight down her throat, letting her drink every last drop. She didn’t go of my dick until I literally yanked her off of my dick, panting and shivering as I tried not to let her see me collapse onto the floor.

“That was yummy, Daddy…” she mused, , licking what little cum she couldn’t swallow off her lips. “I thought this was supposed to be a treat for you doing my hair, but it seems like it was more of a treat for me. I guess the princess always wins, huh?”

When I got my bearings back, I growled at her and grabbed her pretty little throat, yanking her back up to her feet.

“Now, Daddy’s going to get what he wants as a treat now,” I snarled, ripping off her shirt. “Now, get on the floor and crawl on all fours to my room. I’ll be dealing with that little burst of insubordination in a moment.”

Not that I wasn’t going to anyway, but sure enough I went into that room to deal with her… but since this story is running a bit long, I’ll sum it up simply by saying that she ended up a very sore and apologetic little princess with marks around her neck, wrists and ankles with a very sore pussy, ass, and tits marked up with prints from my belt and hands.

The only regret after that one was that, in the end…  I had to redo her hair after I was done using and punishing her. But with the title of ‘Daddy’ comes grand responsibilities… including, but not limited to, giving your little one orgasms and cuddles, talking to her stuffies, disciplining her so she doesn’t act up in public… and yes, sometimes, doing her hair after you’ve spent a long night pulling on it during rough kinky sex.

I’d be lying though if I said it wasn’t worth it.

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