•February 6, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Daddy was on all fours with his head buried in his hands on my bed, telling me that he was almost certain that there was carbon dioxide leaking in my house because he felt unusually groggy and tired. I was kneeling behind him fiddling with something small, listening.

“No, I don’t think so. I feel fine,” I objected.

“You’ve probably acclimated to it by now. You need to get a carbon detector. They’re not expensive, I’ll even buy you one if you’d like.”

I stayed quiet. We chatted for a little while before Daddy asked me to wake him up. I asked how and he told me to figure out a way by myself. I was holding a water bottle, and in a thoughtless moment I decided to push the bottle against his butt, hoping to get him to flinch or jump and ‘wake up’ so that we could spend some legitimate time together. Unfortunately, I miscalculated and the top of the bottle connected with his balls, not his butt.

My hand flew to my mouth, I gasped, I thought it was funny for a moment, then changed my mind. I didn’t know what to do, so I just flopped down next to him and asked if he was okay. He didn’t respond. My brain works a little oddly, and in moments of intense stress I tend to attempt to play my way out of it. I rolled onto my back with a sigh.

“That’s alright. I don’t care, it wasn’t really that bad.” My attempt at nonchalance and disregard wasn’t nearly as convincing as I’d wanted it to be; in fact, it just made the situation worse. Daddy stayed frozen, head in his hands against my covers, for a few more minutes. At this point I was highly irritated with myself for saying what I’d said, but I’m fantastically hard headed and didn’t want to make myself seem like an idiot, so I stayed quiet in lieu of correcting myself. I decided to wait it out. Daddy sat up, then slowly stood. I thought that he was going to leave from my room to cool himself down or just be away from me, which isn’t uncommon when I screw up.  Instead, he came to a quiet halt in front of me. I sat up but didn’t look at him and wondered what was going to happen. In one fluid motion, before I could really register what was going on, Daddy pinned me to the bed by my neck. His form blocked out everything around me aside from the mound of soft covers a few inches from my head, looming and seemingly lethal in that moment. I chanced a look at him.

Smack. His hand came down hard across my face, harsh, conveying to me a taste of his honest anger at my actions. Tears flooded that backs of my eyes and threatened to spill over if I wasn’t careful. I bit my lip and let my eyes float closed.

“Do you ever speak to me like that?” Low, growling; an unplayful sound that, even in memory, makes me shiver.


SMACK. Harder, on the other cheek. I hadn’t been careful enough, and a few drops of salted moisture dripped from the corners of my eyes, down my cheeks, and onto the fluffy bedspread. “No WHAT?”

“No, Daddy.”

SMACK. “That’s right. Do you ever tell me that you don’t care about doing something like that?”

“No, Daddy,” I warbled through my developing tears.

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. I’ve no idea how many times it was, alternating cheeks, feeling as though the blows came down harder every time. Hard enough to break through my resolve and reduce me to sobbing pathetically and pulling at his wrists to no avail. With valiant effort, I tried to keep my face from screwing itself into an ugly knot, and squeaked each time his hand connected with my stinging flesh– the childish kind of squeaks that come out when you’re really trying to stifle yourself, that choked, sad squeak. The slapping stopped and I sniffed, hard.

“What do you have to say?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy!” I cried to him. I turned my face away in some sort of shame and embarrassment at my misbehavior.

SMACK. It was the last and the hardest, but I took it with a sense of grace and thankfulness. Daddy leaned down and kissed my wet lips.

“You know, it didn’t even hurt. The fact that you tried to act like you hadn’t done something wrong, though, infuriated me. Are you ever gonna do something like that again?” His finger traced along the curvature under my chin, his tone dramatically softer than before, albeit slightly amused. I shook my head back and forth, then brought my hands up to cover my face. He moved them away and kissed me again before standing up. Daddy’s hand ran along the length of his upper thigh, where I could clearly see the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric of his jeans. He smiled and made a noise that I can’t quite describe in the back of his throat.

“I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you, too, Daddy,” I said softly, my fingers extending to trace the swelling of flesh and muscle that snaked his leg. “I love this. That punishing me makes you get like this. It makes me happy.” I smiled up at him, sweet and genuine, then wiped my face off with my spare hand. With that, Daddy knelt and pushed me back into the bed with the weight of his body and growled back to me: “Me too. Me too.”




I feel like this entry is pretty pathetic. I’ll be back next week with something better, I promise.🙂


•January 15, 2011 • 5 Comments

The result of a single belt blow from Daddy.

Well, Daddy’s gone now. I have a few posts queued up about his visit, all of which I’m very excited to post, but I need to do some touching up and ask Daddy for his input on a few things first. I just wanted to share this with all of my lovely readers, and Daddy expressed some interest in this picture being public.  The belting that caused this took place on the tenth of January, and this was the day after. It’s steadily growing more mottled. I can’t help but adore the look of it despite the pain.

I disrespected Daddy by refusing to comply with his attempts at cuddling me and making me feel better (he was about to leave), and in result I got punished. I’ll post more about it for later, but for now I have other things to do.🙂 So sorry for the wait you guys, I’m trying to get new posts up as quickly as possible!

Daddy’s coming

•December 23, 2010 • 4 Comments

Well, ladies and gentleman, I’d like to begin this post with a very heartfelt apology in regards to my absence. I’ve been very busy as of late, and, sadly, there hasn’t been much to write about. However, Daddy is coming for a ten day visit, beginning on December 31st. I’m very excited. Seven days to go! :]

Hopefully I’ll have some very saucy and exciting stories to tell you all, granted that I get permission. I’m really beginning to wonder what this visit is going to be like. I’ve been acting out due to stress quite regularly, and some past issues have once again arisen in my life (which doesn’t make it at all acceptable), but Daddy’s been talking about setting me straight. We haven’t been interacting on a sexy level much at all, which I’m positive isn’t helping with the stress on both of our parts, but there just hasn’t been time. Daddy says that once he’s done with me, the word ‘no’ will no longer be a functioning part of my vocabulary in relation so him. Part of me isn’t particularly registering what this could mean, especially because we began exploring the idea of heavy punishment after his last visit almost half a year ago. So, we haven’t seen each other in person since those discussions. We’ve discovered that we have some conflicting interests– my ideas are a bit more deeply masochistic than his, and that worries me. I’ve also come clean about some of my more masochistic desires since then as well; this visit is rife with the potential for new and sexy things, and I must say that I am very excited. All I’m hoping for is that Daddy does everything that he does as much for his benefit as for mine.

I’ll try to type a quick post up after every day that he’s here, detailing our escapades and adventures, and then I’ll post them every few days. I hope all of you are doing wonderfully.


corner time

•October 17, 2010 • 2 Comments

I continue to have dreams about being put in my own little designated corner– a specific meeting of two walls that was deemed to be my spot for punishment, for humiliation, for thinking, that was specially picked for my nose to be pressed to. I’m not sure what it is– in normal, everyday, day-to-day life I can’t stand isolation. Being lonely and ignored sends me into an spiral of self-destruction. However, when the idea is presented in a different sense, I can’t help but finding myself dripping at the prospect.

Imagine for me, if you will, a girl. She’s fairly slight, small-breasted, and pink-lipped. Her cotton panties (which are her only adornment, but seem like much too much anyhow) are pulled down halfway between her bottom and her knees, clinging snugly to her thighs. Fair hands are tied behind her back, fingers curled and resting in the furrow of her bottom. The girl is flushed deeply with a delicious rouge. Two walls converge in front of her warm face, her nose just inches from their meeting place.
“You know better,” comes from behind her. “You’re to stay here until I feel that you’ve learned your lesson.”
The girl squirms, shifting her weight from one straight leg to the other, while the other bent inward with the mass of her embarrassment at her position. He leaves her there for what seems like forever; she can feel the time passing, sense the shadows sliding, growing, deepening around her. When, finally, she felt as though she can stand no longer for fear of collapsing and would be driven crazy by the lack of sounds that she heard that were of his making, he returns, coming silently behind her. He takes her by her bound wrists, leads her to whatever piece of furniture is closest to them, forces her torso down and uses her. Tears slide down her face– but not of resentment or hate, no– at his touching of her. She is being forgiven for her sins, used for his pleasure, being fulfilled in the most core sense that she could be fulfilled in. She is reminded of the fact that she is owned. When all is through, he gathers her up in an embrace and reminds her of his love for her as she cries her thanks.

That is my fantasy. It’s been entertaining itself in my head for a long time now, and I’ve been wondering if it’ll ever happen for me. I hope so, I really do.

I’ve been discovering that I desire things that I’d never expected myself to desire before. Intense things that frighten me, and that I know are an impossibility in my current situation. I’m not sure how to feel about them, exactly.

Not just yet.

an abundance of attitude

•October 3, 2010 • Leave a Comment

I’ve needed an attitude adjustment as of late, I’m not going to lie. I feel odd, still. I feel uncentered and weird and too submissive, despite my constant brat attitude and whining.

I suppose I’m just looking for correction.

I’m sorry to those of you who may frequent my blog looking for more sexy things, but there isn’t much happening right now. Things are tense between Daddy and I, so I’ll write about some things that happened in the past.🙂 All will be better soon, I hope.

“good girl”

•September 21, 2010 • Leave a Comment

Oh, how I melt in response to that phrase. No matter who says it, or whether or not I’m the receiver of the words, I mentally and physically connect to Daddy immediately. I don’t feel any more affinity for the speaker as I had prior to the praise fluttering from their lips, nor do I feel any more related to them as a person. My mind immediately flies to Daddy; the way those words sound rolling off his tongue, their implications, how much I love being his good girl.

Those two words hold so much intensity for me. When Daddy acknowledges my good behavior by calling me his good girl, I feel an overwhelming sense of littleness that really connects me to the little part of me; the predominant part of me. I get an urge to go and cuddle up in my blankets with my knees drawn up to my chest and just grin, pondering him. It reminds me of the little girl that I really am.

Speaking of my littleness, I’m letting that part of me shine. I don’t care to tuck her away anymore, to deny her presence as a huge part of who I am. Granted, I’m not flashing that portion of me all over the place- that’s a little too forward and unneeded. I am, however, giving into my guilty pleasures. The color pink. Bows. Knee high stockings and socks. Dresses and skirts. Lace curtains. Pink walls. All of the things that I’ve long since thought of myself as too adult and grown up for. I’m beginning to appreciate that I am who I am, and stop trying to force myself into little boxes that I don’t fit into. The same goes for my sexuality as a whole. I’m done being ashamed. For me, for Daddy, for us. I’m very easily embarrassed, especially about my submission. I feel too submissive (although that may be seen as contrary to my behavior), which makes me seize up and grow nervous. I’m trying very hard to let that part of me out, and let her run free. I no longer want to be disobedient, disappointing, or anything less than completely cherished. I’ve pinpointed my hesitance as a great part of the stress that has developed in my life as of late– I’m unmotivated, sad, and need reassurance. So, hopefully, with my determination, things will get better soon.🙂

getting a handle on the little girl

•September 18, 2010 • Leave a Comment

“Do you have anything long and cylindrical?” Daddy asked me last night. I scanned the room quickly.

“I have a brush; the handle’s kind of long and cylindrical,” I responded. It was laying in front of my mirror, its crimson hue flashing me a pretty smile.

“How big is it, do you think?”

“Um, roughly.. four inches long, and an inch in diameter.”

“That’ll do.”

“What do you mean?” Of course I knew what he meant, but I was already blushing and didn’t want to think about what he was implying. The brush laid idly in my hands.

“Do you have the brush?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Alright, go to your bed and lay down. Are you laying? Good girl. Okay. Now, I want you to rub yourself and suck on the handle of that brush- get it wet, baby.”

I did as I was told, letting my tongue run the length of the handle, imagining that it was Daddy that I was licking so thoroughly. My pussy started to throb in time with the motions of my tongue; I’d missed those motions terribly.

“Is it nice and wet?” Daddy asked.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Alright, now I want you to put the brush handle right outside of your pussy, right there on the edge, and when I count to three, you’re going to fuck yourself as deep and as fast as you can, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” I was a deep shade of pink by then. I felt so much like a little girl- having to fuck myself with a brush handle just to get off because I didn’t have anything else- I felt shamed and humiliated. This was beneficial, of course. After swallowing back my embarrassment, Daddy began to direct me, counting.


I tensed.


I closed my eyes and inhaled, gathering all of the air I could into my quivering lungs.

“Three!” he commanded.

My mind was far behind my hand at that point, and I, having responded immediatly, was gasping and clawing at my bedding as I milked my throbbing pussy with the handle of the brush. My body began to react in ways that I wasn’t used to experiencing without Daddy; that handle was the first thing that my body had had inside of it, aside from my fingers, since the last time I saw him (two and a half months ago). Despite its small size, I was almost immediatley ready to cum, and was at the pretty brush’s complete mercy.

“Don’t cum yet, alright? I want you to keep fucking yourself, but DO NOT CUM. Do you understand me?”

I wasn’t coherent enough to respond, so I settled for making what I thought sounded like a particularly agreeable whine. Daddy crooned to me, his voice soft and steady through my frantic moans.

After a particularly violent gasp from me, he asked, very seriously: “Did you cum?”

“No, no!” I managed.

“Good girl.”

My body succumbed to the motion of its own little dance– tensing and relaxing as I tore myself repeatedly way from the cusp of climax. Finally, I simply couldn’t take it any longer, and withdrew the brush from my slick pussy. Tears sparng to my eyes immediatley; I always involuntarily cry when my body is dangerously close to climax and fighting through multiple waves of pleasure. I breathed raggedly and Daddy asked me once again if I’d disobeyed his command.

“No, I just pulled myself back from it. Oh, God, I’m crying. I’m sorry, I was just too close,” I apologized, now crying because I’d been disobedient.

Daddy praised me for being good and not cumming while I wiped my eyes and got my composure. The lower half of my body was still tightened, begging me for attention. I ignored it and listened as Daddy told me about what he was doing and how things went over the course of his day.  A few minutes after he’d finished his recounting and chatting, he asked me softly,

“Do you want to cum?”

The edge in his voice, the one that means he may be about to be very mean, made me pause and think for a moment. Finally, my arousal answered for me.

“Yes, Daddy.” Quiet. Timid. Waiting to be denied.

“Alright, sweetheart, put the brush back right outside of your pussy.” I almost came just hearing those words. Eagerly, I placed the brush where he’d instructed and waited happily for directions.

“I want you to go slowly, okay? Push it in hard, but go slow.” His voice was liquid silk, pushing me even further toward the swirling bliss that I was to soon experience. I fucked myself, slowly, deliberately, until the rear ends of my moans turned into mewls for relief.

“Fast, now. I want you to cum. Faster!”

I let myself get lost in the bitter tone of his voice, the hard cut to the words, and felt my pleasure rising to a heart-stopping crescendo. My legs trembled, my back arched, and I smashed my face into my pillow to smother a near-scream.

“Good girl. Good girl, baby,” Daddy whispered to me. There was fire in my veins; I was burning between my legs and my face was magnificently hot. After cooling down, Daddy asked me, “What do you say?”

“Thank you so much, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome, babygirl.”

Then I let my heavy lids hang at half mast and listened contentedly as Daddy told me about his plans and thoughts and just chatted with me, reminding me that I’m his good little girl whom he loves very much. The bottoms of my feet tingle when I think about things like this– so pristinely perfect I almost can’t stand it.