The Girl...

March 30th, 2014

Oh Joy...Anonymity

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A Part of Me

03/28/2014

I *sooo* want this on a bumper sticker.....
And a t-shirt.....
And a magnet.....

And while I wait for it to be screenprinted on all of the aforementioned items, I'll post it here on my blog too.....since some of my lurkers seem to not "get it" as far as grasping this concept of TTWD. 

Though I believe I *do* in fact know, at least some of the reasons, why I like and/or need to be spanked.....

And I *do* truly care.....

This is certainly accurate in the last of the 3 statements:

Spanking is definitely a part of who I am and it absolutely makes me a *much* happier person. 

An Irish Imp without a spanking would be akin to: 

• a duck without a waddle or a quack.....
• a dog without a bone.....
• a heart without a beat.....
• a Ferrari with no brakes.....
• a turtle without a shell.....
• a beach with no sand.....
• a rose with no thorn.....

                 Like it.....

                 .....Want it.....

                 ..........Crave it.....

                 ...............Need it.....

                 ....................Love it.....

An Age Old Question

03/25/2014

Today I'm choosing, as I have so many times before, to answer publicly a question that a reader of my blog posed to me privately. It is a question I have been asked a number of times before, so perhaps answering it in a public post will shed some light on my perspective. Let's begin, shall we? 

Imp,

Can you tell me why both you and your Dom have chosen the relationship you have despite your age difference? Don't you ever wish you had a partner your own age to spank you?

Linda


I can only speak for myself, not for my Dom, but I imagine our answers would closely mirror one another's. 

First of all, you asked with the phrase "despite your age difference".......whatever made you think that I am my Dom's girl *despite* age? To be perfectly honest, I am his girl *because* of his age. I am drawn to him *because* of his age. Some people may derive from that explanation that I have 'daddy issues' and I suppose on some level you may be right. There is something incredibly reassuring to a girl about having an older male authority figure in her life. A 'daddy.' 

But it is more to me than the simple, first pass of 'I want a daddy.' because quite honestly, when I first met my Dom, I was not, had never and wouldn't have ever even contemplated looking for a 'Daddy Dom.' It just wasn't within my broad range of kink interests. I did not seek a daddy but the nameless, faceless man I sought had always, in my own mind, been older than I am. I craved his age, his life experience, his status, his stability, his plethora of knowledge. I needed the cool, calculating confidence in domination that ONLY a man of a certain age could possess. I wanted his age, and our age difference, to immediately inspire an authoritative undertone. It was the dynamic I sought because the niche of spanking in which I needed to explore, learn and grow was the disciplinary realm. 

I have always been an independent, dominant, type A personality, outspoken, intelligent and abrasive kind of girl. I often, quite easily, intimidate men in my personal and professional lives. And while there are many twice my age that fall into this category, it is *far* less likely to occur than with men closer to my own age. There was also the element of me knowing what I wanted and expecting, actually refusing to accept anything less than, a man who knew *both* what he wanted and what I needed. This kind of intuition and the confidence to act on it without reservation comes only with a certain level of maturity. I did not want to have to coach or teach a man how to discipline me. I have one son to raise, I did not care to add another young man to my life that needed constant cues or reassurance. 

It is so very difficult for a highly intelligent and independent woman to shut her brain off. This is part of the joy I find in being a submissive. None of the decisions are mine to make past the initial decision to consent or submit, and to be quite honest with you, even that is no longer a conscious choice.....it is simply who I am. Often times when I am being punished, the only thing I know about what is going to happen next, is that I will have absolutely no control over it. When you can not speak, can not refuse, can not even move from position the voice inside of my over analytical mind fall silent. All I can do and all I am permitted to do is to feel. 

And perhaps my inner independent feminist found the allure of his age gave me a rational license to surrender. 

I needed a man with enough experience, both in the kink as well as in life, to fully grasp and understand the nuances of true discipline, true dominance, true submission. A man intelligent enough to realize that once he had earned my trust and respect that it is both the pain he would choose to inflict as well as that he chose not to that would ultimately make me feel the safety and the security I desired. 

I did not want a power tripping psychopath, but I desperately needed an unwavering, strict disciplinarian with a penchant for sadism. It is an incredibly delicate balance to find unconditional love, support & understanding combined with firm, sadistic, unrelenting resolve within a man......and even less likely to find a man with these attributes that possesses the sense of self to recognize this phenomenal coalition and fully grasp the responsibilities it entails. Again, this comes *only* with age. 

I craved a man that would make me weak in the knees as I was about to be pulled down across his. 

I longed for a man that could not only implore my cries, but also relish in my tears. 

I dreamed of a man who understood that to win my heart & invade my mind, he must mark my body. 

A man who would not only help solve the puzzle of who I was, but then challenge me to be it and once I succeeded, push me further. 

I wanted a man who would see to it that when life gave me more than I could stand, I could come to him and I could kneel. And he would protect me, soothe me, and shelter me away from the chaotic world for a while.

A natural alpha male who sought not to break me, but rather to build me....understanding, of course, that to trust him fully to dominate me, he must prove he was able to tame me.....and realize that once that irrevocable trust had been earned he'd have the literal power to reduce me to absolute defeat.....and *never* misuse that power. 

I wanted a man who grasped the concept that while I, as a masochist, derive pleasure from pain, the ultimate pleasure I can experience is found *only* through truly providing him the pleasure of my willing and complete surrender to any and all pain he chose to inflict.......in layman's terms, it truly pleases me to please Him. 

A man who was able *and* willing to work toward not only gaining my trust and respect, but also my adoration both for the man he is, as well as for the man he is not. 

A man who with just his voice murmuring in my ear, or his touch on my skin, or his glance from across a room could implore me to slip seamlessly from my independent, intelligent, witty self into his naughty, wanton, willing submissive. 

So to answer your second question for you, no I can very quickly & confidently say that I do not ever wish I had a Dom my own age. To be blunt, there are very few real 'men' my age to start with, only boys really....and of those rare men, expecting mastery in dominance would be so absurd it would be comical.....I simply don't believe it is possible. 

I did not connect with my Dom *despite* his age, I selected him *because* of his age. My Daddy is exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it. His age, intelligence & experience has proven to be crucial in the re-raising of this naughty girl and I could not be more appreciative of the changes he has made in my life. Age is a *HUGE* factor for many, many people within this kink and for likely just as many varied reasons.....but you now have some insight into my own personal thought processes and reasons.  

Uncharacteristic Naughtiness (Part #4)

12/06/2013

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

A half dozen harsh swats from our heaviest frat style paddle connected with my punished skin. One to each cheek, followed immediately by two to each upper thigh....catching me just below the sit spot, on the fleshiest and most tender area. All 6 swats landed within about a 15 second span of time; literally one applied directly after another. I wasn't expecting this and my body quickly reacted before my brain could stop it. 

I flipped onto my side, fiercely grasping my thighs in my hands and trying in vain to knead the awful searing pain out of them as I burst into tears and stared up doe-eyed at my Daddy as if he had just taken away my best friend or shot my puppy. 

"If you think that was the conclusion of this punishment, little girl, you are sadly mistaken. This lesson has only just begun. I strongly suggest you get your ass back in position and move those hands before I restrain them." Daddy warned as he tapped the viscous paddle against his strong thigh and glared at me intently. 

"D-Daddy p-pleasseee. I'm.....I'm sorry-y-y." I cried up to him, locking my teary emerald eyes onto his pleading silently into his deep, dark eyes. I knew it was a futile effort but I was struggling inside myself to stop stalling & soothing my burning bottom and to submit to the punishment I dreaded but knew I more than deserved. 

"Ahh, I see. You're sorry now? Silly me, suppose I should put this paddle away then." Dad said as he narrowed his chocolate brown eyes at me and sat the paddle on the nightstand with a thud.

I was caught off guard by this and lingered somewhere between shocked, confused and scared to death as I watched my father pace around the room. He walked from one side of the room to the other, my eyes intently watching him and studying his body, careful to avoid his eyes each time he approached. His stride sent chills up my spine but it's allure was so strong that I couldn't turn away. The way he walked so tall, so confident, so measured.......determined.......like a lion stalking its' prey.......muscular thighs, clenched jaw, narrowed piercing eyes, broad chest, massive and powerful paws.......I was a helpless gazelle and the king of the jungle was closing in. 

As he approached the bed this time, he didn't turn on his heel and continue to pace to the opposite side of the room, as he had the last several times, he simply stopped right beside the bed. My stomach knotted as I locked my eyes on his torso, too scared to even glance up at his face. Tears slowly trickled down my cheeks and I choked back my sniffles. He said nothing and neither did I, the only thing I heard was my rapidly beating heart for several minutes. My sobs became audible as his right paw unbuttoned and slowly began to neatly roll up the sleeve on the left arm of his perfectly pressed, bright white Oxford shirt. He left the sleeve neatly folded at his elbow and my eyes studied every vein of his muscular forearm as I sobbed softly. 

Still not a word uttered and my internal sense of dread and remorse only heightened as I watched him cross his arms, now standing inches from me in an agitated paternal stance with his powerful arms folded across his broad chest. My body began to tremble and though I was stifling my sobs, the tears flowed freely down my face. 

"Amazing, absolutely amazing." Dad said. 

Confused, I quizzically peered up at his face, but the second I saw the fire in his eyes, I dropped my head. He was truly furious and I was the reason, the problem, the target. He very quickly took a large fistful of my flowing red hair into his right hand, bunching it at the nape of my neck as he often does, and roughly jerking my head back, forcing me to face him. His sadistically dark flashing eyes quickly took mine hostage and it took my breath away. 

"Our last offense to address today, by far the worst.....you blatantly, openly and intentionally disobeyed me on an important rule I'd imposed 4 times in one week.....and despite the disrespect that showed me, you were content to continue doing what the hell you wanted to do. And now, when it's time for you to be held accountable for that stupidity, you choose to defy me." He summarized. 

"No...no....Daddy....I...." I began, my voice breaking as I fought to explain.

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Daddy shouted, twisting his hand in my hair tighter, eliciting a whimper. I closed my swollen eyes tightly and bit my bottom lip as my body shifted from a slight tremble to very obvious shaking. I hate when he raises his voice at me but this time somehow seemed worse than any other to me, at least momentarily, perhaps it was his tone or the harsh words he was using, whatever it was, it had me in an internal panic. 

"I barely began to paddle you and you not only put your hands back but also got out of position. If that wasn't enough, you then spoke without being addressed, whined and attempted to stall the punishment you know you have coming. I didn't immediately react as forcefully as I realize now that I should have. I gave you time, several minutes for you to come to your senses and get your ass back in position and submit to me......and to my utter shock and amazement, my little girl, after nearly 10 minutes, clung to her defiance.......even as I stood directly in front of you, you did not even attempt to move back into position.......every single second you sat there, you were actively CHOOSING to DEFY me!! WHAT THE HELL IS WITH YOU, YOUNG LADY?" He barked.

"I'm n-not being defiant S-Sir. I-I just froze because I'm s-scared." I whispered through my now constant sobs. 

Daddy narrowed his eyes at me again. His jaw clenched and held as I withered under his intense and penetrating glare. Tears cascaded from my eyes and my body continued to shake. After what seemed an eternity, but was likely only a minute or two of intense visual chastisement, he spoke again. 

"Your being scared is acceptable and expected considering the severity of the offense, Natalie Lynn. You SHOULD be scared. But your defiance will not EVER be accepted. Have I made myself clear, young lady?" He demanded in an incredibly low but resolved and firm tone of voice. 

"Yes Sir. I'm so sorry." I cried. 

He released his firm grasp on my hair, he knew he had made his point and gotten my undivided attention. The second he let go, I quickly and quietly re-stacked the 3 pillows in the center of the bed and got back into position. I made certain to prop my hips directly over the fullness of the stack, elevating my bottom and thighs up high to accept the correction he would apply. I tucked my arms beneath the pillow that I buried my face into and focused on trying to slow my breathing and willing myself to behave and submissively accept my punishment. Hoping to gain not only his forgiveness, but his pride and approval after I redeemed myself for my lapse in judgement during punishment. 

Drops of warm liquid fell to my skin and immediately after, the firm right hand of my Daddy Dom was roughly slathering it into my punished skin. I winced and bit my lip to contain my whimpers; my bottom was incredibly tender after those 6 searing paddle swats on top of the belt whipping and bath brush paddling I'd already received today. He didn't take his time and massage or knead the reddened flesh as he often does, he just quickly applied the oil and retrieved his paddle.    

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK 

He again paddled quickly. I inhaled sharply and bit the pillow, squealing into it. This heavy frat paddle is truly horrid. Daddy very rarely uses it on me, as it is reserved for only the most serious of offenses. And when he does choose this as his implement of choice for teaching a good lesson, he nearly always applies it in the traditional paddling fashion, that being hard measured strokes with several seconds, if not full minutes, between swats. That allows the intensity of the sting to truly radiate throughout my bottom and I absolutely dread the next forceful swat. But today, as he has done only a handful of times before, he was paddling me with this frat-style paddle in the traditional hairbrush paddling fashion, that being hard rapid swats connecting in a blur all over my bare bottom and thighs. It was truly miserable and I was struggling immediately again to remain in position. 

I have always hated this paddle of Daddy's, from the very first day it & I were 'introduced', so it serves as a great deterrent, but my God would I do anything if that evil thing would just disappear.....like, say, into a fire perhaps. 

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK
CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK

"Daddyyyy pleassseeee." I squealed back at him from over my shoulder as I balled my fists into the blankets beneath the pillow.

"Shut up, little girl. Cry into the pillow all you want to and feel sorry for yourself, but do not whine to me. You earned this. We are just getting started.....you can consider this paddling your warm up for the real punishment that's coming next." Daddy replied firmly. 

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK 

I again buried my face in the pillow and just lost it. I bawled like a baby and almost immediately gave up wanting my punishment to stop......if anything, now I only wanted it to continue. His tone of voice was dripping with disappointment and disgust. The way he spoke to me and the words he chose to use were tearing me up inside. 

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK 
CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK 

He was detached, cold, determined......every ounce of the man had morphed from my loving father into a merciless & resolved disciplinarian. I was no longer struggling to merely accept my paddling, I was welcoming it. I wanted my paddling to continue and I wanted it to hurt, I needed it to hurt. I was desperate to endure every ounce of pain that my Dom chose to inflict. I needed to feel his disapproval and show him I understood the seriousness of what I had done, show him that I had learned the error of my ways, show him that I truly was remorseful and ready to again be his good girl. I crave my Daddy's approval and I need his forgiveness, his reassurance........and I knew the road I had to take to earn those things right now was to pay the steep price for the stupid offenses I had committed......beginning with this awful paddling. As determined as Daddy was to administer a memorable and painful punishment, I was equally determined to fully submit to it. 

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK 

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK 

Clinging to the pillow and biting my lip, I laid as still as possible and fought to truly feel every punishing swat he administered as I bawled into the pillow. An even mix of physical pain stimuli and emotional pain stimuli fueling my waterworks. I was quickly beyond my physical pain threshold and I suppressed the initial panic reaction to this rarity and focused on breathing to slip into acceptance. I didn't kick or flail my legs. I didn't twist from side to side. I didn't tense or clench to absorb the swats. I simply laid there, willingly presenting my bottom and thighs up high for Daddy to apply his disciplinary attention and his paddle.......and oh he did.......he absolutely did!

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK 

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK 

**************************TO BE CONTINUED*****************************

The C Word

03/21/2014

Oh how I wish I were just being a typical naughty girl and spouting off the word "cunt".

Then again, come to think of it, now that I reassess, that word fits the bill too. 

Simply because it is about the most vulgar word in the English language. 

Yes, "cunt", fits in this situation. 

I'm sharing the other C word with you now that I know for sure. 

See last fall I had a traumatic injury that required emergency abdominal surgery. Standard procedure when removing a weapon from an abdomen is to get a stat CT scan of the entire cavity to assess injury. This was done and aside from the trauma, was normal. 

Fast forward to about 3-4 weeks ago. I had to again have a CT scan of my chest and abdomen due to an acute illness. Herein the problem lies......or was discovered. 

Where just 5 months ago, both of my lungs had been pristine on imaging, I now had several clustered nodules of significant size. I am under 30, not asthmatic, not a smoker......so drastic growth and abnormality in cells to this extent in a vital organ is *huge* cause for concern. 

Rewind again, at age 21 I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cervical cancer. Being young and newly married, without a child of my own, I opted for radiation and localized surgery. I was okay for 3 years, long enough to have my miracle baby, and then 8 days after my 24th birthday, CIN III cells were again found on my cervix. Again, age playing a major factor I wanted to try localized surgery, and agreed that if I ever had even an abnormal pap in the future, a radical hysterectomy would be my only option. 

Fast forward again (missing your VCR yet?) it is 5 years later and every pap has been normal. 

Given the cancer history, these newly discovered nodules were particularly concerning to my doctors. So we immediately scheduled biopsies. 

Hoping for the best possible case scenario.........benign growths that were partially calcified. 

Preparing to face the worst scenario.........metastatic malignancy (cancer from another body area now attacking my lung). 

{{Sighs}}

I am Irish, but the last year have been about the unluckiest human being on the planet in some ways......and this unfortunately, is no different. 

We have the pathology from the biopsies now, and the growths are malignant. 

So cancer is a cunt and it is coming back for round 3. For the record, I believe more than one fight with this despicable disease say every decade or so, is just excessive. But I apparently don't make the rules.........though the way I typically hear that phrase is somewhat easier to take, believe it or not. 

I'm angry.....pissed off.....furious even but it's frustrating because I have no viable target for the anger. It isn't as if my prior oncology team didn't do their job correctly. Daddy reminds me that anger is overrated when it's not strategic; and my rational self gets that. The whole anger fueling stress and stress feeding free radical cells in the body registers in my mind as well. 

But I'm not overly great at showing, feeling or admitting fear. And I've not ever been the helpless damsel in distress type of girl. So pissed off tends to suit me well. 

Perhaps I'll turn my anger into a strategy and use it to fuel my fight rather than my stress?

I've always been a good fighter. I have absurdly large, ogres for older brothers who picked on me all the time growing up (and still do). I fought competitively as a teenager, got in plenty of trouble outside of the ring, and Chicago was my playground. I think I can manage to fight. 

Yes, that's it, solution discovered........I'll strategically utilize my anger to kick this cunt's ass.  :)

Uncharacteristic Naughtiness (Part #3)

12/06/2013

"Stand up, young lady." Daddy ordered softly, but with resolve hinging on his words.

I slowly slid off of his lap and onto my feet, flipping my disheveled, red, flowing hair back out of my face as I stood before him on my shaking knees, my bottom and thighs a sore mess. He immediately rose to his feet as well and stood inches from my nervous body. My sobs hitched in the back of my throat and I was quiet as I stood trying to slow my breathing, a futile effort as his stance increased my heart rate.

"Repeat the text message to my face, Natalie Lynn." Daddy instructed in a low, hushed tone.

Unable to find or utilize my voice, I simply shook my head no as I stared at our shoes, fighting to avoid direct eye contact for as long as I possibly could get away with doing so.

"Excuse me?" Dad barked as he tucked his hand beneath my chin, abruptly raising my face up to his as he continued.

"First of all, I don't accept head shakes as answers. Second, I did not ask a question, I gave you an order. Repeat the damn message to my face, now." He demanded as he narrowed his piercing brown eyes at mine.

"I....I c-can't, S-sir." I replied, my voice quivering as I fought to maintain eye contact with him.

"Why not? It was okay in a text message, right? No hesitation then, why now? Is my reaction only a concern to you when I am physically with you? Is that the extent of the respect you have for me?" He fired off one question after another, every subsequent one making the lump in my throat larger.

"No Sir, my respect for you has no such limits, and it wasn't okay then....even in a text message, it was wrong. I was disrespectful and I know better. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I swear I didn't. I was angry and I'm sorry." I whimpered up to him.

"Anger is an overrated emotion." He lectured.

"Yes Sir." I sniffled.

His eyes continued to hold mine captive for several moments as I struggled not to turn away from him. He studied my face, narrowing his gorgeous but penetrating brown orbs at mine. His jaw would clench as he narrowed his eyes, and it knotted my stomach.

"Stack the pillows and get your ass over them, now, young lady." Daddy ordered.

I scurried to comply. My heart racing. As I reached for the third pillow to place it on the stack in the center of the bed, I was startled by Dad's resounding voice directly behind me, inches from my ear, as he recited the text from his cell phone.

"Would you just shut the fuck up Dad? Would you just shut the fuck up Dad?" He read with disdain and disgust in his tone.

I closed my eyes, not sure whether to expect more scolding, a crisp slap to my face, a harsh swat to my thigh. He trailed his firm hand over my bottom gently, sending chills throughout my body. I continued to adjust the pillows and then stood there beside the bed, my back to his chest, his large and powerful hand on my bottom as his voice again purred in my ear.

"Would you just shut the fuck up Dad? Yep, that my dear, warrants a good ass whipping." He said.

SLAP!

He smacked my right thigh with his open palm, pulling me from the lulled state his voice had sent me to, and causing me to inhale sharply.

"I'm going to shut the fuck up now and whip your disrespectful ass. Over those pillows, little girl." He ordered, a hint of sadistic sarcasm in his tone.

I quickly obeyed and crawled onto the bed, propping and positioning my hips up over the pillows, balling my fists in the blankets at the top of the bed and waiting for my whipping to my begin. I didn't have to wait long.

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK

The first several dozen punishing lashes fell in a blur and I instinctively kicked my legs behind me to keep pace with the volley of swats connecting to my bare bottom.

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK 

"Owwww. I'm sorry Sir." I squealed back to him. 

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"Would you just shut the fuck up Dad?" Was Daddy's only reply to my apology. 

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK 

I bit the corner of my bottom lip and sobbed into the blankets I was holding in a vice grip to my face. Emotions of guilt and regret flooding over my body, the sting of the leather working to absolve them as I submitted to my whipping. 

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK 

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK 

As my tears flowed freely to the bed, Daddy's pace let up some and he switched to a more methodical and deliberate administration. Pacing from one side of the bed to the other, applying a dozen or so searing lashes each time. Paying attention to ensure he covered every inch of my naughty bottom and upper thighs with criss crossing welts from his trusty whipping belt. 

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK 

I fought the urge to apologize several more times and focused on remaining quiet, despite my sobbing, and fully submit to the correction I needed and deserved. I was incredibly sorry but I was unsure of whether or not my apologies would be accepted, or as early on, discarded and retorted to with another reading of the disrespectful text message I had sent. I chose to hold my tongue and wait to apologize until after, when I would know with certainty that my father would accept the apology if it was offered with sincerity and genuine remorse. 

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK 

WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK 

The belt fell to the bed beside my face as I lay shaking and bawling over the pillows. The bed dipped down as my father sat beside me and I immediately felt the gentle caresses of his strong left hand on my hot, tender, sore skin. My breathing slowed almost instantaneously, my cries melting into barely audible sobs. I closed my eyes tightly and began to dip in and out of subspace. His fingertips traced over the fresh welts that now decorated my flesh. I raised my hips up further just to meet his touch. He firmly kneaded my sore bottom and thighs as I relished in his comforting and reassurance. 

Any offense that falls into the disrespect category, hits me incredibly hard. Daddy has said many times that he thinks I am harder on myself for these offenses than he is. He is forgiving where I tend to hold onto the guilt and refuse to let it go. I truly respect my father more than any other person in this world and when I fall short of demonstrating that, I have a hard time moving past it. 

"Look at me." He ordered, still gently caressing my burning bottom. 

I slowly brushed the tears from my eyes and turned my head to look up and over at his handsome face. His eyes took hold of mine immediately and the forgiveness was evident. 

"We are okay. Clear?" He asked.

"Yes Sir." I sniffled and replied softly. 

"I mean it, let it go. You made a mistake, you've paid for it, and we move on. It's not a chronic problem, there is no deeper issue. You spouted off in a moment of rage, I've punished you for it, I've forgiven you. It is done. No one beats up my baby for making mistakes, except for me.....let it go. Got it?" He asked, his eyes scanning mine intently.

"Yes Sir. I'm sorry Daddy. Thank you for whipping me." I smiled and I replied to him. 

He reached forward and brushed the tears from my face with his thumb and returned my smile briefly before returning to his all business demeanor, that stern and sadistic wall again rising in his mesmerizing chocolate brown eyes. I watched, unable to turn away, though the anxiety was again building in my body. 

"One more discussion we need to have today, young lady. This small little issue of my daughter blatantly defying me and disregarding an instruction I gave to her.....not once, not twice, not even three times....which I believe was our previous shameful record....nope....4 times in one damn week you chose to ignore my rules and disobey me in this. Didn't you?" He scolded with an intensity behind his tone of voice that made my body tense. 

"Yes Sir." I barely whispered up to him and I tried to return my face to the safety of the blankets where I could escape his penetrating glare.

His strong left hand entwined in the length of my flowing, red hair at the tender nape of my neck and he harshly jerked my head back around to meet his. I inhaled sharply again and choked back the pending sobs. He glared at me, his eyes first studying mine and then narrowing at me, his jaw again clenching. My eyes welled with unshed tears and my heart palpitated against my ribcage as I withered quickly under this visual chastisement. 

He sighed audibly, cleared his throat, released my hair from his grasp and stood up from the bed. With one final condemning look, he turned from me and walked across the room toward the desk and began searching his implements for his selected instrument of correction for this particular lesson. And I buried my face in the blankets and held my breath.......waiting.......panicking.......



*******************TO BE CONTINUED**********************

My *Real* Family

03/12/2014

"DNA neither cares nor knows. DNA just is. And we dance to it's music."  --- Richard Dawkins

Though his first two statements are fact, I disagree with the third. Personally, I choose to compose my own damn music.  :)

A lot of emphasis is made of biological connections now. Perhaps it is because we have developed the science behind it. Maybe our society is just addicted to the Maury Povich "Who's My Baby's Daddy" reruns. I can't be sure of the origin of the fascination, but as with music, I prefer to compose my own family too. 

Yes, yes, I hear you all shouting it at me, and you are correct.....I am a control freak. :)

DNA or biology, though important, is not sufficient. I am biologically related to all kinds of people, and care very little about them. And then there are the vital human beings in my life, with whom I do not share one single strand of DNA. 

DNA can be manufactured. I see it every day at work. All that is required is a petri dish and a creative, intelligent human being with a strong science background and voila.....petri people. 

Love, on the other hand, can not be manufactured, altered, duplicated. It is emotional versus physical and a *far* more binding connection. 

There are key people in my life that I love more than my life itself. People I would do absolutely anything for. People who I know without hesitation would be there for me at any time, through anything.....day or night......and vice versa. People I would protect even at the expense of my own safety or mortality. This is my 'family.' 

Aside from my children and a couple siblings, I have little to do with the bulk of my biological family. The vast majority of this by design; and in some cases by death, but mostly this is a conscious choice. 

I have 'sisters' who I adore that came into my life from completely separate sperm sources. 

I have Suzi (my mama) who stumbled upon me here, saw herself in me and was brave enough to stick around for the ride. :)

I have my Daddy, my Dom who found me as we both sought a new spanko partner, and chose to keep me, love me and re-raise me. 

None of these people have a biological connection with me.......what we have is far stronger than that. We have true unconditional love, palpable emotion, unwavering support, understanding, friendship, deep caring, connection and again......L-O-V-E. 

Control freak? Possibly.....okay, okay, absolutely without the shadow of a doubt.

But I quite like this control.....for everything I was born without by the curse of biology, I have found now. Choosing my family is leaps and bounds better than simply being 'stuck' with people via DNA.

All Business Tone

03/10/2014

I lost all of my good sense. I pushed *way* too far. I contemplated disobeying. And worse? You want worse? Oh, lucky you, it got much worse than mere contemplation. I *threatened* blatant disobedience. 

Definitely the epitome of the word "worse". 

It hadn't set out to intentionally be a defiant brat. Actually, I intended to comply and had been for days. I haven't felt well and have fought not to let my physical discomfort and emotional stress dictate my mood or influence my reactions to others. And, for the most part, I'd been doing a decent job of this. 

But then along came today. I decided I knew better than everyone else and my way was the 'right' way. When, looking back, in all actuality, my way was complete nonsense to the point it could have been comical. It was irrational and could easily be compared to a 5 year old throwing a "cuz I wanna" temper tantrum. 

Now, had my father been physically present with me, if this little melt down had happened at all, it would have *very* quickly ended. He would have tolerated it just long enough to slap me across the face or yank me down across his knee. It never would have gotten to the level it did. I wouldn't have had time to dig in my heels, get emotionally attached to my irrational argument or turn our night into a battle of the wills. 

Unfortunately for me, and Daddy's patience, we were not together physically and the night was a disaster. He tried to reason with me originally, not at all forceful, more suggestive. Which I imagine to me was an invitation to push it a bit further just to see how far I could persist before he jerked me back into my place. He truly was incredibly understanding and took into account my current physical and emotional status. He reassured me, he made me laugh, he tried to distract me, he remained positive. Unfortunately, I didn't take the bait and allow him to calm me down. 

I flipped my atypical 'bitch switch' and let him have it. Informing him rather abruptly that I was going to do whatever the hell I wanted to do, which directly conflicted with what he (and any normal person) wanted me to do. I told him flat out "NO" multiple times. I screamed at him. I swore at him. I let loose with all of my festering emotions and my father was my target. 

After unsuccessfully trying to talk me down via instant messenger, he told me to call him. It was 10pm at this time, and he was home with his children, and should have been in bed. I refused initially to even call him, perhaps the last sane brain cell I had left was trying to warn me of what was coming. He repeated himself, over and over, mandating I call, which only irritated me more. Contrary to popular belief, I don't like my Daddy repeating himself any more than he does. I relented and called, with as much sass, disrespect and abrasive bitch tone as I had been using in our online 'discussion' (tantrum). 

At any other time, the moment I heard his tone of voice when he answered that call, I would have shut my mouth, back tracked immediately, apologized emphatically and begged for forgiveness. 

Nope.....not today.

I went right along with my tantrum as I had been online. Arguing with him, talking back, swearing, screaming, threatening, interrupting him. I was a mess.......and WAY out of line. 

When I finally shut my mouth for more than 10 seconds, he let me have it. He spoke in his lowest, most intense and firm tone of voice, ensuring I had to listen closely to him. Not one time did he elevate the volume of his lecture; and he knew from the sobbing he was eliciting that he didn't have to. 

Though Daddy raising his voice at me is effective and will provoke a response, it is actually his lowest tone that will shake me to my core. It is always his tone, not the volume of his deep, steady, resounding voice that pulls at me and draws me to him.  

For the next 10 minutes, he verbally took me to task for my disrespectful tirade and all of its implications. It would have literally been easier for me to have been chained to a wall and whipped all day long than to hear that scolding from him. Every word he used was chosen carefully and said with emphasis. It very quickly began to break my heart and I felt overwhelmed and ashamed and so very sorry. The weight of the emotion was crushing. It was quite literally a roller coaster. First my anger-fueled emotions controlling my tantrum and then the stark reality of those bitter disappointment & guilt emotions gripping me by the throat and pulling me back to reality. 

I *hate* making my father talk to me like this. H-A-T-E it! And every single time it has happened, every single time I have pushed him to this point.......after licking my wounds, I promise myself that I will never do it again, that I know better, that I've learned my lesson this time, that I will not ever put us through this as long as I live. And yet, somehow, once again, I had done it. 

Dad did not yell. He did not swear. He did not berate me. He did not threaten. What he did do was remind me very bluntly of our dynamic, our rules, our relationship, who was in charge, and who had willingly agreed to submit. He expressed his deep love and concern for me. He reminded me of my family, friends, bright future. He told me that I am his property, his daughter and giving up is not an option I have. And for that matter, when it comes to obeying my father, there is likewise NO option. What we have, what we want, what we are in absolute. 

I knew he was right. I knew I was wrong. I knew I was letting my overwhelming emotions get to me and effect my demeanor. I knew his mandate was more than reasonable and truly what I had to do, the literal only option I had for a positive outcome from this hell. I simply today for whatever reason, had enough and had to lash out......I didn't want to be rational. And as badly as it stung my heart, thankfully for me, I belong to an amazing man who allowed my lashing out for a brief period before busting through my defenses, taking me firmly by the upper arm and yanking me right back to reality.....to sanity.....to Him. 

You, Sir

It is through you that I have had the opportunity to see what 'unconditional' truly means

It is because of you that I am maturing, changing, learning, growing into myself, succeeding

It is with you that I am happy, content, secure, safe and free to be my true self

It is kneeling before you that I am experiencing and relishing the depth of my submission