Memorial Day

***Repost: Memorial Day***

05/26/2014

This irritation began a couple weeks ago when I overheard a large home improvement company's commercial detailing their upcoming sales and insisting that Memorial Day was all about home improvement, summer kickoffs and family BBQs. I was annoyed enough to send an email reminding their corporate office what this holiday is truly about. 

Ah but the ignorance is an epidemic in this country. Over the last week I have heard similar advertisements on the radio while driving and seen several "Happy Memorial Day" signs and banners. Then of course come the idiots who say those 3 words together in conversation with me personally.......

"Happy Memorial Day."

Really?? You have got to be kidding me. I "get it".....fortunately, not all of America has worn the uniform of this country or stood behind the brave soul who has. We......the military & their families......are the minority. That fact never escapes me and I'm not offended knowing we are a minority......honestly, the majority could not experience what we have on a personal level. Sending your spouse, child, sibling or parent off to fight in a war half-way around the world for months on end never knowing if they will return this time. Watching your loved one jerk in their sleep while calling out comrades names, or waking at the slightest sound, or watching CNN coverage scanning for friends names. Realizing that while your soldier came home from war, they have brought the war home with them and there is nothing you can do to help ease that burden. 

Then of course there is an even smaller sub-group to our minority. Maybe you know one of us personally. Perhaps we are your neighbor or co-worker or fellow parent on the PTA. "We" are members of a club that no one ever wants to join.....we are the families left behind by the servicemen & women who have paid the ultimate sacrifice for this country. 

As I said earlier, I "get it"......you may not be able to relate so I try to be understanding and phrase it in a way that will make some sense. While every American may not have military experience.......we ALL have memorial experience. We have all loved and we have all lost. We have all attended a wake, memorial service or funeral. How inappropriate would it have been if during your mothers' funeral service, a well-wisher told you "congratulations"??? Or better yet, made their way to express their condolences and then immediately shared their home improvement and BBQ planning with you??? How offended would you be if you heard someone say "Happy 9/11"??? Makes a little more sense now, huh???

Here are some numbers I think every American should see on this sacred holiday each May:

Revolutionary War: Fought 1775-1783: 4,435 confirmed American deaths.

War of 1812: Fought 1812-1815: 2,260 confirmed American deaths.

Mexican War: Fought 1846-1848: 13,283 confirmed American deaths.

American Civil War: Fought 1861-1865: 498,332 confirmed American deaths.

Spanish-American War: Fought 1898: 2,446 confirmed American deaths.

World War I: Fought 1917-1918: 116,516 confirmed American deaths.

World War II: Fought 1941-1946: 405,399 confirmed American deaths.

Korean War: Fought 1950-1953: 36,574 confirmed American deaths.

Vietnam War: Fought 1964-1973: 58,209 confirmed American deaths.

Persian Gulf War: Fought 1990-1991: 382 confirmed American deaths.

Global War on Terror (OIF/OND/OEF): Fought 2001-present: 6,708 confirmed American deaths.

Those are ONLY the numbers from our major conflicts......not included are several thousand more brave servicemen killed in various operations or conflicts since our country's inception. Aside from the aforementioned well-known wars, we have lost thousands wearing our country's uniform in little-known conflicts such as: Quasi War, 1st & 2nd Barbary Wars, Various Indian Conflicts (Seminole, Blackhawk, Bannock, Modoc, Great Sioux, Ghost Dance, Sugar Point, etc), American occupations of other countries without a declaration of war (Haiti, Nicaragua, etc), Military action against pirates in 1800s, Battle of Mogadishu in Somalia 1993, and several more I am sure I've not mentioned here. We lost lives in every single one of these conflicts.

Add to those numbers the thousands who have died in training exercises, friendly-fire incidents, downed aircraft. Or the men & women of Ft. Hood, TX who were *at home* receiving medical care after an overseas deployment only to be shot by a coward hiding behind the same uniform. 

What about the hundreds who remain listed officially as Missing in Action?? Or our tens of thousands of Wounded in Action?? Or the men and women who have come home physically whole but an emotional wreck?? The thousands of veterans who have lost their psychological battle and tragically taken their own lives?? Those who continue to struggle with the loss of their battle-buddies and suffer silently with survivor's guilt for the rest of their lives??

This holiday is about remembrance. And behind every man or woman who has worn the uniform of our country and supported our way of life, is a family serving silently behind them offering support and continuing with life back home. Our military is a volunteer service, so each man or woman who enlists or is commissioned has chosen this way of life.......for their families, we had no choice......we simply love our service member. 

How helpless did you feel on Sept. 11th watching passenger jets flown into our occupied office buildings?? What about just last month, watching in horror as explosives ripped through the Boston Marathon on Patriot's Day?? As rare as these attacks on our own soil are, when they happen it is terrifying.......but understand that in many parts of the world violence, terror and oppression are the norm.......it is because of our brave military that these events happen far less frequently in America. 

Enjoy your 3-day weekend, paint your house, have a BBQ, mend your fence......but please think for a moment about the men & women who gave their lives to afford you those opportunities. And before you say something as offensive as, "Happy Memorial Day" to others, remember that some of us are tied in a very personal way to the true meaning of this sacred day. There is nothing "happy" about a black sedan carrying military brass pulling up in front of a home to tell a woman her husband was killed in action. Nothing "happy" about parents burying their son or daughter. Nothing "happy" about hearing Taps and a 21 gun salute and watching as a flag is folded and handed to a little girl, on behalf of a grateful nation as she buries her daddy.......that flag will not walk her down the aisle at her wedding. A Purple Heart doesn't go a long way in consoling a grieving spouse. A Gold Star can't chase the "monsters" out from under a little boys bed. 

To those who have served, are serving now and will serve in the future: Thank You.

"Our debt to the heroic men and valiant women in the service of our country can never be repaid; they have earned our undying gratitude, America will never forget their sacrifices." 
---President Harry S. Truman

Constructing His Good Girl

 05/09/2014

I'm certainly not the 'perfect' submissive. Far from it actually. But I am almost certain that some day I will be; though I don't get hung up on how long that may take. Because for now, I happily remain your 'project.'

I was lost when we met one another.

Like a jigsaw puzzle all shaken apart. 

You've patiently spent the time and effort to sort me out, to put me back together, to find the missing pieces and create new ones for those I had lost along the way. 

When I test you, you stand firm.

When I push you away, you pull me closer to you.

When I stumble, you're always there with a strong arm to catch me, a firm tone to scold me and a hard hand to punish me.

When I wall myself away from the world, you can somehow speak to my heart.

I love the way you love me. I love the care and compassion you show. I hope I reciprocate this to you, Sir.

There are very few places in this world where I am happier than kneeling in front of you. Over your knee and in your strong arms are certainly contenders.

I respect you for the man you are, as well as for the man you are not. While I could enjoy a scene with a compelling Dom who was a wreck in other facets of his life, I could never truly respect him. I have no such concerns with you, you are my ideal. In scene and out.....at work, home or play you are an amazing man.

I adore your inner sadist and relish the opportunity to play with him. Your voice, your eyes, your touch.....mesmerizing. You give me what I need, always, whether I even know myself what that may be.

I love belonging to you and I understand what a privilege it is to be owned by you, to have the label "Mine." Follow it up with whatever term fits in the moment: daughter, naughty girl, submissive, pain slut, property, masochist, good girl, project......I adore them all.



 

Maximum Misbehavior

*****Previously posted as "Uncharacteristic Naughtiness" parts 1-5. Now the entire session is together in one cohesive blog post. Enjoy.*****

12-06-13

I had just finished applying my eyeliner when I heard him knock on the door. My stomach tightened, my heart raced and despite my pending punishment spanking, I couldn't stop the huge smile from appearing on my face. I hadn't seen my Daddy since the end of August, and I'd missed him terribly. Finally, he was here. I was an incredibly happy, albeit nervous, naughty girl.

I opened the door and my smile erupted into a giddy high school like giggle as I jumped into his arms. He easily caught me and wrapped me up tightly in his strong arms as he walked through the door and closed it behind us.

"I think my little girl missed her daddy." He said jokingly as he took me by the shoulders and held me at arms length for a minute giving me the once over, before immediately pulling me back into his arms and squeezing me tight.

"You have no idea." I replied as I clung to him, beaming from ear to ear.

"I think I might, I've missed my little girl just as much." He murmured down to me as he placed a soft kiss on my forehead.

I finally let him go so he could discard his bag onto the dresser top, check the A/C, and retrieve my punishment list from the desk where I had left it for him. I watched him intently and followed him around the room closely, much like a little lost dog. He sat on the couch, punishment list in hand and began to read through it. I quietly knelt at his feet, laying my head in his lap and looking up at his handsome face, studying his expressions as he read. 

I was content to stay just like this all day long. Kneeling before my Dom, carefully watching his handsome face as he scanned my punishment list again and again, trying to decipher each arced brow or audible sigh. My father is an incredibly attractive man. His deep, dark brown eyes speak to me on a level never reached by mere words alone. And though I could see the displeasure on his face, put there by the content of what he was reading, I simply couldn't turn away from him. Watching as that cold, calculating, sadistic wall rises in his otherwise warm & inviting eyes is absolutely mesmerizing and turns me on to an extent for which there are simply no words. 

Finally he sat the papers down next to his thigh where he sat on the couch, and after another audible sigh, he looked down and into my waiting emerald eyes. I inhaled sharply, noting the change in his eyes from our first contact upon his arrival in stark contrast to the glare I was receiving now. Now was the time at which I could turn away from those gorgeous eyes, though unfortunately, also the time at which he would deny me that privilege. The intensity was penetrating and I began to submissively lower my eyes to him. Almost immediately his strong right hand took a fistful of my long, red hair and jerked my head back, again bringing my now watery eyes up to his once more. 

"I love you, Daddy." I whimpered up to him, searching his eyes for leniency. 

"Uh huh." He grunted as his eyes continued to chastise me. 

Silently, instantaneously, powerfully. The confident young woman who had entered this room was now gone, and in her place a nervous, guilty, remorseful, naughty little girl dreading the accountability that she would find as she had to face her strict and displeased father. I wanted to retract my gaze, I needed reprieve, but it was an impossibility as his hand stayed entwined in my flowing hair and his dark eyes held my own captive. After what seemed an eternity, I couldn't withstand the intensity without response any longer and a lone tear escaped my right eye and began its' descent down my cheek. 

"Stand up now and go put your nose in that corner, young lady." Daddy instructed in a hushed tone, literally sending chills up my spine as I quickly complied, thankful to be out from under his penetrating glare momentarily. 

As I stood facing the corner, the offenses on my punishment list flooded my mind. I knew I had some serious repeat offenses to be punished for today, but the only offense that seemed to truly concern me was the only offense specifically directed at my father........just a few weeks before this session, Daddy had caught me misbehaving and called me on it via text message when I refused to answer his call, being in a confrontational mood anyway that day and now adding the surprise & anger that I'd been caught, I responded in an entirely inappropriate and uncharacteristic manner......I sent back the following text message:

"Would you just shut the fuck up Dad?"

I had typed it and sent it before I even truly allowed it to register in my mind what I was doing. Quite literally seconds after clicking 'send', I regretted it. I wanted to retract it. Delete it. It was just too late. I apologized. I attempted to explain. I offered excuses and justifications to negate the seriousness of the disrespect. I cried. I begged. I whined. I sucked up. I was careful to behave absolutely perfectly for the days and weeks afterward. But regardless, the offense had not disappeared.......and I knew that today, in addition to my repeat naughtiness, I was going to have to stand before my father on my shaking, wobbly knees and answer for that insanely poor judgement. 

Of every offense on that list, this was the single, solitary thing that continued to flash in my mind. I am always incredibly critical of myself any time I feel or know I have shown disrespect toward my Daddy in any way. I truly respect this man more than any other human being on the planet. He is so good to me, connects with me in so many ways, meets needs for me on a level no other person ever has, takes care of me always, has made me a central priority is his already busy life, loves me with an intensity that is rare in human interaction and is always there for me....always. As little tolerance as my father has for my disrespect toward him, I believe I, myself, have even less. 

Just thinking about what I had said to him disgusted me. Tears slowly trickled down my face as I continued to replay the offense. My body was shaking, my heart racing and aching with regret, my stomach turned and a large lump had appeared at the back of my throat. Within mere minutes of facing that corner, I was a complete mess, and my Daddy had yet to touch me. 

As I stood sobbing and sniffling in the corner, I began to feel incredibly small and vulnerable. I wanted so badly to turn from the wall and rush to my Daddy, wrapping my arms around his waist as I cried my remorse into his chest. I wanted his touch, I wanted his tenderness, I wanted his reassurance. But I knew I had not yet earned any of it and disobeying him now by leaving the corner without his permission, would have made it much worse. 

So as I stood there, fighting that strong urge, I slowly wrapped my own arms around myself, pulling my shoulders in and hugging myself tightly. I repeated to myself over and over in my cluttered little mind that I had only made a mistake, I would be punished & learn my lesson, I was still my Daddy's little girl, he loved me and would forgive me. No matter how many times I silently repeated this mantra, it did not calm my nerves or help to relax my body. I continued to sob and to shake as I held myself tightly as close to the corner as I could manage to get, somehow wishing it would swallow me up. 

My Dom can read me like a book and is in tune with my body & mind on a level I have never experienced before becoming his girl. He paced on the other side of the room for several minutes as he watched my struggle, only escalating my unease. 

Suddenly, through my teary eyes, I could see his shadow eclipse my own as I huddled in that corner. I closed my eyes tightly and dropped my head as I continued to sob and shake. The back of his strong left hand slowly ran down my cheek. I held my breath, anticipating a crisp slap, but it never connected. His right hand, as with the left, caressed my cheek, before the two in unison scooped up my hair, tucking it behind my ears and gathering it all at the base of my neck. Tears continued to trail down my face, but my audible sobbing had ceased as I nervously shook and held tight to myself. 

I felt my Daddy's hot breath on the inside of my neck, heightening every nerve ending in my body, and causing my own breath to hitch in the back of my throat. 

"I know why you're upset and I know why you're scared. You should be little girl, you have a *very* high price to pay for that today. In fact, I'll leave you to continue panicking about that a while longer, and we will address other offenses first. Clear?" He whispered mere inches from my ear.

I nodded my head yes, unable to find my voice to respond to him. My head spun, I absolutely love when my Dom uses his own towering physical size to pin me to a corner and impose on my personal space. It is incredibly hot and drives me crazy. His grip on my hair tightened significantly, causing me to whimper as his grasp was at the sensitive nape of my neck. I knew he wanted an audible response and I fought to provide him one. 

"Y-y-yes Sir." I meekly mumbled back toward him. 

"Good. Now stop getting yourself worked up over it until we address it. It is not your place to beat yourself up for your bad behavior, that is my job and I don't recall asking for your help. No one beats my girl up for her mistakes, except for me. Do you understand me, young lady?" He asked in a low, hushed tone again right at my ear, his hot breath caressing my neck, causing my head to spin and heart to beat wildly inside of my chest. 

And his words....oh his words....the man has a way of selecting his words in a way that always pulls at my inner submissive core and leaves me quite literally, breathless.

"Yes Sir." I replied as I replayed his words again and again, incredibly turned on by the way in which he had just phrased that warning. 

"Turn around and look at me, little girl." Daddy instructed, still mere inches from my ear. 

I slowly spun on my heels and turned almost literally into his chest. I tried to slow my breathing, to calm my nerves but it was a futile effort. His large left hand tucked under my chin and tilted my face up to meet his own. I quietly gazed up into his dark brown eyes, nervously chewing the corner of my bottom lip. His eyes narrowed as he studied mine, eliciting a pout. 

"Tell me, Natalie Lynn, how fond is your father of repeating himself?" He asked, his jaw clenching. 

I dropped my head, my emerald eyes scanning the carpet as the welled with unshed tears. I searched for the right words, all the while chastising myself. I could not possibly give an accurate count, but if I had to guess I'd say my Dom has easily had to repeat himself and specific lessons to me at least a couple dozen times over the lat two years. I'm not a stupid girl, I am not at all a slow learner. In fact, every time he has taught me one such lesson, I truly do 'get it'. My apologies and remorse are sincere. My promises for better behavior are genuine. And yet, somehow, every couple sessions, we will have a repeat entry on my punishment list. Perhaps old habits die hard, correction, old habits get naughty girls beat hard. 

My father didn't care for my hesitation in answering the question he had asked. I heard an audible sigh at the same time that I felt him take hold of my hair at the nape of my neck as he forcefully pulled back, again raising my face up to his. 

"Answer me!" He barked, agitation clearly evident in his tone. 

"I'm sorry, Sir. My Daddy doesn't ever like having to repeat himself to me." I whispered.

"And yet, I again have to do so today. Correct?" He asked.

"Yes Sir." I replied.

"I see. So my little girl knows well how I feel about repeating myself. You know from numerous past experiences that any time I have to do so, your punishment increases in severity, because I have to assume that your disregard means the last punishment was not sufficient as a deterrent. You know and understand that my time is valuable, and our time together equally so. And yet AGAIN, you insist that I WASTE MY TIME....OUR TIME....REPEATING MYSELF TO YOU?" He lectured. 

I jumped and closed my eyes tightly as he shouted. My fingers fidgeted nervously at my sides. My heart beat wildly behind my ribs and my knees felt as if they may buckle. I sniffled and I shook as I searched for my voice, and the right words to reply. 

"I....I....I'm sorry, Sir." I meekly mumbled up to him. 

"Uh huh. You will be." He snapped. 

Daddy circled my wrist inside of his left hand, tightening his grip and pulling me along behind him to the other side of the room. He sat on the couch and yanked me to his left side. 

"Lesson number one, a MULTIPLE repeat, my daughter's lack of respect toward authority figures. I'm not wasting our time explaining this rule again; in fact, I am almost certain you could repeat the damn lecture back to me word for word. You know why it is wrong. You know it violates a rule I have put in place for you. And you know there are serious consequences any time my daughter chooses to disregard my rules and blatantly disobey me. Pants down, now, young lady." He instructed. 

I hung my head and fumbled with the button on my jeans with my shaky fingers. Amazing how something I do dozens of times a week somehow becomes so difficult when I am under the penetrating glare of my displeased father. He sighed audibly, likely assuming I was attempting to stall or delay the inevitable. I quickly regrouped and was able to free the button from its clasp. I slid the zipper down and began to take hold of the waistband to lower my jeans, but he beat me to it. His large, powerful hands slide between the denim and my tingling skin and in one swift movement, he had my bootcut jeans down over the swell of my hips and bottom as they gathered and bunched just below my knees. His left hand again gripped my wrist and I was tipping forward, head first, over his capable & waiting lap. 

My hair flipped forward over my head and blanketed the carpet beneath my face. Daddy's thighs felt hard against my torso. His right arm hooked around my waist as his left hand quickly lowered my silk panties to meet with the jeans entangled at my knees. I inhaled sharply and blushed furiously, as is typical when my Dom lowers my panties himself, though I am still not certain why, the man has whipped my ass more times than I can count. Daddy wasn't speaking to me, only heightening my internal panic. He moved quickly, methodically and with purpose. He spaced his legs further apart, tipping me forward and I instinctively grabbed hold of his ankle to steady myself. My own feet now dangled helplessly inches above the floor and I crossed them at the ankles in an attempt to keep them from flailing about when my spanking began. 

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His strong left hand fell again and again, peppering my bottom with forceful swats that stung from the very first that connected. It always amazes me how quickly my father's hand transform from loving, protective, tender appendages softly caressing my skin or pulling me into a tight embrace, into the harsh, powerful, stinging implements of naughty bottom destruction. I held tightly to his ankle as he continued to spank me hard.

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"Up, bring me the bath brush." Dad ordered with a crisp swat to my lower right thigh. 

I quickly obeyed, sliding off of his lap and crossing the room toward the dresser top which held our implements, almost under someone else's power, on someone else's legs. I hate the bath brush, it stings like mad. And my own knees felt as if they may give out any time I paused to think about it, but I wasn't stalling or hesitating.....I was quickly obeying....definitely someone else's power driving my stride. 

As I took the brush in my hand, I began to run the bristles against the side of my bare thigh. I turned to return to my father and was suddenly aware that I was again on my own shaking, wobbly legs.....the walk back toward my irritated Dom and my pending fate was much slower than my walk to retrieve the dreaded brush. As I approached him from across the room, my weepy emerald eyes stayed locked onto his. The sadistic, determined flash in his deep, expressive eyes is mesmerizing to me. 

I stopped just short of him and slowly extended my hand, offering him that wicked brush. He took it, quickly discarding it on the couch to his side and grasping my wrist tightly, pulling me to his left side and yet again down abruptly over his lap. I squirmed instinctively, the feeling of a bath brush spanking suddenly coming back to me as I dangled over his knee. He again widened his legs, rendering me helpless over his lap as I took hold of his ankle once more. His right arm again draped across my waist, but this time he tapped my hip, knowing from past experience what he expected, I slowly tucked my left hand behind my body and placed it in his waiting hand. He securely pinned it to the small of my back and with his left hand, tapped the cool, smooth wood of the brush against my thighs, tingling in dreadful anticipation.

"Daddy, I really am sorry for wasting our time and making you repeat yourself to me about this again. I promise I'll do better." I whimpered back to him from over my shoulder.

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"Shut your mouth! Do I need to repeat your rules for interaction with me when you're being punished as well?" He barked harshly as he again swatted my thighs.

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK 

"Owww. N-nooo Sir. I'm sorryyy." I sniffled and sobbed. 

"I apparently do. You speak when you're spoken to, answering only 'yes sir' or 'no sir' unless I ask you for elaboration, in which case you provide it immediately and respectfully. NOWHERE in that rule is whining apologies to try to manipulate or lessen punishment. Got it?" He chastised, displeasure clinging to his every word. 

I wanted so badly to reply to that statement, I truly wasn't trying to manipulate him, and I genuinely was sorry or I wouldn't have said it.....but I knew better than to talk back to him, particularly as I dangle over his lap, my bare bottom a waiting target. So I replied simply with the expected:

"Yes Sir."

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Daddy wasted very little time in setting about blistering my naughty bottom with that damn brush. I fought to stay still, but it was next to impossible. I knew now exactly why he had insisted on holding my hand to the small of my back before I had even tried to reach it back behind me......if he hadn't had it pinned to my back, I would have likely been trying to protect my poor burning bottom with it now. 

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"Owwww Daddyyyyy, pleasseeee. It hurtsss." I squealed back at him as my legs kicked about wildly behind me. 

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"Good. That's the point, little girl. It is supposed to hurt. It is punishment and you deserve every single swat." He replied, a detached tone in his voice. 

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Daddy took his time, making certain to cover every single inch of my bottom and thighs with dark red ovals from that viscous brush. He would alternate from fast and furious paddling to slower, more deliberate & forceful swatting and then back again to the painful swats falling in a blur. The sound seemed to echo off the walls of the room like firecrackers, as I am sure, did my squeals. I fought to remain stoic for as long as I could, but it didn't take long before he had me bawling like the naughty little girl I had been. This brush is absolutely merciless and can very quickly make a lasting impression on any naughty girl. 

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My tears fell to the carpet beneath my tear streaked face as I tossed my head about from side to side trying to wish away the mounting sting in my bottom. My legs finally ceased their flailing and fell still behind me, simply dangling from my fathers' lap, crossed at the ankles and tensing in anticipation of every swat.....not as if that helped much. I clung to his ankle with all of my hand strength and just cried, softly but openly. 

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Finally the paddling stopped and was almost immediately replaced by my Daddy's firm but loving hand. I hung from his lap and cried inconsolably as his hands firmly kneaded my punished skin. He released the hand he had pinned to the small of my back and with his right hand, softly stroked my long, red, flowing hair. I slowed my breathing and began to dip into my subspace. He said nothing to me audibly, but he didn't have to, his touch and attentiveness told me all I needed to know......lesson #1 for the day was complete and I had been granted his forgiveness. 

I sniffled and closed my eyes, still holding tightly to his ankle and his right hand entwined in my hair. His left hand ceased the firm kneading and he began to lightly trace his fingertips over the smoking hot skin. An entirely different sensation that I absolutely love....and he knows it. I could have quite happily stayed like this all afternoon.......ahh but we did have the remainder of my punishment list to get through, no didn't we? 

*sighs* 

Damn the luck!

"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.

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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.

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"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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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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.......

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.    

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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. 

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"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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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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!

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After several long, painful minutes of harsh and fast paddling with the heavy maple paddle Daddy finally discarded it onto the top of the bed beside my crying face. My ass and thighs were absolutely on fire. Every movement stretched the punished and bruising skin taut and made me flinch, so I laid as still as possible and concentrated on slowing my breathing as I heard Dad selecting the next implement he would mercilessly apply to my bare bottom.

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Having barely caught my breath at the end of the paddling, I found myself absorbing lash after searing lash of viscous leather. I could tell by the weight of the strap that it was our thickest punishment strap. The thing is truly brutal. 

My father had said nothing to me between the two implements, he just seamlessly slipped from on implement of naughty bottom destruction to the next. He whipped me hard with that strap as I cried incoherently into the pillows at the top of the bed. 

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My feet were again beating against the foot of the bed keeping pace with the burning strokes impacting my bottom and thighs. Daddy paced from one side of the bed to the other, leaving several dozen lashes in his wake. I could literally feel the angry welts rise on my already bruising flesh and I fought to stay in position as I cried. Multiple times I had to bite my lip to remind myself not to speak to or cry out to my father. He had warned me once now and I knew he had no sympathy for the predicament I had gotten my bottom into. And truly, as this offense was targeted at him, I had an awfully hard time even feeling sorry for myself as I endured my whipping. I had disobeyed my father and I had been disrespectful......I deserved every single lash I would receive. 

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After what seemed an eternity, the strap landed next to the paddle and I on the bed and again my Daddy disappeared as I cried pitifully into the bed. Only seconds later I felt the next implement stinging my flesh......the dreaded extension cord. 

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A dozen and a half merciless strokes found their mark and I was writhing on the bed as I lay propped up over the pillows. I turned my tear-streaked face from the bed and looked back over my shoulder at my disappointed Daddy. 

"I'm sorry Sir." I cried to him. 

"You should be. FOUR TIMES! FOUR DAMN TIMES IN A WEEK, LITTLE GIRL!" Dad barked. 

I quickly buried my face back into the pillow and tucked my arms under my chest so I wouldn't be tempted to cover my bottom. The cord is one of the most intense implements in our arsenal and despite my sky high threshold, it can and has pushed me past it at times. I couldn't imagine disappointing my father further now by interfering with my punishment. I had displeased him enough with the offenses themselves, but then my lack of obedience earlier in this session had just topped it off......I couldn't let him down again. 

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My legs fell still as I slipped in and out of my subspace and resolved to accept my punishment fully. Daddy whipped me just as hard with that awful cord as he had the strap and the paddle. My ass and thighs were a blur of pain. He intentionally varies implements during intense punishment so my bottom does not go numb; and I promise I was nowhere close to numb on this day. 

I still bawled like a baby into the pillow and blankets balled up at my face but my body fell still and I focused on the reason for this punishment, how my behavior would change to improve, and most importantly enduring this punishment and making my Dom proud of me once again. 

When the cord joined the other two implements at the top of the bed and Daddy sat next to me, massaging vitamin E oil into my sore bottom and thighs, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, assuring myself that my punishment had concluded. How wrong I was. 

Daddy spent the next hour solid simply transferring between the 3 implements multiple times. He would break briefly to massage more oil into my skin to ensure my skin did not break. And he stopped for 15 minutes to sit next to my shaking, crying body in a chair beside the bed and eat the lunch I had brought to him. But immediately after he finished, the sounds of a proper punishment were again echoing off the walls of the room combined occasionally with my cries or whimpers. 

By the time my punishment had truly ended my ass and thighs were a horrible mess of welts and bruising. It hurt to walk, to sit, to move. 

Daddy scooped me up and held me tightly to him as he ran his fingers through my hair, kissed my forehead, "ssshhh'd" me, rubbed my back and gently massaged and kneaded my punished bottom. I clung incredibly tightly to him, my face buried in his perfectly pressed Oxford shirt as I cried on his chest. I apologized over and over for my behavior. He reassured me of his forgiveness and unconditional love. I savored every second and slowly began to forgive myself as well.