Devestated

I’m sitting here staring at the blinking cursor and just have no idea how to word this.  I guess with just the facts and basics.

As our regular followers know, Michael hasn’t been in the greatest of health this year. In July Michael’s health started to rapidly decline.

On August 1, we said our final goodnight, and I lost him.

I’m not ready to pour out my heart here.  It took me this long to even be able to open the blog and make this post.  In fact, I started this last night and am just now finishing it this morning.

I won’t be deleting the blog in the foreseeable future, as it has his stories written in his own words.  They will be a comfort to me, I’m sure, when I’m up to reading back over them.

I highly doubt I’ll be making any new entries either.  It’s just too hard.

Hope

Don’t be surprised

What I’ve learned this week:

  • You can walk around for several months with a bone in your foot fractured.
  • When you finally get an x-ray and confirmation that you have, indeed, fractured a bone in your foot your doctor will put you in a walking boot and tell you to take it easy, taking it off to shower (keeping your weight off that foot then) and to sleep.  You can even take it off while sitting for longer periods.
  • If you decide to take the boot off, you really really need to keep your butt seated.
  • Just because you’ve walked around on it before, that doesn’t mean you can get up and go to the bathroom, then stop by the laundry room to fold some clothes, then load the dishwasher in the kitchen on your way back to the couch.
  • If you do the above and if your “excuse” was “Because it’s such a pain in the butt to refasten in time to make it to the potty” then do not be surprised when your Daddy takes a paddle to your bare bottom, leaving you in tears over his knee.  Nor be surprised when he plucks the plug from your rosebud and sits you on the dreaded dildo stool in the corner with both dildos buried deep inside your princess parts for 20 hours (ok fine, minutes).  And especially don’t be surprised when he declares that until the boot comes off (in a month) that while you’re at home you’ll pass the time in either a pull up or a diaper so you have absolutely no reason whatsoever to not put the boot back on before getting up.

Fuckin’ boot.  Argh.

So not fair.  The boot isn’t easy to maneuver around in.  It’s big and clunky and it slows me down.  With my foot aching the way it does I’ve no interest in going out anywhere, which means I’m going to be spending a great deal of time being crinkly.   Gee Hope, think Daddy was figuring that in when he declared the restriction?

Yes, I know I’ve been crinkly quite a bit more often and I’d say that 90% of the time I’m really comfy with it, because it happens when I’m agreeable to it, or at least become agreeable to it and sink into my little/submissive mindset.  I very rarely use the diaper/pullup for its purpose, like hardly ever.  It’s more a prop or accessory.  It’s like wearing a tartan skirt while playing at being a schoolgirl.

But this is different.  It’s not for fun, it’s not for play.  It’s not a kinky yet comforting reminder that it’s safe for me to be little. It’s necessity.  God I hate admitting that, especially since my biggest struggle with being padded is this fear of losing my autonomy and independence.  I’m not an adult baby.  I don’t get into the playing with dolls stuff and saying “Dada” and “Baba” and baby-speak.

But let’s be real here.  Because of the boot my autonomy and independence are compromised anyway.  Also, I’m really bad to wait and wait, then to run for the potty praying I get there before I wet my pants.  Adding in that stupid boot, with its five velcro straps that I have to wrap around and thread through the holsters and two velcro flap areas beneath the straps, is a monster to get on, plus I have to bend all the way over to reach it, putting even more pressure on my bladder…yeppers, disaster waiting to happen.

So yeah, I get it that it is smarter to be protected, and that way I don’t get asked the humiliating question of “Do you need to go pee, babygirl?” over and over.

I’ve also been informed that if I walk around without the boot again, my bottom, rosebud and cunny will pay the price and it will not be the fun kind.  Daddy left the paddle on the coffee table, added the wooden spoon he uses to reach inside and between my cheeks as well as on my cunny, and he left both dildos on the stool and left the stool sitting in the naughty corner instead of putting them all away.

He says they are a reminder.

Judging from the look he gave me he didn’t appreciate or approve of my suggestion of a simple post it note.

 

 

ARE YOU A ROBOT? TAKE THIS EASY QUIZ AND FIND OUT

You’re in a DDlg relationship.  You accept how important the discipline is, and you see the need for it to exist even if the excuse is just that, an excuse.  Do you feel that cuddling before and after and even in non sexual moments is important?

One point for yes, two points for no.

If you scored two or higher, you are a robot and/or really bad at math. Probably both.

DDlg relationships, as I’ve said, are about trust and love.  About discipline and compassion.

Your lg needs you to keep the discipline present.  Creative if possible.

But more, she needs the cuddles to feel loved.  Before and after sex.  In fact, at the moment the fucking stops, the sex is at most half done.  I lay with her, I hold her, I let her feel my hands on her, my arms around her.  We’ve mentioned cuddling on the couch.  If it’s something we’re both going to watch, we are always cuddled together.  To be frank, I think that we spend more time cuddling in one way or the other.  If either of is playing music or watching a tv show that the other doesn’t like, I think we’re testing that ‘cuddle vs. leaving alone time.’  Not intentionally, mind you. That thought occurred to me as I started this paragraph.  And yes, I appreciate her stuff a lot.  More than I used to (If you want to develop a taste for something that doesn’t make you want to run screaming from the room, I highly recommend cuddle time during it.)

We do have our ‘just for me’ time, but it’s not a lot.  We are borderline obsessive about each other, and holding each other securely is a part of that.

Again, protective and sheltering.

Her stuffed penguins and bears are for those moments when something rl prevents us, or for when I’m spanking her bottom or banging the hell out of her from behind. The discipline is as important, still.

Unrelated note: flesh colored yoga pants at wal mart is just cruel.  Damn near got whiplash

 

Daddy’s Issue

Hope gets me.  She really does.  Sometimes literally.  I know you all understand, but I’m not sure you all ‘get me’.  It’s not a great mystery but it is something you can understand, but not feel.  We’ve gone into considerable depth on the how, and a pretty good length on the why, but more from her side, and at least a little from my side.

Now I’m going into some specifics.  Not Hope’s side of it, my side.  How I’ve stumbled, how I’ve made up for it, and how after so many years, we are still learning our way.  A lot of this is talking about emotions, so laying it down in words won’t be easy for me (ironic). This is not about why ‘we are’ or why ‘she is’…this is about me.  No selfishness, but I realize I’ve not brought that up as much as I should.  Hope’s probably going to grumble about me going ‘formal’ in how I speak here again, I’ll try not to.  I really will.

I’ve at least mentioned that I’ve been interested in BDSM pretty much since I figured out it existed.  And except for a few brief experimental periods, I’ve always seen myself as a dominant.  I read up, I studied, I met groups, I’ve had a few partners as I started, I learned (This argues in favor of Hope’s contention that I’m strangely meticulous about some things.) I won’t go into my earlier sex life in any detail, it’s irrelevant to this.  As I began to encounter DD/lg material, it hit another button, it resonated for me.

But why?

A lot of this is emotion, a lot of it is hard, if not impossible to explain my feelings. And I can’t speak for others. But what does this Daddy get out of it?  What does this Dominant get?

Bdsm, at the core, is about trust, and the teeter totter balance of power.  The dominant takes power from the submissive, but it’s the power the submissive gives, and she (again, I’m talking for Hope and me here) expresses trust that he won’t abuse that power.  Unless the dominant is abusive, this balance remains.  In DDlg, this is all intensified.  The lg is reaching for a place where she can search for that feeling of shelter, of being allowed to pursue that feeling of innocence, of being protected.  Being trusted.

How could I not love being cared for that much?  Being trusted to be the sheltering presence, the one who protects, who disciplines, who takes care of my girl, and who trusts me to be the adult she is also.

The anal sex?  That’s a longer story than I want to go into at this point, but I will say it was at first a fondness independent of my love of bondage.  But they fit nicely together, and with bdsm, again, things intensify.  I’ll go into that in a later post.  The first time I spanked Hope it was for punishment.  We both were so hot by the end of the spanking, well, you can imagine.  We learned a strange balance, how Hope hated the spankings, hated a paddle or a whip, but how she clung to me after, how she would cry out any pain that it pushed her to, how the aftercare was precious and vital, but again, how she would cling to me for that comfort, that aftercare.

The discipline showed her I loved her, the aftercare moreso.  She never would admit to liking the spankings, the plugs, that feel of a ruler on her cunny, the various punishments.  She’d protest, she’d whine, she begged, but she responded with heat and love, and she accepted the discipline, all of it, as part of that love we shared.  Now let me point out that it was a whole different thing when it was just dominant and submissive.  But hints of this were coming.  Maybe I’m off track, but the biggest challenge and pleasure, all of it, brings up a few questions that Hope and I still have issues with, but we’ve figured out some things.

If I am spanking her, giving her rosebud some punishment, or in the older days before DD/lg, when a whip or crop was involved, it was usually recreational.  She would relax into it and enjoy it, but she was restless.  So was I.  This may sound a bit monstrous, but I enjoyed the yelling, the struggle.  And yes, the pain.  So there was a bit of the sm side of it.  But I only wanted her happy.  When the discipline came in, as lg, she gave me all of that.  And it made her happy.  When it was for breaking a rule, it was one thing.  But if it was punishment or because I was angry, there wasn’t any happiness after, just pain, embarrassment, and more than a little misery. This proved one of our stumbling blocks, more on my side than hers.  The why was more important than the what.  That line where discipline crosses, where anger or a serious infraction was involved, left her miserable.  Pulling back she complained no less, she struggled no less, but the feelings after, her reactions then…they were what we both had wanted.  So most of the time it’s simpler rules that she gets ‘punished’ for, and when it is a genuine punishment, she endures and apologizes, and she still gets the aftercare.

I think I’ve wandered a bit, so back to the specific topic.  I have expressed the theory with others, I may have mentioned it here, that everyone involved in any aspect of bdsm is dealing with some self-image issues.  Rather than get neurotic or destructive, we find bdsm to bridge the gap, to help another and ourself.  Definitely in my case.  She needs to be sheltered, protected.  I need someone to love me and trust me to protect them, to shelter them.  The DDlg resonates and intensifies all of those feelings.  There is a touch of sadism to me, only a touch.  I may cause pain, but I go out of my way to avoid causing harm.  Another place she trusts me.  The discipline comes from love, and she knows it.  She really does hate parts of it, before.  Even during, sometimes (remind me to go into how she kicks her feet if I’m not holding them down.) but by the end of a session, she’s happy, hot, and pretty much eager for the aftercare.  From hugs and snuggles to my taking her Daddy hole (I love that term, it’s so cute),

Bottom line, no pun intended, it’s about trust about us sharing the power, about her need to be protected and allowed to be what she needs to be.  And about my need to give her that.

I’ll stop for now.  I see my little one has kind of warned you it’s coming but not what’s in it.  I hope I haven’t disappointed. Incidentally, I love when we write together, too.  How could I not?

Fun times

Tonight’s been a fun night.  We stretched out together in bed with our laptops.  Michael likes to work with pillows propping him up against the headboard with his laptop on his lap.

I like to lay on my tummy with a pillow or two under my chest with my laptop in front of me.

Daddy was working on his next post for this blog.  He likes to work in a word processing program, getting his thoughts all arranged in order, whereas I just blurt it all out into the WordPress entry box.

He was in his undies, under the covers, and I was in my drop seat jammies (tho technically they no longer have seats attached to them) laying on top of the covers.

I was working on my “book” from the shared series we’ve been writing and we shared ideas back and forth.  Apparently he really liked what I was sharing because after reading a part of my story (the plug positioning scene) he decided to pause his work and focus on my bottom instead.

Gee, who’da thunk it?

He had me keep working while he had fun inserting and removing various plugs, then he put his laptop to the side, rolled over between my legs, lowered his undies and pushed his way in.  While I was trying to work!  He kept telling me not to stop, to keep working as best I could as he started pumping in and out of my bottom.

It was so hard to pretend like I was working, and I gotta admit it wasn’t very long at all before I started typing gibberish.  I couldn’t help it.  It just felt so damn good feeling his thick cock working over my rosebud but good.  The fact that he’d toyed with me earlier (no pun intended) had my rim all soft and relaxed, so there wasn’t any pain at all.  Slight discomfort, which I seriously believe will always be present, but no pain.  The pleasure built up quickly and I gave up on the typing completely.  I closed the laptop and pushed it up farther on the mattress.

Without withdrawing he used one hand to grab the pillows and ordered me to lift and he tugged them down under my hips to push my bottom higher.  I laid my head down on the bed and brought my thumb to my mouth, biting then sucking on it as he picked up the pace and increased the roughness of his thrusts.  Before long his hips were spanking my bottom and his balls were smacking my kitty and I was rocking my hips frantically, humping my Daddy’s cock as he punched himself over and over into his hole.

I tried to push up to all fours, but his hand quickly shoved me back down and he pinned me down.  His legs trapped mine, his chest on my back, and he was whispering in my ear about how naughty little girls who seduce their Daddy get their bottoms well and truly fucked hard.

That’s when I lost it and came twice.  The second orgasm hit before the first one even finished.  I swear I saw stars.  Daddy said my rosebud clamped so tight around his shaft that it was like my bottom was trying to nurse his cum up from his balls thru his cock, so he decided to give in and flood my bottom, draining his balls.

When we were done, we rolled to the side, spooning for awhile with his cock still in my bottom until he went soft and couldn’t stay in.  He picked up one of the plugs that he’d left scattered on the bed and pushed it in, “To keep the comforter from getting messed up.”  He didn’t realize which one he picked up but it wasn’t the daily wear plug.  It was one with a thicker neck.  When I called his attention to this fact, hoping he’d replace it, he just patted my bottom and said “It stays, sugar.”

After more cuddling and mushy talk, we scooted apart and he told me to blog about it while he resumed his work to a stopping point.

So here I am, all floaty and tender-holed, with a plug in my bottom and a dopey grin on my face.

We need to write together more often!

Restless

diaper down spanking

 

First off, disclaimer:  This isn’t me.

But it totally could be, because this is what happens when you’re a Little with a Daddy who has no qualms about baring your bottom and spanking it.

Especially if all day long you’ve been restless and a tad bit on the cranky side, finding fault in every little thing and being content to be crabby, without even trying to change it or letting your Daddy help you with it.

I don’t know what put me in such a mood yesterday, but I was a cranky pants pretty much from the get go.  Daddy tried to change my mood, making pancakes for us for breakfast.

He even gave me space to play my games and play with PhotoShop, but when I got bored with those I started pestering him.  I wanted to go do something, but I didn’t want to leave the house.  I wanted attention, but I wanted to be left alone.  I wanted to watch Netflix, but couldn’t find anything that made me happy.

Right after dinner, Michael had had enough.  After clearing the table I was turning to walk back into the living room and he caught me by the arm and spun me back to bend over the table.

“This has gone on long enough, little girl.  We’re ending the cranky pants right now.”

That is the moment when my brain finally kicked on and decided let’s be happy now.

A little late there, Swift. 

By that time it was too late.  Once Daddy’s made up his mind to spank nothing’s changing his mind.

He told me to hold still and walked over to the crock pot we keep the utensils in and selected a wooden spatula.  The kind that has the square edge that you use for stirfry.

That is the moment when I started stammering apologies and all kinds of promises to be a good girl.

Still a day late and a dollar short there, Hope.

He came back to me and pulled down my pullup, just to right below where my cheeks and thighs meet, wrapped his left arm around my lower back and kind of leaned there to keep me still and he peppered the hell out of my bottom.  He didn’t miss a spot.  Not one little spot.  It didn’t take many swats before I was laying fulling on the table and kicking my legs frantically, crying and promising to behave.

When he finally put down that blasted spatula (four months later), he reached down and toyed with my plug.  Pulling it out to where the flare stretched me fully and held it there. Letting the sting set into my rosebud.  Between my bottom cheeks burning and my bottom hole stinging, I was one very sorry little girl for being such a brat all day long.

As he was holding the plug still, burning my rosebud to hell and back, he leaned down to me and whispered across my ear, “Next time I have to do this for this reason, I’ll take the plug out after the spanking and I’ll spank your Daddy hole as well.  Do I make myself clear, little girl?”

That’s something I can’t remember him doing before.  I’m fairly sure I’d remember, but now that I look at the tags I see Anal Spanking listed there, so maybe so and I’m not remembering it.  He’s gotten close before while spanking the inside of my cheeks, but he’s never focused entirely on my bottom hole before.  I am certain he’d do it.  I’m also certain that after doing so, he’d either re-plug me or make me sit on the naughty stool in the corner.

I’m gonna try my damnedest to be in the best mood ever, and if I can’t then I’ll ask him just as soon as possible to help me out of being cranky instead of letting it rock on all day and being a little brat.

My rosebud isn’t stinging this morning, but my bottom is still sore and I’m sitting gingerly.

It’s good to be loved.

Hope drops a bomb, Fiddler on the couch

Did you ever see ‘Fiddler on the Roof?’  That one moment after years of their arranged marriage, the wife turns to her husband and asks ‘Do You Love me?’  A very touching song where they ask what should be a fundamental question and both have to look at their feelings, eventually realizing to their surprise and delight that the love was there, even though they’d just taken it for granted.

I believe I’ve mentioned that Hope can cut through the bullshit better than I can ramble, right? This was a little bit ago, we were settling back into our daily happy life, we’d talked earlier about how much had changed, and how much hadn’t.  Vacation behind us, the kids and grandkids had, surprisingly, all behaved, it was a night for videos and cuddles (and yes, bottom playing as we watched.), hoping for something a little more intense after the movie, and Hope dropped the bomb.

“Tell me your favorite kink.  What have you not done that you’d like to?  Your deepest thoughts, all of it.”

Now put this in perspective.  The love of my life is curled up against me with my finger teasing her rosebud under her pullups. We’re more relaxed than we’ve been in years.  I was totally content and happy.  And then, boom.

“Why do you always ask these kind of questions when we’re watching Bogart?” Well, something like that.

She thumped my chest playfully, but her eyes told me she was serious. She wanted me to think about it and answer the question.

“What about you?”

“I asked first, you answer first.”

Tevye and his wife.  The husband considering a question he’d thought he’d answered a thousand times, realizing he was being asked about a part of it that had been glossed over, assumed.

So I thought about it.  She could see me thinking (she’ll probably joke about hearing gears wind if she brings this up herself).   I could see something else in her eyes.  She wouldn’t be upset at anything I said.  She’d consider most of it, add it to our lives if she could possibly handle it.

We all have those places, dep in dark corners of our minds. Things we think about, that we like but aren’t even comfortable thinking, let alone liking.  If you make the metaphor of the mind as a castle, this was the stuff locked behind the thick doors at the bottom of the dungeon. Stuff you take a lamp down to look at, and you stare at it, then go back up into the light.

Then I realized something.  I’m not like normal people in a lot of ways (duh).  I had my wild years, a lot of them.  Back then I had neither desire nor restraint, I would follow through.  It was Dr Tarr and Professor Fether (Edgar Allan Poe reference.  Maybe Hope is right about my parenthesis after all.) But those dungeon doors had been opened for a while, the dark things inside allowed to play and then they went back, content, and closed themselves back in.  All but a few of the worst had their time on center stage.  And the others, I thought about them without fear, just discarded as…not worth the trouble or emotions that would be involved.

Tell about my bisexuality period? She had a ringside seat for part of that.  About the times I’d considered being submissive myself?  She thought I was charming back then, but that aloofness she referred to in past entries was strong then (she’d said that I had more style than most there, and she could see I felt like I was slumming.) The brief fling with favoring lingerie of certain types, whether or not anyone was in them?  That lasted about a week. I don’t count my Bettie Page phase, that was admiration of beauty and art more than anything else.  She knew all of this.

It’s really weird when you realize you have no secrets from your spouse.  I knew that wouldn’t satisfy her, so I thought harder.  More gears turning.

The uncomfortable moments when I found some eroticism in brief parts of horror movies?  Doesn’t count, they always ruined that feeling with whatever happened next.  Always.  I mentioned it though.  She crinkled her nose. She agreed, that didn’t count.  The period where my fondness for bondage erotica got really close to addiction?  When I was finding the videos and magazines more interesting and desirable than anything I had in real life? That was a patch of weakness about stuff she already knew.

The threesomes? (Not as fun as they sound, you will have to coordinate a lot and some part of your legs or arms always falls asleep) Sheila, the woman who’d begged me to help her explore her own bisexuality and how I’d made it happen.  No, she knew that, and it was just me facilitating.

Okay, I’ve done a lot.

My secret desires?  My deepest kinks?  My most perverse whims?  Tell about my first blowjob and how I’d angled the mirror so I could see her face?  Compared to what followed, insignificant. The stupid period in high school where I let myself get friendzoned?  The stuff I still hated thinking about? Not much, but there is a little, even for me.  Then I thought about it.  There. That one.

“For some reason, I find thinking about cuckolding very erotic,” I admitted.  “It’s one of the few ways that me being submissive has any appeal for me.”

She burrowed against my chest and thought about it.  She’d seen how long it took me to come up with that, and knew it was either hard for me to say, or I had to really hunt to find that one.

“Would you want that?”  Her voice was soft.  My turn to hear gears turning.

“No, I have what I really want.  The rest is just idle memories or amusing thoughts.”  I let my finger do the talking for me for a few moments. “I have what I want, and need.”

So, feeling like Tevye, in her arms, I missed the second half of another Bogart movie.

I turned the question around.  But her answer, if she gave one, not for me to say.

Be careful what you wish for

When Michael pushed his hand between my thighs and checked the state of my pullup, I was shocked.  Right there in front of Matt and Nikki!  Of course, they have more experience being around others in the lifestyle so it didn’t faze either of them.  But this was our first time being “out” around others so it made my heart leap into my throat.  I thought he’d gone mad as I felt one of his fingers hook the elastic leg band and another finger push inside to check for wetness.  Of course, him doing this always induces the sexual arousal type of wetness, especially when he teases my clit or dips his finger into my hole, and while he did make sure to brush my clit with his knuckle, it was the other kind of wetness he was checking for.

Can I be frank with ya’ll?

Of course you can Hope.  Heck, have you forgotten all our readers know all about your rosebud? Hello?!?

It is not uncommon for women who have had babies (or who have reached a certain age) to have a bit of urinary incontinence.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I have no control over my bladder.  It’s just that sometimes when you cough, sneeze or laugh, you dribble a bit sometimes.  It happens.

Michael and I have agreed upon rules when it comes to me being crinkly.  I’m expected to go pee in the potty.  I’m not supposed to use the diaper for what it’s supposed to be used for.  Neither of us are into that kinda stuff.  Not judging, just not our kink.  Being padded helps to put me into the mindset that it’s ok to be little.  He’s used a diaper to help get me there when I was having trouble letting go of grown up issues.  He’s used them as punishment too, but mainly they are for fun and reassurance.

If I have an accident, like I did on the raft ride, that’s totally acceptable and understood.  If I wet it because I tried to ignore the signs my body was throwing at me because I was being stubborn and wanted to finish watching an episode of my favorite show, or because I was consumed with finishing a dungeon in WoW and I just didn’t make it to the bathroom in time then I’m in trouble.

Daddy didn’t put me in a pull up because I was in trouble for the raft ride.  He padded me because he knew that we’d all be sitting around with drinks and laughing.  He wanted to make sure I didn’t have to worry.  Pretty smart thinking.

And we’d been laughing, a lot.  Drinking a little, just enough for that relaxed buzz where everything is five times funnier than it probably really is.  And sure enough, when he so rudely inspected me, I was wet.

And yep, I got wetter because he just so nonchalantly checked me.  He didn’t make any big production out of it, he just did it.  Just like you’d check a toddler.  Which naturally made me wetter and made my heart start hammering hard.

Turn on? Hell yes. 

He’s right.  When he put the first cuff on, it surprised me.  I was expecting a quick change then to rejoin our friends.  But by the time he had it buckled I knew they were going to have to wait and I was soooo good with that!

I think I started wiggling the second he pulled the plug from my bottom and I didn’t stop until he sank his hard cock deep into my rosebud.  I love being bound wrists to ankles.  It makes me feel so vulnerable and even tho I can move them, it severely restricts the movement, so honestly all I can really do is just lay there while Daddy’s cock pistons in and out of my vulnerable bottom hole and beg him to please please please, for the love of gawd and the lil baby jeebus, rub my clit for me.  Which he did because he’s such a good Daddy.

I came twice.  The first time was on his first thrust.  He normally works in and out, going a bit deeper with each stroke, feeding himself into me gradually, but not that night.  I’m not sure exactly what had him so turned on, but that night it was one solid push in, balls deep and he just held there and throbbed.  I love and hate when  he does this.  I love it cuz it feels so good.  I hate it because when he’s still like that there’s no rubbing the sting away so I really feel the stretch, sting and itch of my bottom hole being spread so wide.  It’s not a hate hate thing really.  It’s honestly more like not being able to scratch an itch.  The kind that drives you nuts.  But he wants me to feel the claiming, and honestly, even though it drives me nuts, I love it too.

Me on my back, bound, with the full length of his cock inside me and his thickness stretching my rim oh so widely and throbbing inside me – yeah, I lost it and came, clamping down so tightly around his shaft that he groaned this rumbling growl.  He immediately picked up the pace and started bucking hard.  He wasn’t fooling around.  He wasn’t making love to me. He was flat out fucking my ass like a man who hadn’t had sex in a year or three.

It was hard and it was primal and I loved it!  Then his thumb started working my clit and I was trying so hard to fuck back.  The inability to move freely along with the sweet torment of my clit mixed with the rough fucking of my Daddy hole all combined and I exploded again, seeing stars.  It wasn’t long after that I felt him getting thicker, then thicker again and he shoved in hard all the way and pushed even harder, his back locking as he emptied his balls into my bottom.

After we caught our breath, he cleaned me up then uncuffed me.  He put a clean pullup on me and we went back downstairs and found Matt and Nikki in the living room on their side of the duplex.

It may have been my imagination but I swear the pullup crinkled more than one ever had before.  But in a few heartbeats I just shrugged it off as a natural thing.

We sat around the table and played cards and it was so surreal to me to be doing something so innocent with friends and all the while feeling Daddy’s cum leaking from my bottom.

I’ve had fantasies about that!  

Sure, we’ve been at home and I’ve been diapered after sex and felt the same leaking, but this was different.  We weren’t alone.  Now, granted Matt and Nikki had no idea exactly what was going on in my pullup, but I’m pretty sure they had a good idea of what we had been doing upstairs.  There were knowing smiles, after all.  But still, I had just been assfucked not 2 minutes beforehand and my Daddy’s cum was dripping out of my bottom into a pullup, and there we were all sitting around playing cards and laughing and talking about .. umm no clue, but inane stuff I’m sure.  Having drinks, playing cards, talking about the most random adult type conversations while both of us girls were snug in our pullups beneath our normal every day clothes, and me wif my freshly fucked bottom hole feeling that sweet soreness and dripping cum.

Wanna talk about a mind-tilt!  Did I mention I’ve fantasized about that?  And it was really happening!

Thinking back on it now, I’m pretty sure that Nikki also was dripping into her pullups at various points during the vacation because both of us stayed crinkly pretty much the rest of the time.  I mean, it stands to reason, doesn’t it?

I mean, I know for a fact that our second night there her bottom was burning beneath her padding, just like mine was, due to our punishments for the escapade with the paddles.

That was another surreal moment.  Being upstairs, over my Daddy’s knees, kicking the air for what it was worth, yelling my head off and promising the world, while hearing Matt’s solid swats landing on Nikki’s bottom on the other side of the wall.  Her yells were battling with mine for supremacy, I tell ya!

Now, when Daddy spanks me he doesn’t go for the harder swats.  He goes with a stinging swat but layers them over and over and over, building up the heat in my bottom until it is burning white hot and threatening to set off the smoke detectors, I’m sure.  It’s not the “hit” he’s after, it’s the burn.  If you think it’s a light punishment, stop and think about it this way – eventually, given enough time, even drops of water can wear down a boulder.  See what I mean?

Daddy spanked, and spanked and spanked with his hand, then to finish it off he used the one paddle he managed to rescue and let me tell ya’ll sumpin – wet wood burns.  Maybe not in a fire pit, but it burned the crap out of my bottom.

When he was done, after the hugging and crying, while he was swapping out my princess plug with a thicker necked one (also part of my punishment), I noticed that I couldn’t hear spanking sounds anymore from the other side of the wall, but I could hear Nikki pleading “No Daddy, no, PLEASE!” then a loud wail of “ow ow ow, Daddy it hurts!!”

My eyes must have gotten huge and I looked up at Michael.  He had this stern look on his face, but not an angry one.  I whispered “Wonder what just happened?” and he gave this half grin and said “I don’t know, but I do know she’s not a happy camper, just like you’re going to be if you don’t relax your hole and let Daddy put this plug in, because if you don’t, I promise another round of paddling.”

I swear that threat worked just as surely as if he’d said “open sesame” cuz I blinked and in the time that took my traitorous rosebud bloomed open and the plug popped in past the flare, and then didn’t get to close back up like it normally does with a princess plug.  Hmpf.

Later, when we all met for dinner in the cabin, with both of us girls sitting damn gingerly, I was whispering with Nikki, trying to find out what happened.  She didn’t want to say, but I’m nothing if not inquisitive.  The guys overhead our conversation and Daddy asked me if I needed another trip across his knee.  I swallowed hard and whispered “No Sir,” and dropped my interrogation.  Matt, on the other hand, had Nikki tell us what happened.

The loud wailing at the end of their punishment was Matt sitting Nikki down on a thick dildo suction-cupped to the desk chair in the bedroom.  He had moved it to the corner and put the dildo on it and made Nikki sit there with that rude thing stuck up her bottom hole for 10 minutes!

I was dying inside while listening to this.  Not for Nik, but because Daddy’s attention was captured in a huge way.  He started questioning Matt about it.  What size, what type, duration, effectiveness, etc.

Yeah, way too curious about it, dammit.

I knew it, I knew then and there that we’d end up with one of those at home.  And sure enough, that’s what happened.  Daddy got rid of the rattan chair we had and replaced it with a stool, capped with a dildo, sometimes two.

Crud, I know damn well dildos won’t sink.  Ugh.

P.S. – Daddy, I know I used the f-word in this entry, but there just wasn’t any other way to phrase it.  Forgive me?  ~sweet smile~