Punishment and Closure.

It had been a horrible week of misunderstanding.  I had played hard in the dungeon with Daddy and he pushed my boundaries pretty far.  It’s typical that when this happens, I experience very high highs, and very low lows at the expense of that endorphin high I ride.

I don’t remember exactly what the trigger was, but I know there is always a trigger. The chemicals in my body are out of whack and I am led entirely by emotion.  All I remember is seeing red, or more appropriately – green.  I was jealous of something he’d said to another woman.  This made me put him on what I affectionately refer to as “ignore.”  I ignore all calls, text messages and attempts at getting my attention.  I cut him out completely.  It never lasts long, but depending on my state of mind - - it has been known to continue as long as three to five days. Mostly, he deserves it.

 I ended up in a very roundabout way, talking to another Daddy Dominant.  He was jilted by his baby girl and circling my vulnerable submissive self like a crow.  I was needy, angry, and out of my mind hormonally and I confided in this other Dominant.  We met for drinks and both cried in our beer over the loss of our respective loves.  He had intercepted a message from his submissive, and it was from my Daddy.  I knew they were friends and suspected that given the chance he would play with her because that was just how he was.  It hurt me.  So there I sat spilling my guts to him, listening to him complain about her and what was lacking in their relationship.  It was totally dysfunctional, and I knew it.  I ignored my inner voice however, and was operating under the idea that since we were friends, but not in each other’s close circle of friends, this was a good and safe idea to exchange stories.

Days went by.  I didn’t hear from my Daddy.  At first I didn’t care.  I blacklisted him on my cell phone.  I convinced myself I was through with him.  I went through the stages of grieving.  Acceptance, denial, anger, etc…mostly though, I was very satisfied with myself.  I had washed my hands of him forever.  I started dating again, for real.  I had two wonderful possible dates lined up and I was flirting with another Dom already, I didn’t need Daddy anyway.   I went on an insane shopping spree.  I bought shoes.  Eleven pair to be exact.  It was absurd.  I bought several dresses.  I totaled my spree to be somewhere in the neighborhood of $700, who needed him when I could shop???

Finally, he broke the silence and sent me a vitriol soaked message.  I can’t give details, however it was mean but in a protective way.  He was looking out for me.  From that point we began to exchange messages.  We spoke briefly.  I confessed to a few things and heard him out.  I had a date lined up, and I wasn’t breaking it to mend things with him.  The date was lovely.  Beyond lovely really, but my mind or heart or both were not entirely there.  I could write about the date and it would be very juicy…but, nothing like my experiences with DD.

Monday morning rolled around.  I could hear he was still angry by the clip and curt replies I was getting on text from him.  He finally admitted that he was trying to deal with his anger.  I was ready to move forward.  I had my raucous week and weekend of defiance, and I was done.  Ready to move onward and upward, but he had other ideas.  I dropped my son off at school, and had a few hours to kill before I had to be at work, I was going to go insane thinking about our rift.

I texted him that we needed to move past the anger and that I wanted closure, to which he called me immediately and said in a very low and villainous voice, “Oh, I can be over in about forty five minutes with your closure.”  He started to lecture.  I had never heard him so angry – ever.  I had deeply hurt him.  I knew this already, but when he said we either needed time apart for him to forgive, or I could endure punishment, I chose punishment.  “You understand you have this coming, right?  This is how it’s going to go, when you get home I want you to get the straight back chair and put it in your bedroom.  I want your hair in pig tails to reflect your childish behavior.  You will wear knee socks if you have them.  I want your pants and panties off.  You will unlock your door and then sit in that chair and reflect upon everything.  I don’t want you wandering around doing other things.  I better not catch you.”

I got home and did exactly as he said.  I was cold sitting in a naughty chair in my room like a child.   I was also very scared.  We had played with floggers, canes, hot wax, whips, crops, chain, rope, fire and even knives, but that was play – this was punishment.  My heart, mind and tummy ached.  I thought I might be sick.  

I had been sitting in that chair in silence for about ten minutes, but it felt like an hour.  I heard the door knob tumble open, followed by the sound of his heavy black booted footsteps on the hard wood floor.  I never had to endure corporal punishment as a child, but I can now say I know what it feels like.  He walked into my bedroom and we made eye contact.  Remorse was evident in my expression, and alternately, the anger and disappointment in me was evident in his.  He had a bag which he placed on my dresser and he mumbled under his breath, “I can’t believe I have to spend time on my day off to come give a spanking to a baby. “  He stood right in front of me, and I looked up at him.  I swear he was eight feet tall, and I was utterly frightened.  He took my chin in his hand between his thumb and forefinger tilting my head up toward him (I’d hung it in shame at his mumbled comment).  “You’re going to have your closure, and we are going to help you to remember so this doesn’t happen again.”

He lowered himself down some and positioned himself just so.  “Do we go running off to other Dominants when we get mad at Daddy?  Is that okay? SMACK. Do we share private things with Dominants that aren’t in our circle of friends? SMACK. Did I teach you to hang around crazy psycho creepy” Daddy’s” that would want to put GPS on you and know all the passwords to your email and such?”  CRAAACKKKK!  I quickly answered, “No Daddy, I’m sorry.”  “Do we run off and go on shopping sprees when our feelings are hurt, or do we talk and communicate like grown- ups?”  CRAAACKKK, again.  There were about eight or nine more slaps that landed on my left cheek, with tears starting somewhere around three or four. 

“GET UP,” he ordered.  “Turn around and put your hands on the seat of that chair.”  I craned my neck and watched him go to the dresser.  From the brown bag came a ruler length paddle. It was thicker than a ruler and rounded at the ends.  I know that it was rosewood color, and I know that I despise paddles in any way, shape, or form. I had already started to cry from the face smacks and scolding, plus I was shivering in fear of what was to come. 

The paddle was applied in rapid succession to my ass.  I gasped to which he said, “Oh honey, this is just your warm up.” Next, I was told that I would count back from twenty five, and that was the amount I was going to get in order to earn my closure and his forgiveness. After each whack, I had to say, “Thank you for the twenty fifth one Daddy, and so on and so forth, until we got down to one.  I was sobbing and begging already, “Please Daddy, I’m sorry.”  He told me we could stop at any time and go the other route, but that would have been death for me.  I did manage to choke/cry enough to get him to let me count upwards instead of downwards, I was too flooded to keep count and I knew it.

Each expertly applied whack was powerfully stingy.  Some strikes had me catching my breath in my throat.  I was choking on big ploppy tears, and I felt so small and helpless.  I was bent over a chair like a naughty child and I was being spanked as such. Every once in a while it became unbearable and I tried to stand up, but was quickly ordered to put my hands back on the seat of the chair, or we would have to start from the beginning. START!? I thought to myself!  I wanted him to STOP.I wanted back in his arms or sitting on his lap and feeling his hands lovingly caress me. I needed him to put an end to the pain ringing through me.  My knees felt as they were going to buckle, and then the last blow landed. 

“Sit down,” he ordered.  I could barely stand anyway with all the shaking and sobbing.  I sniffled and choked and tried to wipe my tears away, but he scolded me for that. While I sat there awaiting my further direction, he removed a pink pacifier from his brown bag.  “Look at the punished baby crying, here suck on this.”  I couldn’t believe his cruelty.  I couldn’t fight it either…I was a blubbering mess.  I remember through all the tears, emotion and pain, thinking to myself how nice of him it was to remember to get a pink pacifier, since pink is my favorite color.  How twisted!  He took a picture of me so he could use it to remind me the next time I, “Act up.” After the picture, he had me get up from the chair and he sat down.  He turned me around to assess the damage he’d done.  “We’re done now,” he said.  I was still crying uncontrollably.  I knelt between his thighs and put my head on his chest and cried into it for a long time while he just held and soothed me.  I was exonerated at last.

After I was cried out,  I had to get back up and turn around.  I was so frightened he was going to start spanking me more.  Instead he said, “I need to check your pussy.  If it’s wet, then that means the spanking didn’t take.”  HOW HUMILIATING.  He pushed his index and middle fingers into me and I gushed.  I could feel the warm squirt of female fluid leak down my thigh and all over his hand.  We both had a laugh at this.  He said, “Who squirts from a punishment?” He let me grab my Hitachi and make myself cum fully, the only softness he allowed during the punishment. 

He had me pull myself together and then we went out for coffee and he insisted I eat breakfast, and he bought me a sandwich I could eat later on.  He admitted that he felt cold hatred when he first got to me, but that after the punishment, he felt loving and protective again. 

Sitting at work was brutal, but I have never felt closer to him.

2 weeks ago  /  1 note

Once More for Old Times Sake?

It had been several months since we’d been together.  We had managed to remain in close contact via text and regular old phone conversations.  We’d run into one another at a few social events – there was maybe a kiss, but that’s where it ended. I think we met for coffee one time too.  My time with him is always a blur of sensation and emotion, even just coffee.

My body was craving so much of everything, and after several failed attempts at finding even enough connection to delve into exploring feeding these hungers, I began to ruminate on how good it always worked for us.  I began to fantasize about what it felt like to be content with a belly full of his creamy yummy cum.  My cunt twitched and spurted at the thought of his fingers massaging in and out of me, the way only he knew how to do. It always left the bones in my pelvic area sore for a few days, making me feel sated and content. My mouth wanted his lips; breath; tongue and teeth.  I needed impact, sensation and release.  I wanted tears.

As I was driving to meet him, my mind was wandering and contemplating.  Every time a hesitant or questioning thought popped into my head, I quickly pushed it out.  The sun was shining bright, the sky was blue.  I WAS doing this.  I made the music in the car very loud to avoid getting lost in the cesspool of doubt that I could have conjured up about our history.  In doing so, I got lost and didn’t hear him trying to call.  When I finally picked up the phone, he was very cross and scolded me.  This sent warm electric eels from my belly and into my groin.  I worried my panties would be damp and uncomfortable.  I finished the drive with my thighs apart for some circulation.

I parked and endured five minutes of recriminations.  I heard nothing he said.  I just wanted to touch him.  We had over an hour ride to get to our destination.  I didn’t know this, and it made me uncomfortable.  I didn’t want to discuss or think.  I just wanted to “do.” I had convinced myself we would play together one more time; no strings; no negotiation, thought or discussion.  Just…go with it.  He had other plans. We ended up discussing some things, all in good humor albeit some topics began to lift the almost healed edges from my emotional scabbing.  Ironically, during the course of our ride the sky changed rapidly.  Temperature dropped and it became very dark, cold and windy. It happened fast, and even he noticed how it was mirroring the climate in the car.

We arrived at the private residence.  There was to be a class on fire play.  It was private invite and we all signed consent release type waivers.  I saw a few familiar faces, but was leaping out of my skin to get on with it.  I had no intention of doing anything with fire.  All I wanted was my own spontaneous combustion of sorts. We sat through some demonstrations, but my mind was trained on what was so close to coming to fruition. 

Being that we’d been apart, I had been dating, and DD had been taking on casual play partners.  There was one of his play partners in attendance, and he lectured me on the way in that I was to be open and nice.  I’m not jealous by nature, but admittedly become blind when it comes to him.  All reason vacates and I become unpredictable and vulnerable.  None the less, I’m not ever the kind to show it outwardly unless provoked. He introduced me to her.  I sized her up.  She was attractive.  I’m sure he was physically attracted to her.  She was definitely a full grown slut and not a baby girl type of submissive like me.  There were a few times he wandered about socializing and I took that opportunity to be lady like and grown up.  I made small talk with her, she was pleasant.  Later, the three of us were in close proximity.  He looked me square in the face, then ran his hand gently through the back of her hair and tugged slightly.  It was meant for me to see.  I felt the moisture drain from my body.  I was an arid dessert at this moment.  He knew he struck a chord, this was his intent.  He smiled and gloated a bit.  I pulled away from him, pouted and through my body language informed him that I was NOT okay with that.  He giggled and said he was testing me.  I wanted to run, vomit, and scream.  I bit my tongue.  I walked upstairs and away from him and the crowd.  He followed, pleading with me. He told me to behave and that I was acting like a baby.  We argued a bit, and he apologized.  He knew he pushed the wrong button.  Our plan to play nearly ruined.  I sullenly followed him back down the stairs, but I couldn’t touch him or sit next to him.  I chose a stool in front of him and pretended to be watching someone being fire cupped.  I was replaying his dastardly behavior in my head, and he knew it.  He called me over, told me I wasn’t letting it go and we should just go home.  I couldn’t keep my pout face on lock down.  I told him I was fine and that he should just leave me be.  I truly was contemplating having him take me home…I wanted play, but at what expense? Would I be able to fly?  Achieve that divine state of bliss between pleasure and pain?  I doubted it.  So much was contingent upon trust and respect to me.  He had shattered both in a childish gesture.

There were a few more demonstrations, but they ended soon enough.  He wanted to play with me in the garage, where there was a St. Andrew’s cross set up.  I wanted to be in the dark basement where there was a large double bench apparatus.  He went along with it, but was concerned about the room he had to swing his tools of the trade. 

I was ordered to strip of all but panties; I kept my heels on as there was some broken glass from a fire cup that had shattered previously.  I was so nervous.  It had been a long time, he’d been with others, it was casual which I’m not wired for and of course there were people that could come in and out as they pleased and see our interaction.

Within the first five minutes, he began to read my body.  I was distracted so he used a blindfold on me.  Even in private there are times when I need help with my focus.  It was quiet and awkward for a few minutes, but he promptly amended that by turning on a playlist he’d saved to his phone.  The first song that sprang forth was one of particular sentiment.  I had sent it to him so long ago, when we were new and still learning one another.  He was so odd about it.  Never made mention of it, so I didn’t either.  I secretly thought maybe it was a song he’d shared with another and just didn’t want to push the issue.  It goes without saying I was utterly stunned to hear he’d not only included the song, but it was the first.  The other songs were meaningful to us in one way or another, and this softened my hardened exterior some.

I was told to lie comfortably on the spanking bench, on my belly.  He began with the flogger.  It was a nice thuddy and warming sensation.  He’d built me up and it was feeling wonderful, but I knew this was only the beginning – tonight, he wanted to play with his canes.

Whoosh – thwack

Whoosh – thwack….again and again.  Starting out light on my ass, but every third or fourth was lip bitingly excruciating.  I was pretty worked up.  He came in and kissed me, asked if I was okay.  I was already flying.  I knew there were people watching.  I didn’t know who, or how many.  He continued.  Once in a while he’d strike my back with a cane.  Only once did he do it hard enough to leave a mark.  I was floundering and speechless.  I felt him part my thighs, and I was eager for what would surely come next.  He teasingly caressed my mound with his fingers over my panties, and I wanted to turn over and claim any part of him to put inside of me.  I couldn’t move.  I was in too much of a jellyfish like state.  He didn’t give me relief, rather he walked around to the front of the bench where my head was and proceeded to feed his cock into my mouth.  It wasn’t very long, just long enough to give me a taste.  There was some more kissing and stroking of my cane marks and the next thing I knew he was pumping his index and middle fingers into me violently.  I shook with orgasm almost immediately.  The pressure was so built up I came again and again and again.  I moaned and gyrated into his hand.  I listened to him talk dirty to me.  At one point the blind fold fell off, and I saw a girl directly across from me having fire cups applied.  She too was about to be brought to orgasm, but by someone else.

After a decent amount of time (an hour and a half by our count), it was time to get a beverage and cuddle.  We rode back together exhausted.  He insisted I eat chocolate to keep me awake for my solo ride home – I didn’t need chocolate.  I would spend the entire ride home wide awake asking myself, was this really going to be a one time/old time’s sakes event?

2 weeks ago  /  1 note