The Next Step

Yesterday was a "Little Day", a special kind of day that my Daddy invented for when I get too grownuppish to help me get back to being his little girl. Little Days are emotionally intense for me, and are a strange mix of frustration and humiliation combined with absolute joy.

The day began with being diapered, one of the first and most difficult aspects of enforced little time. The last diapers he bought for me have a patchwork quilt pattern around the waistband of pink bunnies on a yellow and blue background. Somehow the cuteness of these makes it harder, almost, than the regular white ones he often uses.

Then it was breakfast time and time for another huge frustration. I am not, when I am little, permitted to eat adult food or drink adult drinks. That means no coffee. Missing my morning coffee makes me want to pack and suitcase and leave him when he sits beside me at the kitchen table drinking his and spoonfeeding me scrambled eggs.

He made scrambled eggs for me, also not a big favourite, and tied the bib round my neck and spoonfed me slowly but steadily, something I also have a hard time with. It really is frustrating to have no control over how fast you are eating and what you are eating. But it is, in his philosophy, which we have discussed at length, an important aspect to the psychology of Little Days because it does so much to strip me of my independance to lose my control over what goes in my body. Much like diapering reduces me to feeling like a toddler with no control over that most basic aspect of my independance.

After the breakfast, he wiped my face with a cloth - this is another touch that I find difficult to bear but I did hold still for it. It's no wonder babies scream when their parents do this to them.

Oops, I have to go. I will finish this recollection in another entry shortly.

Blame it on the rain

The very next day after I last posted about how I'd managed to avoid being spanked lately was the day I last got myself into trouble. It was Friday afternoon and I had the afternoon off work and had promised Daddy to do a few round-the-house tasks that have needed doing for awhile and been neglected in our busy-ness. The first was to pull the Christmas lights down from around the front door, a job we are embarrassingly late attending to. I was also supposed to go and get some groceries for dinner that night as the fridge had become Hubbard's Cupboard bare. The last thing was that I was supposed to put the towels and sheets in the washing machine and start it running. All told, these jobs would have taken me less than two hours to complete, but I just didn't do it. When I first thought about going to the food store it was raining outside and I thought to myself that I would wait an hour and go after the rain let up. That's when I started playing around on the computer.

Usually the computer is not much of a distraction for me. Because of the time difference between me and most of my online friends, it is not usually possible for me to participate in live chat, so I communicate mostly through email. However, on Friday afternoon, I found Daddy's Baby online, a girl I have often spoken with through email but have never been able to talk with live. I was so excited to chat with her having often shared our thoughts and stories via email that I completely lost track of time and didn't get one thing started that I was supposed to have done. I didn't even realise how much time had passed until I heard Daddy's key in the door.

He came inside looking cheerful and asked me what I'd decided upon for dinner. (Usually Daddy does most of the cooking because he's better at it.) I was crestfallen, and I knew I was going to get it. I hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear that I'd not been shopping. He was concerned at first and asked me if I was feeling alright. I felt tempted to fib and grab onto that excuse, but honesty won out (as well as the dread of the thermometer he always brings out when I am sick) and I haltingly confessed what had happened. When he heard the whole story he wasn't very happy with me and told me to go and shut down my computer immediately and then go to the bedroom. I typed out a shamefaced goodbye to my friend and did as I was told.

Downstairs, I heard Daddy rummaging, trying to find something in the cupboards to create some semblance of a meal. I longed to go downstairs to him and help and try to make amends, but I know better than to leave when I've been sent to the room. After awhile he appeared in the doorway and told me that it was time to eat and that we would have a little talk after supper. I followed him to the kitchen and let him spoon dinner onto my plate. I bit my tongue and said nothing about the canned yellow beans (horrid!), knowing full well that we wouldn't be eating them if I had done what I was supposed to. I ate them wordlessly, and the rest of the meal, even though I wanted to not eat a bite.

After we'd finished a very quiet, tense meal, Daddy said, "Go upstairs please and wait for me." I went, and left him to clear the dishes. Again, I wanted desperately to try and win his favour by doing this job for him, but you don't argue or disobey at a time like that.

I sat on the bed nibbling my fingernails until he finally came into the room and sat down beside me. He brushed my hair back from my face and told me to look at him, please, and I did. He smiled at me and said, "Sweetie, I'm happy you got to talk to your friend. I'm just sorry you didn't remember to do the things you promised to do." I nodded. "Well, honey," he said, "You're not in terrible trouble here, it's a minor mistake, and you just need a little something to help you remember, don't you?" I blushed and nodded again, and looked down at his hands. He wasn't holding an implement, always a relief to see. It looked as though this spanking was going to be a handspanking, and in light of that fact there was no way I was going to ask to trade it for his two-stroke-cane offer.

"You're going to have a spanking tonight, Anna," he confirmed, and though I already knew this I felt the blush burn hotter on my face. "And you're going to leave that computer off for a week to help you remember it is a privilege." I nodded again and said, yes sir. I don't know where that yes sir comes from when I'm in trouble. He's never asked me to say it, and I've never called anyone else in my life "sir", but every time he speaks to me in that tone of voice, it just happens.

"Let's go then," he said, "Come here please."

I stood up and he moved over to the chair that sits in the corner of the room. I followed him there and stood in front of him. He undid my buttons and pulled my jeans down. "Here please." As directed, I leaned over his lap and gave him my hands. My face was burning. No matter how many times we go through this old ritual, it never fails to fill me with the embarrassment of being turned over his knee for a spanking.

He rested a hand on my bottom while he spoke. "Anna, what do you think I want you to learn today?"

"You want me to learn to keep my promises and not forget things because of the computer." I whispered this into his leg. It's so humiliating having a discussion in this position. There's only one thing that makes it worse, and that's what he did next, slowly lowering my knickers to mid-thigh.

"Daddy needs to be able to trust you, Anna," he said to my bottom.
"Yes sir."
"And what do I expect when you tell me you're going to do something?"
"You expect me to do it."
"That's right, darling. You make Daddy so proud of you most of the time. I need you to remember to keep your promises so I can trust you."
"Yes sir."
"So Daddy's going to have to do what, now, Anna?"
The blush deepened. "Give me a spanking."
"That's right honey, you're going to get spanking on your bare bottom. You acted like a little girl, forgetting your responsibilities, and now Daddy's going to treat you like one. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir."

With that, the spanking started. He doesn't give those mysterious "warm ups" I read about on spanking websites. When I am being punished, it hurts, and it hurts from the first spank to the last spank. My Daddy may have the hardest and the largest hands in the entire world - at least it feels that way when he's using them to spank me with them.

In between rounds of spanks, he stopped and touched my bottom and kept telling me that he loved me and wanted not to be disappointed in me. After the fourth round I started to cry, which is inevitable. I have never made it through one of Daddy's spankings without crying, and it usually has more to do with what he says than what he does. He talks to me throughout a spanking and reminds me constantly that at this time I am not a grown up who is free to do as I wish, but his little girl, accountable for my mistakes and bad decisions. By the end of the spanking I was bawling all over his pant legs and my bottom was sore and hot. He lifted me onto his lap and I cried against his chest while he comforted me.

After the tears had stopped and I rested, snuggled up on Daddy's lap, he asked me if I thought I could remember not to let the computer distract me from my chores in the future, and I assured him that I could. He put a hand under my chin and lifted my face to meet his eyes. "Good girl," he said. "There are other ways I may employ to help you remember in the future if this should happen again."

I blushed again, knowing this was likely a reference to some other sorts of painfully embarrassing reminders that he likes to use and shook my head. "No, I promise I'll remember."

"Good girl," he said again.

After a snuggle in front of the tele for a hour, Daddy gave me my bath and then tucked me into bed. It was only nine o'clock but I was exhausted. Spankings work on me just like warm milk! I was fast asleep in minutes.

Evil Bookstore that Nightmares are Made Of

March, in its typical lion/lamblike fashion has steamrolled through our neat little life and left us barely time to draw breath, let alone attend to important issues like spanking. I am feeling proud of my clean white canvas and wondering how much longer it will remain pristine. I always seem to run into trouble on weekends when there is time to get into mischief, and time to get caught. However, I feel in the newness of spring in the air, a new resolve to keep my bottom out from under Daddy's hand.

I have had one spanking since the cane, and it was a relatively mild one, thank goodness. It happened abruptly and suddenly and there was no opportunity to even consider negotiating cane strokes, though with the passage of time I almost feel as though my fear of the cane has grown rather than receded, so perhaps I won't be doing any futher bartering.

The last spanking was last Saturday and the circumstances surrounded it are rather complicated and strange but I will try to explain as simply as I can.

I was planning a trip out of town (touring with a show I am performing in) and was to leave Saturday and return Tuesday. Prior to leaving, I decided to go to the bookstore (I was tempted to name it and link it in my annoyance but Daddy said no!) to purchase a couple of books to read during the travel, and also a journal where I would record my experiences on the trip. I selected Girlfriend in a Coma by Douglas Coupland (a salute to my semi-Canadian roots) and Hawkes Harbor by S.E. Hinton (with which I struggle in an effort not to add a "u" to harbour) an author I enjoyed in my teen years and was surprised to see has begun to write horror/mystery. This is not a genre generally to my liking, but how could I avoid finding out what S.E. Hinton has been doing with herself since The Outsiders? But I digress! The important part of this story is that after selecting two novels, I also chose a sweet little journal with winged watersprites on the cover and fell rather in love with them.

I paid for my books at the cash register, took my bag, and went home. It wasn't until I arrived home that I realised that the journal had somehow not made it into the shopping bag. The two books were there, and the receipt, clearly showing charges for all three purchases, but no journal. I decided to make the short drive back to the bookstore immediately to explain the error.

It was there I encountered the difficulty and one of the rudest cashiers I have ever met. Unfortunately, the cashier who had rung through my order was not there, and so I approached the one who had taken her place, and explained what had happened. She rolled her eyes at me and checked under the counter for any misplaced spite-journals. None. She snapped her gum at me and told me that she couldn't do much to help me and that next time I "forgot" something at the counter, I should phone immediately so it wouldn't get put back on the shelf.

I explained politely that I had not forgotten my book, but that the cashier must have forgotten to put it in the bag, and she rolled her eyes at me again and slumped off through a swinging door to go and speak with a manager.

She finally came back to the counter and sighed at me and told me that she would allow me to find another copy of the journal and not charge me for it. "You're lucky this time," she said, "A lot of people steal books from here and then come back to get refunds. So we're trusting you this time." I was openmouthed.

"I'm not trying to get a refund," I told her. "And I have a receipt that shows I paid for this book. I have no reason to want two copies of the same book. I just want the item I paid for."

"Yeah, I get it," she said, snap-cracking the gum, "but people do things like that so I just want you to know that I'm trusting you even though I don't have to."

I was stunned at her implication that I was quite likely a thief, but I went to the shelf, found another copy of the journal I'd purchased earlier that day, and took it to the counter, and meekly left the store.

As I drove home, I grew angrier and angrier, reenacting the scene in my mind with different endings, where I climbed over the counter and grabbed the cashier by the throat and choked her, then karate-chopped her in the neck and pulled out handfuls of her hair. Each ending was bloodier than the last, and by the time I got home I furious.

Daddy was there when I got back home (having arrived some time during my second bookstore visit) and when he came to greet me, I barely let him say hello before I began telling him my story. He listened and sympathized sweetly.

We sat down to dinner, but the afternoon's events were still bothering me, and I must confess I think I made a pest of myself going over the details of my frustration over and over again throughout the meal. Finally Daddy asked, "Anna, why didn't you ask to see a manager if you were so upset? A cashier isn't allowed to speak to you that way. If she was rude, why didn't you ask to see her supervisor?"

I stopped short. I had no idea why I hadn't done that.

"Don't you think you would have felt better now if you'd resolved the issue in the store before leaving?"

I nodded. I certainly would have. As it stood now I was likely to be annoyed for days to come.

"We're going back to the store after dinner, Anna," he said, "and you're going to explain your concerns to a manager."

"Can't I just write a letter?" I asked him.

"Sweetheart, listen to how upset you are!" he said, "Obviously you need to stand up for yourself so you can feel better about this."

I agreed on one hand. On the other, I was uncomfortable with that. I am not a confrontational person in the least, and I don't like situations like this at all. I have always admired people (like my Daddy) who are able to express their displeasure at situations while keeping their cool, managing to remain polite, and still getting what they want. My style is usually to slink away and complain bitterly to whomever will listen to me later on. (Pathetic, I agree.)

Anyway, I asked Daddy if he could do the talking for me and he said absolutely not. He would go with me and stand beside me, but I had to talk for myself. And I refused to go. I just hate that kind of thing.

Finally, after trying to help me see why I needed to do this, Daddy said I had no choice, and I still said no, and he said I was showing myself no respect by not being brave enough to speak up for myself. Then he said that if I wasn't going to respect myself, I needed to be taught a lesson, and he pulled me across his lap very suddenly. I was wearing a dress, making access very simple, and he gave me a few sharp slaps over my panties before I was even able to really register what was happening. Then I started saying, no no no... I'll do it! but by then it was too late. (I was recently explaining to a friend of mine that once I am upended like that, there's no getting out of a spanking.)

He pulled my panties down to mid-thigh and gave me a handspanking on my bare bottom. I was embarrassed, and angry at first, but he held me firmly and spanked me until my bottom was stinging and tears were streaming down my face. "You will not disrespect the people I love, Anna," he told me while I cried, and held me when he was done, against his chest and rocked me back and forth. "You deserve to be treated with respect," he told me, "by that cashier, and also by yourself. I don't want you forgetting that." (Of course I see the irony of this statement being made by a man who has just spanked my bare bottom, but you'll have to believe me when I say that he did so very respectfully!)

We snuggled like that for a long time, and then, finally, when I was calm again, I washed my face, applied some eye makeup, and got in the car with Daddy who drove us to the bookstore. Inside, the cashier I'd had the trouble with was nowhere to be seen, so I approached another staff member who was stocking shelves and asked if I could speak to a manager. He went behind the swinging door and emerged with not one, but two, mangers.

I took a deep breath and explained what had happened as politely and firmly as I could, explaining that I was offended at the implication that I might have stolen the book and was seeking to take advantage of the store.

Daddy stood beside me and said nothing, but I drew tremendous strength from just having him there with me. Finally, after listening to the whole story, the manager told me he certainly understood my concern and apologized on behalf of the cashier. He also said he would "speak to her" about her behaviour.

For my part, I hope he will speak to her the same way my Daddy "spoke" to me!!