Ireland's Daughter... The Stick and the Carrot

Coming soon to a blog near you

2008-12-16T07:55:00.002+01:00

Nearly 2008 and we are still here! I apologize to everyone who has looked for us in the last little forever. We are still together, still happily married, still here. And with plans to continue writing shortly. Thanks to everyone who asked after us!

It's been a long lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely time

2006-06-10T07:06:00.000+02:00

It has been a long time since I have posted anything here! Poor blog, you must have been lonely.

I have been caught up in a veritable whirlwind of chaos the last few weeks, by way of explanation for my absense. I have been editing a script for my theatre company and workshopping it with several actors, and this has meant putting in a lot of extra hours both at the theatre and at home hammering away at the keyboard turning Irish slang into something comprehensible to the average person. (Good lord, I've lived here forEVER and I still can't understand Trainspotting.) In the end, spending all that time writing has taken the fire from my fingertips when it came to writing here.

However, at last I am at a point where I can take a break, and this means I have returned! (cue ticker tape parade)

There is some good news. Sitting on my rear end so much in the last few weeks has yielded some minor success in Operation Weight Gain. I am up two pounds since Daddy first told me I had to try to gain five, and that's up half a pound since my last weigh-in a week ago. So, there are some benefits to being overworked and too tired to exercise! Perhaps when I gain the other three my bra straps will stop slipping down my shoulders, haha.

In other news, I have managed to stay mostly out of trouble lately and have had no serious punishments since the last one I posted about. Serious, to me, is the kind of punishment where I end up bawling and having a sore bottom for a couple of days. Those kinds of punishments are for when I am disobedient, and a good thing about working so much is that I haven't had much time to find any real trouble.

Oh, I did get a small spanking a few days ago for leaving the back gate banging in the wind after promising to remember to shut it properly, but these kinds of punishments fall into the "mild" category and are more embarrassing than they are painful.

Strangely enough, managing to avoid severe punishments for a long time can have a negative effect on my little side. That is to say that my little side needs the security of regular discipline, even though I don't exactly want it. It leads to feeling a bit restless and irritable, longing for some time with Daddy as his little girl, even as I dread some of the things he does to get me to that place.

He knows this, of course. He knows the little girl inside me better than I do. And so it is time for another "Little Day" tomorrow. That means that when I wake up tomorrow I will be his baby all day until the next morning. I don't know what he has planned for the day but I have that feeling that comes from knowing what is likely to take place during the day.

There are so many parts of being his baby that are difficult for me. And yet, anticipating them leaves me tingly and filled with butterflies as if I was falling in love for the first time instead of contemplating spending a day with someone who I have known and been married to for years. Of course, being little means I won't be permitted to use my computer, but I will save details for the next time I post, with a promise to be back sooner next time.

PS: Note to self: why does that middle section refuse to change colours?

Sometimes my Daddy...

2006-05-19T06:32:00.000+02:00

Sometimes my Daddy calls me "babygirl" in front of his brothers or in front of my friends.

Sometimes my Daddy cups my bottom in both his hands and whispers, "You belong to me."

Sometimes my Daddy makes me stand in line beside him at the store while he pays for new spanking implements.

Sometimes my Daddy gives me one swat on my bottom in public if he doesn't like my behaviour.

Sometimes my Daddy speaks to my friends on the phone when I've been sent to bed at 7:00pm and says matter-of-factly, "Anna is in bed right now. Shall I give her a message?"

Sometimes my Daddy tells me I have five minutes to finish my dinner or else I will be punished.

Sometimes my Daddy makes me stand in the corner while he decides whether to spank me or not.

Sometimes my Daddy holds my hand firmly in the shopping centre as if I am three and might dart away.

Sometimes my Daddy asks me, "Do you need a nap, young lady?"

Sometimes my Daddy takes my temperature in my bottom when he's worried I might be sick.

Sometimes my Daddy kisses me on the nose and sings me songs when he tucks me in at night.

Sometimes my Daddy asks me who is the most loved little girl in the world.

Always I answer in disbelief. Me.

Expounding on Whys and Wherefores

2006-05-17T23:03:00.000+02:00

It's been fascinating to me to read Daddy's blog the last couple of days. Of course I am well acquainted with his own theories and beliefs about the lifestyle we have chosen because we talk about it all the time. But, what interested me especially was the comments and questions raised by other people who share some of the same interests.

Growing up, I worshipped my father. Honestly, in retrospect, I'm not entirely sure he deserved to be revered quite so much, but I do still have an enormous amount of respect for his intelligence and his patience and his calm demeanor. In fact, there are qualities that also drew me to my husband. However, there is one huge difference between my father and my husband and that is that my father was completely non-confrontational.

My mother was an extremely vocal and controlling parent. She micromanaged a lot of the behaviour of her kids and was very impatient and quick to anger. Discipline under my mother's hand was frightening and inconsistent and often unexpected. She often lashed out in anger both vocally and physically.

My father's response to this was to disappear quietly behind a newspaper and leave us to fight it out. As a child, I suppose, I adored him because he was the safe parent, predictable and calm and consistent. He never yelled and he never lost his temper. And yet, in his choice to keep a distance from the chaos, he also distanced himself from his children and in that way I never felt as close to him as I longed to be.

The need for a Daddy was strong in me, even as a child. I remember longing to be Daddied even back when I had my father - that is, not the sexual aspects of the type of submission I have with my husband, but I longed for a strong man to take care of me and make me safe.

As I grew older I became ashamed of this desire because it fit so poorly with everything I had been taught and believed about women's rights and equality and feminism and so forth. I hated the idea of being controlled by a man at the same time as I longed for it. I wrote off my own secret interests as something weird about me and didn't pursue them other than through imaginings.

By the time I left home (I was living between two homes, in Vancouver, Canada and Seattle, Washington) I was determined never to get married but instead to travel the world and be completely self-sufficient forever.

And then I met Daddy. I had never met a man like him. He acted like a father almost immediately, even without my invitation to do so. I learned later that he behaves this way with everyone. That is, being a Daddy isn't a role for him. He is simply built that way; he is charismatic and strong. People seem to turn to him for his opinion or decisions instinctually, even people who don't know him well, and people who don't know him in the context of Daddyhood. He chided me about smoking almost as soon as I met him, and not in a way I found irritating the way so many complainers did irritate me back in those (blissful) smoky days. Instead, he spoke to me like I had no choice but to obey him, as though I was already his girl. "Throw those away, honey, they aren't good for you. Here, give them to me." I was shocked by his bossiness and I was even more shocked at my own reaction, which was almost instantaneous obedience. It didn't take long for me to realise that who he is fits perfectly with the little-girl side of me.

At the same time, the adult side of me really rebelled at his assuming treatment of me. I really agonized over whether I wanted to keep seeing him after starting to realise what I was getting into. It's incredibly frightening to give control of oneself to another person, even temporarily, even just as an experiment, which is what I believed it was back then.

Instead, it grew deeper and before long I had abandoned all plans of ever leaving Ireland to continue my travels, and moved into his home with him. It took no time for him to lay down the rules of the house when I moved in. Though I always felt like an equal partner in adult respects (for example, he has never controlled me through money or home ownership or anything like that), there were other things in place to make it clear that if we were going to cohabitate, I would have to obey some of his rules. The rules had mostly to do with respecting myself, especially in the beginning, and he set about to break the smoking habit forever and also to change my flighty ways of skipping meals and paying bills at the last possible second and keeping my clothing in a pile on the floor beside my bed to roll into upon waking. Basically, his rules were focused at making my life, and therefore ME, more stable. He forced me to learn some organizational skills and to take better care of myself.

It was a real battle of the wills at first, and it's kind of a wonder to me that he didn't eventually toss me back out into the street when I was stubborn and rebelled against him so frequently. Instead, he stayed firm but also stayed calm, which is a true feat of patience, and guided me where he wanted me to go, with kindness but also with a firmness and resolution that was amazing. I could have left at any time, being as unconnected as I was at that time, but instead, I found that the feeling of knowing there was someone at home waiting for me who would demand to know what I ate that day and whether I remembered to make a dentist appointment was unbelievably comforting.

I got punished a lot in those days. I mean a LOT! Some weeks I got spankings every day, sometimes even two or three times a day. I was so stubborn and I simply didn't believe that he was going to be able to stay attentive enough to catch everything I did wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong. He never forgot a thing. In fact, in those days he kept a written record of what was happening to ensure nothing was overlooked. He would write down the things I was expected to do, what the consequence would be if I didn't, what punishments I had already received, how many times I had broken this rule in the past, etc., etc., etc.. It was impossible to get away with anything!

It still is, truthfully, though the recordkeeping is no longer necessary since I try a lot harder to obey him now. He has an astonishingly long memory. (I was shocked when he told me I had forgotten my phone twelve times. How on EARTH could he know that without writing it down?!)

Nowadays, things here are pretty peaceful. Like he said, I have those times when the scary childhood insecurities and doubts creep in, but having his constant reassurance and approval keeps it under control most of the time.

Reliving old scenarios that remind me of childhood can be frightening because it reminds me of how things used to be, where I would be screamed at and sworn at and beaten. But, when I get into trouble with my Daddy things are different. He never raises his voice to me, he never curses, and his spankings are always controlled and safe even when they hurt a lot. It's like taking a sad story and putting a new happier ending on it. It doesn't fix what happened before but it makes it easier to live with. I love you Daddy.

No Sweeter Punishment

2006-05-16T22:39:00.000+02:00

Last night when Daddy and I were snuggling he suddenly asked me if I was losing weight. I was startled because I certainly hadn't been trying to lose weight. As it is, I have a figure that resembles a twelve year old boy more than an woman in her thirties, so losing weight isn't on my list of things to do. (Trust me, I have enough other imperfections!)

Anyway, I have a very physically active job (acting) and I also like to jog so I do have to make sure I eat well. Fortunately for me, I also enjoy eating. :) I told Daddy I didn't know if I'd lost weight, and told him the truth, that I wasn't trying to.

He made me come with him to the washroom and he took off all my clothes and made me stand on the scale. Well, it turned out he was right (as usual) and I had lost seven pounds since the last time he weighed me which was in January. He wasn't really very happy about me losing weight because he doesn't want me to get run down.

So, I got a punishment. The best kind of punishment ever. Daddy said I wasn't allowed to go jogging last night and instead, after dinner, we went to a Thai restaurant and had coffee and an incredible ice cream desert that was served inside a lemon rind. I had to eat it all. Poor me! :)

It was a fun night and we had a nice time talking and laughing. The only bad part was that Daddy said he's going to weigh me more often and that I am supposed to try and gain back at least five pounds in the next few months. The bad part is that if I don't do it on my own he said he make me drink Carnation Instant Breakfast as an extra meal until I do. Yuck. I HATE those things. Fortunately, trying to eat more isn't much of a hardship so I will do my best to get back to fighting weight as fast as I can.

The NEXT Next Step

2006-05-07T03:08:00.000+02:00

I believe she called the previous entry "The Next Step" because she took one more step toward a full six-stroke caning. Of course I wouldn't normally cane her on a Little Day, however, when she is meant to feel two years old for it would be completely inappropriate.

Now let's see, she left off at breakfast, which leaves much of the day left to be described. If only time didn't pass so quickly and leave it difficult to retrieve an aging man's memories, or more specifically to discern one from another.

Let me take us directly to the point. (My apologies to those who enjoy small details!)

During Little Days she is usually spanked frequently, but not harshly. She is diapered on these days, as she mentioned, and when she slips out of little behaviour and forgets herself, I remind her by taking down those sweet diapers and pulling her across my lap, bare bottomed, and delivering a short hand spanking. I rarely ever use implements on these special days for the spankings are designed to remind her of her littleness and not designed to be harsh. They are meant to make her feel small and childlike, and they pack a sting, but they are not meant to leave marks or to be extraordinarily painful - specifically because of the fact that it is very common for her to receive several of them in one day depending upon her ability to behave and remember her little rules.

When she is little she is not permitted any adult behaviours.

Throughout the day she was given several of these baby-spankings, for arguing about eating lunch when she didn't want to, for changing the channel on the television to the afternoon news, and for arguing with me about taking an afternoon nap. I believe there was one other incident though I have trouble getting enough friction between my brain cells to recall it.

Regardless, these things aren't the point, only the lead-up. She had had two, or perhaps three incidences of arguing by the time she earned herself a more serious punishment. This last incident came when she began complaining about going to bed after dinner. On Little Days I do insist she go to bed almost immediately after we eat. Again, this is designed to make her feel little and controlled and while it does do these things, of course, it sometimes has a tendancy to frustrate her as well. It is a test of her obedience and submission to work through these feelings and obey despite them, but she was having a harder time than usual with that on this day and when she began arguing about bedtime I took her upstairs by the hand and told her she had exactly two minutes to brush her teeth before I would tuck her into bed.

She began to whine and I warned her again. It is rare that she requires a warning and the fact that she was in this mood only reinforced the fact that an early bedtime was exactly what she needed, however, she did not heed my warning and continued to argue. At this point I picked up her hairbrush off the dresser, took down her diapers and pulled her across my lap on the bed and began to spank her disobedient little bottom. She screamed and begged me to stop, which I did not (of course) until she said she wanted the cane instead.

This referred back to an arrangement she and I had made several weeks ago in which she was given permission to trade a full spanking for one cane stroke. She took me up on that eventually and admitted it wasn't as terrifying as she had believed it would be, but when I offered her the option to trade the next one for two strokes she told me she would probably not be willing to do that.

However, that night she changed her mind. I must remember the power of the wooden hairbrush in helping her see things from my perspective.

I let her up and took her to the office where she was put into position and she began to cry in earnest before I even picked up the cane. Poor thing - I truly hate for her to feel so frightened, but I was also pleased to see her take "the next step" toward trusting me enough to use the cane on her at my own discretion. This is my aim, to let her see that I will use it on her the same as I do every other implement, with a design toward punishing her thoroughly but never cruelly or barbarically.

She took the two cane strokes with a lot of howling between them, but managed to keep her position with a little help from my hand placed firmly on her back. When she has learned to handle the cane better I shall become more insistent about holding her position properly. Nonetheless, she made me proud by taking two strokes and rubbing lotion into her two pretty stripes before tucking her into bed was a satisfying ending to the day we had shared.

The Next Step

2006-04-23T18:11:00.000+02:00

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

2006-04-10T01:05:00.000+02:00

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.

Anna is Grounded

2006-04-06T03:15:00.000+02:00

A note to Anna's friends - Anna is grounded from the use of her computer, other than for work purposes, for one week, ending this Saturday. From this punishment she is expected to learn that using the computer to socialize is a privilege that will be revoked when it distracts her from the things she is meant to do prior. (She has also been sitting on a red bottom, haven't you, love?)

-herDaddy

Evil Bookstore that Nightmares are Made Of

2006-04-01T20:11:00.000+02:00

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!!

I Joined the Club

2006-03-11T04:03:00.000+01:00

Well, I did it. I joined the club of women who've been caned. I'm not considering myself a card-carrying member, however, because it was only one stroke. Still, it feels like I have accomplished something.

I actually went back and counted how long it has been since my last disciplinary spanking. February 19th. Nineteen days! I think that might be a world record and I was starting to feel pretty cocky, to be honest, that I could keep out of trouble indefinitely.

I was trying extra hard, you see, and with good reason. Knowing my fear of the cane, Gaelin has always respected that fear and refrained for using it on me. But recently, he took it into his head that he might coax me to relent on that issue, since we have been married more than seven years and I know that I can trust him not to hurt me seriously.

I understand his point, that I should be able to trust him based on the fact that in the entire time I have known him he has never hurt me or frightened me in any way that wasn't consensual. (It's hard to explain how some kinds of hurt and fear are good and others are bad, but for me this is how it works.) But my fear of the cane is much deeper and definitely crossed the line into BAD FEAR. The kind of fear that makes you sick to your stomach. That's how scared I am of that thing. So I wasn't even ready to consider the thought of changing my mind.

Then he came up with an offer that was really really really tempting.

He said that I could trade in my next spanking, all of it, the whole thing! in exchange for just one cane stroke.

At the time he made the offer, I wasn't going to accept it. Instead, I resolved never to earn another spanking again as long as I lived. By taking that approach I could avoid having to make this terrible decision. And I was successful for nineteen days!

However, yesterday it all fell apart. He had left for work much earlier than usual, and somehow with him gone, I managed to oversleep for work. I woke up late and ran around like a lunatic to get out of the house and not be late for work, and in the process I left my curling iron on, the coffee pot on, AND forgot to lock the door.

Each of these, alone, is a problem, worthy of a lecture at the least and perhaps even a few swats. Combined altogether, there was no way I was getting away without a spanking.

So, when I arrived home from work, he was waiting for me. He told me what I had done and said that I was going to be punished before bed. He said nothing about the cane, just served up dinner and we sat and ate.

I think I ate about three bites, I was so nervous. By the time dinner was done, he still hadn't said anything about the cane and I was starting to relax a little, seeing that he wasn't going to pressure me.

After dinner, we watched a movie on tv and cuddled on the couch. He put his arm around me and I rested my head on his chest while we watched, and I felt totally warm and safe.

At bedtime, he asked me to go and get into my pajamas and then wait for him on the bed.

I got changed and waited. There was no way I was going to let him use the cane. I chewed my lip nervously and wondered whether he would use the paddle, or the slipper, or the hairbrush, or what.

He made me wait for what seemed like forever, and when he finally turned up he had the wooden spoon in his hand. I don't know if anything else would have been any better, honestly, but when I saw that spoon my resolve to avoid the cane started to leave me.

Still, he said nothing about it, and I could tell that he was just going to go ahead with the wooden spoon unless I asked him to let me do the trade he had offered me.

He said down on the bed beside me and took my hands and looked in my eyes and started talking to me, the way he does, before a punishment. He talked about what I had done and why it was important not to forget these important details, and about getting up on time so I am not rushed, etc.., and all I could think about while he was talking was the cane versus the spoon. Weighing a fullscale wooden spooning against one cane stroke.

For anyone who hasn't experienced a wooden spoon spanking, let me assure you, it is horrendous. A wooden spoon has such a small point of impact that each swat with it is so sharp and intense that you cannot help but scream bloody blue murder. And, sometimes it leaves welts.

When he was finished talking to me, he moved to the chair and told me to come to him. I did. He pulled me across his lap and pulled up my nightie. He took my two hands in his and pinned them behind me, which is a normal part of a spanking for me because if he doesn't do that I can't stop myself from putting my hands in the way and getting them hurt.

That was the point when I changed my mind, if you can imagine. Face down, my forehead nearly touching the floor, bare bottom up in the air, and hands pinned behind me. In this undignified position, I suddenly screamed, "Wait wait wait wait! I changed my mind! Please wait!!"

He did wait. I held my breath, but no spoon came down on my bottom, hallelujah.

"You changed your mind?" he asked me, as I hung there upside down.

"Yes," I said.

"Tell me what you want, then."

"I want you to give me the one cane stroke instead, please," I told him.

And then, I think for the first time in my entire disciplinary career, I was released spank-free after a spanking had (almost) begun.

I stood up, my nightgown falling back down to my knees and blissfully covering me up again. My heart was racing. The mix of feelings, relief at having avoided the spoon, was quickly washed over with waves of terror at the thought of the cane cutting a deep bloody welt across my bottom.

He took my hand and led me to the office. Usually spankings happen in bedroom, so this was new. In the office, he made me stand at the side of his desk, leaning across it and clutching the opposite side. The clutching wasn't his requirement; it was my white-knuckled way of keeping myself from falling down and becoming a sobbing puddle on the floor.

Usually, when I am spanked, it is over his knee. He does it this way for many reasons. There is an emotional intensity to this kind of contact, lying across his lap. It allows him to control my movements, by pinning my arms behind my back. And mostly, it makes me feel about two years old, which is rather the point.

Stretching out across a wooden desk is a completely different feeling. I felt alone. I felt truly scared. The bad kind of scared. And my legs were shaking so hard I actually needed the support of that desk or I think I might have fallen. I felt completely disconnected from him until I felt him touch the top of my head.

He came around the desk to my head and made me look up at him. He reminded me that he loved me. He promised that he wouldn't hurt me more than I could handle. He promised I was safe. He touched my hair.

I tried to breathe normally and stop hyperventilating.

"Anna," he said. "I need you to pay attention to me, darling. Listen. I am giving you one stroke, only one stroke. A regular stroke. It's going to sting but it isn't going to cut you. I promise. Do you hear me?"

"Yes sir," I whispered.

Then he went back around the desk. His hands pulled my nightie up gently, slowly, and tucked it under me so it wouldn't fall back down. I felt his hand touch my bottom lightly. Then I felt him lie the cane across my bottom. My knees shook and I grasped the edge of the desk as tightly as I could.

He did three practice strokes first, lifting the cane up quickly and bringing it down quickly, stopping just short of my bottom, and then finishing by tapping it ever-so-lightly. I think he was making sure he would land the stroke in exactly the right spot, across the sit-place, but it felt like I was being tortured, waiting for him to deliver the "real" stroke.

"Anna. Anna. Anna."

I heard him say my name three times but it took until the third time before I was coherent enough to reply. I was truly getting lost in my fear.

I felt his hand on my back, focusing me, bringing me back to the room where I was safe with him and not floating alone in the fear. "Yes."

"Anna, I want you to close your eyes now and take a very deep slow breath. Don't stop breathing in until I tell you. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

I started the breath, slow as I could, through my nose. About four seconds into that breath, I heard the sound of the cane. I heard it before I felt it. It made a whip-crack sound and I kept breathing in even after I heard it, until a split second later when I felt it.

It's an odd thing, hearing the crack first and then not registering the pain for another moment.

I actually had time to think, I've survived, I'm alive, and keep still, before I became aware of the pain. Then, it hit. A searing hot line of fire across my bottom, right across the middle of the sit-spot, suddenly became blazingly intense and the breath I was taking turned into a gasp and then I stood up and did one of those involuntary little dances, while my hands flew back to grab my bottom (and make sure it was still there!).

After I settled down, he took me back to the bedroom. He helped me into bed, and rubbed my back and my bottom while I relaxed and prepared to sleep. Kissed my hair and told me that he loves he. He asked me if I was okay, and I told him that I was. I told him the truth, that I was more scared than I needed to be. He said he was proud of me for facing my fear and he held me tightly and kissed me and told me that it was still my decision whether or not the cane becomes part of our disciplinary repertoire or not.

So that was it. That was my first experience. It was painful, yes. But I have to admit that one cane stroke, as painful as it was, is NOT worse than a full spanking with the wooden spoon. I still don't know if I couldn't handle six strokes, though, a full caning. I'm going to think about that some more. It really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, in actuality. But the fear was intense.

Daddy was right, though. The cane didn't cut me. There was no blood. Just one fine fiery red line. And although he took me somewhere that was very scary to me, he proved yet again that I can trust him, even when I'm afraid.

Carrots

2006-02-26T17:27:00.000+01:00

Throughout their childhood, Daddy and his brothers took sailing courses with Glenans. Sailing is extremely popular here, no doubt because there is such easy access to water no matter where you are! He's very good at sailing and he's been promising to take me out and teach me for a long time. (Strangely enough, having grown up myself in both Vancouver and Seattle, I'd never been sailing at all.)

Today was the day.

We rented a tiny sailboat early in the morning and spent most of the day on the water. The wind was light and the weather was pleasant for February. He was a good teacher too. Very patient when I pulled the ropes the wrong way and also when I lost my balance and crashed into him, nearly knocking him off the boat!

What I learned today is that sailing is hard work and takes a lot of skill to do it well. I have always imagined that sailing involved a lot more sitting around enjoying the beautiful view, but in fact there is a lot more work than it would seem! I also learned that I love it. Love it love it love it! During the drifting parts we did get a little time to relax but quickly Daddy found other ways to keep us getting exercise and enjoying ourselves that involved some other skills I have had a little more practice with. :)

I'm exasperated that we forgot the camera in the boot of the car and missed the opportunity to take a million beautiful pictures of the day, but it does give us another excuse to go back, as if we needed one. I can't wait.

Quoth Ice...

2006-02-21T23:24:00.000+01:00

Ice_Princess said...

... I think that you are experiencing a duality :) Magdalena and I were discussing duality so it's on my mind. You want to be independent and capable but also taken care of, and frankly who doesn't? Isn't that what we all want, someone to take care of us once in a while and whom we can take care of....

I don't think I could possibly agree with you more! Duality is a perfect word to describe how I feel, and I read your post on it just to make sure I understood what you meant. I think many people, perhaps women in particular, feel that tug in two different directions. My ambitious and adventurous side urges me to be independant and to be completely in control of my own life.

In this way, sometimes, I simply find it nearly impossible to believe that I have chosen to allow my husband to make rules for me, like a child, and have so much control over so many aspects of my life.

Simultaneously, as much as I crave my independance and freedom, I am happily overwhelmed by the care he takes in attending to me. I have never in my life, prior to knowing Gaelin, had another person on whom I could totally depend for everything, both physical and emotional.

Being controlled makes me feel two things at once. The first feeling reminds me of my own childhood, feeling outraged by having no control over my own life. Feeling angry at having someone else's will imposed over my own. That is my gut reaction.

My second reaction is a healing reaction because my relationship with G is nothing like my real childhood was. Although he is strict, his rules truly are for my own good. He is consistent, reasonable, and predictable. Unlike my childhood experience, these rules make sense, they apply at all times, and breaking them always has the same result. Unlike my childhood, I feel safe within these rules. Though I am disciplined, I am never yelled at, never cursed at, and never left feeling unloved. This difference makes all the difference in the world. It heals my inner child.

That is my duality. On one hand, my first reaction to my childhood is that I want to be completely 100% free as an adult to do everything my way. The other reaction is that I want a chance to do childhood over again, better. Choosing to give someone control over you is just not the same as having someone take it without your consent. I have consented and I don't regret it even when it presents me with some real emotional challenges.

...I am curious though after reading his post, do either sets of parents know about this side of your relationship or other members of the family? If so how does that work out? ...

My own family knows nothing of the personal aspects of our relationship. I am not especially close with my family and so these kinds of conversations just don't come up. As for Gaelin's family, he is one of four boys who are all quite close, and I believe that his brothers are aware that things are different with us. Though I doubt they realise the extent of our lifestyle, they seem aware of the fact that he is wearing the figurative pants on the relationship. Even his parents seem to understand this intuitively.

Perhaps this is a result of knowing him all his life. People always seem to defer to him. When we go out with friends, people always seem to turn to him to make decisions about where we should go, what we will do, what time we will meet and where. He is decisive and sure of himself, and he is charismatic. A natural leader! When his family calls me to set up dinner visits with us, they will say things like, "Check with Gaelin and get back to us." . It seems clear to me that they know he makes our decisions. Everyone who knows him seems to depend on him for guidance and leadership to some extent and in this way I think of him as being a Daddy to the world! Hah!

But as for the intimate details, they are between us. We do have a few very close friends with whom he has shared some minor details (much to my mortification!) but we both realise that most people don't understand or appreciate the kind of life we have chosen and so we don't open ourselves up for criticism in that way.

Oh and your comment reminds me, I have a vice that occurs when I don't take care of myself, a few actually. I am in trouble with a friend of mine over that, but I think I'm safe because he too would have a long trip.

This sounds intriguing. Share if you want to, but don't give G any further evil ideas if you please! :)

Sassy girl

2006-02-19T23:11:00.000+01:00

Note to self: Never ever ever ever be sassy to Daddy. (or "saucy" as he likes to say)

Further note to self: Never ever EVER EVER try to bite Daddy's hand when he's washing your mouth out with soap.

These behaviours can only result in trouble. They will only ever result in things that are highly unpleasant for me and my backside.

Valentine's Day

2006-02-15T23:59:00.000+01:00

Last night I got into some trouble to crown off our perfect Valentine's Day.

He sent me flowers at work. There's something about flowers at work that is a million times more exciting than flowers at home. I suppose it must be the exhibitionist in me that enjoys the people I work with seeing what a wonderful husband I have.

He made dinner. He really is the best cook ever, and he made all my favourite things.

We had champagne. We don't have champagne very often. It's a lovely treat!

All these things were so sweet and special, and yet there has been something on my mind for a few weeks now. I had agreed, at work, to do some editing for a series of scripts that was recently turned in for proofreading, and after agreeing to do it, I realised it was really more than I could reasonably manage to do.

I wasn't working on it. The playbooks were sitting beside my computer for days and days, unopened. And then, beside the stairs so I would remember to bring them back to work. Like a teenager in high school, I was carrying my homework back and forth, to and from work, but never actually doing it. And it was worrying me. There wasn't time to do it all, and time was passing.

Last night I was feeling tense about the work, and I think I was a bit snappish with Daddy as a result. He can always tell when I'm tense.

After my shower, he was sitting on the bed waiting for me. Uh oh. He asked me to come and talk to him about what was happening. I told him all of it and had to agree with him that I wasn't taking very good care of myself by agreeing to do more work than I was really able to do. He punished me. Not severely.... but firmly. He gave me a spanking, with his hand, on my bare bottom. And then he made me promise that I would talk to my boss today about sharing the editing job with another one of the actors so that it would be so overwhelming.

I did this and now I feel about a million times better to feel like my free time is more my own again, and not drowning in unfinished work. I even got some of it done, now that I feel so much better about it!

Sometimes it's true that a spanking is exactly what I need.

Humiliation

2006-01-24T05:02:00.000+01:00

I think I have a fetish for humiliation.

When I say the word humiliation, I mean something specific. I have said this before and been misinterpreted as perhaps being a woman who might enjoy being called names or somehow insulted. This isn't what I mean. Being called names or cursed at makes me feel sick inside; it makes me frightened. I know there are women who enjoy being humiliated in the way I described, but I am not this kind of woman.

The kind of humiliation I refer to is very different. It comes from positive attention, like being taken care of and adored to extreme measures. Though there is corrective and disciplinary action that fulfills this need of mine, it is not cruel and it is not cold. Rather the opposite, it is a kind of discipline that consists of being carefully monitored and paid close attention to, so that a punishment is clearly deserved and required, and comes with plenty of expressions of love, and plenty of reassurance when it is done.

In this way, being sent to the corner for ten minutes to think when I have misbehaved, or sent to bed early, can be a very sexual experience even without being touched at all. Being punished lovingly is embarrassing in the extreme, and yet it also warms my heart, and this in turn warms my body to accept his with great anticipation.

Being Sick

2006-01-22T18:18:00.000+01:00

He takes care of me when I'm sick. Sometimes this is a blessing and sometimes it is a curse. At times when I simply want to roll up in my blanket and sleep, he will appear with the vaseline and thermometer, determined to get the most accurate reading in spite of my reluctance.

But he also makes me feel better. He sits on the edge of the bed and brushes my hair back from my face, and brings me cold juice to sip.

The time when his care becomes problematic for me is when I feel better but he isn't ready to let me return to normal life yet. Although I feel good, he will still insist on checking my temperature for a couple of days afterward. He will still insist on putting me to bed early and limiting my activity.

I have been sick this week, but I am feeling much better now. Now it still remains to convince Daddy to stop chasing me with the thermometer and making me choke down the giant vitamin pills. In spite of his desire to treat me as his little girl, he has never listened to my protests that little girls should not have to swallow horse pills, but rather should be given vitamin bubblegum, or liquid vitamin drops! I can't figure out why he is so insistant on the old vitamins the size of bullets, but I've never been able to change his mind.

I am looking forward to returning to normal life again, and will keep in mind the frequent temperature checks and vitamin-nagging also come with lovely backrubs and my hairbrush being used, this time, for its proper purpose, to brush my hair.

House Rules

2006-01-08T18:14:00.000+01:00

Sometimes people are surprised to hear of an adult woman living with rules, voluntarily, but I like my rules. They make me feel safe and knowing that Daddy will enforce them when I slip is comforting. In some ways, what we do is poorly named "ageplay" because there is no game in what we do. It is not roleplay. We don't pretend that I'm in trouble so Daddy can spank me for things. He never punishes me unless I have truly done something to deserve it. There isn't a start time and an end time for our "scenes", because we live this way all the time. I never try to get into trouble on purpose, and there is no safeword when I do.

I don't like getting punished. I don't enjoy pain. I am not sexually aroused during a spanking because I don't like pain.

The part that is arousing is in my head. I don't know why I'm built like that, but knowing in my mind that I can be spanked, that I have rules, that Daddy has control over many things in my life, this is very arousing to me.

My Daddy is strict. He doesn't believe in letting things go and he is diligent about paying attention. Honestly, I don't know he can notice and remember every little thing when I have such a hard time attending to details, but he does seem to have super powers. He says it's because he doesn't want to let me down, but I also think it's because he doesn't want to miss a chance to spank me! Unlike me, I think Daddy actually enjoys giving a spanking. He certainly does it often enough to convince me so.

I have a lot of rules and some of them have become second-nature to me. Other ones, I have to work to remember.

These are my rules:

Mouth: My tongue must be kept civil at all times. No cursing. No yelling. Expressions of anger are permitted, but they must be respectfully addressed. I am also not permitted to say negative things about myself.

Body: I must take care of my body. That means that I am not allowed to do anything unsafe or unhealthy, whether or not Daddy is watching. This means I'm not allowed to eat crisps for lunch or break the speed limits or doing anything that might endanger my health or my safety.

Permissions: I am to remember that I am a little girl at heart, and so I must ask Daddy's permission for many things. I ask him what I may eat for a snack before dinner, I ask him if I may make a telephone call. I ask him before I make plans to go out. This is a rule that gets me into trouble constantly because I often forget.

Honesty: This one is really important. I am expected to be honest with Daddy all the time. This isn't so difficult in terms of avoiding telling mistruths. I don't do that anyway, but the hard part is that I am also required to report on myself. That means I may not leave out any information that I know Daddy would want to know. So, if I take a second cup of coffee at work, I must tell him I did that, knowing that it might get me in trouble. If I don't come out with something he would have wanted to know and he finds out, that gets me in huge trouble, because it's basically the same as telling lies.

Basic Daily Routine: I am expected to follow a basic daily routine and making changes to it without permission is not allowed.
- I have to eat breakfast every morning and take a vitamin pill.
- I am only allowed to have one cup of coffee per day.
- I must eat vegetables with both lunch and dinner and lettuce doesn't count.
- I must come home directly from work and make no stops without permission.
- I must take my cell phone with me whenever I am away from Daddy.
- I must eat all the dinner on my plate.
- I must go to bed at 9:30pm on weeknights. I am allowed to read until 10:00 and then I must turn out the lights without being reminded. On weekends, Daddy decides my bedtime depending upon what we are doing.
- I do not go out on weeknights unless there is a special reason.
- On weekends, if Daddy gives me permission to go out with friends, I have a curfew of midnight.

I think that covers most of the basic daily rules for regular days. On "little days" the rules are MUCH more strict.

Little Days: Basically, on little days I'm not allowed to do much of anything that a baby wouldn't. For example:
- no coffee
- only baby food
- wear diapers all day
- no grown-up books, newspaper, movies, computer, conversation or television
- ask permission for just about everything!

On little days I usually get spanked a few times because it's hard to stay little all day without forgetting. (Luckily, on little days he doesn't usually use spanking implements!)

So, that's a basic rundown of the house rules. I'm sure I've forgotten some and I would like to point out to Daddy that I don't need reminding of any I might have forgotten. I just saved them for later discussion. ;)

Enemas

2005-12-22T22:40:00.000+01:00

Daddy's little one said...
I was wondering if your Daddy makes you actually *use* the diapers and also if he ever makes you take enemas like my Daddy does?

This is part of two of the answer to this question, about enemas. My Daddy does, indeed, make me take enemas, and it is another thing I find very difficult! Having control over this part of your life is something very basic and very personal and having this control taken away, or giving it willingly, is as emotionally powerful as it is difficult.

Enemas, for me, come in two basic varieties:
- Intimate Care
- and Punishment

Intimate Care enemas are given to me on a semi-regular basis, much like the "little days", and are most often given to me as a part of that whole experience. An Intimate Care enema is very embarrassing, but I am required to cooperate and behave during the process in spite of that. The goal of this kind of enema is mainly to do with achieving that "little" mindset very deeply, the feeling of giving up an enormous amount of control and trusting Daddy with something so intimate and personal.

To start with, I am made to lie on the bed, face down, with pillows under my tummy that lift my bottom up in the air. Usually, I am in diapers at this time. Then, he leaves me like that while he takes the equipment into the washroom. The washroom is attached to the bedroom and I can see him while he fills up the bag with very warm water, about halfway, and brings it back to me. He suspends it from the bedpost, and then he undoes my diaper and takes it off.

He will apply vaseline to my bottom before inserting the enema hose to make it go smoothly, and during this process I am supposed to try and relax and not clench against his fingers or the hose as he gently presses it in, rubbing my back and talking to me softly. Once it's in properly, he clicks the valve open, just a little, and I can feel the water trickling into me. Because it's hot water, it doesn't hurt. It usually makes me feel warm all over as it fills me up slowly and the sensation is not unpleasant apart from imagining what it all looks like from his perspective which makes me turn crimson with embarrassment.

He administers this type of enema slowly, with lots of stops to get comfortable, shift position, and talk gently. He rubs my back and my bottom, and lets me tuck my legs up under me if I need to. When I have taken the half-bag full of water, he will sometimes turn me over on my back for some gentle touches and kisses. At times I am made me to climax in this position, which is a very pleasant way to pass the time until I am permitted to release the water. This kind of enema drives me deeply into "sub space" where I am slowly able to relinquish all control to him and let him guide me slowly through the slight discomforts and reward me for my good behaviour. (Aha! A carrot!)

A Punishment enema is similar in most ways except that it strives for a different kind of emotional/mental space. A Punishment enema, obviously, is administered to teach a lesson and for the most part, I have earned this kind of punishment through misbehaviour during "little" days, mainly transgressions in remembering that I am not permitted ANY grown up behaviours on these days.

When I am given this kind of enema, he will take the diaper off immediately and lie me over the pillows on the bed to wait for him, unclothed. This kind of exposure changes how I feel while I wait, with much more nervous anticipation and embarrassment of a much hotter nature. A Punishment enema uses water that isn't quite as hot (therefore not quite as comfortable to hold) and a lot more of it. The whole bag. He will hang the bag higher up to make the flow of water faster. He isn't as gentle with the insertion of the nozzle, and he talks to me differently during a Punishment enema, using trigger words and expressions about being a "naughty girl" and "learning an important lesson". Often, he swats my bottom a few times before inserting the hose and sometimes uses Bengay instead of vaseline, which burns. (The worst thing is an enema after a full spanking!)

He then clicks the valve open and during Punishment he allows it flow faster and will not stop as frequently. I am not permitted to move, except with his permission, and I am required to accept the entire bag of water. There have been times I have been unable to do so, and then he will let me go to washroom to release the water, and then am forced to come back and begin the process all over again until I am able to accept all the water in the bag. It sometimes becomes necessary to stop and get into a crouch position, a most humiliating pose that spreads you wide open, with knees tucked up to the stomach, in order to hold all the water, and I am required to get his permission to change position.

After I have accepted the whole bag, punishment enough in itself, I am required to hold it for usually ten or fifteen minutes. During this time, he will sometimes have me write lines, or will lecture and scold, and sometimes give a few more painful swats as well. During this time is often very uncomfortable. It becomes increasingly difficult to hold the water as time passes, and it comes and goes in waves that force me to clench tightly to keep holding the water. It's horribly embarrassing to have him watch me during this time and he tends to draw out the time by talking about how much time is left and how he hopes I am learning from my discomfort. When he finally allows me to go to release the water, I am usually ready to run there at a full sprint.

That's how enemas work for us. I understand there are other types of enemas designed to bring more discomfort (like castille soap) and more pleasure (like wine!) but I have not experienced anything like this. My Daddy threatens to experiment which keeps me slightly nervous. He has also expressed great interest in the item at the top of the page in response to my ocassional inability to accept and hold a full Punishment enema, and I fear it will end up rearing its ugly nozzle in our house in the near future.

What that is, is an inflatable enema plug. You can attach to the enema bag so the enema would be delivered through the plug (also resolving another of Daddy's complaints that the enema hose is too small to feel like a punishment) and when the enema is done, you close the opening so that the plug forces you to hold the water. I am torn between thinking it would be a relief to not have to hold the water through the force of willpower, and thinking that having the plug would mean that I'd be expected to hold it longer. I'll tell you this. I'm not buying it for him, and it's not on my Christmas list either!

http://www.extremerestraints.com/Merchant2/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=ER&Product_Code=DE720

Diaper Expectations

2005-12-22T04:14:00.000+01:00

Daddy's little one said...
I was wondering if your Daddy makes you actually *use* the diapers and also if he ever makes you take enemas like my Daddy does?

I was thinking I would let HIM answer this one because it's sort of an awkward discussion for me, but he's been so busy at work the last couple of week (in preparation for time off). So I asked him last night if he thought he would have time to tackle this question any time soon and I was rewarded by having him tell me that I was required to reply to it myself. I'm going to answer in two parts. Today I'll answer the diaper question.

So here we go...

First of all, he does make me use the diapers. As of yet, I think that this is probably the most difficult thing he has required of me in our relationship. I find it really really really difficult, even now, after many years of marriage, to be able to do that without a lot of anxiety and embarrassment. I think I've explained that we are not a couple that does diapering all the time, so perhaps this is why I've never gotten accustomed to it enough for it to stop being difficult, or perhaps it's just that I am a private person in many ways. When he first began diapering me he did not require me to use them, and would usually only leave me in them for a short time. This was something I actually really enjoyed (once I recovered from the initial reluctance), and found comforting and sweet. The ritual of being diapered is rather lovely, intimate and tender.

When he first suggested that one day I would be be expected to use the diapers, I completely balked. I told him I would never ever do that. He was gentle in his insistence but he told me that one day I certainly would and that when he decided it was time, I would do as I was told. He didn't insist on it immediately but began increasing the time spent diapered so that it became more and more difficult for me not to. That, coupled with his insistence on plenty of fluids made it inevitable that the time would come when I had no choice.

When the day came that he decided it was time, I had been diapered for a few hours and was getting desperate. He'd been feeding me juice all morning and I really needed to go. I asked his permission to go to the washroom and he said no, that the time had come that I was going to use my diaper for the first time. I flatly refused. He smiled and said he would wait. The thing is that you just KNOW you're going to lose a battle like that. But I crossed my legs stubbornly for as long as I could (only about fifteen more minutes) and then begged some more. I was actually upset, feeling kind of panicky, certain that I simply could NOT do what he wanted me to do. I was also blushing like crazy, something I hate about being fair-skinned when you just cannot hide how you feel!

I ended up in tears, begging him not to make me do this and he was very sweet and gentle but also very much in charge. He picked me up and carried me to the washroom and sat me on the toilet, still wearing the diaper, and wiped my eyes and hugged me to him and made me take deep breaths until I was calm again. (As I recollect this experience, it is with fondness, in spite of how difficult it was and still is, for me to do this. )

So, because I was at such a level of desperation, my stubbornness was fading and I tried to listen to his words and block out my own fears. It's a strange thing how sitting on the toilet, in that familiar position, made it much more possible to allow myself to do what he wanted me to. And so I did. I let go and I cried and cried and cried as well. It was such a letting go of personal control and giving him a part of my private self that I never thought I would give away to anyone.

He understood how difficult that was, that first time. He was incredibly reassuring, holding me and hugging me and telling me he was proud of me for trusting him, for doing as he asked. I really did feel like his babygirl when he lifted me back up and laid me down for a changing. I was blushy and so shy about that, but he made me feel safe and loved all through it so it was a very powerful mix of tender and private and embarrassing that felt very little-girl-ish.

Since then, I have been required to use the diapers every time I am diapered. It has never stopped being extremely difficult and extremely embarrassing in spite of knowing he makes it safe. It is always a tremendous leap of faith, somehow. It is always giving up a little more control than I feel comfortable with, and this is, of course, what makes it meaningful. In spite of how difficult it is for me, it isn't something I have ever tried to renegotiate with him, except while it's happening, and there is no negotiating during.

He does expect me, now, to use the diapers upon his command, if I haven't done so on my own. I still tend to hold it as long as I can in hopes I can wait him out. Sometimes he gives me a direct order to go, right now. That's what I have the hardest time with. When I decide on my 0wn, I have time to prepare mentally for that loss of control. When he simply insists on "right now", I feel terribly exposed. There was one time I got in big trouble for resisting, and we had what I would sort of call a battle of wills.

When he told me to go, I just couldn't. I mean, not physically, mentally. I just wasn't ready yet, mentally, and I told him I couldn't. He knew that I could because it had been several hours and he gave me the order again. I said I couldn't again. He stood me in the corner and said I had five minutes. Now, I've never discussed this with anyone before so I don't know if my experience is shared with others who are diapered, but for me, going while standing up is even more difficult. So I was standing in the corner, with his eyes on my back, timing me, and I just could not bring myself to do it, even though I wanted to, both to please him and also just because I needed to. I guess maybe I was also feeling stubborn, which doesn't happen with me often, except for with this one issue. So I just didn't do it.

And when five minutes were up, he came up behind me, undid the tapes on my diaper and took it off and pulled me over his knee and spanked the daylights out of me with his slipper. I screamed. That rubber slipper is one of the most torturous items he uses and my bottom was searing hot when he was done. Then he took out the vaseline (always a foreboding sign) and inserted the big bottom plug, a little too fast for comfort. Then he put the diaper back on and stood me back in the corner, sobbing, and gave me another five minutes.

I was bawling, from the spanking and the stretching of the plug and also just the sheer humiliation of being forced to pee in a diaper in front of my husband. And yet, in spite of all that, I just couldn't do it. I was angry as well as embarrassed and I stood there, crying, and didn't do what he told me. I am almost never defiant and it's hard to explain, in retrospect, why this time was different than the others, when I had complied with his request. So when he told me the five minutes was nearly up and ordered me again, to go, I didn't do it.

Again, he came up behind me and took down the diaper, and took me across his knee. Has anyone else ever had a second trip across the lap a few minutes later? With an already scalding hot bottom, it took only one connection with that vile slipper to change my mind but he was having none of that. Because I had deliberately defied him, I was in for it, and I got cooked. I told him I would go now and to please please please stop! But he was not through with me because of my disobedience and he gave me a huge spanking that seemed to have no end. I should clarify about the difference here, between this spanking, and some of the others that have also seemed interminable. Usually when he spanks he does what he calls a "layering" effect. What that means is that he gives about 10-15 swats, then stops, and talks to me, then gives more swats, stops again, more talking, and so on. What this does is gives me time to breathe between rounds and gain some (though not much) composure. And the talking in between takes me out of panic mode and lets me focus on his words for moment.

Anyway, this second spanking had no such kindnesses. It was straight-through, no stopping, wholehearted whaling, with my hands pinned behind my back, his leg over top of mine to pin me down, and me panicking, struggling, wiggling, and yelling until I was hoarse. It was terrible. The lesson is that you don't disobey Daddy when he first gives you the chance to obey.

After that spanking I was a mess. I was gasping and sobbing and shaking and he wasn't terribly sympathetic at that moment, either. He simply readjusted the plug to make it deeper, redid the diaper, and dropped me back in the corner, and told me again, quietly, to go now. There was no five minutes to get myself together this time, and you can bet that I didn't wait half a second to obey this time. I did it right away, right that second and then kind of collapsed in his arms while he held me and rocked me and comforted me.

I have to admit that since then, I've never been that resistant again, but I have, at times, been punished for not obeying as quickly as I am expected to.

So that is my answer to the first part of the question. I will answer the second part next time.

Still Hate it After All These Years

2005-12-03T18:43:00.000+01:00

Something I've never been able to get comfortable with, as long as Daddy and I have been married, is when he takes control of ... certain things.

We aren't Daddy/little girl all the time. It isn't possible, with our careers and busy lives, to stay in the role at all times. For example, I usually need to drive myself to work, I usually make my own meals (most often not meals that require more talent than the average three year old possesses), I do not thrive on watching Disney cartoons and doing colouring pages for real entertainment. This is all understood.

Still, I am his little girl all the time, even when I have to be a big girl. And with that in mind, I still ask his permission to go out, I ask him what I may make to eat, and I obey him (almost always!). We don't have "bathroom play" in our relationship. It's not something that interests either of us at all. But there is something closely akin to it that Daddy ocassionally insists upon and I hate it. Hate it hate it hate it!!

At times, usually on weekends, Daddy decides I need to be reminded of my place. This happens when I forget to ask permission about things. Then he makes me be his real baby for an extended period of time. During that time, I'm not allowed to do anything grown up. I'm not allowed to have my coffee. I'm not allowed to talk on the phone with my friends. I'm fed his version of babyfood (gag, he makes it in the blender), and I stay in my sleepers. And the part that's really hard for me is that he makes me wear diapers.

Even though this has been a part of our relationship for years and years and years, I have never gotten fully comfortable with the diaper thing. It's beyond embarrassing. It's completely and totally disempowering. I mean, most parts of ageplay are disempowering from the perspective of the little one. But this goes far beyond being spanked or sent to the corner or grounded. This is Daddy having control over the very most basic functions of my body and it makes me so mortified, sometimes, that I want to refuse to wear them and get dressed and run away!

He knows it's hard for me. He knows I have a terribly hard time with diapers. That's why he makes me do it when I've gotten too "Big", because it strips me right down to infancy. There are aspects of being diapered that are so loving and sweet. It isn't painful and it isn't a real "punishment". It's just a complete stripping away of all self-control and all privacy and it's so completely embarrassing I don't know if I'll ever get comfortable with it.

Of course, I don't think I'm meant to be comfortable with it.

Explaining Us

2005-11-27T21:07:00.000+01:00

I phoned the costume fitter at work on Tuesday morning, prior to rehearsal, and asked her if we could have a lunch date. I have known her many years so this wouldn't seem strange. She agreed to meet with me and we ended up going for coffee instead as it was earlier in the day.

She seemed very comfortable and friendly as ever, which made me almost think that things were fine after all and didn't need explaining. But I also was thinking about going home afterward and admitting to Daddy that I hadn't told her and wondering how he would react to that. I suspect he wouldn't have been pleased.

So I just said, "--------, I noticed the other day during my fitting that you saw I had some marks on my thighs and ummmm... bottom (gulp). I noticed you were looking at them and I hoped maybe I could explain to you in case you were concerned."

She: "I wasn't concerned, no."

Me: "You weren't?"

She: "No love, it's none of my business."

Me: "Oh. Well. Umm. (stammer stutter gulp) I just wanted to make
sure you weren't worried about me."

She: "No dear. Not for a minute. I've been in this business a long time,
you see."

Me: "Oh. Alright then. I just wanted to make sure you knew it was all -
uhhhh - consensual."

She: "Of course love. Don't give it another thought."

(enormous awkward pause)

Me: "When you said you've been in this business a long time, did you
mean you've seen things like this before?"

She: "Of course!"

Me: (astonished) "Really? Anyone on OUR cast?"

She: (laughing) "Honey, I cannot disclose that kind of information. It's
personal."

Me: (suddenly realising this means she won't tell anyone about me
either) "Oh yes, of course. Right. Yes. Thank you."

(mad fast sipping)

She: "Shall we get back to work then?"

Me: "Yes please."

(exeunt)

And THAT was that. It was easier than I thought it would be in many ways. I am looking back on it now and wondering why part of me was almost a little disappointed that there wasn't more to it. I imagine my life with Daddy, at times, to be completely shocking, so much so in fact that I think I almost felt let down that she wasn't a little more distressed or curious or worried or something. I must be crazy to think like that! How could I want to upset and worry a little old lady?

On the other hand, I was also relieved that she was handling it so well, particularly after she had seemed so uncomfortable the other day during the fitting. But perhaps I was projecting my own discomfort upon her and imagining she was more concerned than she truly was.

It has been an interesting experience, at any rate. This is only the second time in my life that I have had this kind of information shared with anyone outside the lifestyle. The other time it was Daddy who told some people, and that was much more embarrassing than this was in the end.

Note to Ms Deidre: It's Juno and the Paycock (Sean O'Casey) that I am working on presently. It's a lovely depressing story and I have had to work VERY hard on my accent so I match everyone else! (I'm originally from the States too.) Sometimes that accent works in my favour but not when we're performing the old Irish classics!

Embarrassing

2005-11-21T06:12:00.000+01:00

I've neglected my blog, only this time Daddy has too so I'm not in trouble for it. We've been busy!

Something embarrassing happened to me on Friday. Actually something happened on Thursday first.

On Thursday night I got in trouble for disobeying Daddy on purpose. I had been sick for a couple of days (sore throat and fever and chills - yuck) and Daddy had been very strict about taking care of me. I was getting regular temperature takings (eww) and being sent to bed early and he was making me take a boatload of vitamin pills which is one of the things I hate worst in the world. I mean, I HATE taking vitamin pills. They're so big and they smell disgusting and I just have the hardest time swallowing pills. He won't coddle me with vitamin drops and vitamin gum and all those new things I want so much. He says I am to just stop being naughty and take the vitamins. I usually take them after he leaves for work and after a couple of days of it I just started putting them back in the bottle instead of taking them. Little did I know that he was checking.

On Thursday night he asked me, out of the blue, if I'd taken my vitamin that morning. When he gets a certain tone in his voice I KNOW I'm busted and I fessed up right away because lying to him gets me in just horrible trouble and it's not worth it. No matter how angry he's going to be, it's always better to tell him the truth. So I just told him straight away that I'd put it back in the bottle because I felt better. He said, "Do you have anything else you want to tell me?" and I told him that I'd done it the day before too. He said, "I know," so I was REALLY lucky that I told him or I would have in way more trouble.

As it was, I was in trouble enough. I got sent to bed right after dinner, at 7:30, and had to stand in the corner for a half hour while he kept me waiting. Then he came in and gave me a big talking-to about deliberate disobedience and the importance of taking care of my health. By the time we got to the actual punishment part I was already crying because I knew it was going to be bad and I was feeling terrible for trying to trick him. He took down my pants and panties and I got a hand spanking over his lap. Then he made me lie down on the bed and he gave me ten licks with his belt. After that he put me to bed.

Then, Friday came. On Friday I had a costume fitting with the theater for a show that is going up in December. The costume fitter is a lady I have known for years and I have never been shy about stripping down in front of her while she takes measurements and pins costumes. Without thinking, I did my usual quick peel, and suddenly realised that I was marked and she could see it. I didn't remember on my own: I remembered because she suddenly couldn't look at me and seemed to be stuttering and embarrassed. She didn't say anything about it, and neither did I. We both just pretended that my bottom wasn't striped with belt marks and tried to carry on with the business of fitting my dress and bustle, but it was so embarrassing I thought I was going to catch on fire.

When Daddy got home from work I told him about it and he laughed and laughed while I buried my head in his chest and he stroked my hair and said that he was glad that I wouldn't disobey him about vitamins in the future. What an experience.

Non-Physical Aspects of Being Daddy's Girl

2005-11-14T20:19:00.000+01:00

In our relationship, a large part of what we do is psychological rather than physical. Making the decision to live this lifestyle is much more than committing to the physical aspects. It involves a mindset that is completely opposite to everything we are taught about growing up and the need to become independant, self-reliant adults.

I am not an independant self-reliant adult. That does not mean I do not have that capacity but it means I choose not to use it. I have, in my life, been completely independant, before I married Daddy. But since then I have chosen to give him control over many things the average woman decides for herself.

I ask Daddy's permission to go out. He decides what I will wear and what I will eat. He decides when I am required to have a nap. I ask his permission to have a snack.

Much of this is purely psychological. Daddy has never told me no, that I may not have a snack. Never once. And yet I ask every time and do not assume he will say yes. I prepare myself to accept his decisions in every case. I do not always agree with him or like what he decides. (I have also learned that arguing or disobeying Daddy is very unwise. Something to consider while looking at the pattern on the floor, upturned over his knee.)

Discipline, even, is not all physical. Although I am usually spanked when I am disobedient, forgetful, or misbehaved, there are other parts of discipline that are very much a part of Daddy's repertoire. (It should also be noted that spanking is not the ONLY physical discipline in his arsenal either, but I'll talk about that another time.)

Non-physical discipline includes other types of restictions or requirements. For example, I have sometimes been grounded for punishment. Being grounded means I am not allowed to accept invitations from friends to social events. When grounded, I am only allowed to go out for work or household chores (like grocery shopping). I HATE being grounded.

I have sometimes been required to write essays for Daddy about my misbehaviour.

I am sometimes sent to my room, or required to take a nap or go to bed early when he feels I am being grouchy. This is something I particularly loathe. There was one incident I may never forget when I was spanked for being mouthy and sent to bed at 4:30 in the afternoon. That was torturous!! When I am sent to bed I am not allowed to read, watch television, talk on the telephone, or do ANYTHING but lie quietly. It is also humiliating when people phone and I hear Daddy's voice say, "She's gone to bed for the night," knowing that people are going to ask me why I went to bed so early.

Another (sort of) non-physical aspect of discipline, for us, is sexual. When I am being punished for a serious misbehaviour, I am often not permitted to have any sexual climax. He might touch me, tease me, bring me close, and leave me shaking and gasping and beggin, but will not let me climax. And that's another rule in our house. I am not allowed to reach climax, EVER, without Daddy's permission.

Sometimes I am sent to the corner to "think", another form of non-physical discipline. It is often accompanied by physical discipline, and often the thinking is meant to be time to consider the fate of my bottom so I can get good and scared before he punishes me.

There have also been times when I have diapered as punishment. This is part of a whole "experience" of being little by force. It means that Daddy takes me down from feeling like a little girl, to feeling like an infant. It's a psychological experience and it has always been decreed as a result of forgetting my place as his little girl and trying to be too adult. For example, this happened once when I made a decision to take a job without talking to Daddy about it first.

He said that although he would have supported my wishes, this was the kind of thing that demonstrated me forgetting my place as his little girl and his place as my Daddy.

So, I was assigned a weekend of being a baby in all ways. This meant not being allowed to use my computer or do anything adult like that. I was allowed to watch children's movies and colour and draw. I was not allowed to drink coffee (that might have been the worst part!) and instead I was given juice in a bottle. I had to eat babyfood he made for me in the blender (yuck!!!), I was diapered the entire time, and made to take naps.

These kinds of events in our life reinforce our roles and bring up enormously conflicting emotions within me. I am sexually aroused by being treated this way, even as I am simultaneously embarrassed and uncomfortable with it. And Daddy knows just how to exploit those feelings.

Little things like this. On Saturday night we went for dinner with friends. Waiting in line for a table, I mentioned to my girlfriend that I had been feeling a little under the weather that day. Daddy said, "We'd better hope you don't have a temperature," and brushed his hand across my bottom. When he says and does these little things I know exactly what he means. While the friends notice nothing and move on to new topics of conversation, I am smiling falsely, pretending to listen, while my head is suddenly filled with images of Daddy's nasty rectal thermometer and big jar of vaseline!!

I have wandered way off my original topic. Non-physical aspects of being Daddy's girl. The physical and the psychological overlap very sweetly. Little touches that mean nothing in the vanilla world are filled with promise and nervous tingles. Little remarks that are easily breezed by, linger in my ears, and make my blood rush in my ears.

Saturdays

2005-11-07T19:03:00.000+01:00

The weekend was lovely. I enjoy it when Daddy is home with me during the days and we can focus on each other completely without being distracted by thoughts of work and intrusions outside our life together.

On Saturday afternoon, Daddy gave me a bath. I love it when he takes care of me that way. He runs the water warm and deep in the tub, undresses me gently and helps me in, holding my hand so I won't slip. He sits on the edge of the bath while I'm inside and he washes my hair for me. He's good at making sure I don't get soap in my eyes. He uses the bathbrush to scrub my back for me, that instrument of occasional torture used in such a loving way. I know he loves the fact that it conjures up those images even as he uses it so sweetly. He washes me with such close attention to all the slippery wet girl parts, gently nudging and caressing them with soap and gently insistent probing fingers. There is no being shy: I may not hide anything. Bath time is bubbly and blushy and warm and sweet.

After the bath, Daddy wraps me in a towel and dries me all over. He carries me to the bed and I lie on my back while he kisses me, tastes me, makes me shudder and wriggle and explode, heaving under his mouth and fingertips, gasping for breath.

Sometimes when we have nowhere to go and nothing to do, Daddy wants me to stay little all day. Like Saturday. Then he rubs me with the baby oil and puts me in a diaper under my pajamas so I can be his baby for the whole day and spend the day snuggling in his lap. I love the weekends.

Punished Take Two

2005-11-04T22:33:00.000+01:00

I didn't forget to tell the rest. I was just embarrassed about it. Sometimes when these feelings are fresh and the bruises are still tender it's hard to talk about them. We've never shared these things publicly: I feel like a shamed child spanked in front of my friends.

After dinner he sent me to the bedroom to await my punishment. Awaiting punishment means that I am to stand in the corner with my hands behind my back. In the corner I am not permitted to speak or move without his permission. At times I have been cornered for close to an hour. I hate being cornered because there is nothing to do but wait, imagining what's going to happen to you and getting more and more nervous about it. When you're waiting in the corner you can feel your breath getting fluttery and your bottom tensing up in apprehension. This time cornertime was about twenty minutes.

When he came into the bedroom I heard him enter and sit down on the spanking chair. The spanking chair sits in the corner of our bedroom, a wooden chair without arms, used only for that purpose. I'm not allowed to turn around when he comes into the room, even though I always want to. I want to see what implement he's holding, I want to see what look is on his face. But I didn't turn around because that would get me into more trouble. I held still and waited for him to speak.

After awhile he told me to come to him and so I went and stood before him. He wasn't holding an implement, which I thought boded well for me, but it turned out I was incorrect. He talked to me about what I had done for a very long time, making me tell him what I did wrong and why it was an important rule and also admitting that I knew I had broken this rule before. This is the hardest thing to admit because conceding that I broke the rule again means that I recognize the last punishment wasn't effective in helping me learn my lesson. He asked if I remembered what happened to me last time I left the fireplace on and I really couldn't. He told me that I was grounded for a weekend the last time, and clearly that wasn't severe enough to drive home his point. He said that this time he needed to make sure I was listening.

Then he told me to go to the bed, which is unusual, since usually spankings are delivered over his lap. I did as I was told, and laid down on my tummy on the bed. Honestly by this point I think I was hyperventillating a little bit. Even though I love and trust Daddy completely, being punished really scares me and Daddy is very serious about real punishments when he deems them necessary. So I lay there breathing fast, and he put some pillows down for me to drape over to lift my bottom up higher, and placed his hands on my back and told me to calm down and breathe slower. He rubbed my back while I tried to calm down.

Then he told me to close my eyes and concentrate on breathing even slower and I did that. Meanwhile I could hear him doing something behind me. It turned out he was whittling a ginger root over the garbage can. Now, apparently this is a semi-common practice in the S&M world, but I was completely blissfully ignorant of it until last night.

Daddy said he was going to give me something to help me imprint a stronger memory of the rule and the punishment. At this point I still didn't know what he was up to but I did tense up when he pulled my pajamas bottoms down leaving me bare-bottom-up over the stack of pillows. Then he put his hands on my bottom, pulling the cheeks apart. This action ALWAYS embarrasses me no matter what he's doing it for, and it's a struggle not to clench against him but I have learned over the years that doing that can NEVER lead to anything good. So I tried to relax even as I felt him start to push something into my bottom and took some more deep breaths trying to relax.

It scared me right away that he wasn't using a lubicant for whatever it was. At first I thought it was a bottom plug, but it seemed smaller and wet in spite of the lack of lubricant. So it didn't cause the stretching sensation that the big plug causes, but I could feel it holding me open. Daddy told me to lie still and I obeyed.

About a minute later I felt a sensation I've never experienced before. Being lit on fire from the inside. Now Daddy has used Bengay on my bottom before which was what I first thought this must be. But it only took a couple more minutes to ascertain that there was NO way this was Bengay. The ginger was much MUCH hotter than that and did not have the mixed hot-cool sensation that Bengay creates. The ginger was pure heat. I couldn't stand it. I was wiggling like a fish on a fishhook within minutes and the more I moved around the worse it got. The heat kept building steadily and then Daddy told me that I had to hold still for fifteen minutes or he would tie me. I hate being tied when I'm in pain. (Love it during pleasure but that's different!)

So I held my breath and bit my lip and cried and tried to keep as still as I could while the ginger burned scortching hot. The thing about ginger that's different than Bengay is that it makes you lose control of your movements a little bit. With Bengay you can take some breaths and remind yourself that fighting it makes it worse and force yourself through the sting. Fighting the ginger makes it worse too, but for some reason you can't stop yourself from clenching around it even as it burns hotter and hotter. You just can't stop yourself. At least, that's how it was for me. Also, Bengay seems to peak out at about five minutes. Ginger has a good twenty in it.

During those fifteen minutes, Daddy kept stroking my bare bottom and talking to me about being an obedient girl and how he hoped I was going to remember this for a long time. I was sweating by the time Daddy said I could relax, and relax didn't mean taking the ginger OUT of me. It just meant that I wasn't going to get spanked any harder if I wiggled around at this point. And I couldn't stop myself from wiggling even though I wanted to stop, mostly because it was embarrassing to have my bottom shuddering before his eyes like that.

That's when Daddy told me to stand up and brought me to the spanking chair. The ginger root was still in my bottom: he had carved it in a shape like a bottom plug so it wouldn't fall out. He pulled me over his lap reminded me again about the rule I had broken and then he gave me a hard spanking first with his hand and then with his slipper. That's something about Irishmen. They all seem to have these AWFUL rubber-soled slippers that sting like nothing else when they connect with your bottom. Daddy doesn't even WEAR the terrible things. Just seems to keep them for me. (His mother gives him a new pair every year for Christmas and it makes me want to cry every year I see that shoebox wrapped up so prettily.) Anyway, he spanked me with that slipper long and hard which was a distraction from the burn of the ginger root but it hurt like crazy and I was screaming and crying and begging him to stop by the end of it.

He pins my hands behind my back when he spanks me. I know he has to but I hate it. One time one of my hands slipped out and he accidentally spanked my finger with the bathbrush as I tried to cover my bottom with my hands. That hurt a LOT!

So when he was done spanking me, he pulled the ginger out for me, which was starting to subside, partly from the time, I think, and partly from the distraction of the new burn across my backside. And he cuddled me and held me for a long time and dried my tears. Then he pulled the flap back up on my pajamas and tucked me into bed. It was just before 9:00 then, very early for bed, but I was so worn out that I didn't mind at all. I think I fell asleep before he even left the room.

And that is the full account of what happened last night and I am going to try very very hard to make sure Daddy doesn't need to punish me for this ever again.

Punished

2005-11-04T21:15:00.000+01:00

I was punished last night for the fireplace situation. A gas fireplace is a rare thing here and I think people misunderstand the simplicity of it. Switches on and off, encased in fireproof glass. They're common where I came from. So sometimes I feel as though there's an overreaction. Regardless, I know the rule and I have broken it more than once.

And so I was punished. I was in pajamas when he got home from work, as he told me to be. And we ate dinner together without mention of what was to come. Frankly I was hoping he might have forgotten, not that the fuzzy flannel provided any kind of a reminder.

After dinner he sent me to the bedroom. I was spanked soundly over his knee. Punishment spankings are always difficult to endure, so much so that afterward I rarely feel like protesting when he sends me to bed. Tearstained and redbottomed, I was tucked into bed just before 9:00.

I love my Daddy. Even when I am punished, even though I dislike being punished, I love him for his careful ministrations to my needs. I never regret the life I have chosen except for when I am over his knee. Afterward, I remember how worthwhile these pains are and how they soothe the pains in my troubled heart.

Leaving the Fireplace On

2005-11-03T19:30:00.000+01:00

Leaving the fireplace on when I'm not at home is unsafe. It's like leaving the stove on. Even if I'm only running to the mailbox for a minute, it's not okay to leave it running.

Daddy and I have a special home together. To do anything to jeapordize our home or our safety is very wrong.

I'm sorry Daddy. I know it's not the first time you told me about this, and it was just thoughtless of me to do it again in spite of your warnings.

You asked me to tell you what the consequences of my behaviour should be and I believe I already know. I know repeated warnings are more serious.

I think when you get home from work you will probably spank me and put me to bed early. ((blushes))

I feel embarrassed when you punish me, particularly when you spank me like a little girl. And I feel sad when I do not meet with your expectations. But I am so fortunate that you will take the time and effort to discipline me for transgressions. I love you.

Daddy Says

2005-11-02T05:54:00.000+01:00

Daddy says it's time to start keeping track of our journey. Daddy and i have been married for seven years now after dating for three. That makes ten years that i've been the luckiest girl alive, and perhaps the most strictly disciplined as well.

Here we are going to keep track of my discipline sessions and also rewards. The rewards are always sweet.