Only if you stress that though Daddy's Pussy may be your default mode, and the one in which you feel most comfortable, most natural, it is but one of the facets which I may access for my pleasure.
One of the major sources of confusion for me was - what happened to all those other things he said I was? Were they just steps along the way? He made a big point about having been waiting all this time for me. For Daddy's Pussy. And the first time he was with me after the big reveal, he spanked me for having kept him waiting nearly 2 years - meaning all that time since he first discovered me.
He has said that he sees things in me that no one else can see. That he recognized them immediately. He saw things in my FetLife profile. And he sees things in my eyes. He always sees things in my eyes. Through my eyes. He looks into me and sees things I don't even see myself.
That I am his little girl, his baby girl, that I am Daddy's Pussy, certainly this was a major thing he saw. I went and looked back at what my FetLife profile was on that fateful day over 2 years ago when he stumbled across me. It began:
very submissive very young-looking very lost needing connection
Well, really, can you blame him? It seems so obvious in hindsight.
As for what he sees in my eyes... I am sure there are more things. But this seems to have been the major one. And yes, when we spent that night together, there was something different. He was different. I don't know why, but he was starting to let himself be Daddy with me even before I realized who I am. There was a gentleness... the way he spoke with me even though he knew he would have to punish me. He hadn't been planning on hurting me, so hadn't told me to bring along any of the instruments of pain. But after a while he said he was going to beat me. And he went to the bathroom and came back with my hairbrush and oh, I'd never been spanked with a hairbrush before! And aside from the pain - and it hurt ever so much! - it put me somewhere that I almost recognized for what it was. And he brought the flat back of the brush down on my reddening bottom again and again and I was afraid to scream as loud as I needed to because of being in a hotel and I couldn't yell "Daddy, it HURTS!!" because I didn't yet know he was my Daddy, and I couldn't hold the position on my knees and forearms with my bottom offered for punishment because it hurt too much and I collapsed down on the bed and eventually couldn't get back up and he beat me and beat me and something felt very different and I was so wretched at having let him down that I cried and sobbed from pain way down in my heart because he was being so loving even as he hurt me. He wasn't furious. He was regretful. Not that it didn't arouse him, seeing my cheeks go from pale to pink to red. Not that my pain didn't arouse him, and my sobbing and screaming and wriggling and grief and utter collapse. But it all felt very different.
And I think it was.
I think it was the first time he was spanking his baby girl.
Even though she didn't yet realize that's what she was.
I find that, more often than not, I want to call him Daddy.
It gives me a way to express my love
and my need
and my dependence
and my intense desire to please him.
Sometimes I have just wanted to run up to him and throw my arms around him because something or other has made me so happy. And that, I know, is his baby girl manifesting herself. And when he is strict about my schedule, and about my bedtime, that, too, brings out Daddy's Pussy.
But at other times, the other names seem correct.
And sometimes he demands the other names.
Like last week
He e-mailed me the morning of an impending visit.
You will call me Sir today.
And the mood was set.
We're not talking playing a role here. This isn't a game, it is never a game with us. Everything we do, all the ways we act with each other, they are aspects of who we truly are. Like how you are with your parents, and how you are with your friends, and how you are with your kids, and how you are with the vet and the mail carrier and the gardener who comes in to fuck you after mowing the lawn. It's like having multiple personality disorder, except it's not a disorder.
It doesn't control you.
It frees you.
It frees you to be all that you are.
I am his pet.
I am his poet.
I am his whore and his slave and his cock-sucking fucktoy.
I am his research assistant
and his private pornographer,
his singer and his x-rated model,
with all that,
I am Daddy's baby girl.
He does to me things that a daddy isn't supposed to do to his baby girl.
And I want him to.