Daddy (2)

So let's see.
Where were we when we left off?

Ah, yes.
Learning to play craps.
His teaching me.
My delight.
My message:

[...] Last night, I started understanding the draw of the Daddy thing. Which made me very uncomfortable. But there you were, teaching me about something very "grown up", me being wide-eyed, excited, delighted at having this special time with you. Especially when I won at the end! I felt myself looking up at you as I wriggled and grinned and laughed and looked up into your eyes for approval and then, then, heard you say those special words.

"Good girl."

Plus other personal things, Sir, which don't interest you.

In any case, my Lord, it was very disconcerting to realize this, and I'd probably be happier if it went away. Or at least just be an aspect that is underneath as my demon mentor leads me through his vices. [...]

And his reply:

We will explore the Daddy thing a bit on your return.

What "other personal things"? Surrender them to me, so that I may use them in your debasement.

Yes.
That's as far as we got.
So let's continue.

My relationship with my father, Sir. You are much more attentive to me than he was when I was growing up. And with the craps... There you were, teaching me about something you enjoy, finding a way to make me part of it, to include me, to make it into a part of our relationship... No matter what your real goal, my Lord, that is how I experienced it.

By then, it was the next day.
The next afternoon.
And that evening I wrote:

I am nervous as to what you mean to do in exploring the Daddy thing, Sir... but also think it has been waiting there for us and know that I will learn a lot - and certainly both suffer and grow - from whatever projects you undertake in that regard. I crave your control and guidance, and I treasure the care and attention and, yes, even the correction you shower on me.

Whatever you wish, I will submit to your plans and do your bidding.

I am your pet, and I adore you.

And the next morning, as I prepared to drive back down to DC:

Last night, here, I was very aroused the whole time, [...] wondering about your planned Daddy explorations. I think what has such power for me in that is the submission to the authority figure and images of punishment and molestation. My contractions are coming very hard now, Sir. And last night it was a huge struggle not to masturbate.

I was good, though.

And then I got up and had breakfast and packed and was on my way.

The trip took much longer than it might have, because at long rest stops I was sending him messages, and reading his, and at one point phoned - as he had instructed me to - and left him an incredibly intense voice mail... I wish I had the text of it, but I do remember that it burst out of me. I was elsewhere. Completely elsewhere. In touch with something I had never wallowed in before. I was his little girl, being used by his friends in ways a little girl shouldn't be used... I don't even know what age I was... I still don't know what age I was.

This is not something sweet and acceptable.
It is not something carefully thought out to be sweet and acceptable.
It just is.
And the only way I can deal with what is within us is to separate it from reality.
This is not outside world reality.
This has nothing to do with the evil that is in the world.
The evil to which children are subjected.
It is just...
I don't know what it is.
I push evil realities out of my head
and embrace what feels - for me - for us -
right and true.
One side of what for us is right and true.

To continue.
After the phone call, he e-mailed the following, which I read at a rest stop:

You are right, my pet. Of course the Daddy thing has always been there.There are reasons it has been left to distill, but now the time has come. You will call me Daddy.

And that feels right to you, doesn't it, angel? You have struggled over what to call me; Master, Lord, il Maestro and others. But this puts you in that place doesn't it, my precious? Deep in that place, and holds you there.

What you don't realize is that I am going to make you fully go there. Age play, the Daddy thing, and like interactions don't have to get too specific, too personal. They can be done in a generic manner and still be amusing. But that's not what's in store for you. I know there have been times when you wished you could give me all of what I need, and felt jealous of those who did, who could. How ironic then that this, what you hide, what you deny ( and by the way, BECAUSE you hide, you deny) is the way in which you will offer me an extreme that none other can. Your phone message poured out of you with a life of it's own, as if you were vomiting a bile you had held your whole life and now were finally giving vent. The tears I constantly tell you I want, my pet? From this I will get them.

Struggling, transformed, shaking, I replied:

So you have been waiting all this time, Daddy? Waiting for the right moment? Knowing that eventually I would myself reveal that it was the right moment?

And when you beat me with the hairbrush, Daddy? Did you feel what was happening to me? As you punished your little girl who tries so hard to be good and was so devastated when she was not, could you feel it coming closer to the surface?

I think that the return of Sir as a form of address also pulled me to you, Daddy.

(A woman just walked by with her daughter, maybe 10 years old, saying "There's your daddy." I finally made it to Delaware, Daddy, and am stopped at the new welcome center. There was a long back-up for the beach exit. Think, Daddy, of taking your vulnerable little girl to the beach. Think what you could accomplish with a full week to work in.)

I am so aroused, Daddy, that it hurts and embarrasses me. And it frightens me. I don't know what it will mean. I do know that I belong to you now in an even deeper way than before. And that whatever it will mean for me, you will wallow in the pleasure of every moment.

Teach me, Daddy! Teach me how to please you in those special ways only I can do for you!

It is hard for me to go back to those days and those messages. The feelings were very intense and very scary. In a way, I don't want to be writing about it. And yet I must, or I can't write at all. Because this is why I couldn't return to the story of the night in the hotel. Suddenly everything had changed, and I wasn't who I was when that weekend happened.

Although that's not true, either. There were things that happened that night we were together... the hairbrush... a certain gentleness in his manner towards me... I felt a difference and I didn't know what it was.

It was this.

Daddy was already in the room.

Why, you may wonder, did I wait so long to write this?

Obviously, because he wouldn't let me until now. There was more for me to learn, to understand, to accept. I continued to be confused about who I am and what had happened to all those other things he said I was. Finally, so very recently, it became clear - and he gave me permission to tell you about all this:

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.

And so, I hope, I have.