Spanking for sassiness

I’m preparing a website to showcase my photography and it’s probable that some of the pics that make the final cut will include an ex girlfriend who modeled semi-professionally. It’s not about the relationship, it’s about the quality of the pictures, and my overall drive for excellence in what I want to do.

Now, about face shots and Amy.

I take lots of pictures of Amy’s face. You just don’t get to see them. And that is most assuredly a loss for the readers of this blog.

I’m still shooting erotica that shows Amy’s face; we are just archiving them until the time comes that we can release them. Five years, twenty years, who knows? But my favorite shot of Amy so far is one of her in a bathrobe and micro blue bikini at sunrise on a balcony in Santa Monica with blue sky and palms in the background. It’s an iconic “California blond” image. But it’s nothing without her face in it.

And that’s where the problem comes in. I’ve shot some great shots of Amy with her face, and then I’ll have her turn her head to hide her face, and shoot another for the blog.

That bothers me.

I’m not striving for excellence, I’m deliberately shooting an inferior picture, and that is demeaning to the picture itself.

So the problem has been with me compromising my own integrity. That’s made me cranky when I’m shooting, and I’ve complained to Amy when I’ve taken a great pose, and then altered it to hide her face, just so I can show it here. And she takes it personally, my reaction to my own issue, as if it were her fault.

No more.
If hiding her face doesn’t also make for a great image and pose, I’m not shooting the picture.

I will henceforth produce only images of Amy that meet my own standard of excellence.

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Getting spanked for being sassy

This has been an extremely challenging work week for me, filled with major deadlines and big meetings. It is sometimes still hard for me to shift gears from being The Big Boss at work to being the little girl at home.

Today I came home exhausted and cranky.

Richard was “awarded” a Pro account at Flickr.com by a viewer who loves his photography and wanted to support him in doing more. He has been trying out all the different functions that are now available to him at Flickr, and he uploaded a bunch of old photos using a “gang upload” function that is only available to those with a Pro account.

(I need to preface what I’m about to say by saying that it’s only later that I realized this is what happened. At the time I just thought I was cranky and irritable from work.)

Richard showed me the new account set-up. The old photos were a bunch of close-up face shots of his ex-girlfriend wearing a gag.

First of all, I’d never seen her face before. She’s pretty.

Second, and more important, Richard has been frustrated lately by not being able to photograph my face. I just can’t do it. I cannot take the risk of being identified here. My career is too important to me, both for supporting my children and because…I love my job. It’s a big part of my self-identity.

So I’m looking at these photographs of his old girlfriend, who was able to give him something I can’t.

bdsmcouple-amy-spanked-spanking

I’m having trouble moving through the Flickr account on Safari and Richard makes a (joking) disparaging remark about using Safari rather than Firefox. To which I make a snotty comeback and then stomp off to the bathroom (after asking permission, I’m not THAT stupid) and slam the door.

When I come back, I say that I want to take a nap. Richard says he’s going to come up and I’m going to get a spanking for being sassy.

So I run up the stairs and LOCK THE BEDROOM DOOR.

!!!!!!! What on EARTH was I thinking?

Especially given that there is a key to said door on the sill, in case of accidental lock-ins. Doh.

So he was inside the room before I’d even gotten all my clothes off (I sleep nude, even for naps).

He pulled me onto his lap and started spanking me. Hard.

Usually when he spanks me, he builds up to it. It feels nice (I’ve written about it before) in a sting-y, thuddy kinda way. But this time I wasn’t ready for it and I was still cranky.

I tried to pull off him but he had a tight grip on me. He swatted me hard a couple of times and I yelled. That didn’t dissuade him. He kept right on spanking.

I managed to wiggle off a couple of times but he somehow twisted around and I was back on his lap and being spanked again before I knew what happened.

I was yelling “Hey! That hurts!” and trying to block him with my hands but nothing worked. Finally I stopped fighting it and was crying quietly. He stopped after a few more swats and laid me down on the bed.

He held me for a few minutes while I cried. After a while, I slowed down crying and snuggled up against him. He lifted my chin up and looked at me.

“Why were you being so sassy, baby? What’s wrong?”

I didn’t know. We talked about it for a while. I thought that probably the week had been harder on me than either of us had realized (although Richard has been AWESOME supportive – doing all the cooking and cleaning and coddling me like crazy). I still don’t know how to transition between Outside Boss Lady to At Home Little Girl. Suggestions are welcome.

He asked if the pictures of his ex had upset me and I was really surprised. I didn’t think so. It was only after I went and looked at them again, in preparation for writing this post, that I understood why it upset me.

Sigh. In Richard’s previous relationships, he has not received the support he needed for his photography (in my opinion). I do NOT want to be like that. I think probably I’m not going to have trouble when he starts working with other models. Or not too much trouble anyway (wow, some of those women are gorgeous). But it is really hard for me to see pictures of an ex-girlfriend that emphasize to me what I cannot give him.

Well, I gotta go. Richard has just grilled steaks and poured a lovely red wine. I feel like such a twit for having any insecurities at all. I hope everybody has a wonderful, sexy, kinky weekend.

xoxoAmy

Branding your slave

Now we’re into the hard core stuff. Now we’re really getting into D/s. No more of this wimpy spanking and flinging me around the bed kinda thing. This is the real stuff.

Richard spoke in an earlier post about wanting to brand me. I have pleaded that being the mother of young children and a professional makes it inappropriate. (And my children see me naked a lot. I am not a fan of clothing.) Plus I have this ugly vision of me as a 95-year-old (I come from a long-lived line), my kids changing my diaper and seeing “Fucktoy” or some such on my private bits. Ew. Plus it sounds very owie and scary and I am *not* a masochist.

Richard took branding “off the table”, as well as threesomes and public play, because he saw that discussing them caused a lot of anxiety for me in the early days. Not so much now but (as far as I know anyway) they are still off the table.

I think his doing this allowed me to move into being in a full-time D/s relationship more easily than I might otherwise have. Richard has demanded a lot of me at times, but I have never felt incapable of obeying and I have never worried that he would ask more than I was capable of obeying. Because he’d taken those things off the table.

However, a couple of weeks ago Richard told me that he wanted me to have something done to my body. Something extreme, from my perspective. More extreme, in some ways, than a small, privately placed branding or tattoo. Extreme (to me) because everyone can see it and it is very different from my (previous) public persona.

Richard wanted me to get fake fingernails.

I’ve never even painted my fingernails. They stay pretty short by themselves and occasionally I trim them but more often I just nip off an edge with my teeth if I notice.

I really, really didn’t want to get them. For one thing, I figured I’d break them within a few minutes, so they’d be a waste of money.

Richard and I had a long talk about it this morning and I realized that the *main* reason it felt so uncomfortable to me is that I’ve always had a sort of “nature girl” approach to my looks. I rarely wear makeup, I rarely blowdry or curl my hair, I rarely wear heels…I’m pretty much as God made me, you know?

I think maybe I had a little bit of arrogance around that – “Other women fix their nails and their hair and wear lots of makeup, but *I* have more important things to do”. And honestly, I do have a lot of other things to do. A demanding career, my kids, house, garden, pets, cooking (I love cooking).

But Richard is important too. And being attractive to Richard is important. And he is so, so visual (male AND a photographer – a double whammy).

So today I walked into a salon and I got acrylic fingernails.

They’re short and they’re natural looking (ish). I think they’re called a French manicure, or pink-and-whites.

When she started working on my fingernails my hands were shaking.

By the time I left I was calmer, but they looked weird to me.

Tonight – I love them. I feel sexy and very feminine.

Richard thinks they’re sexy and he’s very pleased with me, because this was hard for me to do and I did it without whining (well, not *much* whining). This afternoon when we made love I grabbed his shoulders with my nails, and scratched his back. They didn’t break! I felt like a wanton! This is great!

I said maybe next we could talk about a tattoo, but Richard said he thinks a tattoo isn’t right for me and he’s thinking maybe we’ll dye my hair platinum instead. My eyes about bugged out of my head when he said that. I wish I had a safe word…

Fuck like a champ

“Good idea.” says Richard “Post tipsy. You’re bound to say something profound.”

He’s sitting next to me on our patio, watching the Weber, which has a head of garlic, baked potatoes, thick slices of aubergine and two eensy weensy steaks a-grilling on it.

I’ve taken control of a truly artisanal margarita, the second of the evening. We’ve been making margaritas from scratch almost nightly for the last week, since the kids have been with their father. It’s not often that I can take control of something in the Richard/Amy D/s relationship, me being the /s and all. But Richard is a cheap drunk, and he’s having trouble wielding the barbecue tongs, and so I have co-opted the margarita.

I was planning on my next post being a very deep, thoughtful, evocative thing aka Z or droplet or sulpicia or jdslove, if she would ever begin blogging ffs. But no. You get drunken ramblings instead.

We always share a glass. Water, lemonade, soda, wine, JD…we share. Boundaries issues? Mebbe. But it feels very romantic and wonderful from here.

Oops! He just snagged a gulp of it while I was writing.

Then he asked what I was writing about and I said “You. You and your enormous cock.”

“I don’t have an enormous cock!

“I have a perfect cock. The perfect size.”

OK boss. Perfect cock. Yup.

Well he does actually.

I used to scoff at the saying “It’s not the meat, it’s the motion.”

I figured that was something that small guys said. Call me a size queen. I was wrong. (He’s got lots o meat, but it’s the motion, omigod the motion)

This morning, no in the middle of the night actually, I woke up to Richard wrestling my breasts. Not fondling. Manhandling. Before I could surface to consciousness he had flipped me onto my tummy, grabbed my hips and hauled my ass into the air.

I was suprised (in a vague, half-awake kind of way) that he was able to slip into me so easily, without really any foreplay at all. Today when we were driving to a Greek restaurant for lunch and talking about this he said “Look, I’m feeling really aggressive right now. You want foreplay AND an orgasm? I don’t *think* so!”

He fucked me so hard, so long, so sweetly…he was an artist. He is a fucking PhD in fucking. He deserves a Nobel for fucking, with a specialty in doggie style or hands-n-knees or from-behind or whatever-you-call-it.

After hours (well, not really, it just felt that way), he flipped me onto my back and really started fucking me hard.

The whole time he is growling like an animal. I can tell he doesn’t know he’s making any noise at all. He’s just hammering my pussy and *owning* me by fucking me, I can’t think of another way to say it.

As he gets close to cumming, he moves differently. It’s more…random, less linear, less predictable. And it feels so, so sweet. I just arch my back and hold my breath and try to feel every inch of him. When he cums in me, I understand why the French call it “la petite mort” – “the little death”. He dies in me, I die with him, we die…I struggle completely awake and he pushes himself off me.

He grabs my hand and pulls it down to my pussy.

“Masturbate for me. Do it.”

I start to touch myself, but he’s not convinced. “Do it now. Be a good girl. I want you to cum.”

I keep going. He can feel it, and he starts to play with my breasts, with my nipples. “You’re full of my cum. You’re mine. I want you to cum.”

Usually cumming makes him less aggressive, but not today. Today he knows and he feels it that I am his and his alone, all day long, all night long. His aggression, his dominance – I’m going to feel it throughout the day, no matter how often he cums. This is what life is like when we are alone for several days. I am completely his – his girl, his slut, his toy. So much less and so much more than I ever was for anyone before in my life.

“”Cum for me now.”

And I do. I do. Because I am his, because he wants me to, because he takes me there.

Taking care of her pubic hair

A couple of days ago I laid Amy down on the bed to pluck her pubic hair. I’ve been keeping her smooth by having her epilate, but it’s rough on her, and she has mentioned being afraid of her epilator, so I decided to make her smooth myself.

Stretch the skin tight, grab the hair with tweezers, and pull it firmly in the direction it is growing. Over and over.

For me, it’s a wonderful way to explore a part of her without the heat of sexual arousal. I can examine and notice details that I would overlook, otherwise.

For Amy, the effect is more mixed. As my hands move and reposition over her obedient pussy, she begins to bliss out. She’s dealing with the discomfort of hair plucking, combined with the pleasure of having her pussy touched, and the underlying knowledge that I am doing this to her, and she is to simply lie there and have me do it to her.

I have no idea how long it takes. I pluck, tease out an occasional ingrown with a pin and a jewelers loupe, while Amy gives little moans and whimpers from time to time, pressing her damp self against my hands…

Are we real? Yes, we are.

I’ve gotten a few emails from people asking if we’re real, if the things we write about are real and, if so, how THEY could go about having such a relationship. I’ve always replied, but I thought it might be worth a post too.

1. Are you and Richard real people? Yes we are real. We met on an online community last September. I saw his avatar (the little picture that shows up with your posts) and felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. He felt the same when he saw mine. We flirted outrageously on the boards for a month or so before taking the flirtation to email, then to instant messaging (IM) and webcam (I hate webcam. I am not an exhibitionist. Hate it.) I remember thinking, after our first few email exchanges, “Gee he’s not just a pretty face with a great sense of humor. There’s some real substance to this guy!”

At the time, I thought I was a bedroom submissive (see my early posts) and Richard was determined not to get involved with anything more than that. We realized pretty quickly that this was different and we were not going to be satisfied with less than a 24/7 D/s relationship.

In February, we met in person for the first time and it was magic. I knocked on the hotel room door and the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen answered. The magnetism…unbelievable. (We talked about it later; both of us thought the other was attractive from IM, but were startled by HOW attractive the other was in real life.) He wasn’t expecting me for another half hour, so when I leaned across to kiss him he pulled away. Then when he realized it was me, he pulled me into the room and wrapped his arms around me and began to kiss me. We’d gotten a room with an incredible view but I didn’t see it for almost 15 minutes because he wouldn’t stop kissing me and holding me. When I finally pointed this out, he laughed and turned me to the window, then wrapped his arms around me again. It was another 15 minutes before I saw the room. We had four days, trapped in the hotel room because of bad weather, me experiencing D/s for the first time and both of us falling head over heels in love.

We had planned on waiting six to 12 months to be together, to get to know each other better and deal with the complexities of Richard moving across county. (Richard is a photographer and so much more flexible than I am. I am tied here both by my career and my children (shared custody).) But after the four days together, we decided that there was no point in waiting. We knew that we were going to be together, and each day apart was agony. It was hard for me to focus on my work; we would have marathon IM sessions, sometimes eight hours or more.

So Richard moved out two long weeks later, and we have been together since then. We’ve only been apart two nights, when I had to make a quick business trip to the east coast. I missed him. This blog chronicles our time together since near the beginning, so I don’t need to say any more. But, yes, we’re real.

2. Are the things you write about real? Yes, they are real. In fact, we only write about maybe a tenth of what we do. We are both too busy to write more than that, and we’re also both well aware that writing about sex can get repetitive and boring if you aren’t careful. So we have things that we do pretty regularly, but we only write about them once. For example, I’ve cum twice today in very similar ways, much like I cum almost every day – Richard began playing with my breasts, I begged him to fuck me, he did while telling me what a little slut I’ve become, needing sex so much, and how much he likes it, then he pulled out of me and made me masturbate until I was close to cumming, while pinching and sucking and biting my breasts, then when I begged to cum he teased me about not letting me then finally said yes, I had an earth-shattering orgasm and then he entered me again and fucked me until he came (omigod that fucking right after orgasm??!!! heaven on earth! can I get an “amen”?)

See, boring. I can’t write that over and over. Well, to be honest, it was a little different the first time today because in the middle of fucking me he put a pillow over my face and fucked me and made me cum that way. Still, you see my point: how many times can you write about that?

Consent and kink

I have read and seen a lot in the last year. I’ve talked before about how I didn’t even realize I was sexually submissive until a year ago, and didn’t know that my fantasies could be more than fantasies, that some people lived their lives this way. This has taken a lot of adjusting, in thinking and behavior, and I still regularly feel the challenge of integrating this aspect of myself into my life. It has also been incredibly freeing. I’m stunned by the energy and creativity that has been released by opening my whole mind to who I really am. I am so, so happy.

I am, as I would guess many previously vanilla people are, more accepting of other people’s kinks than I was of my own. I have always felt that what happens between consenting adults in privacy is their concern and no one else’s. Is anyone getting hurt? If all involved are happy, then all is good. (OK, maybe somebody got hurt, but some people LIKE to get hurt. ; ))

I used to snicker a bit when I read about, for example, spanking or role play. Now I think it’s hot.

I used to feel quizzical about e.g. submissive men. Now I feel… a kinship I guess. And I think it must be harder in our society to be them than to be me (and it’s harder on all of us kinksters than it is to be gay, in general), so I have some sympathy too.

There are some things that personally squick me – the example that always comes to mind is scat play, and diaper play/infantilism/incest play is only a little easier for me to read about.

Last weekend I saw my first plushies/furries. I was happy that Richard was there to explain about them. He is so open and non-judgmental. It’s easy to laugh about their kink, but why is theirs any odder than wanting to spank or be spanked?

To repeat: I have always felt that what happens between consenting adults in privacy is their concern and no one else’s. YKINMKBYKIOK: Your kink is not my kink, but your kink is okay, as some people put it.

So. I was reading a blog today (I’m not going to link to it, because I think she’s suffering from the negative attention already and I hate to see that). In it, a sub described her Master requiring her to put syrup on her pussy, to get the family dog to lick her. She explained that he had made her do this once before, and it had upset her so much that she cried for hours and couldn’t eat for days. That seems all kinds of wrong to me – why would a Master want to hurt his property that badly? why would you want a Master that hurt you that badly? – BUT that part of it (His and her choices) falls under the YKINMKBYKIOK rule to me.

The part that was really disturbing for me was the lack of consent from the dog. Here’s why: one of the cornerstones of responsible BDSM is consent. Otherwise you’re moving into abuse and criminal behavior, yes?

This is why the idea of “consensual non-consent” has been so carefully spelled out by the BDSM community. Basically, you can consent to give away your right to consent, either short-term for a play session or long-term as in the case of a slave. Slaves of course always have the right to take away their consent and be released from their slavery.

In my case, I have agreed that Richard has complete control over me; a “no” from me would be a “no” to the relationship. But if Richard told me to jump off a building, or to hurt my children, or to have sex with an animal, I would say “no”, recognizing the enormity of the “no” that I said.

Our morality and our laws recognize that some individuals and some creatures are not capable of consent. Animals fall into this category, children too, and brain damaged and severely mentally disabled people do too.

You may have heard of people who sexually molest infants. (Richard made me take out the details here.) Even if the child never remembers the event, most of us are horrified that someone would do this. Why? I would argue that it is because infants do not have the ability to choose to consent or not, and we therefore believe that they are off-limits for sexual play.

In a similar vein, there are occasional newspaper reports of caretakers of brain damaged or mentally disabled patients who have been caught having sexual relations with their charges. Even if the patients will never remember the event, most of us would say this is reprehensible behavior. I think it’s because we see a responsibility to those who are not able to choose to consent.

Animals are a greyer area for most people, although not for all. After all, we kill some of them for food. With dogs specifically, many people cut off their tails or parts of their ears. Other people kick or hit their dogs. Others leave them chained outside for days, even though dogs are extremely social creatures and crave interaction. Is having a dog lick your pussy really such a terrrible thing?

Oral sex is sex, in spite of what Bill Clinton might say. Having a dog lick your pussy is having sex with a dog. I actually called a (kinky) friend who is an animal control officer and asked her if this is illegal.

“Yeah it’s illegal. It’s called b*stiality.”

“So you would go get the dog?”

“Oh no. The police deal with this one. They go get the owners.”

The legality or illegality of the act is not my main concern, although I’m concerned that the blogger could run into trouble if anyone recognizes her online. My friend told me that they’ve prosecuted several cases like this over the last few years.

My main concern, the thing that upset me, is that the dog, just like an infant or a brain-damaged person, is not capable of saying yes or no. We are the caretakers of our pets, as we are of our children. It seems like a dereliction of our responsibility to involve our charges in any kind of sexual play, because they rely on us to make choices for them and to protect them.

I feel a lot better after writing about this. I actually cried when I talked to Richard about it. It seems like, when I respond very emotionally to something (versus just an “ewwww I would NEVER do that!”) it is worth exploring and discussing. In this case, it has really helped bring home to me how strongly I feel about NOT involving individuals (people or animals) in your kink that have not consented or can not consent. I’m really interested to hear what other people think about this.

Photographers and their women

I’m lying in bed next to Richard right now. We both have laptops and when I look across at his, there are photos on it, of beautiful women. Gorgeous photos. Photos Richard took.

 

He took them several years ago, and they were lost during a past break-up, and he has re-discovered them.

I am so, so thrilled that he has found them. He is a great photographer, and this was clearly a huge loss to him.

I am also a little intimidated by them, or threatened, I don’t know. The first one he found, wow that was hard to see, because his hand was in it, touching her belly. Not in a sexual way (heck, she was fully clothed even), more in the way you touch something you own.

 

I am the first woman that Richard has owned. He is my first (and last of course) owner. He’s the first man I’ve called Daddy (well, except I guess my father lol) and I’m the first woman he’s called “little girl”. Every day with Richard is a first for me. So that means a) I don’t have anything to feel threatened about in re these old photos, and b) it’s kinda understandable that I do find them a little threatening.

Anyway.

Yesterday morning, after an amaaaaazing early morning session (are you noticing a trend? early morning? this morning too!), I got a bit insecure. I’m still coming to terms with my submissiveness. Or not, depending on the day.

Ever since I started calling Richard Daddy, I’ve been feeling more and more submissive. Mostly I love it, but sometimes I start to fret about it. Yesterday, I wanted to know if it was “real” or…or what? I wasn’t sure. After we talked for a while, I realized that there were two different things that were worrying me.

The first was, I needed to know whether Richard likes being called Daddy as much as I like calling him Daddy. I really really really didn’t want this to be something he was doing to humor me or make me happy. I’ve said before that one of the most wonderful things about a D/s relationship to me is that I don’t have to worry, as I usually would, whether or not Richard is doing what he wants and enjoying himself. This kind of worrying really interfered with me enjoying myself in past vanilla relationships.

He assured me that he loves it as much as I do. We’ve both posted about this before, so I won’t spend more time on it here. But I’m probably going to need reassurance on this semi-regularly.

The second thing that was worrying me was, are we just playing a silly mind-game? Just pretending that he owns me and I submit to him, to make ourselves hot? I’m not sure how to say this in a way that makes sense, but I guess part of me was wondering if we were going to wake up one day and say “What the heck were we doing? Let’s get real now.” Or worse, that just one of us would say that and the other would be up a creek…

Richard says that he’s known who he is for a really long time. I haven’t; I’ve had a lifetime of thinking that I was a plain, boring, vanilla woman. Richard sees me as an exciting, intensely sexual, submissive wanton. I’m glad he sees me that way, but I’m still a ways from seeing myself that way. He says I’m still adjusting to my new understanding of myself. I guess I am. Bottom line, though, is that he’s not going to change who he is and NO WAY am I going back to vanility (rhymes with banality) (vanilla-land? vanilla-hood?)

So that was my crisis of confidence. I don’t feel like I’ve explained it very well. Maybe I’ll do a better job during my next crisis, since I KNOW there will be one.

Oh! And just so you don’t think I’m done being a tease…tonight! we’re going! to a BDSM club! Woooooohooooo!

Second thoughts about submission

As I said in my last post, my fears about Richard’s increasing aggressiveness were justified. Before we went to bed, he put me into leg chains for the night, “so I wouldn’t get away”. He woke me in the middle of the night as he unclipped one of my leg cuffs, then pushed my legs apart and entered me. I could tell from how wet I was that he had been playing with me while I slept.

I moaned, and he slapped a hand over my mouth.

“Shut up. Just fuck.”

I did what I was told. I could tell he was feeling very aggressive. Not good to argue with him at such times.

He fucked me for a while, moving his hands from my mouth, to my throat, to my breasts, and back again. Then he pulled out and shoved his cock in my mouth. His very hard, very large cock. I choked and he just pushed in deeper. Bastard.

He face-fucked me while I drooled and gasped and choked, and then he flipped me onto my belly, grabbed my hips and hauled my ass into the air. He kicked my legs apart and began to slam-fuck me. I could hear the leg chains, still attached to my right leg, rattle as he fucked me.

He grabbed my hair and wrapped it around his wrist and suddenly stopped, deep inside me.

“Where’s your collar?” he growled.

“Um. I don’t know. In the drawer?”

“Get it.” He pushed off me.

I jumped out of bed and starting digging through the dresser drawer in which my collar usually resides.

“It’s not here.”

“Well, where the fuck is it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look in the bedside table.”

It wasn’t there. I could almost hear his annoyance.

“I just remembered! It’s in the bathroom.” I ran and got it.

He put it on, roughly yanking it closed. “What kind of slave doesn’t know where her collar is?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” (meekly)

Then he fucked me some more, and he was NOT gentle. When he was done, he put the second leg cuff on himself and said “Now you won’t be going anywhere.”

But he didn’t cum, so I knew I was in for it. I behaved like a saint all day yesterday, “Yes sir” and “No sir” about everything. When he said “Jump” I said “How high?” (Not really, my father used to say that lol.) We did a photoshoot, OUTSIDE with me NAKED, and I DID NOT COMPLAIN ONCE. I definitely earned the title “Good Girl” yesterday.

Jeez, I’ve done it again. I haven’t gotten to the part in the title, but I really have to do some work now. More later. Promise.

Who’s your daddy?

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
…I got a bad desire
…I’m on fire
 – Bruce Springsteen

I’ve always loved the menace of those lines. And I love the way it showcases the Daddy/little girl dynamic that Amy has posted about.

She and I have been finding our own way through an unusual relationship, one that isn’t part of the mainstream, and yet in so many ways sits squarely astride classic Middle America values. There are days when I’m Ricky Fucking Ricardo bending Lucy over his knee for a good old fashioned spanking.

bdsmcouple-amy-spanked-spanking

Seriously, how far back does the image of the husband commanding his wife go back? And yet, it’s not exactly who we are.

Amy doesn’t need discipline.

So we aren’t exactly Ricky and Lucy.

And do we need to define ourselves at all?

Will the thought police show up and drag me off as a perv if I call her “baby”, and if she calls me her “stallion,” will they round her up as a potential horse fucker?

Daddy/Little Girl.

It’s a dynamic, not literal.

Amy posted about how Master/slave didn’t capture the dynamic; nor did owner/owned. Neither does husband/wife.

Amy has two other nicknames for me – “The Boss,” and “The Bad Man.” On a good day, maybe “The Bad, Bad, Baaaaaad Man.”

But our relationship involves a more nurturing role for me. And Amy is not a pain slut who craves constant discipline. Amy is eager to be a very good girl. Disobedience is simply out of the question for her.

So.

What kind of relationship has a woman very eager to obey her partner, without question, and have him make the decisions and care for her needs?

For us, it’s a Daddy/girl dynamic.

It’s the most accurate descriptor for how the two of us interact.

In some ways it feels VERY vanilla. I mean, it’s a common theme in mainstream culture, from music to books to sugar daddies and typical flirtation between couples. For me, I grew up in an arch-conservative evangelical Protestant religion. We had an elderly couple in our church, pillars as it were – easily the most influential couple in our little community. He was on the church board, an elder, etc., and his wife, a white haired beehive fashion plate, led out almost weekly in some part of the service, and often referred to her husband.

She called him “Daddy.”

On formal occasions, she would add his last name after the word “Daddy.”

Maybe they were kinksters.

I think of the deep south. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof – Big Daddy. I see the Daddy/little girl dynamic almost everywhere – it appears to be timeless.

That will reassure Amy. She’s still convinced she’s vanilla.

But for now, who’s your Daddy?

Amy, I’m your Daddy.