**Warning - This story contains taboo, family-dynamic, BDSM content**
**Everyone depicted in this story and A.I. generated are adults, over the age of 18**
Despite the agony and humiliation coursing through my body, I found myself oddly grateful for this long overdue experience. I knew that Daddy was only doing this because he and Mom loved me, and that knowledge helped to ease some of the effects of his belt. The same belt he so recently used on my Mother's bare bottom...also, out of love and protection.
I was jackknifed over the back of the sofa while Daddy strapped me, feet completely off the floor and dangling, I remained fully naked and vulnerable. With the kicking and flailing of my legs, I'm certain he was getting quite the view of my puffy petals and puckered little bud. It was dreadfully humiliating for me.
Eventually, the spanking came to an end, and Daddy helped me to stand upright. I was crying openly now, apologizing for being a bad girl, my face streaked with tears and my bottom throbbing with pain.
But there was also a sense of relief and accomplishment that came with enduring such a harsh punishment.
Daddy pulled me into his arms and held me close, whispering words of comfort and reassurance into my ear. I clung to him gratefully, knowing that I was safe and loved in his care.
"Tara," he began, his voice soft but serious. "I want you to know that I only did this because I love you and I want what's best for you. Do you understand?"
I nodded, my eyes still filled with tears. "Yes, Daddy. I know you are just trying to help me."
He smiled kindly at me. "That's right, sweetheart. And from now on, every Sunday afternoon, I want you to come to me in this very room for a follow-up spanking. This way, we can keep you accountable and make sure that you're staying on track."
My heart skipped a beat at the thought of receiving another spanking, but I knew that it was necessary. If this was what it took to get my life back on track, then I was willing to do whatever it took.
"Okay Daddy." I replied, my voice steady despite the fear that lingered in my heart. "I'll be here every Sunday afternoon, with your belt in-hand."
Daddy smiled approvingly. "Good girl, Tara. Now, let's get you cleaned up and dressed. Daddy has some revisions that we'll be making to your wardrobe.
I nodded gratefully, following him upstairs to the bathroom where he helped me wash away the tears and soothe my sore bottom. After a few moments, Daddy went to lay out my new clothes, leaving me to the privacy of the bathroom. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I knew that things were going to be different from now on.
Even though the thought of future spankings filled me with dread, I also felt a strange sense of excitement and anticipation. Because deep down, I knew that this was exactly what I needed to finally turn my life around.
As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but feel a wave of shame wash over me. My bottom was bright red and covered in welts, a clear reminder of the punishment I had received.
But as I continued to look at my reflection, something strange began to happen. Instead of feeling pure shame and humiliation, I started to feel a sense of arousal building within me. The sight of my bare bum, so vulnerable and thrashed, sent a thrill of excitement through my body.
Without even realizing what I was doing, my hand began to move downwards, tracing along the curves of my hip and thigh until it finally reached the damp folds of my pussy.
I bit my lip as I felt a jolt of pleasure course through me, and before I knew it, I was shamefully masturbating in front of the mirror, my fingers moving faster as I neared the edge of orgasm.
As I came, a loud groan escaped my lips, and I collapsed against the sink, my heart racing and my cheeks burning with embarrassment. What had possessed me to do such a thing?
But even as I chastised myself for my actions, a small part of me couldn't help but feel satisfied.
As I hurriedly cleaned up after my secret masturbation in the bathroom, I couldn't help but worry that Daddy might smell my arousal as I entered my bedroom to dress. However, when I opened the door, I was greeted by a sight that took my breath away.
There, laid out neatly on the bed, was an outfit unlike anything I had seen before. It was a yellow gingham dress with puffy sleeves and frilly white trim, paired with delicate knee socks and black Mary Jane heels. The sight of it made my pulse race with both excitement and trepidation.
Just then, Daddy entered the room, his eyes fixing on me with a stern yet kind expression. "Tara," he said softly, "my rules will be followed in this household, you are to start dressing like a little girl around the house. Every day, you will wear outfits like this one."
I gulped, my face flushing crimson as I took in the sight of the innocent-looking ensemble. But despite my initial hesitation, I found myself drawn to the idea of wearing such a sweet and girlish outfit. It was almost like stepping back in time to a simpler, more carefree era.
Daddy must have sensed my apprehension, because he snapped his fingers at me causing me to jump, then pointed to the outfit on the bed. "Come on, sweetheart," he urged sternly. "Let's get you dressed for your new role."
With a deep breath and a nervous smile, I took Daddy's hand and allowed him to help me into the childish outfit. As he fastened the buttons and zipped up the back, I couldn't help but feel a sense of transformation taking place. I was no longer that objectified Hooter's girl, or the drugged-out stripper of my college years - I was becoming someone new. Was it possible that I was becoming Daddy's perfect little girl?
As I looked at myself in the mirror, dressed in my new outfit, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. On one hand, I was incredibly embarrassed by how babyish and innocent I looked. The frilly yellow gingham dress with its lace trim and child-like features made me feel like I was playing dress-up.
But on the other hand, there was something oddly comforting about being wrapped up in such soft and vulnerable attire. It reminded me of my childhood when I used to play with dolls and pretend to be a princess. And despite the humiliation I felt, there was also a sense of excitement building within me.
Perhaps this was what it felt like to truly be Daddy's perfect little girl - to be taken care of and protected, even if it meant sacrificing some of my independence and pride. My mother has clearly sacrificed some of her independence also, wearing vintage dresses and hosiery every day, always subject to Daddy's belt when he deems it necessary. She seems happier than I've ever seen her. Would I be able to reach this utopian state as well?
With a deep breath, I turned away from the mirror and headed downstairs to face whatever the day had in store for me.
Tara Gregory 💋
Continued in: Daddy Issues
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