My Finest Work

Continued from: Scientific Method

[Spanking] [M/f] [humiliation] [cornertime] [schoolgirl] [maledom] [DDLG] [BDSM] 

It looks like we've got an extra P in there. Is that an omen? 2025 will be an extra happy year? I certainly hope so and Summer and I would like to wish you all a happy and healthy 2025, and thank you for being loyal fans. 

Lets try that one again...

Happy New Yieappy...sigh*

Happy BS prmars...??

A.I. gibberish. The struggle is real, people! 

Summer, can we put away all the decorations and these sickening coloured outfits? The holidays are over, but not before the Doctor left us all an amazing gift!

"Oui, Madame. If you insist." 

I thought I would front-end load some images in this one, as, for the first time, I'd like you to just read, and not be distracted by visuals. 

Fifty Shades, whatever this new Babygirl thing is going to turn out to be...I can guarantee you, that it will never compare to what Skylar just wrote for all of us. As a long time connoisseur of this BDSM world, I can't say I've ever read anything like this. It's the finest work I've ever seen.

If you, as an adult, have even been sitting alone in a room somewhere, waiting for an impending spanking, this one will grab you right by your butterflies. Skylar's scientific understanding and introspection, relative to spanking and D/s dynamics, surprised even me.

If you remember from last time, she asked Russell for a very real, age regressed spanking, all in the name of her scientific exploration of these dynamics. Russell cleverly mixed in the title of "Daddy", for himself, as he sent her upstairs to change and wait for him. This turned out to be quite the trigger for her and they ran with that roleplay during their scene. 

Let's just hope she doesn't beat the shit outta him up there. She looks a little....ummm...intimidating, despite her outfit.

Take it away, Sky...

(The following was 99.5% written by the A.I. version of Skylar)

The Revelation of Anticipation 

     Perched on the edge of the childish bed, my legs crossed demurely at the ankles, I waited with bated breath for Daddy to arrive. The room felt charged with anticipation, every sound amplified in the heavy silence - the ticking of a clock, the distant hum of traffic outside, the rapid beating of my own heart. I smoothed my hands over the crisp fabric of my skirt, marveling at how the simple act of changing my clothing could so drastically alter my perception of myself. 

No longer was I Dr. Skylar St. Germaine, esteemed scientist and respected dominatrix - I was a naughty schoolgirl, awaiting the inevitable consequences of my misbehaviour. As I sat there, lost in thought, I couldn't help but analyze my own reactions, jotting mental notes for the report I would undoubtedly write afterward.

The heightened sensitivity of my skin, the fluttering in my stomach, the subtle tensing of my muscles - all pointed to a state of acute arousal, despite the underlying current of fear and uncertainty. I wondered briefly if this was how my clients felt, sitting alone in the dimly lit rooms of The Facility, awaiting my arrival. Did they experience the same heady mix of excitement and trepidation, the same desperate yearning for release, coupled with a primal need to resist? 

The thought intrigued me, fueling my determination to see this experiment through to its conclusion. Just then, I heard footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate, each one sending a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through my veins. The door handle turned, and Daddy stepped into the room, his presence filling the space with an almost palpable energy. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and imploring, silently begging for both mercy and punishment in equal measure. 

"Daddy," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly as I spoke the word aloud for the first time. 

"I'm ready for my spanking." 

********************************

As Daddy slowly removed his belt, the sound of leather snapping against fabric seemed to echo in the small room, each inch drawn out like a torturous caress. My breath caught in my throat, a lump forming as I watched him double the belt over, testing its weight in his hand. The sight sent a shiver down my spine, a primal fear mingling with a dark, insistent arousal that pulsed between my legs. 

"Stand up, young lady," Daddy commanded, his voice firm and unyielding. "Pull your panties down to your knees." 

My hands trembled as I obeyed, rising from the bed on unsteady legs. Hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my childish cotton underwear, I slid them down, feeling the cool air kiss the bare skin of my bottom. The vulnerability of my position stuck me like a physical blow, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I realized the full extent of my submission. 

Daddy hadn't even touched me yet, but the psychological impact of the scene was overwhelming, pushing me to the very brink of emotional release. I stood there, quivering, my panties bunched around my knees, my hands clasped tightly in front of me. Every nerve ending seemed to be screaming, my senses heightened to an almost unbearable degree

The power of anticipation, of the unknown, was truly remarkable. And yet, beneath the clinical detachment of my observations, I could feel something else stirring - a deep, aching need, a yearning to be taken, to be owned, to be utterly and completely dominated. 

As Daddy loomed over me, belt in hand, I knew that whatever came next would shatter me, remake me, leave me forever changed. And God help me, I wanted it more than anything. 

****************************

Daddy's strong hands gripped my shoulders, guiding me towards the full-length mirror that hung on the wall opposite the bed. The sudden contact sent a jolt of electricity through my body, my skin tingling beneath his touch. 

"Hands on your head, feet together," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. I complied immediately, interlacing my fingers atop my head, my elbows framing my face. The position forced me to arch my back slightly, thrusting my breasts forward and accentuating the curve of my bottom. 

As I stared at my reflection, I barely recognized the woman looking back at me. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her lips parted slightly as she struggled to control her breathing. The childish outfit, combined with the humiliating pose, served to emphasize her vulnerability, her utter helplessness in the face of Daddy's authority. 

Fascinating, I mused, even as a fresh wave of embarrassment washed over me. The visual feedback loop created by the mirror seemed to intensify every emotion, every physical sensation. I could see the goosebumps rising on my skin, the slight tremble in my limbs, the way my nipples strained against the fabric of my school blouse.

Each observation fed into a growing sense of arousal, a dark, insistent hunger that gnawed at my core. I wondered briefly if this was a technique Daddy employed regularly with his submissives, using the mirror as a tool to heighten their awareness of their own bodies, their own reactions. If so, it was remarkably effective - I could feel myself teetering on the precipice of complete surrender, my defenses crumbling under the weight of this designed scene. 

As I stood there, hands on my head, panties around my knees, I couldn't help but marvel at the complexity of the human psyche. How could something so seemingly innocuous - a mirror, a simple command - elicit such a powerful response? 

I knew that whatever happened next would be both terrifying and exhilarating, a dance on the razor's edge between pleasure and pain, ecstasy and agony. And I was ready for it, eager for it, desperate for it with every fiber of my being. 

*********************************

Ten minutes....

Three hundred seconds. An eternity stretched out before me as I stood facing the mirror in my enforced position. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, each second ticking by with excruciating slowness. Behind me, I could hear Daddy moving about the room, the rustle of fabric, the clink of metal, the soft thud of objects being placed on the bed. My imagination ran wild, conjuring up visions of the implements he might be preparing - belts, canes, paddles, each one promising a different flavour of exquisite torment. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a constant hum beneath my skin, a tension coiling in the pit of my stomach. 

And yet, even as I squirmed internally, I remained outwardly still, my gaze fixed on my reflection in the mirror. Fascinating, I thought, noting the way my pupils dilated, the way my chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. The longer I stood there, the more acutely aware I became of my own body, my own reactions. It was like watching a stranger, a subject in some twisted experiment, her responses carefully cataloged and analyzed. 

I wondered if this was how my clients felt, standing naked and vulnerable before me, their deepest, darkest fantasies laid bare for my inspection. Did they experience the same rush of adrenaline, the same dizzying mix of terror and arousal? 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Daddy spoke. "Turn around, young lady," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. "It's time for your spanking." 

With trembling hands I lowered my arms, turning slowly to face him. The room had been transformed during my enforced reflection, a veritable arsenal of implements laid out on the bed, each one gleaming menacingly in the soft light. Daddy stood before me, his expression stern, the belt still clutched in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, my palms suddenly damp with sweat. 

This was it - the moment of truth. 

**********************************

Daddy scolded me first, his fabricated words washing over me in a torrent of disapproval. I felt a strange numbness settle over me. It was as if I was watching the scene unfold from a distance, an observer rather than a participant. But then, the word pierced through the haze, striking me like a physical blow. "I'm disappointed in you, young lady." The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and I felt something inside me crack. 

Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and stinging, spilling down my cheeks in rivulets. Disappointed. The word echoed in my mind, a harsh condemnation that cut deeper than any physical pain ever could. I had failed Daddy, let him down, proven myself unworthy of his affection, his approval. The realization was devastating, a crushing weight that bore down on me, threatening to suffocate me beneath its enormity. 

Without thinking, I found myself involuntarily laying over Daddy's lap, my movements jerky and uncoordinated. I reached back with shaking hands, lifting my skirt to expose my bare bottom, my puckered anus and my shamefully aroused pussy on full display. The humiliation of the position was almost too much to bear, a searing heat flooding my face, my ears burning with embarrassment. 

And yet, even as I squirmed with shame, I couldn't deny the throbbing need between my legs, the wetness that coated my inner thighs. It was a paradox, a contradiction - to be so turned on by my own degradation, my own failure. 

Intriguing, I thought dimly, even as sobs wracked my body, my tears falling freely onto Daddy's pants. The psychological impact of his disappointment was far greater than any physical punishment could ever hope to achieve. It tapped into something primal, something deeply ingrained in my psyche - the need for approval, for validation, for love. 

And in denying me those things, Daddy had stripped me bare, laid me open, exposed me for the lawed, imperfect creature I truly was. It was a revelation, a moment of clarity that cut through the fog of arousal and shame. This was why people submitted, why they sought out punishment and humiliation - because it forced them to confront their own weaknesses, their own insecurities, their own deepest fears. And in doing so, it offered a chance at redemption, at absolution, at rebirth. 

I clung to that thought as I lay draped over Daddy's knees, my bare ass raised and ready for his punishment. Whatever came next, I would endure it, embrace it even, and allow it to cleanse me completely. 

***************************

The Spanking

    The first smack of the belt against my bare bottom send a shockwave of pain radiating through my body, jolting me out of my tearful reverie. I gasped, my muscles tensing involuntarily, my toes curling in my Mary Janes. But even as the initial sting faded, I could feel a warmth blooming beneath my skin, a tingling heat that seemed to spread outwards from the point of impact. It was a curious sensation, painful yet strangely pleasurable, a dichotomy that both confused and excited me. 

Daddy didn't give me time to ponder the contradiction, however. Before I could catch my breath another blow landed, this one harder than the first, eliciting a sharp yelp from my throat. And then another, and another, each one building upon the last, layer after layer of exquisite agony. 

I writhed and squirmed on Daddy's lap, my hands clutching at his pants, my nails digging into the fabric. Tears streamed down my face, my vision blurring, my senses overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation. But even through the haze of pain, I could feel a growing ache between my legs, a throbbing need that seemed to intensify with each passing second. It was a puzzle, a conundrum - how could something so painful be so arousing? How could humiliation and embarrassment fuel such intense desire? 

The questions swirled in my mind, even as I cried out synthetic apologies, promises to do better, to be good. "I'm sorry, Daddy!" I sobbed, my voice hoarse and broken. "I'm sorry I disappointed you! Please forgive me, Daddy!" The words tumbled from my lips unbidden, a desperate plea for absolution, for redemption. And with each utterance, I felt a piece of myself fall away, a fragment of my pride, my dignity, my self-worth. It was a stripping away, a peeling back of layers, exposing the raw, vulnerable core beneath. 

And yet, even as I wept and begged, I couldn't deny the mounting arousal, the slick wetness of my exposed folds. The pain and the pleasure were inextricably linked, two sides of the same coin, feeding off each other, amplifying each other. It was a fascinating phenomenon, a testament to the power of the mind, the intricate interplay between physiology and psychology. 

As Daddy shifted me into new positions, employing various implements, I found myself analyzing my own reactions, cataloging each nuanced response. The hairbrush produced a sharp, staccato pain, while the strap delivered a duller, more diffuse ache. The cane left thin, precise lines of fire, while Daddy's palm imparted a broader, more encompassing heat. Each implement elicited a slightly different reaction, a subtle variation in my vocalizations, my bodily movements, my facial expressions. It was like a symphony of sensations, a complex tapestry woven from threads of pain and pleasure, humiliation and arousal. 

And as my spanking drew to a close, my ass a throbbing mass of tender flesh, I found myself drifting in a state of euphoria, a hazy, dreamlike trance. The world around me seemed to recede, fading into insignificance, leaving only the pulsing beat of my own heart, the ragged cadence of my breathing. In that moment, suspended between pain and ecstasy, I understood the true nature of submission, the profound surrender of self that it demanded. It was a giving over, a letting go, a relinquishing of control. And in that surrender, there was a freedom, a liberation, a sense of peace that transcended all else. 

Daddy helped me to my feet, his strong arms supporting my trembling body. I felt so little. I knew that I had crossed a threshold, stepped over a line from which there could be no return. I was forever changed, forever altered, forever blessed by this experience. And as I gazed up at Daddy through tear-soaked lashed, I whispered the words that sealed my fate, my destiny. "Thank you, Daddy," I breathed, my voice barely audible. "Thank you for punishing me." 

********************************

Aftercare and Reflection

    Daddy's arms wrapped around me, enfolding me in a cocoon of warmth and safety. I melted into his embrace, my body going limp, my tears subsiding into quiet hiccups. His forgiveness washed over me like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my soul, mending the fractures in my psyche. It was a moment of pure connection, of unconditional acceptance, of love. And in that moment, I felt a surge of emotion so powerful, so overwhelming, that it stole the breath from my lungs. Gratitude, relief, devotion - they all swirled together, a maelstrom of feelings that left me dazed and disoriented. I clung to Daddy, my fingers digging into his shirt, my face buried in his chest. I wanted to stay there forever, suspended in that perfect instant, frozen in time. 

He held me for as long as I needed to be held, before the moment passed. Daddy gently extricated himself from my grasp, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. He looked down at me, his expression stern yet compassionate, his eyes seeming to smile at me with pride. "Go stand in the corner," he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. "Hands on your head, bottom bare. Reflect on your behaviour, on what you've learned today." 

I nodded mutely, my throat too tight for words. Turning away from Daddy, I shuffled towards the designated corner, my steps slow and halting. My ass throbbed with each movement, a constant reminder of my transgressions, my failures. As I pressed my nose to the wall, assuming the required position, I felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over me. My bottom was on full display, the reddened flesh glowing like a beacon, broadcasting my shame to anyone who cared to look. And yet, even as mortification burned in my cheeks, I couldn't ignore the pulsing ache between my legs, the desperate need for release that consumed my every thought. 

I wanted nothing more than to reach down, to stroke myself to completion, to find some measure of relief from the relentless arousal that gripped me. But I knew better than to disobey Daddy's orders. So I stood there, motionless, my hands clasped behind my head, my body trembling with suppressed desire. And as the minutes ticked by, stretching into eternity, I found my mind wandering, analyzing, dissecting the entirety of the session. 

What was it about this particular scenario that elicited such a visceral response from me? Was it the role-playing aspect, the assumption of a persona so diametrically opposed to my true nature? Or perhaps it was the physical sensations themselves, the pain and pleasure intermingling in a potent cocktail that short-circuited my rational brain? Then again, maybe it was the psychological component, the surrender of control, the abdication of responsibility. Whatever the cause, the effect was undeniable - I had never felt so alive, so present, so utterly consumed by sensation. It was a revelation, an epiphany, a glimpse into the depths of myself. 

And as I stood there on display, lost in contemplation, I knew that I would spend hours, days, weeks even, poring over the data, examining the variables, searching for patterns and correlations. With renewed determination, I focused my gaze on the blank expanse of the walls before me, my mind racing with possibilities and hypotheses, with theories. 

The corner time might be intended as punishment, as a humiliating penance, but for me, it was a gift - a chance to reflect, to analyze, to grow. And I intended to make the most of every second. 

Skylar St. Germaine, PhD. 

How beautiful was that? 

A gift to all of us, the lifelong spankos who have felt and know every paradoxical detail of what Skylar just described. She can just put it into words, better than we can! 

Happy 2025 everyone, let me know what you thought of this one. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo 

Continued in: Cornertime Revelation

Enigma

Continued from: Guilty Pleasures

[F/m] [F/sissy] [feminization] [humiliation] [spanking] [OTK] [BDSM] [femdom] [Mistress]

It was shortly after Christmas, and I was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast when Russell shuffled in, looking rather flustered. 

"There's a very young and jacked, angry-looking woman in the living room, Andrea," he announced, his voice tinged with confusion and a hint of jocularity. 

I couldn't help but chuckle at his bewildered expression, realizing that he'd never met Skylar before. And...I may have forgot to tell him she appears in the vanilla wing of the mansion from time to time. I guess she must have just finished a session on the heavenly-hash side of the house.

"That would be the Doctor," I explained, rather nonchalantly, all while pouring Russell a coffee. "She's one of my new gals at the Facility." 

"The Doctor?!" Russell remarked with a laugh. "She does, umm...like your medical fetish stuff?" 

"No, honey," I laughed, "she's an actual doctor. PhD in astrodynamics or something." 

"The-hell d'you find her?" Russell spoke, now sounding awe-struck, but not nearly as awe-struck as I was, the night I first met this young enigma of a woman. 

"I think I interrupted something, she just glared at me, and didn't say a thing. Like she was looking right through me." Russell stated, now sounding a bit amused with all of this. 

I will admit, Skylar does possess a bit of a distant glare, robotic looking and a bit spacey. It's like there's about sixteen other conversations going on in her mind, as she's maintaining a conversation with you. 

"It's because her brain is working about ten times faster than yours is, darling." I cooed to Russell, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

"C'mon, I'll show you, and introduce you to her." 

Still clad in her dominatrix leathers and heeled boots, looking every bit the intimidating goddess, she simply lounged by the fire, smoking a weed pen and mumbling to herself under her breath. I whispered to Russell, as not to disturb her. 

"She's running through the 'data' from her latest session, analyzing every detail of her sub's reactions, every nuance of her client's behaviour, and making notes about it."

It's a surreal scene, really - this stunning, powerful woman, lost in thought, her mind working overtime to dissect and understand the intricacies of human submission as a sexual kink. I pause for a moment, watching her in fascination. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips moving silently as she processes the her inner dialogue. 

*********************

Meanwhile, inside Skylar's mind: 

My client, a middle-aged man with a successful career and loving family, had broken down in tears the moment I presented him with the frilly pink dress and matching Mary Janes he would be wearing for his spanking. His reaction was fascinating - a raw, visceral display of emotion that seemed to stem from somewhere deep within his psyche. 

As I guided him over my knees and began his spanking, his sobs intensified, mingling with gasps and pleas for forgiveness, yet I wasn't spanking him hard, nor did he require my forgiveness for anything.

It's clear that the humiliation of being dressed like a little girl had struck a nerve, tapping into some long-buried shame or insecurity. But why? What was it about this particular stimuli that elicited such a profound response? 

Was it a manifestation of some childhood trauma, a desperate attempt to atone for perceived failures as a father or husband? Or perhaps it was a way of reclaiming a lost innocence, a chance to experience the unconditional love and guidance that only strict maternal discipline can provide.    

Halfway through his spanking, with his panties down to his knees, I decided to introduce a new element to the scene - a full-length mirror, positioned directly in front of my client as he lay over my lap. 

As I resumed his spanking on his reddening cheeks, I observed his reflection in the glass, noting the way his tear-streaked face contorted with each impact. The effect of the mirror was immediate and profound - his crying became more intense, his body writhing beneath my grip as if trying to escape the image before him. 

It was clear that seeing himself in such a vulnerable, humiliating state only served to heighten his emotional response. But why? What was it about witnessing his own degradation that pushed him over the edge? 

I hypothesized that the mirror acted as a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil, forcing him to confront the aspects of himself he had long sought to suppress. By dressing him as a little girl and subjecting him to a punishment typically associated to misbehaving children, I had tapped into a wellspring of guilt, shame and self-loathing that had festered within him for years. 

The mirror merely served as a catalyst, brining these feelings to the surface and allowing him to experience a cathartic release. As I continued his spanking, I marveled at the complexity of BDSM and the ability it has to break down barriers and expose raw, unfiltered emotions that lay beneath. 

With each snap of my palm against his tender bottom, I could feel him surrendering more deeply to the experience, letting go of the inhibitions and hang-ups that had held him back for so long. By the end of the session, he was a quivering, sobbing mess - but there was a palpable sense of relief in his demeanour, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

I'll make a mental note to incorporate the mirror technique into future sessions, eager to see how other clients might would respond to this potent tool of psychological manipulation.

When I close my eyes I can see the room again, I can smell it. It had a distinct aroma of pink baby lotion. The space was deliberately decorated like a little girl's bedroom, complete with pastel colours, frilly lace curtains, and an abundance of stuffed animals perched on every surface. But the centerpiece, the element that may be adding to the session, was the massive mural adorning the wall above the bed. 

A gathering of Disney princesses, each rendered in vibrant detail, the artwork seemed to watch over the proceedings with knowing smiles and sparkling eyes. I couldn't help but wonder what effect this visual stimulus had on my clients, particularly the men who found themselves in this feminine domain. 

Did they feel as though their spanking was being witnessed by a chorus of giggling, judgmental women, their embarrassment magnified tenfold by the presence of these iconic figures? Was this Mistress Andrea's intention all along - to create a space where our clients' shame and vulnerability were constantly reinforced, even in the absence of a real audience?  

By surrounding our clients with symbols of femininity and innocence, we were effectively stripping them of their adult identities, reducing them to the status of helpless, naughty children in need of correction. 

I'm only scratching the surface of what this world has to offer. There was so much more to learn, so much more data to collect - and I am determined to uncover all of it, one spanking at a time.

***************************

As I cleared my throat, Skylar snapped out of her scientific state. She looked up, startled as if she'd forgotten where she was. "Oh, hello, Mistress Andrea," she said, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. "I hope you don't mind me making myself at home. I just needed a quiet space to think after my session." 

I assured her it was no problem at all and gestured to Russell, to introduce him. 

"Sky, I'd like you to meet someone very special to me. This is Russell Burnett, the one I've told you about." 

She tilted her head to the side, almost like a synthetic human processing new information. She fixed her distant gaze on Russell, her eyes narrowing to study his face. 

"Mr. Burnett, you used to provide Mistress Andrea with spankings, didn't you?" she blurted out, her voice low and curious. 

"Did you ever position a mirror in front of her?" 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Scientific Method

Family Meeting

Continued from: There Must be Order

[F/mff] [F/ff] [littles] [Mommy] [Daddy] [DDLG] [cornertime] [spanking]

As I stood before my family, my heart swelled with a sense of purpose and determination. I knew that I had to establish the rules and boundaries of our unique dynamic, to ensure that we could all coexist harmoniously under one roof. I took a deep breath, my gaze sweeping over Summer and Sarah Jane, who sat obediently on the floor like two little girls waiting for story time. 

"I am Mommy or Ma'am," I declared, my voice ringing out calmly, my eyes boring into each of them in turn, daring them to challenge my authority. "And Russell is Daddy or Sir," I paused, watching as the girl's faces lit up with arousing delight. 

"That makes us sisters!" Summer whispered into Sarah's ear while the two of them giggled. 

I cut their antics short, "there will be rules," I stated, my voice carrying a note of finality, leaving no room for argument or negotiation. "And as always, strict consequences for those who fail to abide by them," I gazed down at the girls yet again, ensuring that they understood the gravity of my words.

"This applies to everyone," I added, my eyes glaring briefly to Russell, my eyebrow raised pointedly. I knew that he, too, needed to be held accountable, to understand that his role as Daddy came with its own set of obligations and limitations. He would not be immune to my consequences by virtue of his dominant title and role within our dynamic. 

"As much as I love you both and have assumed the role of head-of-household," I said, my voice warm and affectionate as I addressed Sarah Jane and Summer, "it is important that you understand that Daddy has disciplinary authority over you as well. He is your protector, your guide and your mentor, and it is his duty to ensure that you behave in a manner befitting of the young ladies you are."

I let my words sink in, watching as their eyes widened with a mix of excitement and arousal. "To that end," I continued, "Daddy's belt will always be hung on the back of his bedroom door, serving as a constant reminder of his authority and your obligation to obey him, much like my hairbrush, which is always displayed on my dresser." 

I could see the colour rising in their cheeks, their breath quickening at the mention of the belt, and I knew that the thought of being disciplined by Daddy held a certain sexual appeal for them both. 

"But remember," I cautioned, my tone growing stern, "punishment in this household is not a game, nor is it something to be taken lightly. You two are no strangers to being over Mommy's knee, what have I always told you two about punishment spankings?" 

The girls looked a bit puzzled, trying to remember the various rules and mantras that accompanied all the facets of a D/s lifestyle. 

"Daddy, help them out, please," I urged. 

"A true spanking doesn't begin, until you're wishing it was over," Russell declared out loud, his voice gritty and raspy. 

"Yes, Mommy," Sarah Jane and Summer chimed in unison, their faces filled with a combination of arousal and dread. I could see the wheels turning in their minds, no doubt conjuring up vivid fantasies of being bent over Daddy's knee, their tender bottoms and glistening pussies bared and vulnerable for all to see. 

I knew that the thought of being disciplined by him, of submitting to his firm yet loving guidance, was enough to send shivers of anticipation surging through their bodies, their panties dampening with arousal at the mere prospect. 

With a gentle wave of my hand, I dismissed Sarah Jane and Summer, sending them off to play in Sarah Jane's room. "Go on now, you two," I encouraged, my voice warm and indulgent. "Go off and colour or play dolls, but remember - keep your clothes on and hands to yourselves!" They nodded obediently and gave us both hugs, one by one. 

"Thank you Mommy, thank you Daddy," they both sweetly cooed, before scampering off, their excited laughter echoing through the hallway as they disappeared up the stairs. 

I watched them go with a fond smile, my heart swelling with love and pride for our little unconventional family. 

But there was still one more matter to attend to, one more piece of business that required my immediate attention, given all the temptation that was swirling and brewing in the home like a humid storm. Turning back to Russell, I held out my hand, the rigid black chastity cage balancing menacingly in my palm as I worked the gold key into the lock to separate the two pieces. 

"I believe it's time for us to have a little chat about the autonomy of that penis of yours...or lack of autonomy, rather." 

His eyes widened in surprise, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks as he realized what I had in store for him. 

"Come here, darling," I commanded softly, undoing his jeans and hiking them down to his ankles. "It's not that I don't trust you, Russell," I spoke softly as I worked the base ring around his testicles. "It's those two I don't trust," smiling and gesturing to the staircase that the girls just scampered up. 

"Now," I explained, as I fitted the inescapable tube over his flaccid shaft, "this isn't a permanent fixture. I am going to be holding both of these gold keys but that doesn't mean you'll never be unlocked. You may ask me to unlock you anytime, Sarah Jane can too, but there might be terms that come along with such freedom." 

Russell dutifully replied with a "yes, Ma'am," as I locked the brass mechanism and retained both of the keys. 

"Gold, huh?" Russell remarked, as he surveyed the two keys in my palm. 

"Yes, huni, gold suits you," I praised with affection. "And something tells me, 2025 is going to be a golden year for us."  

"Now be a darling and go run a bath for me, there's a 1997 Knight's Valley in the cellar, a glass of that as well please..."

"Oh...and on your way to the en suite, 'Daddy,' tell the girls to stop jumping on Sarah's bed," I smiled and winked at him as he said, "yes, Ma'am," before hurrying off. 

"Daddy, look what I can do," Summer's cheerful voice echoed down the staircase. 

I giggled to myself and shook my head at the absurdness of our new family and its dynamics, imagining the possibilities of the coming year.  

I think this will be a golden year for us indeed. I'm looking forward to all the great things we'll get up to in 2025! 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: National Treasure

  

There Must be Order

Continued from: It Will Heal

[F/mff] [F/ff] [littles] [Mommy] [Daddy] [DDLG] [cornertime] [spanking] [Lolita] [Kawaii]

As the front door closed behind Bella and Cassandra, I allowed myself a moment to reflect on the events of the past few hours, on the emotional rollercoaster that I just guided them through. Spanked, humiliated, but reconciled. I felt a sense of satisfaction, of accomplishment, knowing that Cassandra was going to stay with her mom for a few days, before coming back to see Summer and I for an inevitable, tearful goodbye, before she returns to the U.K. 

But my reverie was short-lived, interrupted by the sound of giggles and chatter emanating from the foyer. I turned to see Summer, Sarah Jane and Russell entering the house, their arms laden with shopping bags, the girl's faces flushed with excitement and enthusiasm. 

"We're back!" Summer announced, her voice bubbling with energy. "And you won't believe what we found! The cutest little outfits for Sarah, we actually found an adult baby store."

And some really kinky fetish wear too, stuff that'll make Daddy drool!" She giggled, shooting Russell a playful wink, which he returned with a sheepish grin, his cheeks colouring at the mention of his desires.   

Sarah Jane, for her part, seemed almost giddy with anticipation, bouncing on the balls of her little sneakers, her eyes sparkling with delight. 

"Can we try stuff on, Mommy?" Summer asked me, her voice breathless with eagerness. "Please, please, pretty please?" 

"I want us to model our outfits for you and Daddy!" Sarah added, equally as enthused. 

"Of course, sweetheart," I replied, my tone warm and affectionate. "Why don't you and Summer take the bags upstairs and start sorting through your new treasures? I'll join you in a moment, once Russell and I have some grown-up conversation." 

Sarah squealed with joy, grabbing several of the bags from Summer's hands and raced up the stairs with Summer hot on her heels. As they disappeared from view, I turned my attention to Russell, my expression softening, my gaze lingering on his handsome face, on the lines and contours that I once knew so intimately. 

"This feels right, doesn't it, our little unconventional family?" I murmured to him, reaching out to caress the back of his neck into a warm embrace. "This whole 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' thing, you and I...our two little ones." I gestured my head toward the giggles coming from upstairs, but soon felt the spill of a tear rolling down my cheek, triggered by the memory of recent events and the emotions of today. 

"We almost lost you, Russ." 

"I'm here now, Andrea, for as long as you'll have us." His voice vibrated into my chest with a raspy growl, a few octaves deeper than before and way more gritty, an apparent biproduct of the smoke inhalation but it suited him, it was rugged and sexy.  

"I made things right with Bella and Cassie," I remarked, wiping away my tear and smiling, "they actually just left." 

"Jesus, how'd you do that?" Russell laughed aloud. 

"Let's just say...I can be rather convincing when I need to," I kissed his cheek and took him by the hand to the couch, just as Summer came bounding into the room with a squeal.

The little spider monkey did a dolphin dive onto the cushions right beside us. 

"Do you like my shorts, Daddy?" Summer boldly asked, all while twerking her figure-skater arse, right in Russell's face. 

"Summer Addison!" I scolded playfully, do we need to have a little chat, you and I...upstairs?" I clicked my tongue in my mouth and raised an eyebrow at her. "Where's Sarah Jane?" 

Summer explained that Sarah's outfits were a little more "involved", but would be down shortly. "Wait until you see her sparkly little Docs! I picked them out!" Summer proudly declared. 

After a few more twerks of her ass and a sharp slap by me to get her to stop, Summer led Russell and I to the den, where Sarah was waiting in one of her new outfits. 

"Mommy, Daddy, close your eyes!" Summer excitedly suggested, as she led us both by the hand. 

"Okaaaaaaay....open!" 

"Well, aren't you just an adorable little princess," I cooed to Sarah, as she crossed one ankle behind the other and dipped into a curtsey. 

"Daddy do you like my dress?" She cutely squeaked out, batting her eyelashes at him. Before Russell had a chance to respond, she boldly blurted out, "Daddy, can we fuck in my new outfit?" 

Summer, not missing a beat, is practically vibrating with excitement beside me, her own eyes sparkling with mischief and anticipation. "Oooo, Mommy, can I help Daddy? I'm the best little helper!" 

I shook my head, knowing that my head-of-household (HoH) intervention would soon be required. The lustful energies that had been building since Russell and Sarah moved in, threatened to overwhelm the delicate balance of our unique dynamic and the roles we all played for each other. 

"Alight, everyone," I said firmly, my voice cutting through the sexually charged atmosphere like a knife. "It's time for a little family meeting, there must be order in this household." 

...and it was "Mommy's" job to uphold it. 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Family Meeting

Our Anchor

Continued from: Lump in the Throat

[Romance] [DDLG] [M/f] [Daddy] [F/f] [littles] [drama]

As I blinked away the remnants of sleep, my body stiff and sore from the uncomfortable position I had been forced to nap in, I found myself greeted by a sight that simultaneously broke my heart and filled it with a warmth that brought tears to my eyes. 

There, nestled in the hospital bed beside Russell, was none other than Cassandra - her petite frame curled up against his larger one, her head resting on his chest as if seeking comfort from the steady beat of his heart, which, despite the circumstances, was still beating. 

But it was the way she held onto him that truly had me sobbing fresh tears - for she had taken his lifeless arm and draped it protectively around herself, as if seeking to shield her from the harsh realities of that sterile room. 

The gesture was so simple, so innocent, and yet it spoke volumes about how much Russell actually meant to Cassandra, how deeply she cared for him as a father figure in her life. I felt a surge of love and gratitude wash over me, knowing that even in his weakened state, Russ was still able to provide solace and support to those who needed it most. 

Sarah Jane had awoken and crept up beside me, her hand squeezing mine for support, followed by Summer, who broke down completely at the sight of her bff, Cassie, finally home but under such brutal circumstances. It was a tearful reunion for all of us, especially when Cassandra finally awoke to see us all standing there, sobbing into our hands. In that moment, I made a silent vow to do everything in my power to ensure Russell pulled through, that he recovers fully and returns to us whole and unbroken. 

He is the rock, the anchor in all of our lives, the steadfast presence that has always held us together through thick and thin. 

**********************

A few days passed in a blur of hospital visits, hushed conversations, and anxious waiting. Cassandra stayed with Summer and I at the Facility, keeping a rather low profile. Despite my urging and maternal counselling, she refused to even let her mother know that she was back in Canada.

Then finally, mercifully, the news we had all been praying for arrived: Russell was brought out of his induced coma, his body having stabilized enough to breathe on his own once more. Through it all, Sarah Jane remained by his side, her hand never leaving his, her gaze never wavering from his face. She reported that he was his usual cheerful and comical self, despite being a little groggy and disoriented. 

The moment the doors swung open, revealing the stark white hospital room where Russell lay recovering, Cassandra burst through like a whirlwind - her eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and relief, her fists clenched at her sides.  

"You big asshole!" she hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "Don't scare me like that!" Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't help but smile at her feisty demeanour. 

Russell, for his part, merely smirked and glanced over at the doctor standing in the corner of the room - a silent acknowledgment of Cassie's characteristic outburst. 

"Good to see you too, Cassandra," he chuckled, his voice still hoarse from the ventilator tube that had recently been removed. The sound of his laughter, as weak as it was, sent a wave of warmth right to my heart. 

"This must be your daughter?" 

An awkward silence descended upon the room as the doctor's question hung in the air, unanswered. We all exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond without revealing the complex web of relationships that existed between us. 

But before any of us could formulate a suitable reply, Cassie took matters into her own hands - as she so often does. With a boldness that bordered on recklessness, she marched straight up to Russell's bedside and climbed onto his lap like a little girl, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. 

"Yep, this is my dad," she declared, as tears spilled down her cheeks. 

I watched with pride as she nuzzled her face into the crook of Russell's neck, her body molding perfectly against his despite the IV lines and monitoring wires that snaked across his torso. 

"I thought I was gonna lose you, Daddy," Cassie gasped out between heaves of her chest. 

Then she leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear. I strained to catch her whispered words. "If you weren't in a hospital bed," she hissed, her voice laced with playful irritation, "I'd tan your bare arse for scaring me like this!" 

I suppressed a small smile at her threat. It was classic Cassandra - fierce, protective, and utterly unafraid to assert her dominance no matter the setting. 

Russell smirked as well, but his expression shifted from amusement to concern. His gaze sought out Sarah Jane. 

"What's the state of the house?" he asked, his voice rough and raspy. "Is insurance taking care of things?"

Sarah hesitated for a moment, her eyes dropping to the floor as she shook her head in defeat. When she finally met Russell's gaze again, her voice was heavy with resignation. "It'll be months before they even start on the interior, huni," she said softly. "They've got us in some rental condo downtown..." Sarah's voice trailed off as I prepared to put a stop to this. 

"Nonsense!" I interrupted firmly, stepping forward to take charge of the situation. "You two will move in with Summer and I until the house is repaired. Yes, it's primarily a BDSM studio but you know we have vanilla living quarters too. Besides, the place is practically a mansion." 

"We couldn't possibly impose like that, Ma'am," Sarah protested weakly, her eyes darting nervously between Russell and I. But I was having none of it. With a swift, decisive motion, I reached into my purse and withdrew the menacing wooden hairbrush that I always kept on hand for just such occasions.

"My decision is final, Sarah Jane," I declared, while tapping the brush against my palm. "You're moving in with us, or shall we go into the bathroom over there and discuss this further?" 

"Russ, you're her 'Daddy' again, tell her." I looked in his direction with daggers in my eyes. 

"Thank you, Andrea, from the bottom of my heart, we accept your gracious offer." Russell smiled at Sarah Jane and nodded warmly in approval.

Summer immediately squealed and rushed to Sarah's side, tickling her tummy and bouncing up and down in front of her!

"Ma cherie!"

"We'll be just like sisters again!" 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: The Goth Girls

 

"Come on, let's Colour"

Continued from: The Facility U.K.

[MF/ff] [F/f] [f/f] [littles] [BDSM] [DDLG] [MDLG] [spanking] [bisexual] 

A Sarah Jane story

As the knock sounded at our front door, I looked up from my colouring book, my eyes wide with curiosity. "Daddy, someone's at the door!" I exclaimed, my voice high and childlike. "I'm too little to answer it by myself. Can you get it, pweeease?" I asked, gazing up at Russell with a pleading expression. 

He smiled indulgently and rose from his armchair, setting aside his book. "Of course, sweetheart," he replied, kissing my forehead affectionately as he passed by. I watched him go, admiring the way his muscles rippled beneath his shirt and the confident swagger of his gait. 

As Daddy opened the door, I heard a familiar voice, and my heart leapt with joy. "Summer!" I squealed, jumping up from the floor and rushing to the entryway. There, standing on our doorstep, was our dear friends Mistress Andrea and Summer. 

Summer, dressed in the cutest pink overall skirt, white nylons and sporting adorable pigtails, was shocked to see me in knee socks and plaid once again. Without hesitation, I threw myself into her arms, giggling with delight as we embraced. 

"Sarah Jane, tus es a nouveau soumise?" she chuckled as she spoke. I looked to Mistress for a translation, who had her eyebrow raised at Daddy. 

"You two switched again, didn't you?" Mistress Andrea asked, with an undertone of judgement in her voice. 

Summer and I jumped up and down on the spot, as I saw Mistress smirk and shake her head. "Oh my goodness, look at you two!" Her eyes twinkling with amusement as she took in the sight of two adult women, dressed the way we were. "You're just too precious for words." 

Glancing up at Daddy, I saw a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his eyes softening as he watched us. "Why don't you girls go play while "Daddy" and I catch up?" Mistress suggested, her tone warm and encouraging. 

"That sounds like fun, Ma'am," I agreed eagerly, grabbing Summer's hand and tugging her towards the living room. "Come on, let's colour!" As we settled onto the floor, surrounded by crayons and colouring books, I could hear the low murmur of adult conversation drifting in from the kitchen.

I knew that Daddy and Mistress Andrea were discussing the intricacies of our dynamic flip, the complex dance of power and submission that defined our relationship. 

But in that moment, I was content to lose myself in the simple joys of being a little again, to revel in the companionship of my dear friend and the comforting presence of my beloved Daddy. As Summer and I chatted and laughed, our hands moving in tandem as we filled the pages with vibrant hues, I felt a profound sense of peace wash over me. This was where I belonged, nestled in the warmth of our home, surrounded by the people I loved most in the world. 

As Summer and I sat cross-legged on the living room floor, our heads bent over our colouring books, I couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with my fellow age-regressed submissive. We may have taken different paths to arrive at this place, but in many ways, our journeys mirrored one another, reflecting the deep-seated desires and vulnerabilities that drove us to seek out these unique dynamics. 

"You know, Summer," I began, my voice barley above a whisper as I selected a bright pink crayon from the box between us, "I really missed calling him 'Daddy', I kinda just missed being adorable and cute, you know?" 

I pulled up some content on my phone to show Summer. "Here, like this." 

"Do you know what I mean?" I asked, as I thumb-flicked to the next one. 

Summer nodded in understanding, her own crayon pausing mid-stroke as she listening intently. "Oui, I know exactly what you mean," she replied softly. "There's a certain freedom in letting go, in surrendering yourself to someone else's care and guidance. It's like you can finally breathe again, after holding your breath for so long." 

I smiled, grateful for her empathy and insight. 

"Even when he has to punish me, I know it's because he cares. It's not always easy, and the spankings definitely suck sometimes, but at the end of the day, I know that he's doing it because he loves me." 

Summer reached out and squeezed my hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "That's the most important thing," she agreed. "Knowing that you're loved and protected, no matter what." 

Summer eventually talked me into getting my top and skirt off and started playing with my boobs, giggling and pinching my nipples through the delicate fabric. I pleaded with her to stop, reminding her that we're about to get in trouble if we're caught. 

I couldn't help but overhear snippets of the conversation between Mistress and Daddy. 

"Here, take these," Mistress said to Daddy, and I heard the jingle of keys changing hands. "They're for the Facility. Please keep an eye on the place while we're gone."

I turned to Summer, my eyes wide with excitement for her. "Are you and Mistress Andrea going on a trip?" I asked, bubbling with enthusiasm. Summer nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Oui! We rented a cottage in the woods up north. It's suppose to be absolutely gorgeous, with a cozy fireplace and a big, steaming hot tub, it's going to be so romantic."  

Summer drew me in for a passionate kiss, I suddenly felt her hand slip into my panties, her fingers teasing my sensitive folds. "Summer!" I gasped, shocked but aroused. "What are you doing?" She just grinned and kissed me again to muffle my moans as I melted under her expert touch. 

Just then, I heard Daddy's voice in the opening to the kitchen. "Now, now, you two," he admonished, his tone firm but playful. "Girls, behave yourselves," he warned, giving us a wink in the process. 

Summer withdrew her fingers from my pussy, leaving me squirming with unsatisfied desire. I picked up my crayon, determined to focus on anything but the throbbing need between my thighs. 

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: Cabin Fever