Betrayed

Continued from: Why choose BDSM?

"Oh, Mandy," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. Mistress moved a straight-backed chair into the middle of the room, before taking a seat and patting her stocking tops. "You look absolutely adorable. Now come here and get over Mommy's knee. It's time for your spanking, little girl." 

My cheeks burned with shame, as I looked down at the attire I was in, a 45 year old woman, forced into such vulnerable clothing and about to be spanked. The outfit was a tactic, using humiliation as a form of adult discipline, a constant reminder of my utter powerlessness in this place. 

As I shuffled forward in my ridiculous Mary Jane heels, tears were already filling my eyes. With shaking hands, I reached beneath the hem of my absurdly short dress and grasped the waistband of my little girl panties. Slowly, deliberately, I slid them down my thighs until they pooled around my knees, leaving my bare bum exposed and vulnerable. 

As I approached Mistress Andrea, seated regally in the sturdy wooden chair, I couldn't bring myself to meet her gaze. Instead, I focused on the array of implements laid out and ready for me - hairbrushes, a wooden spoon, a female slipper, and a thick leather belt. Each promised a unique brand of pain and degradation, and I knew from experience that Mistress would not hesitate to use them all!

With a final, shuddering sob, I draped myself across her lap, my feet coming off the floor as she adjusted me. I could feel the heat radiating from her body, the subtle rise and fall of her breath, as she prepared to administer my spanking. 

Without warning, it came, a barrage of sharp, stinging smacks with her palm. Mistress settled into a steady rhythm, alternating cheeks as she peppered my bum and thighs. The spanking was not overly severe but it was quite lengthy. She layered me perfectly, hand, leathers, a female slipper, followed by the dreaded hairbrush and wooden paddle. By the time I was paddled, she had removed my dress fully. The repeated impact of my fleshy cheeks, always seemed to create a numbing sensation, the perfect opportunity for Mistress to layer me deeper with the wooden implements, ensuing I'd be feeling and seeing the effects for days to come. 

She finished up with a hand-spanking to even out my colour and allow for that intimate re-connection. As I lay draped across Mistress Andrea's lap, my ass throbbing and raw from the sound spanking, I felt her hand begin to move in slow, soothing circles. Her touch was gentle, almost maternal, as she stroked the inflamed skin of my bum. When her fingers grazed the swollen lips of my pussy, I couldn't help suppress a moan, my hips instinctively arching towards her hand.  

Shame flooded through me at the realization that, even after such a humiliating ordeal, my traitorous pussy still craved her touch. As if sensing my inner turmoil, Mistress lifted me up to sit on her lap and whispered in my ear, her hot breath tickling my neckline. "It's perfectly natural for a grown woman to need discipline sometimes. There's no shame in admitting that you need to be spanked, to be reminded of your place." 

Her words sent a shockwave right to my pussy, equal parts degrading and comforting. How could she make something so utterly humiliating and painful sound almost...normal. As she continued to stroke my fiery bum, her fingers occasionally dipping between my legs to tease my clit, I felt tears welling up in my eyes once more. But this time, they weren't tears of pain or humiliation - they were tears of relief, of gratitude for the release she had granted me. 

"Go ahead and cry if you need to." Mistress encouraged, her hand never ceasing its hypnotic caressing. "Let it all out, sweetheart. Mommy is here for you, Mandy." And with that, the floodgates opened. Sobs wracked my body as I surrendered to the overwhelming emotions coursing through me - shame, guilt, desire, and a strange, twisted sense of belonging. Through it all, Mistress held me close, her strong arms wrapped around my trembling frame as she rocked me gently back and forth.

The fact that I was wearing a ridiculous little girl outfit, my panties pulled down around my ankles and my ass glowing red from a thorough spanking, only added to the perverse sense of comfort I felt. Eventually my tears subsided, I leaned in and pressed my lips against hers, thanking her for spanking me and desperately seeking her approval. Mistress responded eagerly, her tongue slipping past my parted lips to explore the depths of my mouth. 

As we kissed, her hands began to wander, tracing patterns along my thighs that sent shivers of pleasure through my body. When her fingers finally reached the apex of my thighs, I gasped into her mouth, my hips bucking involuntarily as she entered my swollen folds. To my utter mortification, I realized just how wet I was, my arousal coating Mistress' probing digits as she began to finger me. 

"My, my," she purred, breaking the kiss to regard me in a scolding manner. "Look how wet you got during your embarrassing spanking, young lady!" Her words sent a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over me, and I felt my cheeks burn with shame. How could I possibly explain the twisted desires that lurked within me, the perverse thrill I derived from being punished and degraded like a naughty little girl? 

I could only whimper in response to her scolding, as she withdrew her hand from between my legs. To my horror, she brought her glistening fingers to my lips, pressing them insistently against my mouth. "Open up, young lady," she commanded, her tone becoming firm and strict. "Taste how wet you get from being punished." I obeyed, my tongue swirling around her invading fingers, lapping up every last drop of my shameful juices. 

Just when I thought I couldn't bear any more humiliation, Mistress abruptly withdrew her hand, only to bring it down sharply against my exposed pussy. I yelped in surprise, my hips jerking forward as she delivered another stinging slap to my sensitive folds. "Bad pussy! Bad pussy's don't get to cum," she scolded, punctuating each word with a swift spank to my crotch. 

Before I could even catch my breath, she stood hauled me to my feet, dragging me across the room by my earlobe to the far corner. "Stand here," she ordered, spinning me around to face the walls. "Keep those panties at your knees. I want your naughty bottom on display." 

A grown woman, humiliated and degraded, forced to endure the indignities of a misbehaving brat. I could feel her eyes boring into me from across the room. She lounged on the spanking chair, casually scrolling through her phone, as if my suffering was nothing more than a mild diversion from her daily routine. Every so often she would glance up, her gaze raking over my red bum with a mixture of amusement and disdain. 

"Remember, Mandy," she called out, her voice dripping with maternal sweetness. "No moving, no talking, or you'll find yourself back over my knee for another spanking." 

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

Should I change into something even more Mommy-ish, maybe like this one, remember this outfit? 

And perhaps in the next installment, we can get Mandy the soccer mom, into a nice comfy diaper, what do you think, everyone? 

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Diapered & Denied

 

Why Choose BDSM?

Continued from: Old Fashioned

It has always been said of submissives, that they are truly the ones in control. Most whom I have known are powerful, professional, educated, alpha men and women in the vanilla world. Yet, with all the power and control they wield, they choose to kneel. Making that choice puts them in control, does it not? Look at me when I ask you a question!

I recently had Mandy over for a session. Or rather, she requested a session with me, putting the choice and control in her hands essentially. 

Remember Mandy, our cute little soccer mom and nurse? She is mini-van, mega fun, let me tell you! 

She was literally on her way home from work and figured she could squeeze in a quick session, then go home and try to hide the fact that she has a sore, welted bum while interacting with her family. *giggle. 

I asked the A.I. if it would please give me a shot of Mandy, at work, in her scrubs, to share with all of you as a beginning to her story. Hmm, okay...scrubs come in skirts now? And heels. I like it, but I'm not sure how practical this would be in an ER. 

No...no, A.I. - medical scrubs involve pants. Can you put her in proper scrubs for me, please? 

Hehe. Scrub shorts! Super cute and they look great on her! Totally a spankable look for Mandy

Third attempt? 

There we go! Third time's a charm. 

I asked Mandy at the end of her session, when she indeed was thoroughly spanked and humiliated for about an hour, why choose BDSM? What keeps her coming back to endure such shameful vulnerability and pain? 

For me, BDSM is more than just a kink or a fetish. It's a vital part of who I am, a fundamental aspect of my identity, albeit, hidden from the outside world. Through my submission, I've learned to embrace my vulnerabilities, to accept and even celebrate my flaws and weaknesses. I've discovered strength within myself that I never knew existed, a resilience born of enduring pain and humiliation for the sake of pleasure. 

In a world that often judges and condemns those who deviate from the norm, finding a safe space where I can explore my desires without fear or shame has been truly liberating. 

And of course, there's the sheer ecstasy of it all - the rush of adrenaline that comes with being tied up and helpless, the exquisite of a well-placed spank, the euphoria of finally achieving release after hours of teasing and denial. 

These sensations are unlike anything else I've ever experienced, and they keep me coming back again and again, eager for more. 

Well put, Mandy. Why don't you keep going and tell everyone about our session. 

Yes, Ma'am. Like start right from the beginning, with my check-in routine? 

Yes, please, sweetheart. Let the readers know how you are expected to arrive and wait for me.

***********

As I pulled down the long laneway and up to the mansion that housed Mistress Andrea's Facility, my heart began to race with a familiar mixture of excitement and dread. I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror, noting the faint circles under my eyes and the tension lines etched into my forehead - telltale signs of another long shift at the ER.

Yet, despite my exhaustion, I couldn't deny the growing ache between my thighs, a hunger that only Mistress Andrea could satisfy. 

Taking one last deep breath, I stepped out of my car and made my way to the intake entrance, secured by a heavy metal door. As soon as I entered the stark foyer of the Facility, I began my entry ritual. This routine had been drilled into me, whipped into me actually, by Mistress during my initial sessions and now it came as second nature. 

First, I removed my runners, placing them neatly in the cabinet. Then, with practiced efficiency, I stripped off my scrubs, folding them carefully and setting them aside. Next came my bra, panties and socks, the last barriers between my naked body and the coolness of the room. I shivered slightly as goosebumps rose on my skin, my nipples hardening in response to the sudden exposure. 

Once fully undressed, I gathered all my belongings - clothes, keys, phone and purse - and placed them into the cabinet below. The moment I shut the door of the cabinet, an automatic lock clattered into place. I felt a profound sense of detachment wash over me and the vulnerability of my situation began to rise. 

With trembling hands, I reached for the waiting gag, its shiny red ball reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. With a deep breath, I pushed the rubber ball past my lips and teeth, stretching my jaw wide as I buckled the strap behind my head. 

I reached for the shackle set and the connecting chains jingled to life in the quiet of the room. I bent down, my bare breasts swaying heavily with the motion, as I applied the cuffs to my ankles. The cool metal sent a shiver down my spine as I awkwardly ratcheted the next set of cuffs onto my wrists, all joined by a mutual chain to my ankles. While clicking these cuffs into place, a familiar sense of vulnerability washed over me, knowing that I was willingly surrendering my freedom during this entry ritual...which, is exactly the point of this entry ritual, to apply layer upon layer of lost control. 

Now, fully restrained and silenced, I turned to face the stand-up metal cage that awaited my final stage of admittance to the Facility. Stepping backwards into the cage, I felt the cold bars gently whisper against my shoulders. With my cuffed wrists, I grasped the door and pulled it shut, the loud click of the automatic lock sealing me inside my temporary prison. 

Up until this exact moment, Mandy was still in control, choosing to submit, choosing to follow my entry ritual and restrain and gag herself. Once that cage locked behind her, it represents the moment all of her control is gone! Well, 99% of it as she still has a safe word. 

From here, Mandy has no idea about the type of session that is coming or what I intend to do with her. Everything is on the table from dungeons to diapers, provided it falls within the boundaries of her hard and soft limits. 

This is the part for Mandy, or any submissive, where the adrenaline starts, the fear, the excitement and the roller-coaster of emotions that makes people choose BDSM. 

I love how this is referred to as her "Waiting Room". "Reflect on their situation", is also spot on!

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

Trapped and helpless, I could do nothing but wait for Mistress Andrea to arrive and occasionally glance at the red blinking light of the video camera, trained on my cage. (For my safety of course)

The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow, each second stretching into an eternity as I stood there, naked and exposed. My muscles began to ache from the forced upright position of attention, and drool trickled down my chin, dampening my chest. Yet, despite the physical discomfort, I found a perverse sense of peace in my confinement.

As much as it shamed me to admit, my pussy throbbed with slick anticipation when I finally heard the sharp click of high heels approaching, each step echoing through the sterile foyer like a gunshot. My heart raced as Mistress came into view, her stunning beauty taking my breath away. 

She was dressed in a vintage 1950s pinup style, her curves accentuated by the cinched waist and flared skirt of her dress. Her fiery red lips curved into a cruel smile as she appraised my naked, bound form, her eyes roaming over my body with a predatory gaze. 

Despite the gag filing my mouth, I let out a muffled whimper, equal parts fear and desire. Mistress Andrea sauntered closer, her hips swaying hypnotically with each step. She circled the cage slowly, her fingers trailing along the cold metal bars and she inspected me from every angle. 

Her voice was as smooth as honey when she finally spoke. "Well, well, well...look at you, young lady. All trussed up and ready for me." 

With that, she unlocked the cage door, the metallic clank reverberating through the room. Mistress extended her hand, beckoning me forward with a single crooked finger. Obediently, I shuffled from the cage in my shackles, my bare feet padding softly on the cold tile floor.

As she removed my gag and unlocked my cuff set, I stood before her, rubbing my wrists absently as I awaited her next move. She regarded me with a calculated gaze, her eyes narrowed in thought. "Tell me, Mandy," she began, her voice low and measured. "When was the last time I gave you a good, old-fashioned spanking?" 

I knelt and assumed a proper position of submission, as my stomach sank in unison. 

Memories of previous sessions flooded my mind - the humiliation of being draped over her lap like a naughty child, my feet kicking the air as her hairbrush connected with my bare bum, and the mortifying realization that despite my protests, my pussy grew wetter with each smack.

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "It's...It's been awhile, Ma'am," I stammered, my eyes downcast in shame. "I believe the last time you gave me a spanking was several months ago, Ma'am."

Mistress nodded slowly, a wicked grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "Indeed," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Far too long, I'd say. Mommy will have to rectify that, won't she?" 

This is now the moment in the session where I've shown my hand. Mandy now knows how to address me for this session and she has some basic idea of what is about to happen. Can you imagine what must be going through her mind? 

***********

At 45 years old, a mother myself, I was about to be spanked like a misbehaving child, and required to call a woman younger than me, "Mommy". And yet, beneath the churning humiliation, I couldn't ignore the telltale throbbing between my legs, a betrayal of my body's true desires. 

Without warning, she seized my arm, her grip firm and maternal. I yelped in surprise as she began to smack my bare bum to move me along and into one of the specialty rooms. She led me into a bedroom decorated in sickening sweet pastels and pinks, the air heavy with the scent of baby powder and lavender. 

Laid out on the bed was an outfit that made my tummy twist with humiliation - a soft pink Lolita dress, complete with puffy sleeves and a Peter Pan collar, alongside a pair of pristine white knee socks and glossy pink Mary Janes. The piece de resistance, however, were the "little girl" styled panties, emblazoned with Disney princesses, a far cry from the lacy thongs and boyshorts I usually favoured. 

"Get dressed for Mommy, young lady," she ordered, leaving no room for argument. "And don't forget to put your hair in pigtails. Mommy will be back up in a little while to give you a long overdue spanking."

Any spanko will tell you that they want to hear that word spoken aloud, as it relates to their upcoming fate. They don't want to hear, "I'll be back up to deal with you, are you ready for your correction, you're due for discipline." No...they want to hear, "it's time for your SPANKING!" 

I think I learned this one from Miss Julie, I think she wrote about it once. 

********** 

The words sent a chill through my body, my stomach twisting into knots of dread and anticipation, as I began to don the ridiculous outfit. My face burned with embarrassment as I took in my reflection, the frilly dress, the knee socks and childish accessories a stark contrast to my mature features. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching a soft stuffed bunny to my chest, I felt ridiculous, adrift in a sea of shame and humiliation while being betrayed by arousal. 

I hugged the bunny tighter, seeking comfort its soft fur, as the sound of heel clicks, coming up the stairs, jolted me from my reverie. 

Mandy

Continued in: Betrayed

  

 

Tara Gregory: Long live the Queen

Continued from: The Perfect Lubricant

The last Tara Gregory story can be linked direct here: Tara Gregory: Daddy Issues

**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** 

The morning after my first time with Daddy, I woke up in his large bed, my body aching in all the right places, in the most delicious of ways. His arms were wrapped protectively around me, holding me close to his chest. As I shifted to get comfortable, I felt his cock begin to stir against my ass, making me giggle softly. He opened his eyes and looked down at me with a sleepy smile, before leaning in to press a gentle kiss on my forehead. I snuggled closer, my heart swelling with love and contentment.

I couldn't help myself from being drawn to Daddy's triumphant, morning erection. My fingers traced the length of his impressive shaft, feeling it grow harder with every touch. In my little hands, Daddy's cock looked massive...it was, massive. 

But oh, Daddy had other plans for me this morning! His strong hands pinned my wrists above my head, as he leaned over me, his morning stubble grazing my cheek. 

And then...Daddy effortlessly flipped me over onto my tummy! That sudden jolt of dominance sent shivers down my spine. The air in the room seemed charged, as he straddled my thighs, his strong hand resting on my bare bum. Then came the smack! Not too hard, just enough to leave a burning imprint on my soft flesh. I squealed in surprise, but the sound quickly turned into a needy whimper as I arched my back, pushing myself into his waiting palm, hoping for another firm swat.

The second smack didn't come, but what I did feel was Daddy's meaty hands sliding down to cup my ass cheeks. He pulled them apart, exposing my pretty pink hole and damp pussy. Then he moved his head down, and I felt the warmth of his breath on me, before his tongue flicked out to taste me. 

I moaned into the pillow as he started licking and suckling at my asshole and pussy, his moustache was ticking my sensitive skin. It didn't take long before I was writhing underneath him, my legs trembling as an orgasm built inside me. Daddy had treated me to a lovely cummy! Almost feeling ashamed at how ferociously I had cum, I scurried back up to the safety of his chest and nuzzled my face to hide. 

Again, he wrapped me in his strong arms, his husky voice purred out a, "good girl, Tara!" 

I felt contentment and love once again.

I wondered briefly where Mommy was this early in the morning, but I quickly pushed the thought aside. She didn't come home last night. It was a huge risk to fall asleep in her bed with Daddy, in my cutest baby pink panty set, but a risk I was willing to take. 

She no doubt would have passed-out on the neighbour's couch last night, after too much wine. Reality however, kept interrupting this morning in Daddy's arms. I needed to get up and clean up and wash the sheets...the whole room smelled like sex! 

Still tangled in the bedsheets, I looked over my shoulder at Daddy, with a mix of curiosity and trepidation in my eyes. "Daddy, I whispered softly, "now that we've...we've been together like this, will everything change? The weekly spankings, my little girl clothing you make me wear..." 

I trailed off, biting my lower lip as I waited for his response. I hated the spankings in the moment, I cried every time when I had to do the walk of shame to fetch his belt. My little girl clothing was awful too, with the knee socks and the Mary Janes. It made me feel so vulnerable and humiliated...

But...I had come to love the feeling of submission, of being cared for so thoroughly. I worried about fucking Daddy last night, and now this morning's passions, and what it meant for us moving forward.

Daddy held his eyes in mine with such sincerity as he spoke. He ran a thumb across my cheek, brushing away a strand of hair. "No, princess," he cooed. "This doesn't change anything about your rules. I will expect to see you back in the family room on Sunday and every Sunday after that, with my belt in-hand, understood?"

Before I could answer, Daddy continued. 

"Our bond of discipline and care will always be there. You need boundaries and structure, and I need someone to cherish and protect, so despite your adult age, you will continue to dress as a little girl, ok?" 

Nodding, I understood. I felt a wave of relief wash over me, knowing that he would continue to guide me and keep me safe within our strict boundaries. But my heart raced with the anticipation at the thought of our connection deepening further. I nuzzled into his side, my face turning pink with arousal as I imagined all the new possibilities awaiting us. 

I reached up to give his chest a gentle pat, my voice low and filled with lust. "I want to be the best little girl for you Daddy...and I promise to do whatever you think is necessary for me to learn and grow." 

I could feel the vengeful spite building within my chest, as I puffed up, confident and dominant. I knew my role in this household had changed. I had the upper hand over my mother and I knew it. Bravely, I spoke with complete confidence when I finally said, 

"BUT, Daddy!"

"I might be your little princess, but I also want to be your Queen!" 

"And regardless of what Mommy thinks...the Queen protects her King!”

Tara Gregory 💋

Continued in: Tara Gregory: Brazen

 

  

 

Tara Gregory: Daddy's New Rules

Continued from: Daddy's Girl

**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

 

 

The Cum Brat

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