The Goth Girls

Continued from: Our Anchor

As I surveyed the scene before me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of deep satisfaction. Russell and Sarah Jane had settled comfortably into our home, their presence bringing a new energy and vitality to the space that often feels empty and cavernous when it's not bustling with clients. 

Summer and I had gone out of our way to ensure that they felt welcome and at ease, providing them with everything they needed to begin the process of healing and rebuilding. With Cassandra still here, we felt like a little family again. I had a warm tingling in my heart, bringing them under my roof as the matriarch and head of household (HoH). 

But like any family, it is not immune to problems at times, and there was one lingering issue that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness - the ongoing rift between Cassandra and her mother, Bella. It had been months since the sudden and secret wedding in England, and the two had scarcely exchanged a word or message in all that time. 

Cassandra has always regarded me as a mother-figure to her, but I can never be a replacement of her actual mother. It was up to me to intervene, and make things right between these two, even if it hurts a little. 

I slipped away to a quiet corner of the piano lounge and secretly accessed my phone. I had to play this one a little cloak and dagger, in order for it to work, so I made up some excuse to get Bella over to the house, without Cassandra knowing. 

I sort of eluded to Summer to make herself and our guests scarce for a bit. She cooked up a plan to take Russell and Sarah Jane shopping for clothes, both of their wardrobes and all of Sarah's DDLG, specialty and submissive wear was destroyed by the fire. Of course the two of them were bouncing off the walls at the prospect of shopping for age regressed clothing together. Russell just followed along like a Dad, taking two excited, pre-teen girls to the mall.

With Bella on the way, I tried to broach the subject with Cassandra yet again and immediately she got her back up, until suddenly, I heard the front door and asked Cassie to follow behind me. 

The moment Bella stepped through the doorway, I could feel the temperature in the room drop several degrees. Clad in her signature red satin dress, her legs encased in dark hose and her feet perched atop towering heels, she was the very picture of elegance and sophistication. 

But the icy glare she directed at Cassandra told a different story altogether - one of simmering resentment and barely contained hostility. 

"Mother." Cassandra greeted her, her voice dripping with venom as she spat the word from her mouth. 

I attempted to calm Cassie's ferocity and ushered the two of them to a nearby couch. Sitting together, like two bickering siblings with me towering over them, I tried to calm the waters as best I could, but I knew that drastic measures were called for. 

Both women had experienced my firm hand before, submitting to the stinging correct of my hairbrush, my strap. But never had I punished them together, in the same room, forcing them to witness each other's humiliation and surrender.

I knew that it was precisely what was needed to break the cycle of resentment and hostility that had taken root between mother and daughter. Only by stripping away their defenses, by reducing them to their most vulnerable and childlike states, could I hope to guide them towards a place of forgiveness and understanding. 

I stood dramatically and slammed my high-heeled foot against the floor, shocking them to attention. 

"Enough! This ends now!"

"Cassandra Leigh, Isabella Octavia, get yourselves up to my room this minute!" 

To my satisfaction, the Goth women immediately bowed their heads in submission, their voices soft and compliant as they responded in unison, "yes, Ma'am." 

"In your underwear, facing the wall," I added, as the two of them scurried up the grand staircase and out of sight. 

I took my time, letting them stew in their shared predicament, before my heels eventually connected with the hardwood staircase slowly, deliberately, a commanding strut. 

I found them as instructed, wearing their undergarments only and standing shoulder to shoulder in my bedroom, facing the wall. Their previous bickering had morphed into a nervous silence that I quickly broke. 

"The two of you are going to get a spanking, right in front of one another. A good, hard, bare-bottomed spanking, the likes of which is long overdue, ladies." As I spoke, I could see their bodies tense and shoulders lurch forward as they remained silent with their heads bowed in shame.

Clutched in my hands, were two school uniforms, almost identical in style and vulnerability. The skirts were impossibly short, a length that would barely cover their plump asses, the tops were tiny too, a size too small for the ladies. Completing the ensemble were knee-high socks in a crisp white, and shiny black Mary Janes with buckled straps. 

"If you two are going to insist on behaving like a pair of petulant schoolgirls," I declared, my voice laced with disdain, "then you're going to be treated like that." With that, I tossed the outfits onto the bed, watching with amusement at how horrified they both were. The two Goth girls were not strangers to being taken over my knee while dressed in such vulnerable attire, but again, never together in the same room. 

"Go into the bathroom and strip, you two," I ordered aggressively. "Then put your uniforms on and report right back to this corner!" 

I was being so demanding in my tone that I didn't hear so much as a peep of protest out of these two, about the embarrassment of the situation, about the uniforms. I think they realized just how real this spanking was going to be, and suddenly, they were on their best behaviour. 

In dramatic fashion, I positioned two straight-backed, wooden chairs into the middle of the bedroom, strategically close to my dresser, which housed several hairbrushes and my leather strap. 

As I waited outside the bathroom door, I could hear the muffled sounds of movement and whispered conversation coming from within, the telltale signs of Cassandra and Bella struggling to come to terms with their predicament. 

"Sit!" I hissed, as the two Goth girls emerged from the bathroom in their crisp white knee socks, staring down at their glossy Mary Janes in shame and humiliation. 

I circled them like a predator, scolding them the entire time and reminding them about the loving bond only family can provide. "All this fighting and bickering stops today, and we'll stay in this room, spanking you one-by-one, until you're ready to accept that, ladies." 

With my final threat of what was to come, I had both women stand for me. 

"Cassandra Leigh, put your chair in the corner of the room, sit down and face the wall," I commanded. 

"Isabella, pull your panties down to your knees and get over my lap." 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: It Will Heal

A Minor Annoyance

Continued from: Now you may call me, Ma'am

A Sarah Jane story 

It had been a few days since Russell and I signed our female-led-relationship contract, and things were going smoothly so far. His chastity cage was locked securely in place, a constant reminder of my authority. I predominately work from home so I take great pleasure knowing Russell leaves the house in the morning locked, and returns home locked, as both keys to the device in my possession, behind an additional layer of security he does not know the combination to. 

I also made some small changes around the house while he was at work, to reflect our new dynamic - a vase of wooden spoons and spatulas sat prominently on the kitchen counter now, implements of opportunity to be accessed at a moment's notice. 

One of MY belts, not his, now hung from the back of our bedroom door, a silent sentinel, watching over things. 

On my dresser, my sturdy wooden hairbrush was displayed like a trophy, and my rubber-soled slippers waited patiently by the bedroom door. 

Each item represented a tool of feminine dominance and maternal correction, yet I hadn't had cause to use them...yet, and we had not made it to a maintenance Sunday...yet. 

As the days passed, I found myself growing increasingly eager to feel Russell squirming over my lap, his bare bottom turning red under my firm hand. The anticipation was building, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I would need to assert my dominance with a thorough spanking. 

On a random Tuesday, after Russell left for work, I made my way to the kitchen, eager for my morning coffee. However, as I approached the Keurig, I was met with an irritating sight. The water reservoir was bone dry, and Russell's used pod remained in the machine. Very poor Keurig etiquette if I do say so myself. Right up there with someone microwaving maple oatmeal or fish, in the communal workplace microwave. 

There's just unwritten rules in a society, right? 

A wave of minor annoyance washed over me, quickly replaced by a spark of excitement. This was the perfect opportunity to exercise my authority and remind Russell of his place in our dynamic. 

I reached for my phone, snapping a picture of the empty reservoir and offending spent pod. With a smirk playing on my lips, I composed a message to send to Russell at work. 

"This is how you left it for me?" I typed, attaching the incriminating photo. 

My thumb hovered over the send button for a moment, savouring the anticipation of his reaction. This little infraction would provide the ideal excuse for the spanking I had been itching to administer, and I couldn't wait to see Russell's face when he realizes the consequences of his actions. 

As I hit send on the initial message, a wicked grin spread across my face. I knew Russell would be in some high-touch meeting with the executives, squirming in his seat at work, anxiously awaiting my next communication. I decided to twist the knife a little further, my fingers dancing across the screen as I composed a follow-up text. 

"We're going to have a little 'chat' when you get home, young man," I typed, my tone dripping with mock disappointment. I could almost hear the nervous gulp and imagine the look on his face amidst his senior leaders and peers, his stomach twisting into knots and wondering if the rest of them knew he'll be getting a spanking tonight. The thought of him spending the entire day dreading our impending discussion filled me with a great sense of power and anticipation. 

As the day wore on, I found myself growing more and more excited for Russell's return. I wanted to set the perfect scene for our little chat, so I took great care in selecting my outfit. I chose a vintage 1950s, housewife dress that hugged my curves, pairing it with delicate pearls, bold red lipstick, and sheer hosiery that accentuated my legs. I slipped into a pair of sky-high heels, the click against the hardwood floor filing me with a sense of power and confidence. 

I surveyed my reflection in the mirror - a perfect blend of classic femininity and modern dominance. Turning my attention to the vase of wooden spoons on the kitchen counter, I carefully selected the one that would serve as my instrument of correction. I left it resting in the vase, a silent threat waiting to be unleashed. 

As the sound of Russell's car pulling into the driveway reached my ears, I positioned myself near the entrance, a warm smile playing on my lips. Despite the welcoming façade, we both knew the truth - in this household, I was the one in charge, and Russell was about to receive a firm reminder of that fact. 

We exchanged pleasantries, our voices light and casual, as if nothing were amiss. However, I could see the flicker of recognition in his eyes as he took in my dramatic appearance - the cinched waist of my vintage dress, the shimmering pearls at my throat, the towering heels that elevated me above him both physically and metaphorically. 

I watched as his gaze drifted past me, widening slightly as he noticed the straight-backed, armless chair positioned in the center of the living room. The absence of our usual coffee table was a glaring omission, replaced by this ominous piece of furniture that seemed to dominate the space. 

My voice was calm yet commanding as I issued my order. "Strip," I demanded, my eyes boring into his. "I want you completely naked, right down to that locked up cock of yours." Piece by piece, his clothing fell away, revealing his vulnerable form. 

He stood and lowered his eyes before me, utterly exposed save for the chastity cage that encased his manhood. I nodded towards the corner by the front door. "Go stand there and think about why we need to have a chat tonight," I directed, my tone still calm but strict. "Hands behind your head, nose to the walls." Obediently, Russell assumed the position, his bare skin prickling with goosebumps. 

Even though our FLR contract was signed several days ago with rules and consequences set, I was vague enough to use the term punishment generically. I had not dug deep into the different forms this could take. Russell knows all of this anyway, but I thought I would flex my dominance and humiliate him even further, by plainly explaining his current predicament. 

"Cornertime is an integral part of our discipline routine, young man," I matter-of-factly explained, my voice steady and authoritative. "Before and after every spanking, you will be positioned in a designated corner of my choosing, bare-bottomed and nose to the wall." 

"Pre-spanking cornertime allows you to contemplate your misdeeds and anticipate your impending punishment. Post-spanking cornertime provides and opportunity for reflection, to feel shame and acceptance of your corrected state while on humiliating display to the rest of the room." 

"During cornertime, you are forbidden from speaking, fidgeting, or attempting to cover your reddened bottom, young man. The duration of your timeouts will be determined by the severity of your offense and my discretion." 

I paused for a moment before continuing my preachy monolog, taking in the sight of his trembling form in the corner. It was a lovely view from my perspective. 

"A common length for your cornertime, young man, typically will range from fifteen minutes to one hour, depending on the circumstances. For minor infractions or routine maintenance spankings, I will usually be giving you a quarter-hour of contemplation both before and after the punishment."

"However, for more serious transgressions or particularly intense discipline sessions, I may extend the cornertime up to sixty minutes on either side of the spanking." 

I knew from my own experiences to always use a timer, and that the unpredictable duration adds an element of psychological tension, which will keep Russell on edge and fully focused on his penance. 

With my rant complete and my fifteen minute timer nearing its end, I stood and heel-clicked out of the room and into the kitchen. I reached for the wooden spoon from the vase and made certain Russell could hear me clanking it from the glass and against the other wooden utensils. 

Its weight was solid and reassuring in my palm, I knew that this was only the beginning of the lesson I had in store for my naughty little "boy". 

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: The Struggle is Real

 

So I may be Forgiven

Continued from: My Little Ponies

A Sarah Jane story

Even though I knew I was in deep shit and would be feeling Daddy's belt across my ass tomorrow, he didn't dwell on my transgression. That's just the way things worked between us. I'd face the consequences for my actions, but then all would be forgiven. 

For the rest of the evening, things went on as usual. After Mandy left, Daddy and I settled in on the couch to watch some movies together, still essentially house-sitting at Mistress Andrea's Facility. 

I cuddled up against him, trying to soak up his warmth and affection while I still could. Even though he wasn't brining up my impending punishment, I couldn't stop thinking about it. My stomach was in knots imagining the thrashing I was going to get. 

Partway through the second movie, Daddy shifted and I felt his hand come to rest on the top of my head. Without a word, he applied gentle pressure, guiding my face down towards his lap. Obediently, I slid off the couch and positioned myself between his knees. 

I focused all my energy on pleasuring Daddy, trying to take my mind off the punishment looming over me. I sucked and bobbed with enthusiasm, taking him deep into my throat. 

Before long, I felt Daddy's cock swelling and pulsing between my lips. With a grunt, he gripped my pigtails and held my head down, forcing his length into my throat as he came hard. I swallowed every drop obediently, continuing to gently suckle him clean as he softened in my mouth. 

"Good girl", he praised, patting my head. "Now come back up here and finish watching this movie with me." I crawled back up on the couch and snuggled against his lap, but my mind was still racing, unable to forget the painful reckoning I'd be facing tomorrow. 

The next morning I woke up early and got ready to face my spanking. In the shower, I scrubbed myself thoroughly, wanting to be fresh and clean for Daddy. After drying off, I pulled my hair up into a high, tight ponytail to keep it out of the way. 

Next, I selected my outfit carefully. I stepped into a pair of big, plain white cotton panties - the kind that covered everything and made me feel anything but sexy. Over those, I pulled on a sweater dress that would allow Daddy easy access to my bum. I finished the look with high heels, before taking a deep breath and headed downstairs to face my fate. 

"Daddy, I'm ready for my punishment." I said softly, my voice wavering slightly. "I was rude and disrespectful to our guest yesterday and I spoke out of turn to you in front of her. I'm truly sorry for my behaviour. Please spank me severely, Daddy, so I may be forgiven."

A few tears slipped down my cheeks as I awaited his response, my body slightly trembling in anticipation. 

Daddy regarded me silently for a long moment, his expression stern. Finally, he stood up and took me firmly by the upper arm and began leading me out of the house. My stomach dropped as I realized where we were headed - the woodshed. The woodshed, no matter who's home it happens to be at, was where Daddy will take me for only the most serious infractions, the ones that required only the harshest of punishments.  

As we approached the small outbuilding, I started shaking harder, my breath coming faster. Daddy opened the door and guided me inside the unfinished space, appearing as though it was under construction. 

"Stand there," Daddy commanded, pointing to a spot on the unfinished wall. 

"Face the wall and think about what you did and why you're here. You've got 15 minutes." He released my arm and I hurried to obey. 

The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow as I contemplated the severe whipping I knew was coming. My bum clenched involuntarily beneath my short dress, already anticipating the fiery sting of Daddy's belt.

When the 15 minutes were finally up, I heard Daddy's heavy footsteps approaching behind me. "Strip," he ordered. "Leave the heels on." With fumbling, shaking fingers, I peeled off my dress and frumpy underwear, letting them pool on the dirty floor. Goosebumps rose on my naked flesh in the cool air. 

Once I was fully naked, save for my heels, Daddy gripped my arm again and marched me out the door of the shed. I gasped as I realized he was taking me outside, where anyone might see my shameful punishment. He dragged me over to an old wooden ladder leaning against the back wall of the shed. 

Roughly, he bound my wrists and ankles to the rungs with coarse ropes, stretching me out tightly. Satisfied that I was secured well enough, he walked over to the large weeping willow tree a few yards away. He selected a long, slender branch and stripped it of its leaves, fashioning a wicked-looking switch. He swished it through the air as he approached my vulnerable form. 

I braced myself as Daddy took his position behind me, switch it hand. Closing my eyes, I tried to steel myself for the searing agony I knew was coming. But to my shock, after only a dozen sharp, stinging lashes across my bare bum, he tossed the switch aside. 

I barely had time to process this before I heard the ominous sound of his belt being removed from his pants. The thick leather cracked against my already smarting cheeks, painting lines of fire across my skin. But again, he stopped after just a dozen strokes. 

As Daddy untied me from the ladder, I was confused and almost...disappointed? Is that possible, what's wrong with me? I had been mentally preparing myself for an absolutely brutal thrashing, the kind that would leave me sore and sorry for days afterwards. But this punishment felt almost anticlimactic in comparison. My bum was certainly red and stinging, but it was nothing compared to what I had been anticipating. 

I rubbed my wrists as Daddy led me back inside the shed, handing me my dress to put back on. Perhaps this was just the first part of my punishment, with more to follow later? I didn't dare ask, simply followed him meekly back to the timeout spot, my head bowed in continued submission. 

Another 15 minutes of corner time? That was nothing. 

I should be standing here for at least an hour, my bare bottom on display, reflecting on my transgression until my legs ached and my back cramped. 

And the spanking itself...a few measly lashes with a switch and Daddy's belt? I'd gotten far worse for much lesser offences. My bottom should be crisscrossed with angry welts, bruised and tender to the touch for days afterwards. Instead, the sting was already fading, leaving only a mild warmth behind. It was if Daddy went easy on me, and I couldn't understand why. 

As my 15 minutes must have been drawing to a close, I heard Daddy's footsteps returning. He came up behind me and wrapped his strong arms around me, pulling me back against his chest. I melted into his embrace, feeling the solid warmth of his body through his shirt. 

"It's ok, babygirl," Daddy murmured. "You took your punishment well. I know it wasn't what you were expecting, but sometimes mercy can be just as powerful as severity." He turned me gently in his arms so that I was facing him, looking up into his kind, understanding eyes. "Do you accept my forgiveness, little one?"

I nodded, blinking back tears. "Yes, Daddy. Thank you for punishing me and forgiving me. I don't deserve your mercy, but I'm grateful for it." I buried my face against his chest, breathing in his comforting scent. 

As Daddy held me close, I tilted my head up to look at him, batting my eyelashes like a cutie-pie. "Daddy, may I thank you properly for my punishment?" I purred, dipping down to my knees onto the floor of the woodshed, never breaking eye contact with Daddy. 

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: The Night We Met

Sunglasses

Continued from: Weeping Willow

Sarah was simply exquisite with her tongue, lapping at my pussy with such skill and dedication. Each flick sent waves of pleasure coursing through my body, building to a crescendo that left me quivering. And all the while, we could hear Summer's muffled cries emanating from the pool house, her voice growing frantic as Russell pounded into her with primal abandon. 

The combinations of sensations - the warmth of Sarah's mouth, the distant sounds of Summer being fucked, the urgency of my own impending climax - it was utterly intoxicating.

Once Summer and Russell emerged, flushed and giggling, his still-hard cock indicated to me that he didn't finish. He let Summer cum while she was being railed and held off his own orgasm, what a gentleman! 

Sarah noticed this too, a smile from ear to ear cresting her face, as she impaled herself on him with a sigh of pure bliss. As she began to ride him, Summer leaned in, capturing Sarah's lips in a searing kiss. The sight of those two beauties, their tongues tangling as they shared the lingering flavour of my pussy, was enough to send my curious fingers down to my clit, hurling me towards another mind-blowing orgasm. 

It was a fitting conclusion to a deliciously debauched afternoon. I watched with a mixture of amusement and arousal as Summer, Russell and Sarah hurried into the house. Sarah's round ass was still red from belt strapping she had received the previous night, while Summer's shapely bottom displayed twenty-six vivid stripes from my expert application of the willow switch. 

Just as I was contemplating the various ways I could further torment and tease my willing subjects, the gate swung open, revealing Cassandra and Carley. The two young women, their hands clasped tightly together, looked Gothically radiant as they entered the yard. Cassie took Carley on the usual southern-Ontario tourist haunts, as Carley had never seen or experienced some of the beauties of a Canadian summer. 

Niagara Falls, once heralded as the most romantic place on Earth. I've been there a few times...can't say I agree with that one but I imagine these two made the most of the Fallsview hotel suite they spent a few days in. 

They took in the sights and sounds of bustling Toronto...

And finished off with a romantic and likely passionate few nights in a tent in Algonquin Park. 

As they sweetly held hands in the back yard, their faces were alight with the glow of shared experiences and budding romance. As I observed the tender interactions between these two, I couldn't help but notice an underlying tension that seemed to emanate from Cassie. Her grip on Carley's hand tightened ever so slightly, and there was a subtle furrow in her brow. 

It dawned on me that tonight would be the night she would have to bid farewell to Carley, as she prepared to head back home to the UK. The realization hit me like a punch in the gut, that I would be the one to drive these two to the airport. I couldn't even imagine the emotional upheaval that Cassandra must be experiencing right now. 

As time got closer and the sun set, I approached the living room, the sound of muffled sobs caught my attention. Peering from around the corner, I found Cassandra on her knees, her face buried in Carley's lap as she clung desperately onto her legs. The sight was heartbreaking, a raw display of vulnerability and despair from my sweet Cassie. Her shoulders shook with each ragged sob, her words barely intelligible. 

"Please don't go," she pleaded, her voice hoarse with emotion. "I can't bear to be without you!" Carley stroked Cassandra's hair gently, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears as she tried to comfort her distraught lover. 

As we prepared to depart for the airport, I pulled Cassandra aside and pressed a pair of sunglasses into her hand. She looked at me puzzled, no doubt wondering why she would need them, it was nighttime. But I knew all too well the pain of airport goodbyes. Russell and I experienced many, back in the day and we developed a code-word...a code-word that was: "sunglasses". And Cassandra was about to figure out why...

I watched from a distance, as they shared a final kiss, adamant that rather than saying "goodbye", they chose to tell each other, "until we meet again." The reality of Carley's impending departure hit Cassie like a freight train. With trembling hands, she slipped on the sunglasses I had given her earlier, grateful for the smoky veil of protection that would hide her tears from curious passersby. 

Tears streamed down her face, hidden from view but no less potent in their intensity. We watched in silence as Carley stepped onto the escalator, her figure growing smaller with each passing second until she disappeared from sight. Cassandra turned to me, her body shaking with the force of her sobs, and threw herself into my arms. 

She clutched at me desperately, her fingers digging into my back as if trying to anchor herself in the face of overwhelming grief.

"Andrea, please!" she choked out between gasping breaths, "is it suppose to hurt like this? Do something, Andrea! Don't let her go..."

On the drive home, Cassie just curled into a ball in the front seat, nothing further was said. Rain splattered down against the windshield as I remembered back to my own experiences in that bloody airport, a time when Russell and I both had to don sunglasses on countless occasions. 

The only sound that filled the car was the steady drumming of rain against the windows, a fitting accompaniment to the storm raging within Cassie's heart. She stared blankly out at the water-streaked glass, her eyes vacant and unseeing, lost in the depths of her own despair. 

I couldn't help but wonder what the coming days would bring. Cassandra's fiery temperament, coupled with the searing pain of separation, was a volatile combination. Would she lash out in anger, taking out her rage on the male clients? 

Or would she turn inward, allowing the darkness to consume her entirely? 

Mistress Andrea 😢

xoxo

Continued in: Heathrow

  

 

The Belle of the Ball

Continued from: The Cost of Admission

A Sarah Jane story

I arrived to the party like this:

When the party ended, I looked more like this: 

I was shackled up in the filthy urinal room, beside another piss-whore I recently became acquainted with, when a dominant man made me lick her asshole. My once-elegant gown was strewn carelessly aside and soaked in urine. The metallic tang of cum still lingered on my lips, mingling with the bitter taste of piss. There was smeared writing all over my naked body. Words like "whore", "pig", "filthy" and "anal slut". 

In that moment, the writing on my naked body could not have been more true, the room even smelled of poop a-little, having just been fucked in the bum by some random man. 

I had made it through all the degrading stations of the evening. After my toilet brush gag, came a toilet paper gag, while my dress was still pristine and outfit in-tact. 

I had to kneel beside the toilet in a powder room for a few hours, reduced to a human bathroom tissue dispenser!

After this, came the disgusting funnel-gag station!

It was definitely time to wrap this night up and find comfort in Daddy's arms, after a long, hot shower.

As I stepped beneath the warm showerhead, the torrent of water washed away the lingering remnants of piss and cum, restoring a semblance of cleanliness to my degraded body. But my mind seethed, still trapped in the turbulent waves of arousal and humiliation that seemed to feed off one another. 

My thoughts fixated on the memories of being pissed on then sodomized. My fingers danced with a life of their own, diddling my little clit to the memories, until I finally had to reach for the Hitachi. 

In record time, orgasm ripped through me like a seismic event, leaving my legs shaking in its aftermath. I dried off returned to my age regressed status. 

I squeezed into a baby pink onesie, the fabric soft against my skin. The pigtails felt silly, but I went with it, wanting to please Daddy. On all fours, I crawled into the living room where the trio of Daddy, Mistress Andrea and Summer were seated. I half-expected to walk in on some raging threesome of dick and pussy and tits, but they were quite literally watching a movie and eating popcorn. It was cute, Summer was dressed like a little girl too, and was sitting on both their laps like they were Mommy and Daddy. 

Speaking of cute. I felt cute again, not like the filthy piss-whore of my recent experience. I curled into my pet bed in the corner of the room and waited for someone to notice me and call me over.

Of course it was Daddy! His face lit up when he saw me, and he opened his arms. I scurried over, crawling into his lap like an obedient puppy. The other two watched with amusement, and for a minute, everything else melted away. I was Daddy's little girl again, seeking comfort and protection. But as Daddy stroked my hair and asked me how the party was, a spark of shame flickered to life. Last night's depravity replayed in my mind - the piss, the cocks, the toilets - and I felt a dark thrill knowing that Daddy didn't know the extent of my debasement. 

That secret knowledge was turning me on. Grinning mischievously, I wiggled against Daddy's leg, the three crotch-snaps of my onesie rubbing proactively against his pantleg. Mistress and Summer continued snuggling but watched-on with keen interest. "She looks like she wants more, Daddy," they stated in harmony, their voices tinged with sly innuendo. 

I blushed, nodding furtively as the truth spilled forth in a hushed admission. " I was a very, very bad girl tonight, Daddy."

He stood and paused the movie, his hands moving with purpose now. The telltale jingle of Daddy's belt buckle echoed through the room, followed by the unmistakable snap of the leather through jean-loops.

With a quiet sense of resignation, I draped myself across Daddy's lap, feeling the worn denim cradle my tummy, as my bottom was presented into the air. "This is for your own good, young lady," Daddy lectured, each word punctuated by another strike of his belt. Mistress Andrea and Summer just quietly watched my strapping, their faces aglow with mild amusement.

Sarah Jane 💟

Continued in: Slumber Party