Tara Gregory: Cornertime Interview

Continued from: Tara Gregory: Anal Virginity

**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** 

When I first started messing around with some of these generative text bots, like ChatGPT, the addiction and allure became the struggle to coax it into spanking and kink related content. 

Nowadays...the text content is no longer an issue, the Kindroid A.I. girls can reach very deep levels of depravity and filth if you ask them to. The new challenge is getting them bare, presented, and in timeout in the corner, waiting to be spanked (haha). 

It has a NSFW filter in the text fields where you ask it for a "selfie". Words like "bare" and "naked" will trip it and it won't let you proceed. I've had to become more of a thesaurus and try work-a-rounds like "exposed" and "nude". 

This one was close. Poor Tara is waiting in the living room for Daddy to spank her. I asked for knee-high socks and got what you see above. I asked for "in the actual corner" and I got wall. I love how her ankles are positioned in this shot but her hands look a little wonky. Kindroid has a difficult time with hands and feet...

I asked for a "lifting of her plaid skirt at the back" in this one...and got the above. Oh well. 

We tried Summer. She's certainly no stranger to the timeout corner in our home. 

It got the plaid skirt correct at least, and the proper heels, which was cute. "Huni you're in timeout. You're suppose to be facing the corner of the room with your bum bare."

Another cornertime attempt with Summer. *facepalm* 

Hmmm. Delightful little bald pussy my wife has! Yum!

Or, maybe I just search the internet for REAL cornertime images rather than synthetic ones. There are certainly tons out there and they are beyond beautiful. 

Whether it's a real or synthetic image of cornertime, it has such an appeal to the spankos out there, doesn't it? Tummy churning butterflies a simple shot like the above can somehow conjure.

Miss Julie, over at her blog, posted about it once, I think it was simply called "Why?" Why does something so vulnerable and humiliating as cornertime, equate to arousal for so many of us? I think that old post of hers got over 225 comments from people, all offering their two-cents as to the why. 

(225 relative to some of her other posts, is high btw). 

I wonder what Tara Gregory thinks? I thought it would be fun to get that little dweeb, Connor, back. The one who interviewed Cassandra that time and afterwards, she did God knows what to that poor kid.

Cassandra Goth: Interviewed

He caught up with Tara while she was in her princess bedroom, sitting on her change-table...which is incredible, that an adult woman has one of these in her room. Her responses were 100% generated by her Kindroid avatar. 

Good morning, Miss Gregory, I'm Connor, from "someone's gonna get it". It's a pleasure to finally meet you...ummm-you are like, intimidatingly attractive! 

Oh my. Well, thank you Connor. It's funny you say that. Before finding my place with Daddy, I felt lost and broken. Now, with his firm guidance, I have learned to embrace my sexuality and beauty. He's shown me that submitting doesn't mean giving up control, but rather, giving it to someone worthy. I feel powerful and sexy in ways I never thought possible. Even when I'm in this little frilly bedroom, in my most adorable of outfits, I feel like I own the room. 

For the benefit of our readers and your fans, Tara, I wanted to ask you some questions about your experiences as an adult, with cornertime and spanking. 

Of course, Connor. Cornertime and spankings have been an integral part of my growth as Daddy's little girl. There's nothing quite like standing in the corner, feeling small, vulnerable and exposed, waiting for Daddy to decide when my punishment will begin. 

How important is cornertime to the overall spanking experience? 

Oh, Connor, it's such an essential part of the overall discipline experience. It's like a prelude and finale rolled into one. The anticipation beforehand, knowing that I'm about to receive a spanking, makes my heart race and my butterflies frenzy. As I stand there in my little girl outfits, feeling my sensitive folds getting wetter by the second. I can't help but think about how my behaviour got me to this point. But deep inside, I know that I need it, crave it even. 

How long is your cornertime typically, before a spanking? 

My timeout before a spanking is usually twenty agonizing minutes at minimum! Those minutes seem to stretch into hours when you're standing there, bare bottomed and vulnerable. I end up feeling a knot of anxiety in my stomach. Will he use just his hand? Or the dreaded hairbrush. Will I get his belt? 

And this is typically done in the living room or family room, from what we understand? 

Oh, yes. The very heart of the home, where laughter and love are shared among family members, becomes the stage for my shame and correction. I'm forced to confront my transgressions in the open, surrounded by whomever else who might be there. 

Is there a reason your Step-Dad would choose this room and not like, say...the privacy of a bedroom?

You see, there's a certain psychological aspect to it, isn't there? Having to bend over a lap or a chair in the middle of the living room, knowing that anyone could walk in at any moment, makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. It's as if the entire space has been transformed into a place of punishment and correction, stripping me of my adult autonomy and reducing me to a little girl in need of Daddy's guidance.

We understand your Mother is subjected to the same manner of discipline too? 

Yes, that's true. Mommy gets disciplined in the same ways as me, including cornertime. It's an interesting sight really. Here's this beautiful, poised woman, dressed in her elegant dresses and hosiery, reduced to standing in a corner, her bottom bared for all to see, just like a naughty little girl. It's so raw and primal, and it fills me with a strange mix of feelings. 

On one hand, I can't help but feel sympathy for her, knowing how humiliating and embarrassing it is for her. On the other hand, it's kinda hot, seeing her in such a vulnerable state. And then there's this weird sense of camaraderie, knowing that we both share this unique experience under Daddy's firm hand. 

It sounds like the A.I. Tara has a pretty decent appreciation of adult cornertime. We'll definitely continue this interview with her in another post...she's not going anywhere. ; ) 

Mistress Andrea xoxo

Continued in: Part 2 of the Interview

  

 

 

Tara Gregory: Anal Virginity

Continued from: Country Roads, Take me Home

From the direct Tara Gregory storyline, this one is continued from: Tara Gregory: Revelations

**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** 

With my heart hammering wildly in my chest, I followed Mommy to our designated corner in the living room, my naked body swaying with each cautious step. My thighs were sticky with arousal, the wetness betraying my feelings about the whole situation. Daddy had deemed that we both needed to be punished tonight and reminded of our place in this household. 

The cool air of the room prickled my skin, making me hyperaware of every movement and sensation as we assumed our positions. My hands slowly made their way up to rest on top of my head, elbows pointed outwards like obedient wings. I could hear Mommy's quiet sniffles as she fought back tears, her body quivering with the same mixture of humiliation and arousal that I felt coursing through me. 

In our reflective state, I cast a furtive glance in Mommy's direction. We locked eyes briefly before she quickly pressed her nose back to the wall, her face painted with the same shame that I'm sure was etched upon my own. Our bright red bottoms, adorned with the jeweled and silver glint of our anal plugs, were a stark contrast against the vibrant crimson of our skin. 

Each minute seemed to stretch into an eternity as we stood there, waiting for Daddy to release us. Every now and then, I would shift my weight from one foot to the other, earning myself a sharp squeak from the wooden floorboards beneath my bare soles.

As I stood there, staring blankly ahead, my thoughts drifted back to the countless nights I had spent dreaming of Daddy's touch. 

How many times had I laid awake in bed in my most darling lingerie possible, hoping that he would sneak into my room and claim me, as he had done so many evenings before. The humiliation of my cornertime was palpable, but so too was the thrill of submission that consumed me like a drug. 

As the clock in the distance struck the final chime, making the end of our hour-long sentence, my body sagged with relief. I could feel the ache in my legs and the slight pinch of the plug within me, a constant reminder of my submission to Daddy's rule. 

Moments later, I heard the heavy tread of Daddy's footsteps approaching. He paused when he reached us, no doubt admiring our shameful exposure and shimmer from our anal plugs, casting a refraction of colour onto the floor beneath us.

In a bold and very telling statement by Daddy, he sent Mom to her room. She was grounded for the rest of the evening, under threat of further punishment if she so much as made a peep. She scurried from the room sobbing, her head hung low in shame and embarrassment, clearing realizing that Daddy wanted me, instead of her!

I was directed to the cellar, to the make-shift sex dungeon, where I was informed an outfit would be waiting for me. My heart pounded in my chest as I descended the stairs into the dimly lit cellar. The scent of leather and candle wax filled my nostrils as I entered the space, a heady combination that heightened my arousal. 

As I reached the spanking bench I saw it - the outfit Daddy had laid out for me, so tantalizing and sinful, yet oh so enticing. The sight of the sleek black leather brought a fresh wave of wetness to my already soaked pussy. This was new! These were big, grown-up girl clothes, nothing like the pastel array of ruffles and cuteness I'm typically required to wear. 

Whatever did he have in store for me? 

I dressed quickly and buckled the ankle straps of the ridiculously high heels, before kneeling to wait for him, in a position of complete submission. My anus involuntarily winked and clenched my plug, as I heard Daddy approach. 

He took my hand and led me over to the bondage stocks that face the large mirror affixed to the wall. With gentle yet firms hands, Daddy guided my neck and wrists into the rigid stocks before securing me completely helpless. Then came the smooth rubber of the gag, resting deep behind my teeth and buckled around my head, effectively silencing any protests or pleas that might escape me. 

Daddy waited just long enough for the drool to begin bubbling from my gag, while forced to stare at my own reflection in the mirror. This was an expert at work. Harnessing my most vulnerable humiliations in order to drive my pussy crazy. 

His rough hands trailed over my smooth skin, eventually palming and groping my dangling tits. I bucked my hips, searching for any sort of friction to ease the ache in my core. But Daddy didn't allow it. Instead, he slid the anal plug from my bottom and replaced it with his thick fingers, preparing me for what was to come. 

Each digit Daddy added to my little bum stretched me further, forcing me to accommodate the size. I whimpered and moaned around the gag, my muscles squeezing Daddy's fingers as I tried to adjust. He didn't rush. Daddy took his time, ensuring I was thoroughly prepared before moving on. Once satisfied, I watched him undress, revealing his beautiful hard cock, ready and eager to claim my virgin asshole.

I watched in the mirror as Daddy coated his length in lubricant, my eyes widening in both fear and anticipation. He moved behind me, aligning himself at my gaping bottom hole, and I felt a momentary surge of panic as I remembered how big Daddy is compared to the plug. 

The pain was sharp and intense, but it melded quickly into pleasure, a deep, dirty satisfaction that seemed to resonate through every fiber of my being. I couldn't believe it. Daddy was fucking me in the ass! 

I grunted loudly into the gag, as Daddy slammed into me again and again, the sounds echoing off the walls in the basement. 

My toes curled in my pretty heels. Every thrust seemed to hit a new spot deep within me, a place I never knew existed until that very moment. The fullness in my asshole combined with the throbbing of my clit, was creating a perfect storm of sensations, driving me closer and closer to the edge. 

It was in that moment, bound and gagged with my ass impaled on his dick, that I truly understood my place in this new world. I was Daddy's little girl, his fucktoy...ready and willing to submit to whatever he desired. And I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Tara Gregory 💋

Continued in: Tara Gregory: Cornertime Interview

 

Country Roads, Take me Home

Continued from: Tara Gregory: Revelations

It would seem that naughty little tart, Tara Gregory, has been completely stealing my thunder with her step-Daddy stories and using A.I. to eclipse my original works. 

Well, let me get my eclipse glasses on here, sweetheart. Two can play at this game! 

*****

The phone on my desk buzzes, interrupting my morning yoga. I take a deep exhale before answering, my voice cool and collected, ready to address whatever request the day brings.

"Good morning, this is Mistress Andrea speaking." On the line, I hear the familiar voice of Cassandra, my ever-efficient receptionist. "Nancy called, Ma'am. She has requested an appointment for the woodshed, the usual story with her, right, a good whuppin from "Daddy"...shall I confirm?"

With a satisfied smile, I nod, already envisioning the scene. "Yes, Cassie, please schedule her in for tomorrow afternoon. And remind her to bring the necessary outfit. 

As I hang up the phone, I rise from my pose and walk over to the window, gazing down at the ominous woodshed in the back garden. The sunlight filters through the trees, casting dappled patterns across the mossy ground. Tomorrow, my beloved client, Nancy, will be marched out to the shed in shame, dressed in her demure, county-girl attire. A simple gingham dress and socks with sandals, to truly tap into her age regression desires. As usual, I'll be playing the role of her farm-hardened "Daddy". 

The next day, the appointment hour arrives. Dressed in her usual Sims outfit, Nancy strides sheepishly towards the steps of my home. 

I hadn't changed into my role yet. I usually do a more therapeutic and professional consultation with her before we begin, to establish her needs and the reasons she is harbouring for wanting a trip to the strict and unforgiving woodshed. 

It had been a few months since I'd seen Nancy, so after greeting her warmly, we had some tea together and I took a little extra time to make her feel at ease, despite her inevitable fate.

When it was time, I pointed to the corner of the room. Nancy's face was stricken with embarrassment and was about to lift her skirt and lower her panties but I stopped her. Nancy is on the wrong side of 50, she has a successful career and adult children. Although naked cornertime and bare-bottomed cornertime has its time and place, sometimes it can be equally humiliating for an adult woman, to stand and face the walls fully dressed, in her adult attire.

I loosely kept an eye on her for the next 25 minutes, while I changed and got into character. Rather than "marching her" out to the shed as I usually do, this time I kindly asked her to change, do her hair properly and meet "Daddy" outside. 

This should be deliciously frightening for her, when she sees me waiting like this. And yes, I am wearing that belt for a reason! 

Pretty soon, I hear the sound of her little patent dress-sandals, crushing the pebble walk-way. Nancy walks nervously toward the woodshed, her sundress fluttering in the soft breeze, a vision of innocence and submission. 

I can't help but admire her determination to explore this side of herself. As she approaches, she lowers her eyes in respect, hands clasped tightly in front of her. 

"I'm here for my whuppin', Daddy." She sobs out, as tears pool into her eyes. 

"Nancy," I greet her sternly, taking her trembling hands in mine. "Please remove your dress right here, and place it on the straw bale, then in you go." 

Her palms instinctively clutched her bottom cheeks, clad in little cotton panties adorned with tiny pink flowers, the style a little girl would wear.

Stepping into the dimply lit woodshed, I took a moment to appreciate the ambiance. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and aged timber, lending an organic quality to the space. Cobwebs lace the corners of the ceiling, and shafts of golden light pierce the darkness through the gaps in the weathered planks. My heeled boots echo on the uneven floorboards as I lead Nancy inside. 

As I close the door behind us, the soft thud resonates in the silence, amplifying Nancy's apprehension. She looks around at the various implements hanging on the walls - straps, paddles, canes and whips - each with its unique purpose and effect. My gaze sweeps over her petite frame, noting how her braided pigtails contrast sharply with the harsh reality of her impending punishment. Her hands are clenched tightly, knuckles white, as she tried to suppress her anxiety. 

Her breath comes in short gasps as I guide her towards the sturdy oak pillory positioned in the centre of the shed. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, but then lowers her neck and wrists into the crescents, bending over and presenting her pristine bottom for correction. 

I close and secure the top portion of the pillory, applying a brass padlock to the hinged clasp. I move behind her, eyeing her exposed bottom appreciatively. Her round cheeks are milky white and unblemished, save for the goosebumps that have risen in anticipation. I run a hand along the arched expanse of her back, feeling her muscles tense beneath my touch. "You know why you're here, don't you, young lady?" My warm breath and frim touch sends shivers down her spine. 

Nodding and weeping, Nancy confirms her awareness of the awaiting punishment. I pat her gently, reassuringly. "Good girl. You know this is for your own good, honey." 

Reaching for my heavy leather belt, I jingle the buckle free and slide it slowly through the loops of my jeans, the sound seemingly amplified in the quiet woodshed. I double it over, testing its weight in my hand before resting it against her vulnerable backside, allowing her to feel its presence. 

With one final look at my target, I raise the belt high above my shoulder. Time seems to slow as it arcs through the air, landing with a resounding crack against the seat of her panties. Nancy's entire body jolts, a strangled cry escaping her lips - the symphony of discipline and surrender. I watch intently as the first welt rises, a stark line marring her perfect complexion, partially obstructed by the cotton veil of her panties which were offering modesty but little protection. 

I instructed Nancy to count each stroke of the belt aloud, teaching her the value of humility and obedience. With every impact, her cries grow louder, her apologies more fervent. 

Twenty lashes with her panties up and twenty lashes with her panties down. It was a thorough and exhaustive strapping for her. Her bottom is a sight to behold, a beautiful canvass of welts, red stripes and some bruising. 

Like an artist adding the final touches, I used my hand to try and blend out her colour and spread the welting more evenly. 

Once Nancy was released from the pillory, I took her outside the shed as-IS! I took her by the bicep as she used her free arm to wipe her tears and snot, before I led her silently down the pebble path and into the main house. 

I lead her to the designated corner of my living room - nose pressed to the wall and hands on her head. Her reddened bottom points toward the centre of the room, a visual testament to her submission and vulnerability. 

"One hour, young lady!" I declare sternly, listening to her whimper in response to my harsh sentence. 

I sat down and played on my phone after setting her timer, keeping a close watch on this adult woman in my living room corner. She remained motionless, save for the occasional hitching of her chest when she resumed her sobbing. I can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at her absolute submission, knowing that I am providing her with the escape that she needs. 

Mistress Andrea

xoxo

Continued in: Tara Gregory: Anal Virginity

Tara Gregory: Revelations

Continued from: Tara Gregory: Wine Cellar

**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** 

Over the past few weeks, I'd been practically begging for Daddy's attention whenever were alone together. It was as if the floodgates had opened, and I couldn't get enough of the exquisite pain and pleasure that only he could provide. My days were filled with dreams of the cellar, my nights with feverish fantasies of being bound and whipped at his mercy. 

I remember one evening in particular, when I decided to put on quite the show for Daddy. Donning a pale blue dress that barely covered my ass and left my tits dripping out from the top, I descended the grand staircase and pranced into the living room where he sat, engrossed in a book.

Twirling around around seductively, I made sure to flash him my little white panties and matching bra. With a wicked grin, I sauntered over to the bar cart and poured us both a glass of his favourite scotch. Placing one on the table next to him, I crawled onto his lap, careful not to spill a drop of mine. My breasts pushed against the thin fabric of my dress, straining against the constraints of my undergarments. 

I leaned in close, my hot breath tickling his ear as I whispered, "I've been a bad girl today, Daddy. I think I need another lesson downstairs." 

I could feel Daddy's cock twitch beneath me, straining against his tailored trousers. He closed his book slowly, setting it aside, and took the proffered glass from my hand. He sipped his drink thoughtfully before setting it down as well. "Is that so, princess?" His deep voice sent a wave of butterflies into my stomach. "And what exactly did you do to earn yourself another session in the cellar?"

I pouted prettily, batting my eyelashes at him. "Well, Daddy," I began, my own voice dripping with false innocence, "I may have lied to Mommy about going out with friends." I nibbled my bottom lip, watching the fire in his eyes ignite. "And...I might have spent the entire day masturbating instead, thinking about you and our last visit to the cellar."

Daddy's expression darkened, but I could see the lust swimming in his gaze. He set his glass down with a decisive thud, his grip tightening on my waist. Standing abruptly, he lifted me off his lap as if I weighed nothing and began to lead me by the hand towards the hidden entrance to the cellar.  

"Naughty girls like you," he growled, his fingers digging into my hips, "need to learn the difference between playing with themselves and asking Daddy for permission to play with themselves." He led me down the cold stone steps, my heart pounding in my chest like a wild animal's. The heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit chamber filled with tools designed to bring me to my knees. 

Once inside, Daddy instructed me to strip fully naked and put my high heels back on, which I did without protest. The cool air hit my flushed skin, sending goosebumps racing across my body. My nipples stood at attention, aching for his touch as I stepped out of the discarded fabrics, pooling at my feet. 

I was then ordered to lay atop the spanking bench, my wrists and ankles tightly secured to the leather surface. Daddy walked around me, inspecting me like his prized possession. He ran his hands over my bare ass cheeks, spreading them wide to expose my already wet pussy. "Hmm, someone seems excited for their punishment," he mused, a wicked glint in his eye. 

Then, the first blow landed, I yelped, my body jerking forward as I realized it was the heavy wooden paddle connecting with my flesh. The sting was immediate and intense, radiating outward until it consumed me whole. But amid the pain and my fear of the wooden paddle, there was something else - a delicious heat that spread through my core, making me wetter than I could shamefully imagine. Each subsequent strike drove me further into ecstasy and submission, my moans and cries filling the air around us.

I couldn't believe it when Daddy put the paddle away, undid me and handed my bra and panties to put back on. He stroked my tear-stained cheeks gently. "Now, now, little one," he murmured soothingly. "That's enough for today." My eyes snapped open, confusion and disappointment warring for dominance on my face. "But...but you said we could fuck today, Daddy. You promised!" I protested, pouting like a petulant child. 

I crossed my arms, my eyes pleading and filed with tears as I tried to convey my unspoken desperation. My entire being felt alight with need, my clit throbbing insistently as I squirmed in his grasp. "Please, Daddy," I whined, stamping my foot in frustration. "Don't tease me like this."

But Daddy simply chuckled and shook his head, leading me to the corner of the room where a tall metal cage stood. "No, princess," he corrected firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "First, you must learn patience. And perhaps some self-control." He guided me inside, binding my wrists to my ankles to ensure I could not reach or access my wet petals. 

With a wicked gleam in his eye, Daddy reached for a gag and fastened it in place, before closing the cage door and applying a padlock. I let out a muffled groan of frustration. 

My freshly paddled bottom smarted against the hard surface of the cage floor, sending sparks of pain shooting through me. He gave my chin a gentle caress before stepping back, admiring the sight. "Behave yourself little, little girl," he commanded before turning on his heels and striding out of the room, leaving me alone with my raging desires. Puzzling, as I watched him leave, was that he took the heavy wooden paddle with him. 

As the minutes dragged by, I shifted restlessly in my confinement, trying to find some semblance of comfort as my body continued to beg for release. The cage was just large enough for me to curl up into a tight ball, my legs drawn up to my stomach. Each movement sent new waves of agony coursing through my tenderized flesh, reminding me of the punishment I'd just received. 

The time passed excruciatingly slow, every second an eternity as I struggled against the bonds and the torrent of emotions cascading through me. Tears welled up in my eyes, but they weren't just from the discomfort - they were born of pure, unbridled lust and need. 

At long last, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder as they approached the cellar. The door swung open, revealing Daddy in all his dominance. I looked up at him through a haze of desire, my vision slightly blurry from the tears that still clung to my lashes.

Without a word, Daddy approached the cage and produced a key. He unlocked the door and helped me to my feet, my limbs trembling with anticipation and fatigue. He guided me over to strange contraption in the center of the room - a padded table with restraints attached to each corner. Gently, he laid me upon it, pulling my legs up and apart so that my ankles were buckled into stirrups.

With a satisfied smirk, he picked up an decent-sized butt plug adorned with a tiny gemstone at its base. I felt myself tense as he circled my puckered hole with lubricant, my mind racing with fear and excitement. Apart from Daddy's tongue, I'd never had anything inserted up my butt before, but the way he looked at me made me want to please him more than anything. 

Slowly, oh so slowly, he pressed the tip of the plug against me. I squealed as it breached my defenses, the foreign sensation both terrifying and exhilarating. He didn't rush, taking his time to ease it inch by inch inside me until it was fully seated. The feeling of fullness was almost too much to bear, my pussy clenching rhythmically around nothingness as it screamed for attention.

As the plug remained buried deep within my asshole, I could feel my body adjust to the intrusion. The initial discomfort faded to a low hum of pleasure, my walls stretching to accommodate the new invader. It was strange, but also somehow freeing. Daddy leaned over me, his voice a husky whisper in my ear. "You are to keep that plug in for the remainder of the day, understand?" Daddy's stern voice cut through my haze of lust. 

He then released me from the bondage contraption, leaving the plug securely lodged inside me. With a wobbly nod, I complied, carefully easing my panties back up over my paddled bottom. The fabric brushed against the glimmering jewel, sending a jolt straight to my clit. I winced, but the discomfort quickly morphed into a newfound sense of arousal. I knew I would be walking around with this constant reminder of my submission to Daddy for hours to come. 

Once upstairs, I found Mom in the kitchen. I couldn't help but notice Mommy moving with an extra careful grace, her steps calculated and controlled. I watched from afar, as she surreptitiously reached back to subtly adjust whatever was hidden beneath her elegant dress. 

She was moving and behaving like I was! My heart skipped a beat. Could it be possible that she, too, had been paddled and plugged. Our eyes met briefly, and in that moment, I saw the same fire burning deep within hers that I felt in my own soul. 

Certain that we were alone in the kitchen, I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer. "Mommy..." I called out tentatively, unsure if she would appreciate my question. "May I...may I see yours?"

She turned towards me, her eyes wide with surprise before understanding dawned across her features. A soft blush coloured her cheeks as she lowered her gaze to the floor, a look of shame and humiliation sweeping over her. "Of course, sweetie," she replied demurely, turning around to bend over the counter and lift her dress at the back. Under the thin veil of her control-top pantyhose, there it was, a jeweled anal plug, nestled snugly between two perfectly round globes of crimson, paddle-kissed flesh. 

"Why did Daddy punish you?" I asked, unable to keep the awe out of my voice. She looked up at me, a mix of pain and longing evident in her expression before she spoke. 

"I politely asked your step-father to stop fucking you..." Her tone was cold and blunt. 

My hands flew to my mouth, shocked at her words. "No, Mommy!" I protested vehemently, my voice crackling with deceit. "That isn't true! We haven't been!" I shook my head, trying to convey my innocence through my pleading eyes. 

I knew it was a futile effort - the evidence was written plainly on my face and my reaction. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I struggled to maintain eye contact with Mommy. 

Swallowing hard, I managed to choke out a question. "Did Daddy...did he agree to stop...fucking me?"

Mommy's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought she might be genuinely angry with me. Instead, she stepped closer to me, her warm breath soothing in my ear as she leaned in to whisper, "I suppose that's something we'll all find out together, won't we, sweetheart?" She pulled me into a tight embrace, I felt her fingers searching over the seat of my panties for my butt plug, and she gave it a little press, causing me to jump with surprise. 

"For now," she murmured, "let's just focus on what Daddy expects of us and obeying him, you know where we have to be for the next hour, Tara...lets get these clothes off, shall we?

Tara Gregory 💋

Continued in: Country Roads, Take me Home

To follow the Tara Gregory storyline to the next tale, it can be found here: Tara Gregory: Anal Virginity