Worked Up

Worked up…that’s exactly what I am right now. It’s an unsettling feeling, to say the least. The truth is that I have a job interview in a few hours and I’m in the last stages of preparing myself for it. I should be in my comfort zone, I should have this job in the bag (it’s very part-time, but at least it’s something!), but still I’m worked up. My tummy is a little queasy, my brain slightly scattered, and my palms are cool to the touch…hmmm, in what other situations do I experience these physical sensations? Ohhhh, that’s right. These are the same symptoms that I get when Daddy is about to tie me up and use me for his pleasure (which usually results in a substantial amount of pain for me).

I perspire a bit, my eyes dart wildly, my mind races, and it’s all I can do to remain kneeling until Daddy instructs me to get on the bed in the desired position. The buildup is sinfully slow and precise, which more than adequately demonstrates Daddy’s methodical nature. He knows the state I’m in and wishes to savor the adrenaline-laced ambience of our room before he gets to work. By the time I’m strapped down, blindfolded, and gagged, I’m on the verge of tears and haven’t even felt a single blow yet.

The release after the first strike is indescribable. I crave it, I need it, I beg for it, and Daddy always delivers exactly what his baby girl needs…even when she doesn’t know what that is herself. Once the beating/caning/spanking is over, and the rush subsides, a peace washes over me as Daddy cradles me in his arms, reminding me over and over what a good little girl I am and how much I please him.

So, if I’m to make a long story short, do you think I might be able to convince Daddy to beat me before my interview? It seems like the only sensible solution to get me past these nerves, don’t you think? ;)