1 week ago
12 May 2010
As Daddy is away this week, I don’t have anything to post about our recent adventures. Generally, when this happens, I tend to look to our past and recall fondly some of our most intimate and sexually-charged moments. With this in mind, one of Neo Dom’s posts got me to thinking about voicing our desires, which, in turn, got me thinking about the very first time that Daddy tied me up and what ensued…
At the time, we weren’t married yet. In fact, we weren’t even living together. He was visiting me for an extra long weekend and, as we still do to this day, we were making the most of our time together. Long walks, touristy fun, lovely meals shared both at home and on the town, and, of course, some amazing sex…ok, ok, LOTS of amazing sex! Again, not much has changed since then! ;)
In our conversations leading up to his visit (and even from one of our first conversations after having met each other), we both knew what was going to take place on his visit. Daddy was going to break me. He was going to tie me to the bed and belt me until I broke down in tears, until I was a quivering wreck of a submissive and a slave, until I was His completely. I had never been broken before, had never endured a prolonged pain session, had never had a belting before, yet I knew that I needed it. I knew that Daddy needed to dominate me in a way that would render me helpless and that would include a great deal of pain. He needed to mark me as his own.
Knowing that my first pain session was imminent was unsettling enough, but oddly, it wasn’t the hardest part for me. The most difficult part of mentally grappling with my fate was knowing that I would be forced to ask Daddy to break me…forced to voice my deepest desire. It was one thing to have Daddy break me and use me as his submissive little one, yet it was altogether another thing to have to ask to be broken. How could I be such a painslut? How could I beg him to hurt me? Why did I need this?
The moment of truth came. I was bound by my wrists, face-down on the bed, and Daddy had his belt in hand. He stood next to me and caressed my face.
“What do you want, little one? What do you need, little one? Tell me.”
I stammered, I choked, I mumbled.
“What do you want, little one? Tell me or I’m leaving you here, bound just like you are, to think about it.”
Now, as terrified as I was to voice my desire to be broken, I was even more terrified at the prospect of having Daddy leave me there, of having disappointed him by not being a strong submissive and a good little girl. We both knew what I needed, now I just needed to tell him. And tell him I did, in a teary-eyed yet firm voice, “I need you to break me, Daddy. Please break your little girl.”
“Good girl.” And the breaking commenced…
More than the breaking itself, Daddy understood (long before I ever did) that he could have broken me however and whenever he wished. But, if he wanted to access the painslut and the true submissive inside his baby girl, then he was going to make her voice her need for pain – beg to be broken – like a good, obedient little girl.
Come home soon, Daddy, I have something I’d like to ask you for…