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When I say "edge", I mean "edge".
I'm not sure I can say more, but if you're easily squicked,
skip this one.
We've had a ritual for six months, ever since he became "Daddy." Every
week, I've called and confessed. He's decided what I deserve
and I've agreed to Daddy's discipline.
Always an enema.
Usually a hairbrush spanking.
When I've been very bad, a strapping with Daddy's thick,
heavy leather belt.
But this week I would only tell him I deserved a strapping.
He'd argued, but I could not confess further.
Finally, an ultimatum.
"You come here when you're ready to be obedient and
punished. Not until."
Quick and hard as a slap, he hung up.
Anything he said, I swore. Except tell.
Daddy slapped me as I walked through the door, yanking
my hair so I had to look at him.
"Don't say anything. There's nothing I want to hear
from your wicked little mouth. Clear?"
I nodded, my hand cradling my cheek.
He pulled me further inside, stripped me and re-dressed
me in a plain white shift.
And . . . a diaper. His hands were clinical. Nothing erotic
for my mind to hide behind.
Diapered, I felt instantly ashamed.
He put his face close to mine again.
"I punish you when I decide you deserve it. Not
on your say so."
My eyes filled.
"Tell Daddy your dirty secret."
I shook my head. Never.
He sighed, then poured a large spoonful of yellowish liquid.
I swallowed, shuddering. Castor oil.
The he led me to a high chair at the kitchen bar. Swiftly
he tied my ankles and elbows, leaving my hands free.
Before me, a notebook and pencil and an assignment.
***Write a 5 paragraph essay on why having your daddy
I nodded. Easy.
He took my chin.
"After, write a letter about what you did this week.
I started to argue.
He slapped me, sharply.
"Nothing until you finish. Then we'll talk about
Half-way through the essay the cramping started. He saw
I finished the essay quickly. The cramping moved lower,
making the next task easier; the letter now easy to write.
I scrawled all the details I'd wanted to hide.
"Daddy, I'm done!"
Just in time.
He stolled over, reading essay and letter with maddening
"Well, you were a naughty girl."
I writhed for self-control.
"Yes, Daddy. Please, I have to go. You said . . ."
He sat down across from me.
"Darling, you're not going to the toilet today."
"But you said --"
"That now we can talk. This is what happens now.
I'll watch you. That oil is going to make you helpless
as a baby. And then I'll clean you."
I cried, helpless.
"I don't like nasty dirty things, but nothing is
secret from your daddy. Then, after you're all clean,
you're getting the strapping of your life.
Horror struck along with a huge, rolling cramp. He wouldn't
untie me. He would watch.
Unable to cover my face, I opened my mouth and wailed.
Okay, first, Daddy / daughter stuff is very core for me,
but also very edgy. I haven't played with it much, even
in my own head. But there's a lot of power there. I associate "Daddies" with
having complete control, complete power.
Second, I haven't talked about scat play before. Nor diapering.
Nor enemas. It's so edgy I can hardly type it.
This fantasy grew out of a phone call with someone five
years ago. It's my first attempt to write it down.
<goes off to bury head in shame>]
to Mija's stories
to the treehouse