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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.

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[Image of Little Miss Naughty] Honesty
by Mija

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.

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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.

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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 is important***

I nodded. Easy.

He took my chin.

"After, write a letter about what you did this week. Everything."

I started to argue.

"But --"

He slapped me, sharply.

"Nothing until you finish. Then we'll talk about untieing you."

Half-way through the essay the cramping started. He saw and watched.

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.

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"Daddy, I'm done!"

Just in time.

He stolled over, reading essay and letter with maddening slowness.

"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.

He continued.

"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.

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Unable to cover my face, I opened my mouth and wailed.

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[Why Edge?

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>]

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