You say all the time what I pouty girl I am,

I’m just gonna own it.

I miss the summer, when he’d take me to the park sometimes and we’d find somewhere grassy and still and quiet. I miss closing my eyes and smelling just how green the grass was, being teased about my dirty feet. I miss how -when at the slightest suggestion that someone was coming I would bolt up and tug my skirt down – he told me that even if I was a little bit of a scaredy-cat, I was still a little floozy.

This reminds me of someone else who is sweet and little and blushy.

I’ve been trying to come up with a cuter and flirtier way to put this every time I scroll past it in my drafts.

But yeah.

trilbygrey:

“Don’t ask *who* she is, Daddy, that’s not the question. Just tell me if you want to fuck her.”

Well now, this caption.

Did I mention Sir bought me one of these for my birthday last year?

Because he did.

When a Sadist Dates a Little, A Typical Exchange

(Please note that I have a safeword and if I truly was not comfortable with this, he’d totally respect that and refrain from doing it.)

Sir: I made a strap that’s like a mini paddle.
Me: It looks owie.
Me: Dun wanna.
Sir: I get to use it on you when I visit.
Me: Nuh uh! You can’t. No ouchies. Not allowed.
Sir: No whining or you’ll get it for sure.
Me: No!!!
Me: No no no.
Me: [My stuffie] says no.
Sir: I think I’ll strap you every day when I visit.
Sir: Build up your pain tolerance.
Me: Nooo! You can’t every day!
Sir: Start with 10 and then work up to 30.
Me: Nuh uh.
Sir: Sorry, kitten.
Sir: You know that my word goes.

I was so excited to see Sir that I kept kissing him every couple of steps between the train station and his place. It took us quite a while for us to get home.

He followed through on his promise (threat?) and got me a stuffie to sleep with. Except I sort of kind of love it and maaaaybe I’ll bring it to bed with me tonight and I miiight have spent some time snuggling it this weekend. Aka a lot of time. Whatever.

Later on the first evening I was there, we were hanging out with that guy from my frat and the redhead. The two are living together now and the Redhead’s at grad school in the Ivy University area, so we were talking about that. At some point, I was goofing around and patted my lap and told Sir to sit on it.

He shook his head and patted his. “No, come sit on mine. You’re my little girl.” Later, he apologized and said it had just slipped out. And maybe the look the Redhead gave me was a little bit embarrassing, but I didn’t completely mind.

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A bunch of meanies are making me share this with you.

It’s my little voice.

(I’m getting a puppy for this. Not a woof-woof puppy. Well, actually, I guess I could make him woof…)

Sir: That sweatshirt’s new. Is that from Daddy?

Me, blushing: Uh huh.

I sit on an exercise ball at my desk instead of a chair. It’s better for posture and actually has shown to improve focus. It also lets me bounce up and down a little bit while I do stuff.

“I bet you bounce like that when you talk to Daddy,” Sir teased when I was bouncing while on Skype with him.

I blushed. “I do not.”

I totally do.