I need to brush out your hair. I need you to need me to.
I need it.
little girl
The spotlight just makes it all the more blushy.
I’ll kick your butt, Daddy. No lies. I’m hard candy.
You don’t want to know the things he made her do to get that lollipop.
Aaaand I’m blushing.
Q: Can you do that with a strap on? Put it on her backwards, with the cock pointing in?
“B…, b…, but… you’re putting it on all wrong!”
-“Hold still and be quiet cupcake. It doesn’t matter what the other little girls’ daddies do, as I’m not the other little girls’ Daddy, am I?”
*pouts*
A: …
Random mid-day sneaking-a-peek-at-tumblr-and-getting-stuck-staring-at-this-gif-for-much-longer-than-is-appropriate thoughts:
One thing that appeals to me about the Daddy/Little dynamic more so than the traditional Dom/Sub dynamic is that I get to still be treated as precious, even when I’m being roughed up. Moments of tenderness are so powerful when they’re in the midst of (consensual) violence.
Heart gets it.
Just thought I’d share this with you all. Because, gosh, I don’t know, it’s somehow relevant.
Essentially, later on that day, as my friends and I were driving around hungover and looking for brunch, I explained to SG where my liquor confidence had come from. Mostly, a lot of liquid. But, also the addition of a new liquid (solid? soquid? I used to know this. Oh, solutions.) to my repertoire.
Which led to this exchange.
All the while, my friend was blasting “No Church in the Wild” and those certain lyrics were coursing through the car as we texted like this. I’ve always felt that song was somehow, a little bit, off. And, yet, in that moment, even if it was cheesily and stupidly appropriate, the song seemed to be right on track.
The teensy tiny little girly part of me sort of wants this.
Provided it locks.
From the outside.
Sometimes, he sends her to the corner to think about what she’s done.
But, she isn’t the sharpest little girl.
So sometimes that takes a while.
I think I’d like to take a bath in front of someone one day. I’ve taken showers with people before, but never baths.
But the thing is here that I don’t want to take it so much with you as I do in front of you. I want to be watched, scrutinized. I don’t want to be helped, just sort of monitored.
It’s a barely sexual thing, really. If you touch yourself or shove your cock down my throat, you’ll honestly ruin it. Same with grabbing my hair and riding my face, if you’re of that gender. It’s an appeal to the vague little girly leanings I have sometimes. Maybe.
But I just want you to watch and exercise some restraint. I just want to feel like I’m under glass sometimes. And there’s always time for that other stuff later.