Daddy Takes Me, or Miss Lucy Learns to Love the Belt

Something had felt off for a few days.  We’d both dropped hard after the large event and the storms, both scary and beautiful, that we had weathered.  We had played hard, together and with others.  Now we were coming back down to earth.  We found ourselves strongly grounded in the vanilla day to day. I think that was our problem.  I asked for something more from him.  I wanted to be taken aggressively.  I asked for fists in my hair, hand around my throat, rough “take me any way you want me” play. 

The evening began calmly.  We’d planned dinner but he wanted to play a bit.  Practice flogging, work on technique.  I also think there was a bit of punishment in there, a lesson to learn about playing on the train tracks again.  I’m always struggling with this one.  We worked together, both of us building on strike after strike.  

I give him a smile and encourage him to give me more.  He does and it’s fulfilling, the air knocked out of me, the delicious leather pulling across my skin.  I don’t go all the way down but it’s a lovely preview of his developing skills. 

After, I wrapped myself in a blanket and lay on the floor.  My back was warm and just a bit tender. I smiled, and he lay down next to me and touched me.  All I had on were white panties, and my blanket. 

He pulled the blanket away and left me exposed, rubbed softly on my nipples, my belly, before his hands trailed down to pull my panties to the side, just the way I like.  His mouth was on me fast, hungry, lapping up the wetness that had gathered there as he beat me.

I writhed under him, his tongue exploring me quickly, then with teasing slowness.  I arched my back and he slid his hands under my ass, gripping my hips to keep me in place.  He licked and sucked at my pussy and I inched closer and closer to orgasm.

He ran a finger along my slit, down to my asshole.  My body bucked towards his hand, begging him silently to stop there for a moment.

“Oh?” he asked.  “Does my babygirl want her ass played with?”

“Yes, PLEASE Daddy” I begged.  He laughed at my eagerness and slowly teased my little hole.  I pushed my ass towards him, hoping he’d understand.  He may have, but he made me beg for everything he gave me. 

“Tell Daddy what you want.”

“Put your finger in my ass.” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a whine, but I needed it so badly!

“Ask nicely, now,” he scolded.

“Please Daddy!? Please put your finger in my asshole…”  That laugh, again…and then the release as he finally slid a thick finger into my ass.  My pussy, already wet, began to gush with the new taboo breached.  Daddies shouldn’t do such things to their babygirls!

Daddy was finally playing with my ass and it felt so good.  I moved my hips, using his finger to fuck myself as he laid still.  He let me play with my clit and I came quickly and very hard.  I curled up my body and rolled away from him, shaking with each aftershock.  He pulled up close to me, careful not to touch me, his lips ever so close to my ear, and whispered

“Good girl.”

My body exploded with a new round of tremors and I came again, as was often the case with a well-timed post orgasm “good girl.” 

Daddy sat down in his big leather chair across the room.  When my body stopped shaking I sat up and looked at him.  My hair was tangled from rolling about on the carpet.  He smiled at me and gestured for me to come to him and sit at his feet.  I crawled over on my hands and knees, panties hanging around my thighs.  He helped me pull them back up, and he placed me between his legs, kneeling.  I closed my eyes as he stroked my hair.

I smiled, content at his feet, and happy to finally be feeling peace here rather than the fear and anxiety.  I knew I was safe and loved.

Eyes still closed, I was surprised to feel the cool leather of his belt as it wrapped around my neck.  He cinched it tight and my eyes opened, mouth a quiet grin.  I was leashed. 

He pulled it tighter and tighter, a game! And I leaned into it, feeling it push into my throat.  I could still breathe, but felt the lightheadedness begin.  Enough for a buzz.   My pussy ached and shivered.  He opened his pants and took out his cock.  Gave me the look that required no words.  I began running my tongue over the smooth skin of his sack, silently satisfied with the noises this always inspired from him.  After sucking gently on each ball, I took his cock in my mouth, slowly at first, feeling it grow stiffer in my mouth.  He pulled at the leash and forced himself deep into my throat.  I choked and he laughed a bit at my discomfort.

He enjoyed this, and released his grip a bit.  He saw the smile on my face and stood, began walking toward to the bedroom.  He maintained control of the lead and I followed, crawling along behind him.

I was ordered “down” on to the bed and I needed no further instruction.  I knelt on the edge of the bed, face down into the covers, ass in the air.  He entered me quickly from behind and it hurt.  I cried out and he drove in harder.  Pulled the belt back, my head lurched back with it, and I faced the ceiling.  My back was arched severely.  He fucked me harder, and I cried out, “Daddy, it hurts!”

He answered, “Sometimes it’s supposed to.”

The belt was tight around my throat and I leaned into it, relishing the tingling all over my body.  He thrust faster and harder and I felt my arms grow weak.  I knew it was close.  I breathed deeply and let go of control, allowed him and his leather belt to fuck me into unconsciousness.  Everything went fuzzy, and when I could focus again, I was laying on my stomach, his cock still inside me, belt a bit looser around my neck.  My pussy hurt.  He came with a growl and I curled up in a ball and shook with another orgasm.  More words in my ear…more shivering.  He allowed me a moment to recover, and then stated that he was hungry.

I had dinner planned and nearly prepared, it just needed to cook.  He decided the belt would remain around my throat, and I fixed his meal for him, leash dangling between my breasts, tapping my thighs as I moved about my kitchen. 

I served him his food, on my knees, nude, holding his plate for him.  I watched him enjoy every bite, my own plate waiting for me until he was finished and allowed me to eat.  I waited, patiently and happily, for his permission.

“You’ve changed so much.”

I began to remove my clothes and he came up to me, pulling them off my body more quickly than I could.  I let him, watched him, unafraid.  No nervousness this time.

7 months and 4 days had passed since my first public scene with FM.  Really, that long since my first public scene with anyone other than my partner.  It was at my first big event.  I’d met him and felt something…Kindness?  Acceptance? I’m not sure, but I was brand new and I asked him to play.  It was an incredible experience that both terrified and exhilarated me.  I learned so much in that one scene about pain, about communication, about my body, and my tears. 7 months 4 days since he’d touched me…

I was thankful for his hands on my skin once more.  It had been so long since I felt his fingertips brush against my sides, tummy, and breasts. 

I call him Floggerman to my friends, or FM for short, when I write.  Or sometimes I just use his name, if I’m in close company.  FM and I lost touch for awhile after our first scene, and I assumed that was just the way of things.  My relationship with Red had continued evolving and took me places I never expected.  Some of it was beautiful, some of it terrifying.  All of it challenging. 

I met FM’s eyes, held my breath, and smiled.

My body, through play and experimentation, learned to receive pain, consider and evaluate it, and release it back into the universe.  I learned how to experience pleasure.  To believe I deserved it.  To revel in it, and then also release that back to where it came from.  This too shall pass…

His hands came down hard on my breasts: slaps, backhands, punches, in quick succession.  I screamed, surprised.  I remember smiling.  I might have laughed.  “How I’ve missed you!”  I don’t remember who said this part…

I learned to appreciate what is in front of me with full awareness that it may well eventually be gone and something else will present itself.  Physical pain and pleasure is no different than the emotional stuff. 

He turned me around and pushed me against the large wooden star.  One of the prettiest pieces of dungeon furniture I’ve ever seen.  My skin felt delicious against the cool wooden beams and I leaned my head into the hardness of it. 

He pulled my hair back, my face forced upward, and he dragged the falls of the first flogger against my cheeks and lips.  The yummy leather caressed me, and yes…I opened my mouth, sticking out my tongue just a bit, and tasted his tools as they hit all of my senses at once. 

I learned that disappointment stings, and betrayal thuds. 

The beating began then.  It wasn’t unlike other floggings in many ways.  There was rise and fall, a fantastic warm-up that lasted just long enough.  I sassed him and was my beautiful bratty self until he reminded me who was in charge of the scene.  Oh how I like being reminded!

I learned to laugh at myself and my situation.  Laugh at the “life or death” panic that sets in over things which are neither life nor death, and are always temporary.

I was reduced to tears, exalted by tears, many times in this scene.  He told me later he enjoyed being a puppet master, making me cry when he wanted, then stepping in, wrapping his arms around me, quieting my sobs and reminding me how to breathe, calming me…

Only so he could start all over again.  I handed him my puppet strings and let him dance me across myself.  Let him guide and control and overpower. I would revive my spirit and come back at him with teeth and snarl and he would quickly remind me of my place. 

I learned to love the bruises and to touch carefully the tender memories that still bring tears.  I learned to stand tall and round my shoulders and present a solid surface on which to be hit.  I learned to do this in love, too, only presenting my tender parts after they’ve demonstrated true aim on the fleshy bits.    I learned that sometimes too much really is too much and no one else gets to decide when that is.  Today might be a high pain, risky play, heavy play kind of day.  Tomorrow I may need rabbit’s fur and a cuddle pile.  And that’s okay.

Leaning in at one moment, he declared, “I win” and I knew he was right. 

A moment later, he leaned in to tell me “that was a fucking cheesy line” and we laughed at the truth of both statements.  This was our dance: Sass and tears, breath and laughter, over and over until my flesh burned, my eyes burned.

I remember hitting the ground at one point and he came to me, checked, then allowed me to claw and climb my way slowly back up the star, back to my feet. 

I learned that my safety is a big fucking deal and I can safe-word an entire relationship if I need to.

“You have changed so much.”

Those words again brought new tears and I relived the past 7 months.  I played through all of my perceived sins and mistakes regarding this relationship I’d lost.  Was I too insecure? Was I too needy? And with each thud of leather across my body I answered those questions.  I did the best I knew how to do, and now I know better.  Then, I was young and new.  I’d relied on a child to guide me and we’d both gotten very lost. 

I ran through the images in my head, over and over with each hit of leather: Smaller, prettier girls covered in his rope, his body melted into the bodies of a hundred others.  Me, sitting alone in a corner of a dungeon, knowing no one, watching him with everyone but me.  On my knees, his feet beneath my lips.  The service I gave.  The fear and drowning love.  The lies.  The promises broken, repaired, broken again like a shattered vase pieced back together over and over.  We’d run out of glue and had lost most of the pieces.  The water escaped. The flowers died. 

I learned that good scenes, like good love affairs, have rise and fall; crescendo and decrescendo. 

The image of a friend’s face questioning my sanity and my fear that I’d lost it.  The monster that appeared with no warning…

I learned I am beautiful, whether standing tall and proud, make-up perfect, hair flowing…or curled in a ball, sobbing, begging, aching.

Each hit of the flogger into my body beat these images, thoughts, questions to my surface until I let them go in a wail of agony.  I screamed and sobbed and lost my balance, drunk and unstable in this place I craved.  I rested my tired, broken body against the wood.  FM stepped in again, more than once, and wrapped me up in him, continued to remind me how to breathe.  I was reminded of my ability to control this pain, to control my reactions.  FM guided me through this process, the physical and emotional.  I’d regain composure, nod, and he’d let go.  And we’d do this some more. 

I learned to ride the waves.  I learned to feel what I feel and not hide it if I don’t want to.  If learned to communicate and assert, submit and be beautiful in it. 

I rode this wave with FM, this thing we created in this space, he and I.  I surrendered myself to what he gave me and in return I told him my story.

He read my body, my sobs, my laughter.  He learned how I had grown, the fires I’d walked through.  He sang my story back to me a thousand times that night and I somehow managed to walk away at the end. 

The scene ended as it did the first time.  When my body had enough and my soul had paid its penance, I simply fell to the floor.  And he was there. 

“You’ve changed so much since the last time.” 

Love, you have no idea.  But then again…I guess you do. 

FM has become one of my closest friends since that first scene now nearly a year ago.  He is one of my safe places…where I go when I need honesty and compassion, wisdom, or a good laugh.

Thank you, FM, for this.  For your love and friendship. And for all that is to come.