Good afternoon lovelies,
I’m back with another of my musings posts while I devour my slightly overbaked Cornish pasty. It’s peppery, it’s steaky and it’s oh-so-deliciously West Country.
Tonight is playtime, yay! My evil. sadistic, meanest person on the planet turned me down last night, all the while tormenting me about being his “helpless little plaything” this evening. He’d better play nice tonight or there will be hell. I’m a kitten, and kittens are generally nice and soft and cuddly, at least until they are provoked. I’m just putting that out there, you know, a sort of thinly veiled threat to my 48th subscriber 😉
So this morning, the postie turned up. I’m actually a very happy kitten today because the postie bought me the new collapsible storage box to store Wolfie’s birthday present (an official siigned Newcastle United shirt, she does spoil him!), the plastic “crap tray”, to go inside our lift top coffee-dining table and for storing anything not needed for dinner while we’re eating, and my Lovehoney order. Ahh yes, that’s where the fun really begins.
In the box, there were not two, but three new goodies – the “cat claw” scratcher, the new nipple clamps with a chain and my new Startlet clitoral stimulator, which I was inspired to buy following on from Penny Berry’s post. Well, see? He asked me what goodies I’d bought for him, and I told him, but he didn’t ask what goodies I bought for me. So I figured hey, don’t ask, don’t tell, right? Anyhoo, I’ve put it far, far out of Wolfie’s reach for now. If the vibrations alone are anything to go by, then my new purple pal is far, far too powerful to be falling into Wolfie’s hands. He’s working this weekend, so you know, expect a review 😉
So that probably ties into something else on my list and that something is… spanking! Last Sunday, Wolfie delivered me a few stinging swats and honestly, I haven’t been able to forget about it! I don’t want to be punished, I don’t need to be punished and I know that for he and me both, strictness, seriousness, rules and heavy discipline is the last thing we want. I think the key part came in how hard Daddy hits. Not full throttle, but enough that it’s noticed. It doesn’t need to punish, just enough to get his point across!
I’ve also discovered that, dare I say it, but now that my Dad has passed, “Daddy” has become a lot easier. I don’t feel guilty anymore, I don’t feel conflicted. I haven’t forgotten about my Dad, but in a way, I am at ease now. There is Dad, and there is Daddy. I don’t have to be careful about using “Daddy” around my Dad now because, well, sadly, it’s no longer a problem. As much as I wish things were different, in a way, at least they’re also easier now.
I think it also helped to have a discussion about our DDlg relationship while we were on vacation. As long as he agreed not to treat me like a child, I agreed, I could deal. Even still, I still have my owl lip balms on my desk lamp. I know, I’m a soft touch.
Daddy and I also had an argument on Whatsapp today , a playful agument, anyway. We have a small, funny lounge/diner, with no room for a dining table, but one that looks half empty with nothing but a sofa, a coffee table and a TV in it, so I agreed on a swivel chair on the opposite side of the coffee table, creating more seating whilst not turning a back on the TV. In my mind’s eye, I can already see Daddy watching me, sitting on his self-proclaimed “Daddy’s chair” with a glass of whiskey, watching me as I try to argue as to why it’s my chair. I’ll lay on the sofa, glowering and pouting at him, trying to conjure up a plausible argument with the only man who can leave me with so little power.
“I paid, so it’s mine” I’ll argue.
“Aww” he’ll say, a wolfish smirk spread across his lips. He doesn’t care, not here, not now.
Of course, if I wanted out, I only needed to say, but I don’t. After all, there is such a freedom to be had in such a loss of control.
Over and out until next time. I’ll leave you with this, which is about the level of my mental state right now.
Hugs & kinky cuddles,