Wednesday, January 24, 2018


I sit on a park bench and wait for you. We've made a little moment apart from our lives to spend together just you and I. You've known me for a long time; over 12 years. I love you, more than any words can ever fully express. That's a rare thing. I do not love easily. I'm here to bring you three things, and three things only: Time away, tranquility, and my words. The first two you deserve so much, the last, I hope give you a little bit of joy.

I see you park your car, and you get out and wave to me.  I smile. You are one of the only people in the world that I would do anything for, and you know that. You are also one of the only people who understands who I am, and you know that also. We share a bond, and at the center of it is trust and love. You don't call me Daddy, but you think of me as Daddy. And for me, at this moment, that is enough.

I stand, you hug me, and I feel your hands squeeze tight against my back. My nose is buried in your hair, and while it smells like cotton candy, there is this little spot behind your ear that I selfishly inhale deeply each time I have the opportunity. You know why. You understand. You don't care that I do it, and that makes me both happy and incredibly aroused at the same time.

We sit, and I tell you to lie your head back on the bench. I've brought you a little pillow to lie your head on, and while I fantasize that you might push it away and choose my lap instead, I never ask, because I love you, and I don't want to risk losing the innocence that half of my heart has for you by perhaps seeing you look at me funny and say "It's ok. I'll use the pillow.".

You close your eyes, and I begin reading to you. The book itself is irrelevant. You didn't come here to be entertained. You came here to forget the world and close your eyes and be read to. The pages of the book fan to the first chapter, and I begin. The first words bring a smile to your lips. Not because they are interesting, but because Daddy is reading to you.

After a few minutes, I glance over and see your head has laid to the side. Your chest is rising and falling, and your lips are parted slightly. You've fallen asleep. I stop reading, and decide that for the next hour, nothing will disturb you. This is your time; nobody else's. I brush your hair away from your face, and for a few minutes allow my mind to wander. Allow it to journey to a place I know is deeply seated in your life. The only difference, is that this is the real world, you are owned, and not by me.

I imagine what it would be like if you WERE mine. What I would do to you, and do for you. I imagine picking you up from work. You've spent all day on your feet, and you just want to lie your head back and let go. You aren't sleepy, you are just tired, and cranky, and want to scream at the world. You've had an argument with someone that day, and you tell me that you are so angry that you could spit fire. I take your tiny little hand in mine, and hold it gently. "Shhh." I say, softly. We're going home now, and as soon as we get there, you will be MINE. Nobody else's. From the moment we get home until you fall asleep tonight, you belong to ME."

You scoff, and give me a look of coy amusement.

I bring your hand to my lips, kiss it, look deep into your eyes, and say with a growl "Whose are you?"

You gasp, a smile creeps across your lips, and you say with a sigh: "Daddy's."

We drive slowly, unrushed. You have nowhere to be tonight, and neither do I. I've prepared the house for your arrival, and the moment you step in, you let out a breath of relief. You kick off your shoes, reach under your shirt and unsnap your bra, and I take them off your hands, walking you around to the couch. You sit, and lie your head back. You drape your hands and wrists over the back of the couch, anticipating another boring night of TV. That thought is jarred from your mind, however, when I approach you from behind, and slip your wrists into a carefully tied noose made from an old scarf. The other end I quickly wind around one of the couch's rear legs, tying it tight. You protest "Hey, what the heck..." and I quickly move next to your ear...

"Whose are you?" I say.

You take a second to refocus. "Daddy's." you respond. And your shoulders relax.

"Good girl." I say.

Your tight little t-shirt is strained against your chest, thanks to the bonds I've made from behind. Your FULL breasts have always been a huge weakness of mine, and I have longed so many times to see them, touch them, taste them, and claim them. "These are MINE." I say as I gaze into your eyes. "Yes, Daddy." you reply. "Would Daddy want his girl to be on her knees for him?" you say with your eyes looking up. This question makes a shiver of electricity radiate all over me, but I calmly whisper back to you "No, little one. Daddy comes second. You know that. What is our rule #4? Say it for Daddy."

You smile again "Rule #4: I come first, always."

"Exactly, little one." I say. "Now, are you listening?"

You nod.

"Until I say otherwise, the only words you are allowed are "Yes, Daddy." do you understand?"

"Yes, Daddy." you say.

"Good girl." I say. "You will have no say whatsover in what Daddy will need from you, do to you, or take from you, you you understand?"

You nod.

"You can repeat rule number one now, and only rule number one. Then we go back to only "Yes, Daddy." so let me hear rule number one."

"Rule #1: Daddy wants equals Daddy takes. Daddy doesn't need permission."

In one smooth movement, I raise your shirt upward, your breasts are even MORE beautiful, full, and perfect than I imagined. The heat from your workday and the smell of your perfume and the scent of your body mix into the most amazing sexual scent I can describe. The slight coolness of the air causes your nipples to respond, and with absolutely no restraint on my part, I lean forweard and take your right nipple fully into my mouth. You moan slightly, and my cock strains against the confines of my jeans. My other hand finds your left nipple, and works it firmly between my fingers. You whimper at this touch, and before you can respond further, I move to it with my lips, swirling my tongue over it, tasting your skin and your salt your sex. I place a hand on your tummy, and feel it tembling under my touch. Your breath comes out in little gasps, and I know that what will happen next is going to make this moment pale in comparison.

I trail my kisses lower, allowing a line of caresses to run from your breastbone, to your belly, and down to the snap of your jeans. I press my nose deep into the little recess of your crotch, and inhale your scent greedily. I stand, my cock at full attention and betraying that to the amusement of your eyes. From the table nearby, I bring two more scarves. I unzip and remove your jeans, then your panties come down as well. Your carefully manicured little crotch makes my sex explode with need, but this will not be rushed. My little girl comes first. Always.

I take one scarf, tie it your right ankle and the other end tightly to the front leg of the sofa. The other scarf finds the other ankle and leg. Your are not fully spread apart, but neither are you able to deny Daddy full access. I kneel between your legs, and while you fully expect a very slow, teasing buildup, Daddy has other plans. With no hesitation or restraint, Daddy leans forward, parts your lips, finds your clit, and with one, full, slow motion, runs the flat of his tongue from the bottom of your pussy to the top, painting a wide path across your clit. Your hips buck upward, and your cry out "Ooooooh Daddy!!!"

Again, it requires every bit of patience and self control I can muster to keep from driving my cock into his little girl right then and there.

But I will not.

That is not Daddy's way.

Kitty comes first, always.

To be continued...again.

Sunday, June 15, 2014


I can't believe I am writing this.

This morning you messaged me, and you told me something that broke my heart and broke my mind. I spent my entire workday fighting the image of it, but fighting is the wrong word, because "fight" indicates that there was part of me that was pushing it away. That was not the case. In fact, it was all I could do to concentrate on work.

I think you and I are close enough, and love one another enough at this point to be open and honest outside of just sexuality. I'm someone, that, as you are probably aware, has struggled for years with DD/lg being a part of my psyche, and there not being anyone I can talk about it with, or experience it with. Eight initial years is a long time to know something is in you, but not be able to label it. Ten more years is a long time to have it labeled, but not knowing what to do with it. Two more years is a long time to know that there is something you can do with it, (because there are others just like you) but not have any way to act on it, because finding people near you who are like you is impossible, and if you do find them, they are taken, usually in the same way you are.

With that being said, I want you to know that I understand I can't just say "Let's play." because that isn't how life works. Even if it was, while you know how half of my brain feels about you, you've never indicated that part of yours even remotely reciprocates it. All you've let me know is that our mental hard-wiring is similar, that you enjoy my writing, and that you don't mind my being "Daddy" when you need me to be that. Now, to have someone enjoy your writing is a beautiful thing. Anyone who scoffs at that as something that isn't worth very much needs to talk with someone who wants to be a writer, but isn't very good at it. To be allowed to fill the role as Daddy when it's needed is a wonderful thing. I just hope that one day I can actually do that for you, even if it's only on a mental and emotional level.

You're so lucky. You have someone in your life who gets who you are, that wants you sexually and emotionally at that level, is within physical reach every night, and they are wanted in return in both ways by you. I envy him. I envy him in ways both sexually and emotionally. Because in you, he has both. He has a precious, perfect, beautiful little girl who would do anything he asked in nearly infinite capacities.

He could say:

"When I get home this evening, I expect the lights to be dimmed, the house to be in order, and for you to be kneeling on your pillow in the living room floor, wearing your corset, waiting for me. "


"This morning, when you leave for work, you will wear no panties. (You may bring a pair with you in your purse as an emergency.) You will go your entire day without them, and whenever you have to speak to someone for any reason, you will tense your kegels, hard, and think about me."


"The moment you wake up today, you are to run a very hot bath, complete with bubbles. You will lie back in the tub, sit the phone by your head, call me, and let me know you are ready for me. I will stop whatever I am doing, and instruct you on how you are two touch yourself."


And you would probably do those things for him. I am not saying he doesn't already do them for you, and if he does, I don't want to hear about it, because that only makes me even more crazy.

As I'm going back and reading over this now, it seems so directionless, useless, pointless, and helpless. Like a kid in a wheelchair wanting to be a professional basketball player. Yeah, he may want it more than anything else, and he may have the drive to fully attain it mentally, but logistically, it's not going to happen.

So what can that kid do? Well, he can try out for the wheelchair basketball team, or if he doesn't want to do that, he can always coach basketball, or he can write stories about it, or he can sit around and mope because he won't ever be able to play in the capacity he wants.

That kid might have been fortunate enough to not live anywhere where basketball is played, so he wouldn't know what basketball is. Or maybe he did live somewhere where it is played, but nowhere near any stadiums, so it's not like he can know what he is missing. Or maybe he does live near a stadium, but he doesn't know anyone who plays, so he can't have any real reference for what it feels like, and so he won't know how good it would feel.

But now imagine that same kid. He lives in a city with a basketball stadium and he goes all the time. He loves being there just because he loves it, but also because it's the closest thing he can have to being a player. He has a friend who plays, and his friend has another friend that plays just like he does, and so his friend can play whenever he wants. His friend is so lucky.

But all the little boy can do is smile and say "Well, at least I know who I am in my heart. There's those who never do."

For that, I am grateful. For you, I am grateful.

Please don't stop wanting to talk about it with me.

I know it's impossible for me to have what I want. I've dealt with that reality for decades.

But, it's all I've got.

And I'm lucky the person I've got is also one of my best friends in the whole world.