UrGoodGrL

What’s her favorite color? What’s something that always makes her laugh? What are her goals? Her dreams? What is she afraid of? Do you know what she likes do to when she wants to relax? Do you know what helps her when she’s had a bad day? Can you recognize when she needs extra love because she’s feeling needy but doesn’t want to say anything? Can you tell when she’s bothered by something? Do you know her favorite way to be held, to be cuddled, to be wrapped up in your arms? Are you her safe place to go to when the world gets scary? Does she feel safe opening up to you? Does she feel like she can tell you anything? Do you punish from a place of love/caring, for correction of her destructive behaviors, for her own good? Do you see her as a person, a whole complete, complicated person? Do you make her feel respected and cherished? Do you protect her? Do you take care of her?

Get a rhythm, when you get the blues. - Johnny Cash

Today was an off day. One of those irritated, walking on egg shells, miscommunication, emotional exhaustion days.

We were at dinner and I said, “Daddy, can we meta tomorrow?”

“That is still the plan.”

“Then let’s have a good night. We will talk about irritation tomorrow.”

“I’ll try.”

Earlier that night while walking around town, Daddy subtly and lightly pinched my bottom.

I came. I stopped and tried to hide it.

I failed.

He smacked my ass a little hard.

I came.

He let me go and we were happy for a bit.

The tension came back.

Until we decided to put it away and have an amazing dinner. And then we walked to our car.

Along the way Daddy pulled my hair.

I came.

We got to the car. Weak knees.

I sunk into the seat.

Yank

I came. I came. Fuck. I came.

I looked up and realized Daddy was filming.

I am sitting here now soaking wet, remembering the thoughts running through my head as I write this.

What a disgusting little girl I am. Fuck, pain, give me that beautiful, messy, groany, hot pain. Make me filthy. Make me remember your ownership, remind me why I’m yours.

And in that moment, when I looked up and he was filming, I knew I was his.

“Good Girl.”

I came.

Yes, Please! Please Daddy, show everyone, fuck, let the world know how you make me feel, show them how you make me feel and what I give you in return. Show them how much you own me, and tell them who I am.

I held eye contact with him through the camera, showing him I was his.

“Good Girl.” He said.

I fucking came again.

No, no, why, Fuck. FUCK. Too much, God so fucking dirty…I came again. and again.

“The audio from this is going on your blog.”

And I came, but it was different. The moment had passed.

Daddy let me zone out while I came down, feeling like a carebear wrapped in cotton candy riding a subspacey unicorn.

Then we talked about the posting command. He said “It is actually up to you.”

“And you’re okay with our voices being out there?”

“Yes.” He said.

But I wasn’t.

I explained to Daddy that orgasms are when I am my most vulnerable, and especially this, being outside, unable to control it, being his dirty, sexy, inhibited, slutty GOOD girl. Filthy good.

But as we rewatched it, part of me wanted to share. I was hot. And that made me feel good, because I spent so much of my life feeling ugly.

But now I feel…

Free. Floaty. Fucking FANTASTIC.

At our core, he and I connect during sex. Orgasms. The sound of love in his voice.

Rewatching the look of gratitude and love in in my eyes…

No. That is just for us.