Posted by: littlegirlyone | April 11, 2010


I’ve made no secret of my oral fixation; I’ve got a whole category dedicated to it over on my tumblr. I love giving head, I love fingers in my mouth. I love using my breath like a caress, running my tongue over sensitive skin, dragging my lips over my lover’s body. I’m getting a little squirmy just writing about it.

So it won’t surprise you that when Daddy and I talk about me spending hours with my head in his lap, I get all sorts of happy, mushy, submissive feelings. My heart softens, my breathings slows and gets deeper. I go to this place where all I can think about is giving him everything I have. And it’s not just the thought of having my way with his cock, tracing his body with my tongue, kissing him passionately. I feel so worshipful when we talk about this, that I want to lick that man’s feet. (And I promise you, that is a first for me.) Adoration just pours out of me. And heavy, honey, liquid-hot desire that I want to drip on him from my fingertips, and wring from the strands of my hair. I feel molten, yielding, soft. I feel the most beautifully submissive there. It’s what he calls my happy place.

What might surprise you (because it surprised me) is that when we talk about him spending hours hurting me, I feel the same way.

It didn’t start out like that. The first couple of times Daddy and I chatted, I was intrigued by him, but I didn’t see any tenderness. I knew by then that I needed to find an “intimacy junkie” Dominant guy (thanks to B for that term!) I needed someone who wanted to open me up the way I’ve always dreamed: slowly, carefully, like a present wrapped in layers of delicate paper too pretty to tear. But deliberately, and fully. Because I have this core desire to be known intimately, to be laid bare and vulnerable, to be stripped, not just in body, but in mind and in heart. I knew I had to find the Dominant to do this to me. But here I was talking to this very intelligent, intimidating Dominant man about girls locked in basements, cold and alone, and suffering incredible pain. Beatings. Bruises. Crying. The sort of really dark fantasy stuff that I’ve always had morbid fascination with, but never identified as a sexual trigger.

I think, like, the first three or four times Daddy and I talked, he hurt my feelings. I remember particularly that he made a couple of remarks about my age, and once, a threat to hurt me every day for the first month that I was his. And his affection for the word “bitch,” which I never liked (in fact, it used to be a limit of mine). Back then all of these things stung, and made me defensive. My eyes hardened, and my lashes drew closer together. I found reasons that I had to go, or reasons that I couldn’t come back later. And I withdrew from him, puzzled, sometimes a little overwhelmed, but always disconcertingly interested in finding out more about him, and what he meant. And why his fantasies were so hard, so sadistic.

I was also very worried. I related a lot of what we talked about to Meg, and asked her to be my canary. I told her to please please tell me if I was creating a damaging situation with another emotionally-unavailable man. And she advised me, cautiously at first, to keep talking to him, but to stay aware of my feelings, and to keep track of whether he started to open up to me at all.

I think it was partially his hardness, his coldness, and his unapologetic sadism that drew me. I cannot resist a challenge, especially one where I can take someone’s boundary and make them shift the line. That’s not a very submissive thing to say, but it’s honest. It’s what I do, or at least, it’s what I always hope to do when I’m intimate with a man. The harder his boundaries are to overcome, the more I want to find a way to break in there, redistrict, and squeeze the things I want out of him. Of course, I tend to go about this in the most passive-aggressive manner I can think of; sex can be really potent boundary-dynamite.

I remember the first time I felt like I broke through with Daddy. I wrote him a story. I lived in his house, and it was my job to get the girls in the basement ready for him to hurt when he came home. He loved the story, and so did I. And for me, it was a little victory. Because I was the special little girl in the house. Because I wasn’t one of the girls in the basement. Because he was my Daddy (he’d never been “Daddy” to anyone before.) I started to see how we might work together, how he might be willing to play some of the games I liked. We wrote story after story, back and forth, all variations on this theme: he was the Daddy, and I was his little right hand girl. Submissive to him, but dominant toward the other girls. I rediscovered my baby domme for him, and he embraced her fully, passionately.

We found a way to fit.

Shortly after that, we really started to get to know each other. Our conversations weren’t just about fantasies anymore (although that was, and is still, a favorite pastime). He told me who he was, what he loved, what he wanted. Then, he showed me that he was exactly the kind of Dominant I had been looking for: a teacher, emotionally-connected, fascinated with getting inside of me, truly interested in knowing what I felt, and how I reacted. (Even when I felt crazy, and I reacted with overwhelming, messy, feelings.) He never faltered, he never dropped me on my ass. He reassured me all the time that he wasn’t going to leave me. He applauded my honesty, even when it came at inconvenient times. I handed myself over to him, and laid still while he peeled back layer after beautiful layer. Carefully, gently, deliberately. He held me when I cried, he laughed with me, he made me come and come and come.

And one day I knew that I loved him. And that I wanted to give him everything, anything. I stopped worrying about how I was going to get him to give me what I thought I needed. I trusted him to give me that. I trusted myself to tell him what I felt. And I started trying my damnedest to make sure that he had what he needed, and that I was giving it to him.

I surrendered myself to him.

So last week, we were talking about my happy place: him, me, a warm bed, and permission to take my time.

“It’s like worship,” I said. “That’s it’s exactly what I feel when I think about being there with you. You are my gorgeous, sexy, strong awesome Daddy. And I love you, and I just want to show you how much…I just want to pour all of my adoration, all of my happiness, all over you.”

“And will you feel that way when I beat you?” he asked. “Will that be another way for you to show me your love, to feel it in your flesh?”

I didn’t pause.

“Yes,” I said honestly.

“Will you offer me your beautiful, white flesh to mar?”

“Yes. I want to surrender myself to you over and over. To hurt. To love. To do whatever you want with. Because I just want to be there,” I said, melting and soft.

“You know that you give me the darkest, most abusive fantasies?”

“Because you know I would take it from you because I love you,” I confirmed.

“Yes,” he paused for a moment. “And because it would make you want me more, need me more. If I blackened your eye? If I split your lip, and I held you afterward? If I kissed your forehead and told you you’re a good girl? You would be in deeper than you were before.”

“I think that’s right. I would want to do it over and over again just to get to that part. Just to hear you say that.”

“That’s something I’ve never had,” he said.

“Well,” I smiled, “Aren’t I the lucky piglet? I get to be your first victim.”

And I felt lucky and soft and full of adoration. I felt it pouring out of me, the same as when I was in my happy place.

I’ve never identified as a masochist. I like the idea of pain as punishment, but I don’t actually like pain. Hurting for him isn’t my fantasy, not even close. And because it’s so him, and because I feel so gentle and willing, I know that this is as submissive a place as I’ve ever been. Because I want nothing more than to give him what he wants. I want that more than all the things I’ve always fantasized about. I want to make his fantasies real.

I surrender.


  1. Y’know, LG, I don’t think very many of us do identify as masochists. The word has gotten built up, in some way. Longing for the whip and reminiscing about the whip aren’t enough: we feel like we aren’t masochists unless we are twittering about how cool whips are *while being whipped*.

    But I wonder if that makes sense…

    • That’s a great point, Orlando. It does make sense to me. I sort of define masochism as liking or enjoying the infliction of pain. But maybe just being willing to suffer it for love, for submission, is enough?

  2. I think this just became one of my favorite posts of yours. Your submission is so clear in it. It seems like you’ve reached a place with your Daddy where it isn’t an act of you submitting to him so much as a calming state of being. I love that so much! “I surrender” is such a powerful sentence. Short, but very clear. Beautiful writing as always darling =]


    • Thanks, Kelsi. I’m so glad you liked it! This post is actually a bit of a surrender. At the end of our conversation the other day, Daddy told me to write it up for the blog. This is just an edited version of what came out of me that night. It was effortless, and I’m so glad you appreciate it. Daddy loved it, too (but I sort of thought that was because he commissioned it).

  3. LG: What a beautiful post. You really did a great job of describing your submissive nature and how he is meeting and going to meet your submissive needs.

    I think if he wants to give you pain, you will accept it because it is your nature to want to submit to him and make him happy. And if he marks you, you will be proud of his marks, just the way you will be proud of losing weight for him.

    Enjoy the journey.


    Enjoy the journey he’s going to take you on.

    • Thanks, FD. I think you’re right. There are many many things that I would take from him just to make him happy. It’s not always as easy as it was for me on this day in particular, but mostly, his joy is my joy. Mushy mushy, blah blah 😉

  4. Do you worry about how surrendering this much to your Daddy will affect your relationship with Mark? (If it’s too personal a question, I totally understand)

    • Sky,

      It’s a great question, and a personal one. But I don’t mind answering it one bit. I sometimes do worry about what my relationship with Daddy could do to my marriage. The key word there is “could.” I see potential, but I mostly think it’s the stuff of fantasy.

      There are some big boundaries in our relationship that I don’t write about. For example, we are long distance. He lives far from me, and we’ve yet to meet in person. In fact, we’re not altogether sure we’ll ever meet in person (even though we want to). And he’s got a set of rules that he won’t break. So I rely on him to hold his boundaries, and by holding them, he protects me and my marriage.

      Is that the most responsible way to handle it? Maybe not. It’s putting a whole lot of faith into his ability to hold the line. Then again, I chose this man with these boundaries precisely because they also protect my marriage. So maybe I’m pretty damn responsible, afterall.

  5. “Because you know I would take it from you because I love you,”

    “I want to make his fantasies real.”

    I can completely identify with these statements. They are beautiful words!

    The other day, after rough, wild sex where I had been tossed about, used completely and solely for my man’s pleasure, he told me I was incredible….I said, “Incredible? I didn’t do anything, it was all your show.”

    He said, “Yes, but you took it.”

    • Sapphire, that’s just lovely and sexy and hotness all rolled into one. Thanks 🙂

  6. […] at a worse time for me, emotionally. Last week I was in a much better place. I wrote that lovely surrender post, and that’s just where I was. But then, Daddy shared a fantasy with me, and it was […]

  7. I know what you mean to want to be there for him, no matter what.
    My inner masochist isn’t big enough to enjoy beatings, but I can still understand.

    • 🙂 Thanks nebbish. No one’s ever beaten me before. The most physical impact I’ve withstood at this point was an over-the-knee spanking, and according to Meg, it was a nice one. I got a warmup and stuff. So I am definitely not saying I’ll enjoy the beatings. More that I can’t believe I would still try to be a good girl and get through them, even if they’re awful.

  8. I just found your blog today and am overwhelmed by this post….

    “Yes,” he paused for a moment. “And because it would make you want me more, need me more. If I blackened your eye? If I split your lip, and I held you afterward? If I kissed your forehead and told you you’re a good girl? You would be in deeper than you were before.”

    “I think that’s right. I would want to do it over and over again just to get to that part. Just to hear you say that.”


    Unlike you, I have always had a part of me that has wanted a Sadist along with a Daddy. Like you, I don’t particularly enjoy pain all the time, or most of the time even… but I crave the intensity, the stripping down, and the surrender. And more than anything, I want to be a good girl.

    • Welcome, Suspiria. I am glad you saw something of yourself in this. It’s always so validating when that happens!

  9. Wow. Your blog is so insightful. I’m just starting to get into this scene myself, and am frequently confused, or even troubled by my own enjoyment. Your blog helps put words to things, and helps to sort them out. Thank you.

    • I’m so glad that you’re enjoying what you read here. Discovering your kink(s) can be a really overwhelming, but ultimately exhilirating process. Welcome! I went and added your blog to my reader, I’m very interested having read only a handful of your posts. Glad you commented 🙂

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