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You Keep Using This Word, Senor....

What is a "Daddy Dom"?  Thanks mostly to UB, I got it in my head that a Daddy Dom must be a loving Daddy for a baby or little girl, but now I find that all it takes to be a Daddy Dom is to believe in giving your sub playmate some aftercare.  Apparently the non-Daddy Doms don't do aftercare.  So, naturally, all these women flodding into BDSM are saying they want Daddy Doms.


Feeling Pretty

I was having a panic attack and feeling sorry for myself last night.  I couldn't sleep, so I logged on to a Kik group that I belong to and chatted with the folks there.  We have a rule that if you say "lol" you have to post a selfie.  I'm always very careful not to do so because I feel that people's expectation of what I look like will be crushed when they see the real me.

I was tired though and made the mistake.  So, I did a selfie.  And I waited....

"You're so pretty, Laura!" they said.  And I cried.

I've never been pretty before and it felt amazing!!!!


Hello Old Friend

When I first came to Guardian Island, I didn't know what a Blog was and I had never even considered posting my intimate thoughts and ideas to an anonymous public.  But once I did so, it became addictive.  I wrote incessently. I wrote things that thrilled me and scared me (was I really feeling this stuff and why on earth was I telling it to the world)?


When you forget that you even *have* a safe word . . .

I have never safe worded out in 16 years. I've never even come close to feeling as if I needed to.

But I came as close as I ever have so not long ago.

Granted, I absolutely deserved the severity of the punishment I was given. And it was delivered with one of the most severe implements we have – a long, wide, leather strap that has been the bane of my existence since Daddy got it.


Not cumming *or* going . . .


I’ve experienced it before, but never as badly as this.

I was recently diagnosed with fibromyalgia, and I was put on a medication that has a terrible, terrible side effect.


I can’t cum.

For the second time, Daddy did everything he could think of – things that would normally have me literally screaming the house down, panting, shaking, crying . . .

Nothing. Nada. Zippo.

No, that’s not right.

Not nothing.

I felt aroused. I did.

I just couldn’t get *there*.



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