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Peekin' In My Drawers

My underwear drawer is full of things other than undies . . .
things like a depressingly solid blue plastic cutting board that my
Daddy/husband decorated one side of for me.
And the remains of a surgically dissected, thick leather belt that he cut down to “just the right size" for reddening my poor vulnerable rear.

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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.

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Not cumming *or* going . . .

OMG.

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.

Anorgasmia.

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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"But it's on *SALE*!"

“Do you need me to find a quiet corner of this parking lot, young lady?” he asked me, in *that* tone of voice.

I’ll admit it. Even after all these years together, I gulped hard.

Meekly – much more so than I had been prior to him saying that - “Uh, no, Daddy.”

We were having a discussion . . . okay, I was being . . . uh . . . a bit . . . strident about something I wanted to get just before Daddy gave me the “Princess drop-off” at the door of the grocery store.

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The not girly girl

I’m not a very “girly" girl.

I don’t have a closet full of clothes. I don’t have multiple pairs of the same shoe in different colors. I don’t even carry a purse.

Daddy doesn’t allow me to wear makeup, and I’m allergic to most scents (although I love them anyway).

But I do love pink, especially pink roses.

So, as the only daughter I’ll ever have, poor PeeWee never had a chance! I think everything she owns is pink – from her pink, gingham checked and ruffled harness to her pink wire crate and coordinated bed.

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Bedtime Rituals

Every night when I climb under the covers after having let PeeWee out:

“Did you tinkle?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“And use your eye drops?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Night time meds on board?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Are you hurting? Do you need to take some Tylenol so you’ll sleep comfortably?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Want the fan/air/heat off?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Are you and Miss Whee all comfy-cozy under the kivvers?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

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Kitten Interuptus

Junior has even less decorum than his sister, PeeWee, does – if that’s even possible.

*Anything* that moves is fair game.

This puts a very interesting – if sometimes painful in all the wrong ways and places – twist on lovemaking, to be sure, especially when he engages in a sneak attack . . .

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Note to self:

Do NOT take a shower, and then end up getting spanked.

YEOW!!!

And YEOW!!

And did I mention - YEOW?!!!!!!!!!!

I don't know how long the time frame is before that extra sensitivity wears off, but I should definitely put some time and research into finding out!!!

For SCIENCE!!

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Little Miss Not-So-Independent

“Ima be with you.”

Or, the flip side of that,

“You’ll be with me?”

I can’t tell you how many times I ask Daddy these questions – sometimes multiple times an *hour*. We are very much in love, and he has never given me any kind of reason to think that that would ever change.

Still, even in this utterly loving, completely committed relationship, my Little is still very insecure, needy, and clingy at times.

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