punishments and rewards

Yesterday was a rough day for me. MSR put me on "ignore". No contact. She would say it's not punishment but that's how it feels. I crave her. Like a child that can't get the thing she wants, she wants it more. MSR would say that she is not going to reward sulkiness, self-indulgent pity parties, or accusatory conversation. She has a point but she is also a mule. Long before I get to the primary scream inside, she has decided that I don't deserve her attention. So, as I wrote in my last entry, when I am crying out for tenderness, she is holding up the caution tape. How did she put it tonight...something like "I am verbally caning you."

What to do?

I almost didn't want to come home. I didn't want to reward her behavior. If she didn't want me when I needed her why should she have me at all? I had lived with someone whose response to arguments was always silence and it drove me away. Yet, there I was driving home, crying, wishing someone would take care of my hurt.

I want someone to care for me. I cried for my childhood, always having to ask for someone to help me because mom was gone and dad was on the road. I thank and trust my oldest sister for all of her help and I thank my dad for doing what he could. I thank my friends for their support. I thank you MSR. Yes, I see how you care for me. I see that you need to be cared for too. So, I make dinner, we engage (as difficult as it is for both of us), we have a glass (or two) of wine, some of easiness and softness returns, I clean up, we brush our teeth and go to bed.

There is a love here between us. It's fragile like so many of the things that we have packed and moved from place to place. I don't want to break it or leave it behind. It requires some careful handling. Sometimes, the real cane is easier.

hand to hand combat

so, MSR was replying to one of those silly surveys that I had passed around today and one of the questions was name two things you did last night...and she turned to me and said, "Would it be wrong to put masturbate?" I was taken aback but didn't say anything right away. I was there...albeit she always uses her hands to get off and it has never offended me. How could it, I almost always do myself. Our intimacy is so much more than getting off but that she would describe what happened as masturbation made me feel insignificant. I didn't feel submissive, just small. I was making dinner and I sat down for a second and asked her quickly...is that how you would describe it...."masturbation?" and she said that I hadn't read her reply. I did. She had changed it completely. That didn't answer my question and she moved on. I guess I should have dropped it. She surfed the net again while I cleaned up. It is her way of being distracted, like tv. She wanted to go to bed.

I tried to find this song for her on the web because I don't have a copy. It's a cover of "Dancing in the Dark," by Mary Chapin Carpenter and it's completely different than the Bruce version. It's a dirge, slow and almost melancholy. I just wanted to show her that a song can be redone and be successful in different ways. I like it too and wanted to share it with her for a while since we saw the Boss. (that was a wonderufl gift).

Now in bed, my feelings come up again and I ask her if that's how she thinks of what we do in bed. Is it masturbation? I guess it could be taken as accusatory but I really wanted her to say "NO, I don't think of it that way." I wanted her to recognize that what she said and how she thought it about had made me feel diminished in my role. Too much to ask I think now. I should have just told her how I felt. Her apology comes later but her body turns away and my touch is unwelcome now. So, I'm up. Writing. Thinking.

I love her dearly. I'm sorry that it turned the way it did. I don't think it's all my fault but it's not hers either. She feels hurt too. "I'm gonna bruise you. I'm gonna be your bruise."

If you're listening Miss R. I'm sorry.

daddy serves again

When I picked her up last night with the rain pouring down, washing the city, and her clothes and hair were wet, I knew that she needed her Daddy again. Not the daddy that makes her submit and tells her what to do, but the caretaker, the daddy who makes her feel loved.

We ate dinner, talked. Took a tour of scary movies in Blockbuster. Came home to peruse the porn selections of the day and then I kissed her hard like Daddy used to do. She wanted him on her terms.

I brought her my cock and my strength. I pushed her open, and she came to Daddy's cock hungry for it. Pushing her legs back and up and I plunged. Loving the sound of her moan again. I fucked her and suckled her skin. She cried out because it hurt just a little but there is no safe word spoken. I slowed the pushing and fondled, slowly I brought my cock into her sex and then slowly out again and back in, slowly I pushed, my hands caressed her inner thighs, my lips on her inner thighs, outer lips, driving Daddy's cock in and of her and she released, crying out. This is how she needed her Daddy to love her. I am still her toy, here to serve her; my adoration is unbound. "I am still here to serve you MSR."

Was it to prove her point? She ordered me up on all fours, head down and took out the cane. How many strokes did I deserve? She asked me to call out for them. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7..8..9...10. Why did I want more?

She grabbed a dildo for my ass. I franked. So, she shoved it in my cunt, and I swallowed it. Humped it, bounced on it. I am her whore. She has me. "You were made to have your holes filled." I can feel the truth as I climax. And she holds me, cares for me. "Sweet Girl," she said as she rocked me.

Later, I started masturbating. I think of the ways that I wanted to be used. She fulfills my fantasies as if she reads my mind. My nipples are abused and I ask for more. The cane rains down and I am crying out for her, my sex throbbing, and my body floating.

Nice Ass

That's good, my SweetGirl.

beginning

I have offered myself to her for two reasons. My ego has to be checked in order for us to move forward in our relationship and I adore her.


I have been daddy to MSR and her sweet girl, her pet, her toy. MSR has been bound, whipped, gagged and fucked and loved it. She still has those desires. I have been bound, whipped, and fucked and loved it. These are not the reasons for my submission.



I submit because I need to be forced to hear her will, her desires. I need to set aside my fears and place my trust in her. My ego intrudes when she is speaking. She will force that ego aside and I will find the way to serve her, love her, make her smile.



It began with rope and a belt. She took my daddy belt and whipped me. She tied me to the frame and teased and tortured. She wore my cock and fucked my ass.



When I have felt most ashamed of how I failed to make her happy or when I have been the cause of her tears, I have come with the belt in my hand to give to her. I know it will make it right. So I sent an email when I thought we couldn't talk it out. I showed my willingness to submit. It went like this:



I want to serve you MSR. I desire to feel your pleasure. At your sex, your mouth, at the end of your hand, the belt, the whip, your fist.The moan from your throat and the throbbing of your sex are my desire. A smile on your mouth and in your eyes is my goal. Bring me to those places with you MSR. I want to hear your stories, be there to help you, and share your fantasies as you do for me. Being at your command is a pathway to efface my ego and submit to your desires.

To listen. To truly share. Help me do that MSR, please.



She began with a beating. She uses my belt on my ass, my legs, my back, my breasts. My sex is more than damp. She puts my fingers in her hole and she is moist. I drop to my knees to suckle at her thighs, her lips. She toe fucks my cunt and brings herself to climax. She tells me goodnight and I know that I will not be allowed to cum.



She has me fully waxed to look like her sweet girl now. No more daddy. She dresses me in her lingerie. My humiliation is more uncomfortable than I thought. I still desire to take her.

Today, while shopping, we saw a row of bamboo canes, the kind used by barkers at a circus. She said that I need to pick out one. I hesitated but did it. It was my idea that I wanted to be caned. Why did I hesitate now? I know how strong she is... She carried it home through the streets, practicing the swing, and then on the subway prurient eyes spied on her.
Once our door was locked, the cane was all I could think about. The result is posted.

What is not seen is how she bent me over the ottoman, kneeling and how my sex dripped and pooled. How she took me in her bed and whipped me hard. Made me kneel on my fours. Her cock pushed at my asshole and I could not open fast enough. I franked. She comforted me and then I felt the cock with my hand strapped to her body. This is hers now and I went to it, letting her cock in full and deep as I sat back. Writhing on her with my back upright, I climaxed. I turned to face her and feel her cock and sex. To kiss her. To thank her. She takes it off and pulls my face down between her legs and I suckle. I trace her lips with fingers and the opening of her sex blooms and glistens and she swells. I enter slowly and circle. I love to hear this moan. I sit up and fuck her only slightly more fully and she grabs at my collar pulling me down again to "lick and suck me on my thigh..here...she points" and I gladly do it...the whole time she has my collar pulled taut and i tell her I am glad to be bitch. I do not stop until I hear that primary call in her voice.

I am happy to do what she asks of me. She honors me when I have done well. She brings me her favor when she feels loved and honored.

This morning we have coffee and I feel cared for again. She asks what we have on tonight and I ask her if I can go to play ball. Yes is her answer but I am glad to be asking and would be happy with any answer. I ask if she would like to come and yes, she would. I am excited about sharing something new with her.