We are starting to find a rhythm in our D/s life, finding pleasure and joy in daily “keep me in a submissive mindset” rituals: Me on my knees to suck on his cock when he gets home from work. A sweet spanking after dinner. I’m now asking for harder whacks. I love the instant calm that goes through my mind as heat tingles and spreads across my ass. I lie there so peacefully as my body absorbs the blows. The last few whacks are very hard, they make me gasp in a flash of resistance, but then, oh yes, a much better burn, deeper into submission I go.
Tonight, after spanking me, he puts his fingers in my mouth one at a time so I can suck each one which turns him on enough that he tells me to get on my knees and suck him. 
I spend fifteen minutes lavishing love on his rock hard cock, licking and sucking and humming, oh what a wonderful thing to partake of him. I don’t want to stop, he is delicious, but how long can a man take it?
We lie on the couch afterward in a blissful state, talk about how we’re feeling about the Daddy dimension of it all. How does he really feel about that, does it ever sound weird to him? He assures me it doesn’t, he loves it. He says this is who we really are, it has been evolving all along. He makes it feel natural, and it feels joyous to me, so rich and right and safe safe safe. I feel known and accepted and appreciated, it is strange magic. Then he holds my head still and slips his tongue into my ear and my body shudders with an unexpected orgasm.
Later, after he falls asleep, I lie in the dark beside him in astonishment. I have a Daddy. Growing up, I barely knew my father, and the few occasions I did see him, he certainly didn’t offer me love. I had no experience of warm male approval and acceptance. Meanwhile, my mother’s love was fickle, sometimes enveloping, but often punishing. I developed a shell to protect myself. “You’re so cold,” she’d tell me.
As I took men into my life, and embarked on rickety relationships, never did I perceive man’s feelings for me as unconditional love. I could always feel their agendas, their desire for me to be feel a certain way, say certain words. Of course, I’d try to give them what I believed they wanted, but then feel lost from myself. I admit the love I offered those men was not unconditional either. I was trapped behind my shell, a cold girl, with a cold, walled-off heart. Despite my great longing for romance, I could never sustain love for a man beyond the infatuation stage, I could only conjure little dribbles.
Meeting Michael changed all that for me. From the moment I met him, I could not sense any agenda coming from him other than to love me. I trusted in that love, and yet, the feeling of being loved by him was very airy and abstract. It seemed to float somewhere outside and around me. It touched me, but did not penetrate me bodily. Perhaps my shell was more intact than I knew.
Now, with dominance and submission, everything has changed. Michael’s love for me has broken through my shell and moved into me. Part of it must be my willingness to surrender, followed by the surge of energy from sexual polarity. No walls can stand against that kind of energy. But I think it is more than just that. A new dimension of security has come with all his Daddy talk, and it is a brand new sensation to me. There is a grounding weight to it, a warm solidity.
In truth, it feels as if he is going back into my past and rescuing me from the cold walls I shut myself inside at the beginning of me. It’s a paradox, because I am submitting to his sexual agenda, yes. But like a real loving Daddy – or at least my image of what a real Daddy should be – his only agenda is for me to be me, for me to be happy. He sees me, and knows me, and I feel like I am becoming the real me for the first time ever.
It should be impossible to have a Daddy now, to be a girl, at the age I am. It should be absurd, and maybe it is a little. 
Yet, somehow he makes it feel simple and natural with his easy acceptance of it all. I don’t know how he does that, makes the impossible possible, turns absurdity into perfect sense. And now I not only feel loved, but I feel oddly innocent again, as if I have never been hurt, as if I have no idea what hurt is. I suddenly feel confident that nothing could ever hurt me, I feel so safe and free and light and loved that I just want to laugh and play with my big handsome Daddy, with his firm confident hand, and his big wonderful cock. I want to give him all-over kisses and lick and suck on him, and thrill when he holds me down or spanks me, or opens me with his fingers.
My heart grows full as I contemplate these thoughts, and I press up against Michael’s smooth back in the dark, wanting to tell him how grateful I am. But he is asleep. Sigh. I try to lie still, but I cannot hold it all in, I am bursting, restless, with this change in the experience of being me, being loved by him. I slide out of bed, then go sit on the couch with my laptop to write him words that he will be able to read in the morning:
I am so happy with this secret, I love being in our own secret world, it feels like a dream. And if it is a dream, please don’t let me wake up, please keep me in this trance, please keep me as your sweet girl, please control me, condition me, hypnotize me, take my mind, own my pussy, fuck me into submission, dominate me, use me, own me completely. I have never felt so good as when you show me so viscerally that I am yours. I have never felt so alive, so in love, so full happy, oh you are such a good perfect Daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you.
Amen.
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