Pamper (-s/-ed)?

Yesterday, when we were out shopping for a rice cooker and a hummingbird feeder, Papu bought me a pack of diapers. We were watching a special on ABs a while back, and though I found the representative, a woman named Katie/Baby Ella, cringe-worthy, it reminded me about some things we have been talking about regarding expanding our level of AP.

First, it took me quite a while to be okay with AP in any format. I used to be stringently opposed and had a knee-jerk gag reaction. I think mostly because my exposure had been through the google searches and internet chat sites (the AP forums at Spanking Community), documentaries, and your occasional television reference, none of which made me want any part of it. Over time, though, Papu dismantled my barriers and I have found myself wanting it, really wanting it.

Papu is a great Daddy. He is soft and loving, and moreover, really wants it too. He puts me on his lap and bounces me, kisses my forehead, reads me stories and buys me toys and coloring books, makes me treats, gives me binkies and calls me little girl. I feel adored.

And then, he takes it a step further. Ours is not a relationship where there are boundaries between AP and BDSM. It makes me crazy wet when he is lying on top of me, asking me if I want his big Daddy cock in my baby hole. He tells me that I can't tell anyone about it because they would never understand, makes me promise, tells me it would get him in a lot of trouble if someone found out that he touched his baby girl in all my naughty places.

And then he shows me how to do it. Slowly, making sure I'm okay, that I'm not hurting too much. He tells me that I am never allowed to let anyone else touch me like Daddy does. He tells me he knows I'm a bad girl and a little slut and I can't help it, but that no one but Daddy is ever allowed between my legs. And I promise, pushing my soaking pussy up against him.

So, when he asked me last night if I wanted to try my diapers on, I don't know why I was so hesitant. I was embarrassed. I told him so and he took me into the bedroom anyway and pulled off my pajamas and powdered my cunt and bottom, then put them on me anyway. It felt strange, I'm not going to lie. I wanted to do it, theoretically, sure, but when I was there in diapers, I couldn't stop thinking about old people in diapers.

I asked Papu to set up my pen. I thought that maybe I could get into it more if I was in a crib. I kept thinking about Baby Ella and how much I did not want to be that girl with her annoying baby voice asking for peanut butter ice cream, referring to herself in the third person like a schizo. I tried to push those thoughts away and play with my cat in the pen. I liked it when Papu said that I was a much cuter and sassier version than Baby Ella. That I didn't AP in such an irritating way. Except that he must have been thinking about that documentary too. Worrying.

I put my hair in pigtails to try it out. I don't really do that. It was cute, but I didn't think that Papu was really that into it anymore. He was getting bored and jumpy and so I put the crib away. It's hard to stay in a little mind space when Papu is irritable. The last thing I want is a fight while I'm in diapers.

I knew he wanted to beat me. He kept telling me he wanted to, and eventually, at a commercial break, he took me, protesting, back into the bedroom and had me bend over the foot board. He wanted to hit me with the new wire switch as hard as he could cause I was wearing the diaper. I was pretty scared, but he tried some littler swats first. Suddenly, he swung so hard. I shrieked and fell on the floor, rubbing my butt and crying. The switch had gone around the padding and caught the one side of my cheek with the sharp, sanded end.

But Papu was kind and said he wouldn't do it like that again, kissing my cheeks and helping me back up. He pulled down the diaper and started with the switch again. I was crying really shortly. I hardly ever cry with floggers, paddles, brushes, lengths of knotted rope, but those little whippy things fuck me up. And they hurt more after the initial swing.

Anyway, he wailed on me with the wire for a while, then with the short leather crop and finally with the bath brush. I was crying and I couldn't stop the whole time. He told me to look at him, then kissed my face and lips, asked me if I wanted to be fucked. He had already fucked me earlier in the afternoon. It was really passionate (the romantic kind of passionate, which is a deviation from our normal, rough kind of passionate) and we both felt spent relief after. But I love dick, so of course I said yes. Well, I begged as he prefers.

The diapers did not come back on afterward. I was tired and as I had already told him that I didn't think I could just up and pee in them, he didn't insist.

Like I said, he's a really good Daddy. I love being his little princess.

Daddy Dearest

Papu got creative last night when I wouldn't tell him where the little red switch was. It was nearly 2 in the morning, but he got up and shaped a wire coat hanger into a switch and wrapped electrical tape around the end for a handle. After he scratched my hand with it, he filed the end a little bit (not enough in my opinion) and then beat me with it.

I kept telling him I didn't know where it was, but he beat me for lying. (I wasn't exactly lying. I had an inkling, which turned out to be accurate, but I would rather have him hit me with ANYTHING else. I hate that little red switch.) In the end, welted and teary, I told him where it was.

I am regretting teasing him into playing with me this afternoon. I am concerned that the red one is going to figure in somehow. There was suggested a little hogtying. I will hop away if necessary. I really need to work on my blood-chilling, neighbor-fetching scream.

Wish me luck.

Dead animals need love too.

I went to Chinatown yesterday. That's what the title is from; these Japanese characters. Japan doesn't always make a lot of sense (RE: Noodletown).

I'm getting the shot again tomorrow so sex is back on in T-minus sixteen hours!! I miss fucking, but it's only been two days. I can't complain. Papu even says I can play. Which I will. I like to play on my own so I gotta get Papu to do something else. Then I'm getting out the big guns. Grin.

It's only fair. He wanked today while I was working. He let me look at his porn, but it was just porn to me. There's some I like, but it all just looks like skanky vag en mass.

We got some goodies at Home Depot. New rope, and cable ties because when we researched what police were using; it seemed to be the same. They were out of the 24" (well, they had a sign on them that said to go get a team member to assist if you wanted them, but Papu doesn't want anyone to suspect what he's up to... Me? I'm just like, "'Scuse me, Sir, where's your rope? Great, and chain? Perfect. How much weight can this hold? Like a person?"), so we got the 48". They're super long, but you can just cut off the extra. They're sitting in front of me and I can't wait to use them. They'll be all fast and convenient and I suspect will leave some sweet markings.

My jaw is KILLIN' me from the ball gag, PS. I know I bit hard on it, but it feels like I have been chewing tar. The thing tastes like cack. When he put it in, it reminded of this time when I was like, nine...my dad bought this gas mask. I can't remember exactly why but it had to do with there being breathable toxins in something he was doing and since he was sick, it was worse for him. He kept it under the sink, in the bathroom cupboard. I used to go under there all the time to use my mom's old make-up and I found it and tried it on. It was really heavy and had two filters. But it stunk like rubber. It was worse wearing it than breathing regular air so I took it off. I thought maybe if I sprayed it with some perfume it would be better, so I grabbed this bottle of cheap stuff my mom had gotten as a present and thrown under the sink with all the other 'up-for-grabs' make-up (you know, ice blue eye shadows and magenta lip liners, etc) and sprayed it all in the mask. It stunk doubly of cheap perfume and burnt tires after that and my dad had to throw it away. He was sorta pissed since it was expensive, but I also thought he found it kinda funny. I was only trying to help. Those sorts of things happened a lot. It's how I broke the TV too. But that's another story.

Anyway, I thought of that while Papu put the gag in and I almost laughed. Almost.

Spanking Chi

Papu beat me for a long time this afternoon. I needed it real bad. I couldn't count each swing. He says it's somewhere around 300. My butt hurt like it's been rubbed with sandpaper (and technically it has cause he used the black no-skid paddle at the end). I went through periods of being very sensitive and then not feeling the scrapes and stings. It was just incessant, violent pounding on my ass.

He tied my ankles and wrists half-way through and put in a ball gag. I drooled a lot, but it helped me stay focused. Afterwards, I felt high. People say that, but those are the same people that spend days at their Master's feet, serving. I went to Home Depot and couldn't stop making stupid jokes and repeating what he said in weird voices. I moved slowly and felt disconnected. So like, really, actually high.

Anyway, it cleared my depressed mood for a little while, but life has been too stressful for it to just disappear. I felt bad that I made Papu angry, but I was angry too. It's not right to squabble cause we're stressed though, especially since he went out of his way to try and beat the stress from my body.

I ache and think I'll sleep well tonight, though (probably won't make it through the bedtime story...grin). I don't know how many more days in a row I can take this kind of a beating, but I will continue to ask so long as I can.

Kink Is Like Drink

I asked for kink again today. I seem to really want punishment; like over and over. I wonder how many days in a row I can go. I have a perma-scraped feeling. Like when you skin your knee, but your ass instead. It's raw, but I'm not actually broken, you know? And now there's a deeper muscle ache that I can feel when I move and stretch, alot when I get in the car.

It's like when you drink after something bad has happened; and you haven't had a drink in a while. You keep saying, "I'm not drunk enough. I can still feel this. I need to drink more, cause I'm pretty buzzed now, but in half an hour I'll be okay again and I'll have to start over." And then you drink some more and all of a sudden, half an hour later, you're ready to black out.

I just don't know if I'm drunk enough yet.

What It's Like

I asked Papu what my first post should be about. He says he's crap at keeping blogs, but that's okay cause I'm the one writing. I didn't want to start at the beginning because I'm not at the beginning anymore. He says to write about how the kink is different than I thought it would be. The kink means our relationship.

Here's what I thought it would be like:

I had lots of visions of play spanking. Like, scenes, really. When you don't live it, you think it's like a sexy little scene in it's own time, with like, a decorum and whatnot. Like: "Lollie. Come here; you've been a bad girl and Daddy is going to spank you now." Spanking, talking, crying, lessons learned, standing in the corner like a naughty little kid. Or like, meaner things where Papu ties me up and leaves me in a dark closet, only to pull me out and thrash me and maybe tease me with his cock or finger me before beating me again.

Lots of spanking though. I imagine it will hurt very much and there will be bruises and welts, maybe broken skin. I dunno. I imagine I will be very afraid of Papu, but maybe at night times, he'll tuck me and tell me I'm his little baby and give me a sippy cup while he reads me a story.

Suffice it to say, my imagination is expansive, dirty and depraved, crosses all my personal boundaries, but most importantly is always hot and is always on my terms.

Not exactly the realities of submission.

This is more like it:

Sometimes, there's a lot of kink, and mostly when we're happier. When Papu is very mad, he is scary. I don't think about if I look pretty or if I am in control because I am not. I am running away and hiding in locked rooms. I say, "Don't touch me" and mean it. I kick and pinch and punch and scratch back. But Papu doesn't get that angry anymore since he smashed the bathroom door.

Sometimes, Papu thinks I'm sassy. He scolds me and warns about it (and mostly I think I'm not even doing anything), but if I don't stop, he pushes me into the bedroom and tells me to bend over the bed. There isn't really a decorum to it, not like in my head. It's just functional. Then he pulls down my jeans, just over my butt and tells me to wait. And sometimes I do, and sometimes I get up (which is probably why he never puts the paddles and hairbrushes and sticks away, cause they're right there in arms reach). Then he spanks me.

Not ever too long, and sometimes I think not long enough. Papu doesn't want to hurt me too bad, I think. Not like that anyway. Or maybe he's just sympathetic when I start yelping and squirming. The one time I thought it was too much was when he used the little red switch. He was mad and it only took two swings to make me scream and say whatever he wanted. I got this knot in my stomach and I thought I would throw up it hurt so much.

Sometimes he spanks me softer at first, to warm me up, but not always. If I can, I try to squirm forward so I am lying down more than bending over. It hurts less. This is some reality. You start finding out little things, like which tools you really need (as opposed to which look good) and how to cheat the spanking a little so you don't scream so loud that the neighbors call the police. Oh, and you worry about the neighbors. And you don't get those gorgeous black and bruises; you get sloppy little red splotches and bumps and welts. And you keep saying, "What's wrong with my butt?" And you start feeling like a square when you think about bloggers who take like 500 with switches and canes, when you're getting like 100 with a bath brush at half-swing.

And most of all, you're not in control of your own pain or pleasure anymore; this is both disappointing and ridiculously hot. I hate having to ask for orgasms. It's humiliating still somehow. I mean, I can piss in front of Papu, can lay still while he pushes his whole fist into my cunt, even listen as he recounts my snoring and night-time babbling, and I don't wanna ask to cum. So more than I like, I don't get to cum. I cheat sometimes. I tell Papu about that most of the time, if late. But I struggle with the idea of absolute control.

And on the other hand, I am so hot for it. The other night when we were fucking, Papu pressed the tip of a knife to my throat and I froze. He sank down on top of me and slammed his cock in and every thrust pushed the knife into the skin of my throat. I could feel it leaving the most shallow cuts, like water, in and out, leaving no trace of its penetration. He told me later that he could feel the change in my pussy; that I was wet for it. I felt like a deer in head lights. Everything became sharper and slower. I wanted to cum but I was too present, if that makes sense.

When he finished, he pulled out and leaned down to my thighs and made two thin slices into the flesh next to my cunt. I know he could see his own cum leaking from my slit. I felt frozen and open and the blade was not smooth, it was cutting me. Not slicing, more like a tiny saw. And then, better than an orgasm; he rubbed them with vinegar. It didn't make a difference really. Maybe the cuts were too small. But then he cleaned me up, first shoving a handful of paper towel under my pussy, pressing it against my cunt lips; then he cleaned the cuts, put on a bandaid. I could barely move. It felt so good to lie there and be fucked, and hurt, and cut and then patched up. I felt dizzy. It made me want more.

Later on I asked for more kink the next day. When we woke up. Papu said yes. But he didn't give it to me when I woke up. It was later in the afternoon. I needed to feel pain, and lately I need it real bad, and I hate waiting for it, but I also love it when I don't get to stop him.

And that's sort of how its different.

Papu.

My Daddy is called Papu. I love Papu.