Yes Please

Yes Please”On the bed, face down.” I gingerly crawled on the bed, doing my best not to lose the plug in my ass. As tight as it was going in, I had the hardest time holding onto the thing. It was lubed and as I moved my muscles worked against me, pushing the thing out at the most inopportune moments. 
I laid on my stomach waiting. Daddy sat on the bed near me. The first thing I felt was the plug being pushed inside me deeper. I moaned, feeling the pressure of it inside me.  
He caressed my ass cheeks and I knew what came next. A crop to each cheek. He was not gentle, there was not a warm up this time.  
There were crop strikes again then the plug was pushed deeper. Each round of strikes was followed by the plug being pushed again. Essentially, he was fucking me with the plug. 

I had no further fear of losing the plug that night. When he fucked me later, I could still feel the muscle memory of the plug…pushing in. 

Eye of the Beholder

I had a suspicion but yesterday it hit me full force.  I am more beautiful for Daddy.  It goes deeper than me trying harder to please him.  Daddy loves girly girls.  I want to please him so I am always aware in my choice of dress such that I please him and dress femininely.

Deeper than that though, I am Daddy’s type.  When he ogles other women or points out curvy women to me they are usually typed very near to how I look.  If a girl has ample breasts, a tiny waist with a full round ass and hips then I know Daddy will like her.  I love seeing him admire them.  I love knowing deep down to his core that he desires me exactly as I am.

My first husband told me I was beautiful every day.  I believed he thought so on some level.  He loved that I always made an effort, always dressed nicely, always took care of the details.  I know he thought my face beautiful. But, and here’s the big difference, he hated that I was fat. He told me in a thousand different unspoken little ways how much he wished I was thin again.  Whether he was sober or drunk, verbal or non-verbal, I was sensitive to it and I read the cues.

My Ex told me once that it was a shame that he was a leg man and I was made for boob men.  Later, he told me I converted him but sadly I never truly believed him.  But when Mr. D tears off my shirt simply because he wants to watch my tits bounce and roll as he fucks me…I know, I don’t have to wonder or ask, he loves them.  His eyes caress and fondle my breasts all the time.  I feel him and I feel sexual.

I live in and own my sexual being with Mr. D.  I notice that when he takes my picture, I look more beautiful and more sexual in those pictures.  In the pictures he takes, I look like I feel in those moments.  I am sexual and I can see the heat and passion and love for him in those images.  

Yesterday, a really close friend sent me a picture of myself.  He is a graphic designer and a professional photographer.  You’d think his photos of me would be fabulous.  Once in a great while they are.  They do always show my joy of life and my happiness, I will say that.  But in almost all the photos he’s taken of me I look awful in some physical way.  In his photos, my double chin looks hugely apparent or my hair is fuzzy, or some other flaw is highlighted. There is usually something wrong.  The only thing I can correlate it to is our connection and his view of me.  He is a generally critical person and he sees all those flaws.  It makes him a great designer but loses something of the magic of life, I think. Photography is so much more in the eye of the beholder than I ever thought possible. 

So, for another of the countless times a day or a week, I am truly thankful for Daddy and how he sees me.  I love being his sexual beast and love how he brings out the true and beautiful me.