Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl. You Deserve This.

It was hard to ask for a birthday spanking from my sometimes Daddy. I’m not as young as I used to be so the number is kinda up there and also I’m an ass wuss…well, most of the time. Turns out the hornier I am, the more I can take on my ass. And I wanted to see what that would be like for a full on spanking… and I just happened to be having a birthday a few months ago and I don’t remember ever having a birthday spanking because I would always wuss out of spanking.

So I worked up my brave muscles to ask for a birthday spanking. And the answer was yes! We planned for it to happen at a future event we were both going to. Getting to that event the night before proved to be a challenge, as did parts of the resulting evening, but it all worked out and then, the next day, Daddy and I made our way to the event where the spanking was going to happen.

I was very nervous, but in the best way. I had on a new black, ribbed skater dress that went whoosh when I spun in it and made me feel like a happy little gothlet girl. When we arrived, we found a good location for the scene: a solid, padded, two-tiered spanking bench where I could rest my entire chest on the top, facing a wall with white board. Daddy made vague noises about how he could’ve used the whiteboard in scene if he’d known it would be there, and while that sounded intriguing, I knew it wasn’t going to happen for this scene so I didn’t give it much thought.

Daddy held my hand the way I had asked him to, earlier in the weekend, as we walked through the playspace and led me to the bathroom. He got very serious with me, right outside the door.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

I nod.

“You’re sure?” he asks again and I nod again.

“Then I want you to go in the bathroom, take care of anything that you need to before our scene. When you’re done, I want you to look in the mirror and ask yourself if this is what you want. If it is, then I want you to look in the mirror and tell yourself you deserve this.”

I go into the bathroom feeling both giddy and terrified. Was this what I wanted? Yes. But what if my ass wussed out again? Would I make Daddy mad? What if I cried? Would Daddy make me take all my clothes off? In front of everyone? Did I want that? My body told me I did, but my brain screamed at me that that was a terrible idea that would disgust Daddy and everyone else around. It didn’t matter that there were all different body types in the playspace in various stages of undress. In that moment, my body felt repulsive. The fear mounted. I used the bathroom and noticed my tummy was a little oogly, likely from the stress I was putting myself through.

Was this what I wanted? Was this what I wanted? Was this what I wanted?

Yes, yes, YES.

But how could I get over the fears that were bombarding my brain? Of all the other children pointing and laughing…Daddy walking out…being called ugly, fat, gross…that I didn’t deserve any of the good feelings Daddy helped me feel.

My brain was brutal in the bathroom that afternoon. But I looked in the mirror as I washed my hands. Square in the eyes. Saw the terror. And just…let it be. I told the scared little girl inside me that it would be okay. Just like it was last night. That Daddy cared about me and wouldn’t do those things I was terrified of. That he wouldn’t walk out of the scene, and that he wouldn’t put me in a situation where I was at risk for people being mean to me like that. And that at the heart of it, I really, really wanted this. I could feel myself getting tingly in all the right places. It felt good to desire things. It felt good to find people who wanted to help bring some of those desires to fruition. To be in places where I could let myself feel wonderful things. And I told myself that I deserve it.

When I came out of the bathroom, Daddy was waiting for me and asked if everything was okay, since I’d taken a little longer than a normal bathroom trip. I said that it was harder than I thought it would be but I did it. Daddy asked if there was anything I needed to tell him. I told him that given my oogly tummy, I didn’t think any ass play would be a good idea, just in case he had wanted to do that. Daddy nodded. Then I asked if I could ask him a question. He said yes.

“Do you want to be here?”

The one part of my brain I apparently couldn’t turn off from the bathroom was that Daddy would rather be elsewhere…getting brunch with his date from last night, or on the beach, or playing with anyone else but me for this scene.

Daddy looked me right in the eyes and I saw the naughty sparkle in his warm brown eyes that makes my knees weak. He nodded very slowly, with a very slight sly smile that also makes my knees turn to jelly and simply said, “yes.”

He then led me over to the place we picked to have our scene and I saw the whiteboard. Daddy had written a message for me in pink and blue markers:

Happy birthday, sweet girl. You deserve this.

The way the bench was oriented, that was what I would be looking at for the whole spanking. I felt my heart swell and told myself not to cry. I didn’t have much time to think about it, though because Daddy sat down on the kneeling part of the spanking bench and told me to come over and sit on his lap. A lightning strike of terror shot through me. I may sometimes be a little girl, but I am not a small girl. And little girls aren’t supposed to break their daddies. I’m always so afraid of breaking everything…

He saw the fear on my face, even as I stiffly made myself perch on his knee. I was grateful when he asked if I needed a few minutes to talk about it and I said yes. He walked me by the hand to a lounge section and we settled on a couch and he pulled me into him. I burrowed into his shoulder, trying to not cry. He asked me about my reaction. I tried to articulate it in a way that wouldn’t make me ugly cry and ruin everything, so I referenced a story I had written and sent him. It was a fantasy that I had about being spanked over Daddy’s knee, but in it, I mentioned the fear of putting my weight on his legs because “little girls shouldn’t break their daddies”.

So clearly, I wanted to do things like that, but laps were different than being laid over limbs on a soft bed. Daddy held me and told me that he wasn’t going to set me up for a fall, nor was he going to ask anything of me that was going to knowingly hurt him.That he’s sturdier than I might think. That I need to trust him and asked if I could do that for him. I nodded into his shoulder. He was right. Satisfied that I believed him, he kissed my forehead and brought me back to the bench and told me to take off my panties and then my shoes if I wanted to and then to get on the bench. I did so and the first thing Daddy does is flip up the skirt of my ribbed black sundress. Now, because my head was facing the wonderful whiteboard on the wall, this meant that my bare ass and…everything else was exposed to the entire playspace. My brain went into a silent onslaught of Cut Yourself Down Before Anyone Else Can Overdrive.

You haven’t had a pedicure in weeks and your feet are terrible; this is not the right dress, your ass is too big, you’re too hairy down there, do you smell bad, do you look bad, are people repulsed, are people going to laugh….

And on and on. But Daddy touched me, reassuringly, and spoke to me. And then he did the bestest thing ever. He laid his phone down towards the corner of the top of the spanking bench and put on a sexy playlist so we could both hear it. I thanked him for remembering how important music is, to both of us, and tried to lose myself in the music as Daddy prepared behind me. He asked me about an insertable vibe that I brought and the next thing I know, it’s inside me, sending low, delicious vibrations through my lower parts.

“Hold that for me there, will you, sweet girl?”

I squeezed it inside me and felt the vibrations even stronger. Then the spanking started. Thankfully, because I had the vibe set and was already feeling tingly and wet, and the music Daddy chose was sooo good, the hits weren’t too much and I didn’t wuss out. He made me count each blow that landed and I promised myself that I would NOT lose count. Not even when Daddy tried to distract me with changing toys, not even when he checked to see how wet the spanking was making me (umm….a lot) or tried to help make me wetter, and not even when I heard the telltale jingle of his belt buckle against the belt clasp, though that one came the closest. I perked my head up and saw the belt in his hand and I pulled in a sharp breath of deep desire.

“That’s right. My girls tend to get used to that sound.”

I could get used to that sound, I thought. And then wondered who the hell I was that I wanted to get used to the sound of belt when it used to be a hard limit and who wanted to be one of his girls when I never thought I’d ever want a Daddy/girl dynamic. There wasn’t much time to think too deeply about evolution of desires in that moment because the belt came down with its sweet sting on my ass pretty fast.

Through all that, I kept count. Even through worrying that it was unlikely that I would cum because there were strangers around and I felt embarrassed and I couldn’t find that internal hook that would carry me through. I tried focusing on counting and the pain that turned to pleasure mingling with the vibrations and the feeling of Daddy’s fingers. A few times, Daddy would lean close to me to kiss me and tell me that some of his friends had been walking by and smiled at him and he smiled back while enjoying me. My brain had trouble comprehending this.

People were enjoying seeing me like this? Daddy was enjoying me like this? I wasn’t ugly or too much?

It was so hard to wrap my head around, especially when I was trying not to lose count, and also deal with the blows that kept landing on my ass and it all felt so good…even when it didn’t. When there were starbursts of pain that made me yelp. But given all the things and people around…I didn’t think I could get there. I sometimes struggle with feeling broken when it comes to that. Daddy assures me that I’m not, but it’s hard to believe sometimes.

…But then Daddy started whispering in my ear…

Spinning a delightful reverie about how he should bring me on the next date he goes on. How he should make me play with myself while he and his date fuck on the bed next to me. How he would make me watch them. And how, if I was a very good girl, I could suck his cock dry after he came inside his date.

I don’t remember much about things at that point, because it became glorious layers of pleasure, pain, vibrations, the sound of Daddy’s voice, the feeling of his fingers, and the music of Shiny Toy Guns’ version of “Stripped,” all woven together in a spell to coax me to cum, HARD.

It might be helpful to know that when that happens, I sometimes get very….thrashy…

Let me see you
Stripped down to the bone
Let me hear you crying
Just for me

Once the waves from the Thrashy Place had passed, my cries had subsided, and I opened my eyes, the first thing I see is Daddy’s phone.

On the floor.

In.

Three.

Pieces.

My heart sank and I felt like I was thrown in a sudden ice water bath. It was like all of my fears of breaking everything were coming true. I started to apologize profusely, trying not to cry, mentally calculating how much a phone would be to fix/replace and if I had that much money and if he would let me do a payment plan and he would still want to play with me since I broke an expensive thing and also bracing myself for the torrent of anger that usually comes with something like this happening with people in my past.

Suddenly, there’s a belt around my neck and Daddy is crouching to my eye level and telling me to look at him. Which takes longer than I care to admit. I’m so scared of what I’ll see there. When I finally do, Daddy gets VERY stern.

“Listen to me. Do not EVER apologize to ANYONE for taking pleasure in your own body. EVER. ANYONE. Do you understand me?”

It took my brain a little bit to catch up to the fact that he wasn’t mad at me and then to let his message sink in, but I nodded while trying to process it. While that’s happening, Daddy stood back up and then calmly picked up the pieces of his phone and put them back together in front of me on the top part of the spanking bench and turned his phone back on, saying that this was one of the benefits of having an older phone that you can easily take the battery out of. The relief coursed through me, and while he’s walking back down towards my ass again, I hear him say in that low Daddy voice, “though, if I had to lose a phone to THAT, it would’ve been worth it.”

Afterward, on our way to aftercare, he told me to add my own drawing to the whiteboard message so I was in it, too. In a happy daze of endorphins and gratitude, I drew in stars, blue and pink, that felt like the perfect way to represent the happily obliterated and rewritten pieces of my brain, the comic depiction of the feeling in my ass, the gentle tingling in between my legs. This sweet girl had a very happy birthday season that she finally feels like she deserved.

2 thoughts on “Happy Birthday, Sweet Girl. You Deserve This.

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