Spawn-tacular Update

She is just over three months old now and her little tiny existence is creating a little bit of a ruckus. It isn’t her fault, at all. She’s an innocent little life that those around us are becoming concerned about.
Stripe is a hard core believer in breastfeeding, to such an extent that she thinks not breastfeeding, or inability to do so, is a failure. Therefore, of course, she’s breastfeeding the little Spawn. But there’s something amiss because this poor little child has barely put on a pound since her birth. She’s still in newborn clothes and evidently her skin is starting to bunch a little as she is growing but not putting on enough weight. My parents have expressed concern, as has my sister who briefly visited. Master’s father asked Stripe why the babe is so small and her answer was it’s the pediatrician’s fault and they are finding a new one immediately. This poor little baby has been labeled “failure to thrive” because of her weight and has been to a specialist who told Stripe she needs to supplement with a bottle. Stripe refuses because that would mean she has failed as a mother. Even Stripe’s own mother is concerned, she mentioned to Master’s father she might say something to Red about giving the baby a bottle. Master has told me it’s a touchy subject with Stripe, so touchy that it was quite the heated discussion between them when they were married and their second was labeled as a failure to thrive and Master approved giving him a bottle as a baby. From my perspective, with Stripe being so concerned about failing as a mother, she’s doing just that by refusing to do what could be best for their child because of her personal convictions about breastfeeding.
Master and I discussed it yesterday and I brought up maybe saying something to Red about it. He didn’t say I couldn’t but that I need to think about the two possible outcomes. Either Red will tell me to mind my own business and shut me down or he will open up and talk to me about it, possibly putting me in an awkward position of having to act like a friend to him in his time of angst. It mostly depends on his mood. But at the end of the day, yes I call her the Spawn and it still can be a twinge for me on occasion, but it’s an innocent little life that looks like she isn’t being properly taken care of because of this woman’s arrogance and stubbornness. It’s sad and makes me sad. But is it my responsibility? They’re the parents..



Too many times I’ve tried to work through things on my own. Too many times Papa has seen this very struggle in my eyes. Too many times I’ve said I was fine when I wasn’t. Too many times He’s reached out to me and told me to let Him help me. I’m trying….I’m learning…but it’s so hard for me….I’m  working on it..

Skeleton In The Closet

From a young age, I have been beyond curious about my body and how good some things feel. I am a hedonist, it’s all about pleasure. I had a blanket, as many children do, when I was little but I also sucked my thumb and ran the satin edges of the blanket through my fingers because I loved the feel of the cool satin. I love to touch, be touched, feel textures, all of it. I enjoy discovering how things feel, including those that hurt. I discovered being able to masturbate at 12, rubbing myself against things felt good (including the crotch of jean shorts). I had found my father’s stash of dirty Hustlers and smuggled a few out at a time to read and look at all the pictures. Maybe this is part of where my attraction to women comes to play. Looking at all those beautiful nude women, their perfect breasts and spread pussies. Not to mention, I read a lot too and by this age I was reading adult novels. Daniel Steele was among those, and Jackie Collins. Lots of dirty sex in Jackie Collins, the images running through my head as the authors described the sexual encounters in wonderfully graphic detail. I remember an all-girl threesome in one and that’s been a fantasy of mine since. Though not when asked to make a cake.
During my teen years, I lived in a unique situation that allowed for a lot of people unrelated to me to live with us. We had a 5 bedroom house that later became 7 after converting the garage with a casita in the back and a mobile home on the side. It was a different way of growing up and it allowed a situation to happen that wouldn’t have otherwise. My parents were super protective. I wasn’t even allowed to sleep over at kids’ houses until I was a teenager. To say I was sheltered is almost an understatement. Being an adult now,  I can see how that plus this landed me right where it did.

At one point one of our caretakers was a youngish guy. Early 30’s maybe, not sure. He was a big guy, curly red hair, tall, definitely had a presence. He cooked and he was a good cook. A smart ass, a little rough, but friendly. Because he lived on the property with us, he was never far away. My parents had crazy schedules and were quite busy so that left me to entertain myself or do my own thing. Growing up as an only child, I was used to it. Between the living situation, being so curious about sex and I don’t want to say a lack of parental supervision but more of they trusted me to behave.

It just happened one night. My parents were out late and I was hanging out with him. We were the only ones still up. Somehow we started horsing around and in the midst, his hand slid up under my shirt. I froze, knowing this was bad BUT it felt so good having my breast massaged in his big hand. We were both quiet and still. His hand stayed for maybe a minute before I freaked out and ran to my room. I wasn’t upset, just felt weird. A little bit of shock crept up and I was trying to comprehend what just happened. He came by and said he was sorry and it shouldn’t have happened. Being innocent and gullible, always trying to see the good in people and believe their intentions are pure, I said it was ok. And life seemed to go back to normal.

Except I didn’t stop thinking about it. How it felt. How I reacted. How he reacted. It didn’t feel the same as when I touched myself. I found myself wanting to be touched again. I was already addicted to masturbating, the naughty magazines and re-reading the sex scenes from my favorite books. This was new. I craved that sensation again. And the excitement. I was scared and aroused at the same time. I just waited, too shy and naive to do anything else.

I’m not exactly sure how it really started but we ended up messing around whenever we had the opportunity. My father worked graveyard so he would come home and take a nap, my mom would be gone. If he wasn’t working in the house that day, I would sneak out to the casita to see if he was there. It was just a room and a bathroom so there wasn’t any place else to sit and hang out other than the bed. I would make sure I wasn’t wearing a bra so there was easy access. I learned how to tempt a man, it certainly wasn’t hard. We never had intercourse, my virginity remained intact until my first boyfriend and he never saw me completely naked. I was so shy and unsure about my body that I always left at least a t-shirt on. It was all oral and manual play, though I never went down on him. A little ironic considering how much I love to suck cock now. My first boyfriend didn’t even have that privilege. He didn’t push me further than hand jobs, though he suggested I try once or twice but eventually left it alone. I remember one particular night where the boundaries were almost breached. Again, everyone was asleep and the parents were gone. We were in the kitchen and I was bent over the table, reading something and he came up behind me. Rock hard. He pushed my shorts to the side and slid his cock along my pussy lips. I held my breath, excited but anxious at the same time. This was too close…he hadn’t done this before. Then his cock slipped between my lips and it glided past my hole and brushed my clit. I shivered. I pushed back against him a little. He was still. So very still. Knowing what I do now, I realize the self-control he must have had to be that close to a hot, wet, virgin pussy and be able to pull back. Instead, we did our usual. I liked that I could go see him and he would know why I was there and take care of it and I would do the same. Eventually he left and it was for the better in the end because I started dating and got my first boyfriend, a boy my own age. I started down a more normal teenage path.

Papa was the very first person I  EVER told. He was the first I ever felt comfortable enough with, where I knew I wouldn’t be judged. We’ve both agreed this is probably where my “little” was born, I got stuck somehow in that young teen mentality and am most comfortable and feel the most loved having a Papa Dom, one who nurtures and cares for me whether I am His wife or His babygirl. One who disciplines me when needed and guides me to be and do my best. I am forever grateful that He walked into my life, that we found each other and that He loves me the way I need to be loved. Most importantly, He accepts me and makes me feel comfortable enough to have shared the darkest secret I’ve ever held.


Work Work Work Work Work

This is the start of my 4th week at this job. I’m enjoying it. I don’t have to handle many clients on the phone, it’s all computer work and it’s quiet. It’s a repo company and I wasn’t sure I would like it but I do.
In the office is almost all women.  We have one man, he’s the manager of the agents and he comes and goes, depending on his day. Keeping quiet and listening, I’m learning the dynamics of the office staff. I’m quickly learning who thinks she’s the best, who is a little scatter-brained, who is easy going and who works diligently and accurately. The one who thinks she’s the best is exactly the type I’ve learned to stay away from. She is loud, opinionated, obnoxious, picky, always has to be right and so far I’ve heard her flirt with the agent manager, boss everyone around and complain about the scatter -brained one endlessly to multiple people, sounding like she is trying to get her fired. She loves being the one other people depend on for a multitude of things and makes it known when she has accomplished any task. She is thin, pretty, has gotten the butt-wiggle walk down and knows how to whine and manipulate. I know her type and I avoid her like the plague.
So far, if we weren’t moving, I would stay here.  It’s an interesting business, I have been able to expand on things I already know which means I’m picking up usable knowledge and experience for future employment. I feel guilty that after all the time and training they are putting into me, I’m going to up and quit in a few months….but really, it’s just business. I needed to work until we move.  In this society, who doesn’t use and take from others for their own gain? Especially businesses. And my family is my business, my responsibility to take care of them.