Last week, I had my friend, Rose, (who is also a sub) over to my apartment. This isn’t unusual, we hang out together very often. On this particular day though, I felt like drinking. We both just turned 21 in December, so the freedom to legally drink is still new and exciting. Rose decided against drinking, and so I poured one for myself. I was jokingly peer pressured into pouring about 10 ounces of Malibu Rum into my tumbler as opposed to my modest original amount.
A while later, Rose asks if I’ll go to Wal-Mart with her for a few things. We load up into her car and I don’t realize that my drink is still in my hand until we began to pull out of my apartment complex. I think nothing of it and remind myself not to bring it into the store with me. We only get down the road about a mile before police lights are reflecting in Rose’s rear view mirror.
“Rose,” I whispered in a panic, “I have an open container!”
The officer was a very friendly woman who explained that she pulled us over because Rose’s license plates were too dirty and she couldn’t see them clearly enough.
“I’m just letting you know so you can fix it before you get pulled over again. I need to run your driver’s license though.”
We were very happy that it was something minor and we would soon be able to carry on with our evening. Rose told me I should probably dump out my drink once the officer leaves, just to be safe. My Daddy texted to ask if he could call me, and I told him he could in a few minutes because we were pulled over. He told me to call as soon as I can to give him the details. Soon the officer comes back with Rose’s license and some very bad news.
“It looks like your license was suspended yesterday. You missed a payment on your installment plan on a ticket you got a month ago. I’ll just give you a warning and tell you to park the car and let someone drive you home, but make sure you take care of that.”
The officer followed us to the nearest parking lot so Rose and I could switch seats. I knew I was tipsy, but I had no choice but to drive us back home. Rose pulled out my phone and called Daddy as I pulled out of the parking lot and away from the police car. She told him what had happened and that I was now driving us home. He immediately began to scold her, telling her that if it was any other “asshole cop” she would have been arrested and that he will be texting her dom about what happened if she doesn’t tell him herself.
“Well, we both would’ve been arrested, Stella has an open container of Malibu in here,” Rose smirked. If she’s going down, she’s taking me with her. Not that I mind, I was about to tell him anyway.
“OH MY GOD, what are you, sixteen?! Why would you bring a drink with you to Wal-Mart? And now you’re driving after you’ve been drinking? You girls got off so damn lucky.”
We got home and Rose immediately called her dom to come pick her up. He showed up a few minutes later, making big strides across the room to get to Rose. They embraced for a moment before he rained a few smacks onto her bottom and told her to say her goodbyes.
I knew I was awaiting a similar fate the next opportunity my Daddy had. That opportunity wasn’t until last night, the first night we were alone together without any guests or my roommate at home. I had almost forgotten about the promise of a spanking and was pestering him in my usual, bratty way.
“You’re pushing it, little girl. I already owe you a spanking, you wanna make it two?”
I was feeling particularly bratty yesterday, and thought a little hand spanking might be fun, so I doubled up in my defiance.
“That’s it,” he growled as he flipped me over and pulled down my sweatpants and panties in one fell swoop. I waited for the smacks to begin, but instead heard the jingling of his belt buckle.
“No!!”, I squealed as I tried to crawl away. He grabbed my hair to prevent me from escaping as he undid his belt with one hand. I started begging when I heard the swoosh of leather sliding out of his belt loops,
“Please no, not that, please Daddy!”
“Don’t make me get the gag. You’ve had this coming, young lady.”
I felt the sting of the first spank and instinctively reached a hand back, which was then pinned to my back. In between smacks, I recalled the early days of dating, when he was scared to hit me too hard. Oh, how times have changed. He began lecturing me on how reckless I had been and how dangerous it was to have an open container and drive drunk.
“What else are we not gonna do?”, he asked, making me complicit in my punishment.
“Not gonna bug you,” I mumbled into the pillow my face was buried in.
“Oh yeah, is that the smart answer?”, he asked sarcastically as he landed a few hard smacks on the back of my thighs, “What else are we not gonna do?”
“I’m not gonna be a brat,” I choked out, as I tried to hold back tears.
“That’s right. I want full control, I want you to submit to me. I know you want that too, but I can only play your games for so long before you need to be adjusted. Sometimes you need a reminder of who’s the boss.”
He’s right. When I’m a brat it’s because I want him to make me submit and show me how dominant he is over me. As soon as I get put in my place, I go right back to being his good girl. Yesterday I was restless and defiant, today I’m bruised and compliant.
A few more extra hard blows to my sit spots had me screaming as I tried to stay as still as I could for him. He flipped me over roughly and gave me The Look, “You deserved that. I do it because I care about you and I want you to be the best you can be. I know you’re smarter than to do something like that again. Now give me a kiss. Daddy loves you, princess.”