Living with fear

Life with Daddy has made me realize something: I actually enjoy living in fear. Ok, so even saying it makes me feel kind of freaky - I mean what girl would want to feel adrenaline race through her body, and have her heart jump up in her throat and thump wildly at the sound of an opening of a door or footsteps in the hall? You know what? I have NO idea. The only thing in know is - I do. Love it I mean. Or need it. Take a pick.

When Daddy comes home and he is very quiet, I panic. Even when I'm sure I've done nothing wrong I feel guilty. He is totally unpredictable and I never know what it's going to be. All I know is - when fear grips me, my heart beats fast and I taste blood or cold metal in my mouth, I get aroused. And I'm not talking silly-romance-novel arousal - I'm talking throw-me-down-and-fuck-me-stupid kinda horny.
Sometimes or convos goes like this:
– Hey Daddy!!! ( I kiss his feet and kneels spreading my thighs)
– Change your fucking title.
– Yes, Daddy.
– Don't you ever fucking learn?
– I'll better myself Daddy.
– Yes you will.
– Sorry daddy.
– How hard can it be? Spread your legs and do as you're fucking told.

Or:
– You took you collar off. And jumped several sims before putting it back on. Interesting.
– Im sorry Daddy, I was taking pictures.
– Sorry. Not good enough. I have questions for you.

And, sometimes he won't talk at all. He will just IM me at work and say:
– I want you to come home. Now.

I get that bad feeling in my tummy like I have been caught doing something bad. Like playing with boys. Messing up the house. Giving lip. Not addressing Him right. Flirting and not getting paid. Dancing with a man and not getting paid. Not letting Daddy know everything I do, everywhere I go at every hour of the day and night. Accepting gifts I should not accept. My collar is a constant reminder of what I am, who owns me, who calls the shots. So are the beautiful silver embellished cuffs I wear around wrists, arms, thighs and ankles, which are attached to chains so Daddy can arrange my body any way he wants it displayed to him. Daddy also has nipple clamps - in our home just refered to as "The Clamps". Ouch! A girl never forgets her priorities wearing those. I don't have to wear them any other place than at home, because they are so big and chunky people would notice. Daddy says he's going to get me every-day clamps, smaller ones I can wear to work under my clothes. Part of me hopes he'll never find them, part of me feels excited about having to wear something sexual all day. Anyways - all of the above are Daddy's toys for discipline. Failing to keep my collar on makes him irritated, sometimes a little more than irritated. I know it in his voice. When he's calm, collected and cold it usually means trouble. Daddy is a Dominant, most times he only needs look at me a certain way to make me behave. In extreme cases he yells. Extreme cases. That means not very often. But I know he snaps from time to time. Goes mental. I'm afraid of that. And still it makes me wet. Rules, rigid strict rules makes it hard for me to keep in line. It's impossible to not break them on occation. Nobody's perfect, and certainly not I. The worst ever beating I ever got was punishment for screwing a stranger. It was before Daddy decided I could no longer play with boys. So I did. Guess I was bored. Boredom makes me do the silliest things sometimes. The sex was bland, but then after all, I am spoiled that way. But Daddy's punishment and rape was glorious. Noone can fuck me like my Daddy. A severe beating and a lot of screaming and throwing of furniture was part of it. It is the only time I have seen Daddy loose control. Did I enjoy it? Well, I was too scared. For real. But did I cum? Yes I did. And hard too. So I guess that means I enjoyed it. Or got my kick both literally and emotionally. A high, a rush or whatever you may call it. It made me cum, hard, the way a little Daddy's whore should cum. Scenes like that leaves a memory. So when I hear Daddy come home not greeting me in his normally sweet loving voice, I know there's trouble. And I get wet, scared and an iron fist clawing my tummy. I am in love with fear. And it is a painful love affair.