Time To Quit

Time To Quit

“Are these yours?” The fresh pack of cigarettes I was waving under her nose made her take half a step back before freezing is surprise. Her mouth hung half open and she stared at me with trepidation and hesitation. I simply looked at her and waited for my answer. The question was, of course, unnecessary for me to find out the owner. They were obviously hers. The point was for her to admit to it and thus accept the consequences. For all her misbehaviour the one thing she would never do is tell a lie. But the truth was frightening this time after the hole she had dug for
herself over the past couple of weeks. She was a deeply submissive girl with me and I was responsible for taking care of her need to be controlled. She took great pride in being able to play the very grown up games we had enjoyed. Leather and clamps and crops, oh my. But grown up games meant she had to be a grown up to earn them. As her daddy, I was in charge of making sure she was treated as she acted and sophomoric behaviour meant sophomoric treatment.

She had often been punished for brattiness by being sent back to high school. She didn’t mind this too much and had fun playing in her plaid skirts and getting the cane when she was found wearing a thong under them. She resented her homework assignments of algebra problems and her early bedtime but the chance to be a little brat and a tease made her almost giddy. But she didn’t like being regressed even further. She was a college graduate with a good job and responsibilities and being sent down to little girl status for being truly immature was, to her, an intolerable injustice. While it meant that she would be spanked with nothing harder than a slipper she was also denied many adult pleasures. Her big girl underwear and toys were locked up, no “R” movies were permitted and her homework was repetitive fractions, sentence diagrams and handwriting practice. And there was always the threat of being stripped to an even younger status.