✨Dad’s Little Wife✨

The Diagnosis

Part 9

The doctor took a moment to review a file on his desk, tutting quietly as he flicked through the pages.

‘Well, there are certainly some concerns - not least that disturbing display you sent me yesterday’ Dr Andrews said to my husband, ‘I fear she will have done some damage, given the way she was going at it.’

As I slowly took in what he was saying, my heart started to race and I felt hot and sick. This couldn’t be true. My husband had sent whatever covert footage he had of me masturbating to the doctor.

I looked at him in fury but he didn’t even acknowledge me.

‘I know John’ he agreed, ‘I should have belted her earlier but I suppose I had hoped she would be better behaved. I don’t think I realised just how out of control she’s become without an adult keeping her in line.’

I made a pathetic, outraged splutter, not able to come up with what to say to get across my anger at being spoken about like this.

Both men just shushed me and barely even glanced in my direction.

‘Well, better late than never. I’ll look her over today and see what you’re working with, but I would be surprised if there are no side effects from all those orgasms. They really are very dangerous for these girls.’

Dr Andrews pressed a button on his desk and then turned to me: ‘Up you get, young lady, it’s time for a check up.’

I was relieved to see a nurse enter the room in response to the button he had pressed, but on second glance I noticed that the nurse’s outfit was another fancy dress costume and, worse… it was Nancy.

She smiled at my dawning realisation and giggled: ‘isn’t it cute?’

The men chuckled patronisingly while I just looked around in complete disbelief.

‘Dress off, Lottie!’ Nancy ordered, cheerily, and quickly pulled my dress over my head before I could stop her.

I tried to cover myself, but I was completely naked aside from my chastity belt and there was nothing I could do except cup my hands over my breasts.

‘Let’s check the belt first, Nancy, you’re the expert’ the doctor said. ‘She used to try anything to get under hers’ he commented to my husband, with an eye roll.

Nancy giggled again and started pulling at the cables of my belt, checking for tightness, then started feeling around the metal plate encasing my pussy.

‘Err…’ I jumped away from her touch.

‘Oh don’t be shy, sweetie, we’re friends!’, she exclaimed, unbothered by my discomfort, and continued to feel between my legs.

She gently turned me around and squatted down behind me: ‘Looks good Daddy!’, she called, ‘I can see her little butthole right in the middle!’

I gasped and instinctively sent my hands down to cover my asshole, exposing my tits in the process. I had never felt more humiliated in my life, but it was about to get worse.

‘Good. Temperature check, please’, he replied.

I heard a bottle being squeezed, felt my hands gently batted away and then something wet and cold on my exposed asshole, before something small and hard slipped inside.

I yelped in shock and Nancy giggled affectionately.

I started considering my options. I could try to leave, but I was naked and locked in a belt with no idea of the code. And where would I go?

I could make a fuss, but I feared that would lead to a spanking right there and then, in front of Nancy and Dr Andrews.

There was nothing I could do, except grit my teeth and get through it.

The Diagnosis

Part 8

The next day was a Saturday and my husband woke me up with some warm milk and the news that he was taking me to Dr Andrew’s office for a check up. I was nervous but thought it was probably helpful to hear more about this diagnosis he had given me.

Still in my belt, I struggled with what to wear which would hide its bulk. Luckily, the weather looked good so I opted for a floaty summer dress. I couldn’t fit any underwear over the top of the belt, so I had to go without. As we left the house, it felt very strange to feel the air on my exposed asshole, but I tried to ignore it.

My husband parked on a residential street and told me to follow him. He rung the bell of a big town house. I was confused. This didn’t look like a typical doctors surgery, but then I supposed Dr Andrews was a specialist in his field.

The door opened and a beautiful young woman greeted us with a big smile. She was dressed in what looked like a secretary ‘costume’, as if a teenager had described exactly what a secretary would wear - black pencil skirt, white blouse, black heels and a pair of glasses which were clearly not prescription. Despite the plain clothing, she looked stunning. Her huge (I guessed, fake) tits were showcased perfectly in the blouse’s opening and the skirt hugged her hips and showed off a tiny waist. She was blonde, perfectly made up and had a curious, glazed look in her eyes.

She greeted my husband by name and gave him an excited hug. I felt a pang of jealousy - how did this stunning woman know him, and why were they so familiar?

She turned to me: ‘…and you must be Lottie!’, she squealed with excitement and threw her arms around me, pressing her plastic breasts into my chest, ‘I’m so excited to finally meet you! I’m Nancy. We’re going to be such good friends!’

I was speechless. Why was the receptionist at the doctors’ office expecting to be my friend? I looked at my husband, confused, and he just nodded encouragingly.

‘Umm hi? Nice to meet you’, I said, not wanting to be rude.

She just beamed back, unperturbed.

Suddenly she seemed to realise she had a job to do: ‘Oh! You’re here for an appointment, of course! Come through, Daddy’s waiting in his office.’

Daddy?? This was getting very weird. I looked to my husband again, but he was already striding after her down the corridor.

We reached the door at the end and she opened it up to show Dr Andrews sitting at a large wooden desk. On the other side of the room was an examination bed, with the surrounding curtain pulled back, and several machines and instruments. This looked more like what I expected.

Dr Andrews got up and shook my husband’s hand, greeting him warmly. They shared some small talk before he turned to me and said ‘good to see you, sweetheart’ and actually patted me on the head, offering an almost pitying smile.

I was stunned silent.

‘Is there anything I can get for you or your guests, Daddy?’ Nancy asked him, brightly.

‘Two black coffees please Nancy, and a juice for Lottie. Good girl.’ He gave her a pat on the backside and she giggled and went off down the hallway.

This felt like a bad dream. What the hell was going on here?

‘How’s Nancy getting on?’ my husband asked the doctor.

‘Oh she’s fine. She keeps herself busy playing dress up here. She likes to feel like she’s helpful. Sweet girl. She behaves well and does as she’s told, that’s all you can really expect.’

He spoke about her like a pet or a toddler, but with clear affection in his words.

Nancy came back in with the drinks, gave me a little conspiratorial wink and a squeeze on the thigh and then skipped out and closed the door behind her.

‘Right, shall we get down to it then?’, the doctor asked.

‘Yes, I think so, John. There is a lot to discuss’, my husband replied.

The Diagnosis

Part 7

Once I was safely locked in my new belt and my husband was satisfied I couldn’t touch myself anymore, his attention turned to the clothes, make up and packaging scattering the room.

‘Now, I think it’s time you explained yourself about all this mess - where did it come from?’

‘Err, I just… I ordered some new things, that’s all. I’m sorry about the mess, I lost track of time. I’ll tidy up now’, I stammered out my childish reply.

‘And just how did you order these things?’, he asked. ‘You’re only a girl, you don’t have a bank account.’

This stung, before my diagnosis this type of comment would have sent me flying into a rage. But now… well I didn’t know how to argue. He was right.

‘I… um… I had your card details saved on some websites’, I gulped. I felt so pathetic that I had to confess this to my husband, like a teenager caught stealing from her dad’s wallet.

‘And did you have permission to buy all this?’ He asked, eyebrows raised, knowing that he was the only one who could have given me permission.

I stared at the ground, feeling small and humiliated and helpless. I hated this. I felt like I couldn’t do anything I wanted anymore and I’d lost all my freedom. I felt a tantrum bubbling inside me but I knew it would only make me seem more childish.

The frustration suddenly overwhelmed me and I burst into tears, apologising and sobbing and then begging him not to spank me again.

He shushed me and pulled me into his arms. He told me he would go easy on me just this once, as I was still adjusting to my new rules.

I felt something hard pushing against me through his trousers, and he nodded towards the ground.

‘Why don’t you get down and thank me for letting you off?’, he suggested.

‘But… didn’t you say orgasms are bad for you?’ I asked, confused.

He laughed, softly.

‘You’re so dim, baby. They’re not bad for men. Only for girls like you.’

‘Oh’ I said, my mind trying to catch up. ‘I guess that makes sense.’

And with that, I lowered to my knees and opened my mouth.

The Diagnosis

Part 6

I woke up to the doorbell ringing and checked the time - 2.24pm. That was lucky, I thought, I’d forgotten to set an alarm and could easily have overslept.

I went to answer the door and it was a delivery man with the online orders I’d made yesterday. I eagerly accepted them and closed the door, running straight up to the bedroom to try on the clothes and open the new make up.

I spent the rest of the afternoon testing out my new purchases, without a care in the world. At one point, I ran downstairs to drink my last two glasses of water, feeling smug that I’d completed all my tasks.

When my husband arrived home, I was back upstairs continuing to enjoy myself.

‘Lottie. Come down here please, we need to talk.’

I stopped dead. I hadn’t even heard the door, I’d been so distracted. But, why did he sound so stern? I’d only been 10 minutes late for lunch and I’d done everything else I was supposed to do.

I dropped what I was doing and went down to find him.

‘What’s up?’ I asked, cheerily.

His face did not match my tone.

‘Come and sit down’, he commanded.

I sat nervously across from him in the living room.

‘Lottie, we need to talk about what you were doing all morning’ he told me, sternly.

My face burned red. What the hell? How would he know what I’d been doing? Had he seen? The pure shame overwhelmed me and I couldn’t even be angry about him spying on me.

‘Yes, that’s right’ he continued, acknowledging my obvious embarrassment, ‘I know exactly what you were doing and I’m very disappointed. I specifically told you not to do anything you aren’t grown up enough for.’

‘I… I…’ I spluttered, my brain not catching up with my mouth. ‘But… last night?’ was all I could muster.

‘Last night, I allowed you to thank me for correcting your bad behaviour. What you did today was pure self-indulgent recklessness. Do you even know how many orgasms you gave yourself?’

‘I… umm.. how do you?’ I still couldn’t quite get the words out or work out what I needed to articulate. I knew logically I hadn’t done anything wrong, but I still felt an instinctive sense of guilt. My heart was also sinking at the revelation that he had clearly been watching my perverted actions the whole time.

He smirked and raised his eyebrows. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’, he mocked. ‘What matters is that I know what you’ve been up to and there will be consequences. I need you to understand that little girls are forbidden from orgasms. Research shows that they’re very bad for the brain’s development, and must be avoided at all costs. You did yourself some serious damage today, I wouldn’t be surprised if we notice you being even more stubborn and incapable as a result.’

At this, I was speechless. He seriously wanted me to stop having orgasms? This just didn’t make sense. If orgasms were really bad for you, I would have heard about this before. But then Dr Andrews was qualified and must know what he’s talking about, and I knew my husband was following his advice closely. I mean, maybe this explained my diagnosis - I had orgasmed a lot over the years.

‘Now, I didn’t want to have to do this, but until you can control yourself I am going to have to take measures into my own hands. Go up to the bedroom and I will meet you there.’

I looked down in shame and plodded upstairs, dreading the prospect of another spanking. In the bedroom, new clothes, make up and packaging scattered the bed, floor and dressing table. I quickly tried to tidy things up but when my husband came into the room it was still a total mess.

He looked furious, but just warned - ‘we will discuss what has happened here later’.

In his hand was a strange contraption consisting of cables and a metal section with an oval shaped mesh plate and an open ring.

‘Clothes off’, he ordered. He looked so angry, I didn’t dare to argue.

Once I was naked, he ordered me to stand with my legs hip-width apart and stay still. He looped the cables around my waist and brought the metal part up between my legs. He pulled my bruised ass cheeks aside to nestle the metal ring between them, and he firmly pushed the mesh oval over my pussy, bringing all the cables together at the front, pulling them tight and locking them in place with a code-activated padlock.

I couldn’t believe what he had just done. I was locked in a chastity belt. My pussy was completely untouchable and I could feel my ass cheeks being pushed apart by the metal ring, my asshole exposed to the cold air.

‘There’, he said, pleased with his work, ‘now let’s see you try to abuse yourself like you did this morning.’ He gave a satisfied laugh as he pulled at the cage around my cunt and it stayed firmly in place.

#the diagnosis #my writing

The Diagnosis

Part 5

The next morning started the same as the last. My husband kissed me on the forehead and went down to bustle around the kitchen before leaving for work. My ass cheeks still felt warm and sore to touch, but my mind was calm and I felt safe. I headed downstairs to see what he had left me for the day.

The same labelled boxes, juice carton, flask and cup were set out, but this time with a note:

‘Good morning Poppet. I hope you’re ready to be a good girl today. Make sure you have your meals, water and warm milk at the correct times. If you need a nap after your milk, that’s ok, but make sure you are awake by 2.30pm or you won’t sleep tonight.’

I instinctively rolled my eyes at this, but tried to remind myself that this was how things are now and I should get used to it.

He continued:

‘I’ve left you some age-appropriate activities for while I’m out. Please don’t try to do anything you’re not grown up enough for.’

He finished:

‘Daddy loves you x’

This gave me a flutter in my stomach and I felt a familiar warmth between my legs. I was still getting used to the idea of calling him Daddy, but I couldn’t deny it felt right.

I glanced around and noticed the pile of ‘age-appropriate activities’ he had left. There were colouring books, coloured pencils, jigsaw puzzles and some books - not picture books but definitely not meant for adults.

I tried not to feel angry. I didn’t want to do these things. They felt beneath me, juvenile, pointless. Instead, I ate my breakfast, drunk my juice and then headed to the living room to watch some TV.

I pressed the remote and up came a box asking for a parental pin. We’d never had a pin for the TV before and I thought maybe I’d selected the wrong channel. I flicked to a different one and still it requested a pin. I kept flicking until eventually I found one that played - cartoons. I changed the channel again… more cartoons. The next was a nursery rhyme show, then an educational kids show, then a Disney movie. I tried flicking back to the main channels, sky movies, Comedy Central… all remained behind a parental pin.

I felt the familiar anger bubbling inside me and tears stinging my eyes. I couldn’t stand this. I knew I was maybe not the most mature, but kids shows and colouring books? This was taking it too far.

I turned the TV off and I picked up my phone and started scrolling on Instagram. As I scrolled, I kept noticing the warm, wet feeling between my legs. My mind kept drifting to the night before, the way my husband had taken control, exerted so much power over me but cared for me at the same time. The feel of his cock ramming down my throat, his moans and the first time he spoke the word Daddy. Without noticing, my hand slipped down under my clothes and I started to make circles on my swollen clit.

I quickly brought myself to an overwhelming orgasm, releasing all my built up arousal from the night before. It wasn’t enough. I went back up to the bedroom and got out my vibrator, spending the next two hours bringing myself to orgasm over and over.

At ten past 12, I suddenly noticed the time. I got cleaned up and rushed down to the kitchen to have my lunch. I also realised I hadn’t drunk any water yet that day, so I made sure to down three cups before I ate.

By the time I’d finished, it was 1pm, so I returned to the sofa with the flask of warm milk, determined to avoid a spanking this time. I sipped the milk, it felt silly. I’d rather be drinking coffee, but I knew this was locked away in the kitchen cupboards. I decided to just get on with it, and turned on one of the kids channels I could actually access for some background noise.

I was exhausted from a whole morning of masturbation, the gentle songs on the TV were quite comforting and the milk was giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling. I felt my eyes getting heavy and not long after setting down the empty flask I started to drift off into a comfortable sleep.

Ok people we are moving to a new blog so I can have a picture and not be stressed about getting deleted 😅

Please follow @stupidlottie

Ok people we are moving to a new blog so I can have a picture and not be stressed about getting deleted 😅

Please follow @stupidlottie

#The diagnosis #my writing

The Diagnosis

Part 4

As I knelt in front of my husband, he started to unbuckle his belt. I had a sudden fear that the punishment wasn’t over and he was about to start whipping me with it, but then he unzipped his trousers and pulled out his erect cock.

‘Ok sweetheart, it’s time for you to thank me for correcting your bad behaviour. Dr Andrews says this step is important for bonding and reminding misbehaving girls of their place’, he explained, in a matter-of-fact tone.

My mouth watered, compulsively, but I felt conflicted. I wanted to suck his cock more than I ever had in our whole marriage, but I was confused - if I was so immature, should I be doing something so sexual? Why was I suddenly ok with him saying such sexist things? And what about him - should I be worried that my husband had gotten rock hard from spanking me over his knee?

Before I could ask him about any of this, he had reached over and taken hold of my hair. With ease, he pulled my head towards him and pushed the head of his cock straight into my mouth.

I was in shock. My husband had never done anything like this to me before. Previously, I’d needed persuading to give blow jobs and would often say no to sex completely if I wasn’t in the mood.

But now, I didn’t seem to have a choice. His cock was down my throat before I could even process what was happening.

For a moment, I tried pathetically to pull away, but his masterful hand just remained firm on the back of my head, rocking me back and forth along the length of his shaft. I gave up any attempt to get free after that, and just tried to take his thrusts as best I could.

My jaw was aching, I was trying not to gag and I could feel dribble starting to drip down my chin and onto my thighs. The wetness of my saliva also made me aware of the increasing wetness from between my legs, dripping down the backs of my thighs now.

I felt powerless - to stop my husband’s assault and to stop my own body betraying me.

‘Oh, good girl’ he muttered, pushing it in deeper and making me choke. ‘That’s it, show me what a good girl you are. Show me how sorry you are.’

I whimpered between thrusts. This whole experience was overwhelming. I felt used and humiliated and helpless. But I also felt guilty and lost, and strangely aroused. Most intensely though, I felt needy. Desperately needy for the perversely father-like care I was receiving from my husband.

It felt like this was what I’d been missing my whole life and now something had clicked and I didn’t need to worry anymore. I didn’t need to think anymore.

‘Mmm baby girl, that feels so good. You’re being so good for Daddy.’

He looked down at me and I looked up, locking eyes with him. We both knew this was a turning point. We both felt how much that word meant and how our relationship had just changed, fundamentally.

He looked happier than I’d ever seen him. A flood of emotion welled up inside me and tears flowed down my cheeks while I continued to take his cock down my throat.

This was enough to tip him over the edge and I felt his cock pulse and tasted salt as his hot jets of cum sprayed the back of my throat. He moaned loudly and praised me for being such a good girl.

When he released his grip on my head, I threw my arms around his waist and started sobbing in earnest, letting myself go in his lap like a little girl with her daddy. He stroked my hair softly and gave me as long as I needed to recover, before pulling me onto the bed and laying me down to rest.

‘Things are going to change now, poppet’ he said, gently. ‘It’s going to take some getting used to, but you have to trust me and try hard to be good, ok?’

‘Yes, Daddy’ I whispered, drifting off to sleep.

Ok people we are moving to a new blog so I can have a picture and not be stressed about getting deleted 😅

Please follow @stupidlottie

#The diagnosis #my writing

The Diagnosis

Part 3

I sat nervously on the edge of the bed. I had a suspicion about what these ‘consequences’ my husband had spoken of would be, but I didn’t want to believe my own thoughts.

He came upstairs after just a few minutes, still in his work clothes. He sat down beside me and quietly but commandingly ordered me to stand.

‘Now strip, please. Everything but the underwear.’

I hesitated, but my husband had seen me more naked than that plenty of times, so it didn’t seem such a big deal. Still, I couldn’t look him in the eye as I took off my clothes.

‘The bra can go, too. Now on your knees in front of me.’

My suspicions about what he was planning grew, and my mind started to hurtle between wanting to shout and scream at him and storm out of there, and feeling like it was better to just grit my teeth and get it over with so we could just get back to normal.

I lowered myself to my knees, still not meeting his gaze.

‘Now, poppet, this is going to be hard for you, but it’s important that you learn to follow my lead. Dr Andrews says that the first punishment can be difficult for girls to accept, but it’s an important part of the program. He also said that it might provoke some unexpected feelings, so I don’t want you to worry if you start to feel funny.’

He patted his lap. ‘Come and lay over my knee now please.’

I gulped and decided I would just have to get through it. How bad could it be?

I climbed up onto his lap. Obviously, I’d been naked and intimate with my husband before, but we hadn’t been having sex for a while due to the problems we’d been having and this suddenly felt very awkward, especially as he was still fully dressed.

Once I was laid out, he pulled my arms to rest behind my back and gently but securely held them in place. His warm hand rested over my right buttock.

‘Ok, sweetheart. I need you to be very brave now. You’ll need to remember this tomorrow when you think about disobeying me again.’

The hits started, but they weren’t too bad. I felt my cheeks warming, but the pain was bearable. The embarrassment, on the other hand, was excruciating. I wanted to struggle free and run away, but I remembered the feeling from that morning - that I had nowhere to go.

After a while, my husband paused the spanking and pulled down my underwear.

‘Hmm, you’re very wet’, he commented, in a matter of fact tone, ‘the Doctor says that’s a sign you are responding well’.

I was mortified. My face felt bright red and I couldn’t make my mouth work to even try and respond. What did he mean wet? Was this all just some sex thing? I didn’t feel very sexy, bent over my husband’s knee like this. I felt stupid and childish and humiliated.

Without warning, the hits started up again with increased intensity. It seems the first part had just been a warm up. Suddenly he was hitting incredibly hard and without relief. I cried out in outrage at the onslaught of smacks hitting my bottom, the burning pain spreading across my cheeks.

‘This will be a lesson to you, young lady’ he scolded, as I began to kick and struggle without success. My husband had always been much bigger and stronger than me and he held me in place with ease while continuing his assault.

Suddenly, I was overcome with emotion. I felt my body give in and lose its fight and tears started to fall freely from my eyes. I felt so stupid for not just drinking the milk and counting my cups of water. What was I thinking being so petty and difficult?

‘Good girl’, my husband murmured in undisguised delight, as he felt my surrender. ‘Ten more now.’

He slowed his pace as he measured out my final swats, my limp body not even reacting.

He held me there, while I sniffled and processed the overwhelming emotions that had risen within me during my punishment. He gently shushed me and rubbed my glowing backside tenderly. He seemed so fatherly, so caring. I’d never seen this side to him before. I felt so ungrateful that I’d been rejecting this need within him to take care of me.

‘I’m sorry’, I whimpered, my voice muffled in the bed sheets.

‘Oh poppet, I’m so proud of you’ he replied, pulling me up and into his chest for a warm cuddle. I felt so small and weak in his arms like that. I realised that I was starting to accept what my husband and the Doctor had been saying. Maybe I wasn’t a proper grown up, after all.

After a minute, he gently moved me around and told me it was time to kneel in front of him again. As I got up, I noticed a wet patch on his trouser leg and felt a sticky mess between my legs. I tried to press my thighs together and hide it - I didn’t want my husband to think I was weird for getting wet at being spanked by him. I didn’t even understand why it was happening.

I knelt there, naked, underwear around my knees, and looked up at him, nervously, wondering what would be next.

denied-lottie

Can’t stop thinking about him fisting me while I cry and he’s just talking to me in a really sweet patronising voice telling me he knows it hurts but he has to make sure my cunt stays nice and broken so I don’t get any silly ideas about deserving cock in my lube dispenser or, even worse, about deserving orgasms. He’ll wipe my tears as his whole hand violates my pussy and he shushes me and tells me it’s ok, because he can always just fuck other women if he wants a nice tight pussy and he still has my tiny little asshole to use whenever he wants to cum. As he stretches me, he praises me for taking so much and tells me how much easier it’s getting and how much I’m gaping for him. He’ll tell me my cunt is completely ruined like it’s the best compliment in the world. 😵‍💫

Ok people we are moving to a new blog so I can have a picture and not be stressed about getting deleted 😅

Please follow @stupidlottie

Sometimes baby just needs something to suck on.

#I’m so cute