Lipstick On A Little Girl.

"What the fuck..are you wearing, little girl?" He asked emerging from inside the bathroom.

I was wearing lipstick and those incredibly uncomfortable heels that give you toe cleavage with a tiny black skirt and a white top that left nothing to the imagination. With the exception of the heels, it's not odd for me to wear any of that, but we haven't been in that place. We've been in a "little" place, which I have to qualify because I don't feel a lot of things that might be immediately associated with that word. I don't like candy, cuddles, glitter or stuffed bears. Even in that space, I revert to a precocious child and not a free, fun, innocent one. Fuck innocence, really, fuck it to hell. I don't really like dressing up little either, which honestly I don't even fully understand the implication of, but I can say for sure that I would not be caught dead in bright colours sucking a lollipop. (Mostly because I actually bite and chew lollipops.) I can find people doing it cute and hot, but I am not doing it. Nope. No high socks (except like, three times), no braids, no cute skirts. Yet, it is still a mindset I identify with in some way. I don't get it either.

I think it's more about feeling like I'm being actively taken care of. Being cared for makes me feel small and for once not in a disgusting way. I don't expect that in any other role I take in life. I don't need him to take care of me as his wife nor his girlfriend, and yes I have decided I will be using both terms interchangeably (because why should a) I have to stop being his girlfriend because I am his wife? b) Have to treat it like "being wife" is a promotion?). I don't at all expect it as his slave. I don't need to be catered for with care in roles I consider adult. Being taken care of makes me feel little, like when I'm sick or the right kind of sad. And also, being spanked. I don't do that often but we have been doing it and it's been sick. Like, really disgusting and so extremely wrong. It's like when you watch a movie like Human Centipede and you think, *shouldn't you be in prison for making this film?* I feel like we should be in prison for what we have been doing.

And when he's being my strict, cold but loving father (let's say figure) and spanking me, I feel extremely little. I think some of it is just because it's so efficient, if I am already in a vulnerable, fragile, helpless state of mind it's so much easier to make me cry. I was so little for a few days that maybe when he saw me in my lipstick and heels, it shook him. I stood there, uncomfortable in my tight shoes and the shirt that kept falling off my shoulder, while he walked towards me. Glaring.

"Why the fuck are you dressed like that?" He asked grabbing me by the back of my neck, "Are you trying to be a grown woman, little girl?"

All of a sudden, what I was doing didn't feel sexy anymore, it felt embarassing. Like a little girl caught with her mother's lipstick and lingerie. I tried to back off from him and promptly tripped and fell against the bed. He laughed and pulled me back on my feet.

"Come on, don't you want to be a woman now?" he said, "Stand up straight in your big girl shoes."

I didn't want to anymore. I wanted to hide in the closet underneath all his coats with the cat. Instead he held me by my hair and stared me straight in the face, rubbing his fingers against my lipstick while I tried to shake free of his grip.

"You want to be a woman without my permission?" He asked slapping my mouth over and over, "Put on little clothes and try to entice daddy? Let me treat you like a woman then."

It's just so wrong when he says things like that. I don't think he is a misogynist, no. In life he has a very balanced and respectable view of women, gender politics and the struggle but sexually he might be a misogynist. Whenever he calls me a woman, I just know he's going to beat me and fuck up my holes. As he slapped me, I kept trying to get away, and each time I took a step back either my shirt would fall off or I would fall down. I'm not very good at walking in sexy shoes. I'm not even great at lying down in them.

"Walk around the room," he said laughing at me as I stumbled, "Walk around like a woman before I fuck you like one."

I might have taken ten steps before I fell down again, sometimes it feels like the universe conspires to reinstate a mindset. I'm not great at heels but I rarely fall down in them, I couldn't stop falling then and each time I feel it felt like a little bit of my confidence slipped until all I felt was a child playing a game way too advanced for her. Each time I fell he reminded me that I wanted this, that I tried so hard to get him to treat me like a woman and now he was. Women don't get to fall, evidently. Women don't get to complain that their feet hurt. I don't stand for any of this shit except in circumstances where it makes me wet to be treated like a demeaning stereotype. And there's something deeply demeaning about being told you're being thrown against a wall and smacked in the mouth because you're a woman. There's nothing more demeaning than being told to be silence because women are supposed to take their suffering quietly. There was nothing more demeaning to me than being told those things as he shoved my face into the corner.

"This should feel familiar, little girl," he said holding my face against the corner before grasping at my cunt like a mad man with an iron fist, "This won't, though."

He ripped and pulled my clothes until I was functionally naked save for the bunch of clothes wrapped around my midriff. It always makes me feel uncomfortable, somehow more naked, to have clothes over parts of my body that I don't even necessarily cover socially while the rest of me is naked. It makes no sense and it's such a specific discomfort that it never comes up. His fingers pushed inside me with rapidity and unnecessary force.

"I don't take it nice and easy with women," he said thrusting in and out of me, "You wanted to be a woman, now you get to."

"Daddy..." I said unknowingly, perhaps unwittingly, because I say that sometimes while he fucks me just to tell him that it hurts.

"Nuh uh little girl," he said gritting his teeth and putting more fingers inside me, "You don't get to play with daddy now..."

His fingers went from my cunt to my mouth as I started to scream much louder than I usually do. I could taste so much of myself on them, it almost made me want to retch but he took them out and started to slap me with his wet, dirty hand instead. As he pulled me out of the corner and pushed me onto our bed, I fell out of my shoes.

"You want to be my woman, don't you?" He asked pushing his fingers back inside me while he choked me, "I don't like to treat my women well."

With my hands I tried to pull him off my neck as I tried to breathe, but he pushed me down harder before telling me to put my hands away. I tried to keep them away but instinct kept telling me to try harder to breathe. It's a pesky nuisance sometimes but in my defence I was very confused by the events of the evening.

"You don't want to be a disobedient woman," he said slapping me again, "Disobedient women get fucked in the ass."

Again, so wrong, but it was just right to genuinely scare me and make me be more accommodating to the fingers ramming inside my pussy. He vacated it violently, it almost hurt more to have him pull them out than it did to have them in me, before he shoved them back inside my mouth.

"You definitely get wet like a woman," he said disapprovingly, "This isn't about your leaky womanly pleasure, you slut."

Nothing is hotter than when he tells me not to like the things he does to me and then hurts me for liking them anyway. Nothing is hotter than when he threatens me with the tip of his cock against my cunt, just waiting to rip through me and claw at my insides.

"Now lay here quietly and take this like a woman," he said pushing all the way into me in one push, "This is not for your fucking pleasure."

It wasn't meant to be, anyway, but the woman in me can't help but enjoy the pain. That's what all the men taught me to do.