In a quaint village nestled amidst rolling hills and whispering forests, there lived a man named Frederick. Frederick was known not for his charm or kindness, but for his mischievous ways and penchant for trouble. He was the sort who relished in pushing boundaries, testing limits, and disregarding societal norms with a smirk upon his lips. Yet, his antics had finally caught up with him one fateful day.

It was a bright morning when Frederick found himself standing before the imposing figure of Miss Gypsy, the village’s revered disciplinarian. Her reputation preceded her; she was both feared and admired for her strict adherence to order and discipline. With eyes as sharp as flint and a demeanor as stern as granite, she brooked no nonsense. And Frederick, with his reputation for trouble, had found himself squarely within her sights.

“Young man,” she began, her voice a steely command cutting through the air, “you have caused quite the stir with your antics.”

Frederick tried to muster his usual bravado, but under Miss Gypsy’s unwavering gaze, it faltered like a candle in a storm.

“I… I suppose I may have been a tad… mischievous,” he admitted, a sheepish grin playing upon his lips.

“A tad?” Miss Gypsy’s voice was laced with incredulity. “Your antics have disrupted the peace of this village for far too long. It is time you faced the consequences of your actions.”

With that declaration, Miss Gypsy wasted no time in administering justice. With a firm grip, she guided Frederick over her knee, his resistance crumbling beneath her iron resolve. The village square became a silent witness to the scene unfolding, a tableau of discipline and consequence.

Each strike of Miss Gypsy’s hand upon Frederick’s backside echoed through the crisp morning air, a testament to the severity of his transgressions. Yet, amidst the stinging pain, there was something else stirring within Frederick—a sense of humility, of acknowledgment for the havoc he had wrought upon the lives of those around him.

As the punishment continued, Frederick’s bravado melted away, replaced by a newfound understanding of the gravity of his actions. With each strike, he felt a weight lifting from his shoulders, a burden of guilt and recklessness he had long carried.

Do you believe in Spanking?

And as the final blow fell, Frederick found himself breathless, his cheeks flushed not just from the sting of punishment, but from a deeper, more profound realization. He had been taught a lesson—one that would stay with him long after the echoes of Miss Gypsy’s hand had faded into memory.

As he rose from Miss Gypsy’s lap, his gaze met hers, and in that moment, he saw not just a disciplinarian, but a mentor—a guiding force whose firm hand had set him upon the path to redemption.

With a newfound resolve, Frederick vowed to mend his ways, to become a better man worthy of the trust and respect of his fellow villagers. And as he walked away from the village square, he carried with him not just the memory of his punishment, but the seeds of transformation, planted deep within his soul by the firm hand of the beautiful woman who had shown him the way.

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Let me first start by telling you that if you’re sensitive to ageplay, then this might be where you want to stop. Some sites including niteflirt do not allow this form of roleplay. I as a writer wanted to address the terminology. Please ask your phone girl before you assume she is okay with this fetish.

I want to begin this blog by making a confession. I have worked in the sex industry for a long time now. Before anyone jumps to the conclusion that I am a whore, let me address that as well. Yes, yes, I am and it’s time that I stop hiding the fact that I sell sex for a living. No, I am not standing on a street corner or even visiting men in hotel rooms. I am that girl that you call late at night and confess your dirty secrets to. The girl who knows everything that you want to tell your wife, but you can’t out of fear. I want to get rid of one of the long standings lies that we are all a bunch of old ladies laying on the couch and popping bon bons while the kids are at school. Total lie! So, now that we have addressed that, let’s get into the fetish of daddy daughter/ daddy little girl. Before you run away, just know that this is more common than you would think.

What is dd/dlg?

DDLG, or DD/LG, is an acronym for daddy dom/little girl, a sexual relationship where the dominant male is the daddy figure, and a woman plays the role of a young girl. (dictionary.com)

Are you still lost? Don’t feel bad. Many people stop right here and label this “sick”. It’s roleplay in the bedroom, and no minors are hurt in the process. Both the “daddy” and the “daughter” are will participants in this fetish. Each may be there for a different reason, but in the end, they both are feeding a need that otherwise would be illegal.

Who is involved in this community?

It would surprise you how many men and women hide little boxes in the back of their closet that contain fetish wear other people would never understand. There is nothing to be ashamed of, and letting the mind feed the needs is healthy. Have you ever heard that “if you bottle that up, you’re going to explode”? It would surprise you how many people enjoy this kink but are too afraid to tell anyone. Maybe even your husband or wife. Never say never, and remember, I am the one they tell those secrets too.

Is this fetish legal?

Yes, God yes. Remember, this is all a mind fuck, and everyone is a consenting adult over the age of 18 can roleplay dd/dlg.

How does one get started?

Trust, trust, trust, you can’t play without it. There are so many forms of this fetish that the first thing you need to remember is to have good communication with your partner. Know ahead of time if this is just a nurture relationship or is this going to be sexual? Will penetration occur and is there a limit to how far the other party is willing to go? Some only seek cuddles and soothing words, where others want full submission to their daddy dominate. Know where you are going before you travel down the path of dd/dlg roleplay.

Dd/dlg terminology:

Credit here given HERE.

Who is involved in this community?

DDLG: Dominate daddy/ little girl

DDLB: Dominate daddy/ little boy+

DMLG: Dominate mommy/ little girl

DMLB: Dominate mommy/ little boy

Little: The person taking on the younger role.

Middle: The person in the younger role, but older than a little.

Safe word: They should always establish a word before the play begins that tells the partner that the other person is not okay with the scene. Both should respect this word and stop when used.

There is so much to be added here, but the main thing I want to say is to open up to your partner. Share the kinks, desires, and fetishes. More than likely, they are afraid to share theirs as well. A healthy sex life begins in the mind not the bedroom.

Let me know if you want to hear more about the world of phone sex. I can’t give names, but the juicy details are shocking!

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Erotic horror is nothing new, but not widely spoken about. How many times have you taken a girl to a scary movie because you knew she would cling tight? Or even that she would end up in your lap. Now you know why people just love to be scared.

Below is a fiction based erotic story I wrote. None of it is real, but there is some violence included. Enjoy.

With extreme darkness falling on the town, Gypsy can’t fathom what is happening around her. She’s heard the rumor of something lurking in the woods, but clearly, it’s nothing but an urban legend. Halloween is close, and kids tell stories. All of this whispering must be the tall tale of a frightened soul. Or is it?

“Pumpkin spice latte, with extra whip cream. I’m living dangerously today,” Gypsy said.

The young teen behind the counter rolled her eyes at her laughter. Gypsy was sure the barista was working because she was made to, not out of choice. She could relate. Gypsy worked many jobs as a teenager that Gypsy hated. The one thing she did know was never to engage in a conversation with someone with no personality. This girl was as dull as an unpolished rock.

When she turned around, there was only one seat left. This place is packed with college kids and those in suits. For girls like Gypsy, coffee was the nectar of the gods. She was addicted. She would make sure she stuck around for a refill.

Coffee in hand, she found a seat with the latest copy of the town newspaper on the table. Usually, she would find all she needed online, but today she was going back to basics. The smell of a newsprint is as intoxicating as that of a book. With society using kindles these days, they have forgotten the scent of an old book when you pull it off the shelf after extended storage. She could get lost in a library for hours, if not days.

Settling back in the plush cushioned seat, glancing at the paper as her coffee warms her hands. She would always slip off the little paper cozy on the cup to warm her chilled fingers. It is the one place on her body that still stays cold. The headline made her gasp. She couldn’t believe how graphic they state the recent murder of a college coed.

Coed slaughtered in the woods. She was mutilated before death.

She pushed her body back in the chair farther, eyes on the words as though she’s stunned. Is she shocked about this story? To be completely honest, the world is spiraling down into a cesspool of depravity. Murder has become so typical that people are numb to the pain and suffering of others. The story was bone-chilling, and every hair on the back of her neck was on end.

Graphic details of the latest murder made her mind wander. She is one of those people who love to place herself in the position of the victim. Usually, though, she would never tell anyone. Gypsy could feel the actions and the pain that lead up to death. Closing her eyes, she began to drift to the place where they assumed the girl was kidnapped. The feeling was spine-tingling.

She’s out for a late-night run. Usually, she would go with a group, but tonight was different. Everyone was at a party for Halloween, and she wasn’t in the mood. A recent breakup with her boyfriend still had her heart in a sad place. The fog was settling low to the ground tonight. It’s eerie the way it floats along the banks of the lake. She half expected to see the Lochness monster pop from the dark abyss below. She’s watched way too many scary movies in the past week. All of them are dreadful and poorly made.

Her fit bit registered ten thousand steps, but she’s setting the goal of twenty thousand tonight. One more trip around the lake should help her surpass the levels needed. The best way to mend a broken soul is to feed your own. Her mother loved to tell her that each time she found herself lost. Gypsy didn’t hear the first crack of branches, but she did hear the second. Stopping dead in her tracks, she didn’t see anyone, but this is deer season, and most have traveled closer to town to avoid hunters.

“Hello, is anyone out there?” she yelled.

Calling out might not be the smartest thing to do, but she sometimes jumps the gun and does stupid things. A few more cracks in the brush, and she wrote it off as an animal. It has to be because any human would have responded already. A nervous habit of biting her lower lip when scared, right now, she was chewing a hole in the soft pillow.

“Stop being scared of the dark! You know better!” she whispered.

She scolded herself about this fear, but she’s been scared of the dark since a childhood scare. Even to the point that she sleeps with the tv on and a couple of lights. Accidentally locked in a storage closet all night did damage to the girl. Her grandmother was a seamstress and stored mannequins in the room.

“Little red riding hood, come out and play. The big bad wolf needs to devour his prey!” a voice called.

Looking down at the red shorts and shirt she’s wearing, thinking this is a joke. Someone on campus thinks they’re funny. It’s the day before Halloween, and she’s getting pranked. Her friends have a twisted mind. Too bad she knows better than to flip out right now. She knew she should run as fast as she could all the way home, but a part of her wants to know who’s out in the woods tonight.

Gypsy fumbled in her pocket for a keychain. Her mother added a can of mace to it when she left home. Her mother said she was worried about her living alone, so always keep it close. Gripping the small, outdated can, she walked into the brush area. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, but there are still some things that the naked eye can’t see. Tonight was an extreme nightmare.

She didn’t see him. He wasn’t in plain view. Someone reached up from the pile of leaves beneath her feet. A hand caught her by surprise. He had been lying in wait for her to come forward. She was yanked down to the moss below. The wind knocked from her lungs. The can flew from her hand, the small bottle of liquid pepper gone.

The earth was wet and cold underneath her. She tried to get up, but the hand that was once on her foot, now it around her neck. Not choked, but the fist held her steady in place. Fear washing over her body, she’s scared of the unknown.

“Hey there little red riding hood, you sure are looking good,” he growled.

All of this has to be a joke, but this is taking it all to the extreme. Someone is singing that stupid song to her while holding her captive. His calloused fingers tap on the side of her neck. Her eyes on the star above her, remembering the nursery rhyme she said as a child. Silently in her head, she couldn’t help but use it now. It might be the last time she ever does.

“Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may; I wish I might get the wish I wish tonight,” she cried.

Tears were running down her cheeks. Should she use that wish to escape? Or should she use it to pray that death is quick? Choosing the latter, she knew she would die tonight. Being optimistic was not a strong trait for her.

“Stop yer crying little one. I will make you a legend tonight. When others walk in these woods after you, they will point to this very spot. The spot where little reds ripped to shreds and her heart’s torn from your body. I will be taking that with me, little girl. I can’t have your soul resting in peace, can I?” he laughed.

Her shirt torn from her body in one swift yank on the fabric. Her bra was next. She closed her eyes so tight that the lids ache from holding them shut. She didn’t want to see him. Her thoughts were maybe if she can’t identify him, he will let her live. Her head knows that isn’t true, but her heart is trying to rationalize all of this.

“Little girl, are you ready to meet your soul?” he asked.

She shook her head. She didn’t want to die. His beastly hand removes the shorts from her body, leaving welts on her skin from the removal. He doesn’t care that it hurts. He is not there to make her love him. His hands are disgusting, and his nails are as sharp as knives. She cried out as he pawed at her chest like a wild beast. The wolf. Little red riding hood’s wolf. Oh fuck, what if it is? Silly notions when someone’s on the brink of death. They try to make everything seem rational, though it’s not.

“I’m going to rip the fucking cunt apart. Paint the forest red with your blood,” he cackled.

His growls were shocking. Gypsy felt them to the core of her soul. How can this creature even be real? Lurching forward, his cock cutting through her pussy walls like a razor. She felt as though he was masturbating her with a butcher knife. His cock is not of this world. Something isn’t right. The smell of blood burns her nose as the monster above her thrusts hard into her pussy, ripping the walls apart. She could barely breathe from the extreme force of his cock into her bloody walls.

The woods hold the secrets of this night. When they found her body, her heart ripped from her chest, and her pussy covered in blood. The newspaper said that a foreign object was used, but it wasn’t. It was the cock of the beast. He broke her pelvis, but the death would be due to blunt force trauma.

Erotic Horror can change your life.

Tap on the shoulder made her drop the paper. The man behind her smiled as he asked to borrow the paper when done. The story is more extreme than she has ever read in the local newspaper. The moral of the story is never to go out in the woods alone unless you want to feed the wolf your soul.

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