On being good

What is it that compels us to be ‘good’? If you ask the moral philosophers, you’ll get a range of answers – from the simple following of a set of commandments to the idea that you should maximise happiness when you’re deciding how to act. But on an individual level, the answer often comes from a more personal place. What we see as ‘good’ behaviour depends on who we’re trying to please: friends? Colleagues? Community? God? Daddy?

I can’t tell you what ‘good’ means for everyone, but I do believe there’s something deeply compelling about being rewarded for obedience. Defining ‘good’ by the needs and desires of someone you trust enough to submit to. The rules and structures they impose may speak to some higher truth, but let’s not ignore the fact that sometimes we obey purely because there’s pleasure in doing what we’re told. The simple act of pleasing someone can be its own delicious reward. And nowhere is this more apparent than when obeying Daddy.

Daddy’ is a loaded word, and not one that everyone will want to play with, given its familial connotations. But Daddy doesn’t have to mean ‘father’, and that is certainly not what the word means to me. Daddy is a cipher. A metaphor. ‘Daddy’ means the person who is there to be pleased. A nurturing, instructive guide whose orders are delivered with the perfect combination of authority and care. Surrendering to this is the delight of DD/lg play.

Like the Daddy who runs his hands gently over my body, inspecting it and murmuring approval. Scrutinising me to ensure that I have dressed precisely to his specifications, be that slutty stockings or pure white cotton knickers. Checking whether I am wearing the butt plug he generously gifted me, dispensing kisses if I’m posing in it in ways that give him joy.

Or the Daddy who nurtures and guides me with discipline: dishing out punishments in the form of his hand smacking flat on my bare bottom. Or withholding treats: making me squirm and beg for an orgasm that he’ll deny me if I haven’t behaved. Holding a small vibrator against my clit and ordering me not to come.

He doesn’t need to shout or bark instructions, because this balance of discipline – carrot and stick – flows in a steady rhythm. Daddy instructs, and corrects, and challenges, but he never needs to shout. He’s confident in my obedience, because he’s confident in himself, and he knows that with the right instruction, I will be good for him. The ‘good’ comes not from what I do, but the fact that I’m doing it to please him.

As his role is to nurture and guide, so mine is to listen and obey. Bend over and lift my skirt for him so he can see the damp patch in the crotch of my knickers. Roll condoms down his cock with delicate fingers, then swallow him down while he strokes me with gentle hands and words of praise and comfort. Obeying him by kneeling perfectly still, muscles taut and throbbing, as he binds me twice – first with the authority in his words (“Hold that pose, like that, don’t move”) and only afterwards securing me with rope.

What is it that compels us to be ‘good’? The meaning of ‘good’ will change depending on who it is we’re being good for. If you’re being good for God you follow rules. Good for community, you share resources and kindness. But if I’m being good for Daddy? I’m obeying not because of the rules, but because of the man who creates them. Obeying, listening, and striving for his reward.

The moment when he tells me that I’ve pleased him.

That I’m a really really good girl.

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