My name is Mindy. I've always felt my name was very... I dunno... girly, I guess. It may not be what led me directly to the lifestyle I have, but it did fit right in. I live with my Daddy. His name is Mark. Don't misunderstand - he's not my father. To everyone else, he's my fiancé, but to me, he's my Daddy, and I'm his little girl. I try to be his good little girl as much as I can, but sometimes I'm not, and he will correct me. I've been spanked, put in the corner, given enemas... But those are different stories for another time.

Today is Saturday, and I'm going to have my weekly inspection. It's a ritual that Daddy wanted from the very beginning. It's very humiliating, but at the same time I know it makes Daddy happy, and somehow the humiliation makes my girly bits get all tingly and wet.

Daddy usually gets up early. He likes to keep to the same schedule so Monday morning isn't such a difficult transition. But I like to sleep in, and Daddy is fine with that, to a point. Our ritual is scheduled for 10:30 AM, and I'm usually not late.

I have a gentle alarm on my phone set for 9:45. I sleep naked (Daddy likes it that way), and I take my time waking up to the music. Eventually I'll get out of bed and go take a nice, warm shower. After soaping up my body, I spend some time massaging in some baby oil to keep my skin soft. I keep my long, brown hair up in a bun for this shower, since I don't want to have to take the time to wash and dry it. I do, however, take the time to shave my legs and go over my naughty parts, looking for any hairs that may be coming in from my last waxing.

My fingers linger momentarily on my special jewel. Daddy didn't give me an engagement ring when he proposed (he said that little girls didn't wear rings). Instead, he had me get a VCH piercing and presented me with a real emerald in a gold setting for it. I don't have a "rock" to show off, but then a plain old engagement ring wouldn't be nearly as much fun when I wear tight jeans either.

When I'm all done, I come out of the shower and spend a few minutes brushing my hair. I don't put on any make-up (Daddy doesn't want any for the inspection). I then go to the closet and get dressed in my uniform. Daddy picked out and bought the uniform for me, and makes sure I have a couple copies of the entire outfit. It starts with plain cotton panties and a white bra (36C). A button-up dress shirt like a man's, but cut for a feminine figure. A pleated blue and green plaid skirt that ends just above my knee. White knee socks and saddle shoes. Finally, a woman's crossover-style necktie, color coordinated with the skirt, and a forest green, fuzzy V neck sweater.

As I'm dressing, it feels so redundant knowing what's going to happen, but I don't want to get ahead of myself. After dressing, I check myself in the full-length mirror to make sure everything is perfect. If I'm ahead of schedule, I'll sit on the bed and wait. Daddy wants me to be right on time.

At 10:30, I walk from the bedroom to the living room. Daddy has prepared the living room for what comes next. He made in his workshop... well, I don't know what to call it, really. I guess its a pedestal. It's two feet tall and square on top, but under the top it's round, which makes it look like a column, sort of. Our living room has track lights, and he arranges them to point right onto the pedestal, which is sitting in front of the couch in place of the coffee table. Next to the pedestal is a coat rack and behind it is a short step stool. I walk over and step up onto the pedestal.

Our living room is more or less average, and since I'm raised up two feet in the air, my head is only a few inches from the ceiling. The lights are dazzling, and I can't see Daddy very well, but he's there on the couch. I smile and hold my hands behind my back, standing at attention.

He watches me without saying anything for a minute or two. My mind always races during that time. What is he thinking? Is my uniform properly done? Did I forget anything? I've done it often enough to know that I haven't, but the thought of disappointing him with a mistake, and then being punished for it, always comes. Through it all, I keep smiling, waiting for his orders.

They're not always the same, but his first commands will often be to move my hands from behind my back to behind my head, or to turn around for him. It's always a bit of a game of "Simon says," really. Except that there's no trick - I just do everything he asks. I think he enjoys the control almost as much as I enjoy being an obedient little girl.

Finally, he'll have me turn to face him again and he'll simply say, "That's my good girl. Now let's take those clothes off and we'll get started."

My face instantly feels flushed and the butterflies in my tummy start, along with the tingling a little further down. I usually bite my bottom lip (he has often said that it is so cute how I do that), and I'll start by removing the tie and carefully hanging it on the coat rack. I know I'm stalling, and I'm sure he knows it too, but I can't help how embarrassed I feel at baring myself while being on such prominent display. I pull the sweater over my head next and hang it carefully. I carefully balance on one foot and reach down to undo the laces on the shoe and pull it off, and then pull down the sock and remove it. I repeat the action on the other side.

I stuff the socks into one of the shoes and set them on the corner of the pedestal out of the way. My hands start to tremble as they start trying to work the buttons on the shirt. I want to turn around and hide, but Daddy has never allowed that, so I don't try anymore. Finally, the last button is undone and the shirt comes off and finds its place on the rack. The skirt is next. It has a hook at the waist and a zipper on the side and then too quickly it is off and hanging on the rack. And now I pause for just a moment before reaching my hands behind my back to undo the catches on my bra.

It springs free and the cool air in the room awakens my nipples, making them turn hard.

Now it's time for the final indignity. I can't help but try and slowly pull my panties down and step out of them, bringing them in front of my privates as I straighten up, hoping to get from them one last moment of seclusion from Daddy's view. But before he can speak sternly, I take them over and place them on the rack as well. I stand back at attention in front of Daddy and all of the lights and slowly move my hands behind my back.

Daddy waits a moment and then stands up and walks toward the pedestal. Now I can see his face better, and he usually smiles. I take some comfort from seeing him happy. He usually says something like, "Good girl. Now let's begin." Daddy is six feet tall, and raised up as high as I am, my breasts are about exactly at his eye level. I often wonder if that's what he had in mind when he designed the pedestal.

He stands so his face is very close to my breasts and begins to minutely examine them, kneading them with his hands and pinching the nipples. The attention turns up the volume on the tingling in my secret spot and I know I'm already very wet. I know he'll know that very soon as well, but I'm getting ahead of myself again.

When he's satisfied with his examination of my breasts, he says, "Now turn around, feet apart and touch your toes." I can't see my face, but it must be four shades of red darker than it even was before. I slowly move to comply, inching my feet so they're shoulder-width or so apart, turning around and then reaching down to touch my toes.

Peering back through my legs, I can see him closely examining my body. He takes a fingertip and runs it up and down my slit and then into my pussy. "My, you're very wet, aren't you?" He says.

"Yes, Daddy." I'm too mortified to say more, but I must respond to his question.

His finger moves down to the jewel. The piercing stud rests right on my clit and the jewel acts almost like an extension of it. As he touches it, the sensations go straight into my clit and I eek out a quiet moan. I sometimes feel shaky in that position. My mind is filled with a heady cocktail of humiliation, the pleasure from his ministrations on my girly parts and the blood pounding in my head from being upside down.

After a moment, he stops and pulls the thermometer out of his pocket. It's a small, digital model he got from the drugstore. He takes his finger and dips it into my pussy, then smears my own wetness on my asshole. He then presses a button on the thermometer and inserts it there. Most thermometers you get nowadays advertise how quickly they work. Daddy searched far and wide to find a particularly slow one.

He holds it in place for what seems like an eternity while I feel the humiliation burn on my cheeks. Finally, the thermometer beeps and he withdraws it, reads it, and then takes an alcohol pad out of his pocket and cleans it and puts it away. He never tells me what the thermometer reads. I sometimes wonder if he reads it at all.

Finally he takes a step back and says, "Good girl. Stand back up and step down here," and he indicates a spot in front of the pedestal. I stand back up and step down off the pedestal and around to the front. He continues, "You know what's next. Get into position." I know that this means it's time for my spanking.

I turn around and bend at the waist, placing my hands on the pedestal not far from where I was standing moments before. Daddy takes his place at my side and I feel his hand rub my bottom only too briefly.

His hand disappears only long enough for me to realize what that means before it slams down on my bottom. He starts a fast cadence, quickly lighting my bottom on fire and bringing tears to my eyes. I can't keep track of the swats except that I know it doesn't take long before the crying begins, and then the fire in my bottom and the crying become the only reality I have.

He doesn't spank too long (this isn't a punishment, after all), just long enough to bring me to tears. He then urges me to stand back up and wraps me up in his arms, my head on his chest, my tears dampening his shirt. I hold him impossibly close after being spanked. I feel protected, as if he rescued me from his own spanking hand. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but it's true.

After I've calmed down, he walks me over to the couch and has me kneel in front of it while he sits down. I run a hand up the leg of his pants up to his very hard cock. I ask him, "Daddy, may I?" and he just nods. I unzip his pants and reach inside to free his cock from his briefs and bring it out of the zipper. I can smell the musky scent of him as I bring my face down towards his manhood and it makes me clench, which sends shockwaves of pleasure through me. I lick the tip of his cock while I sneak my hand down between my legs, hoping he doesn't see.

I take him in my mouth and begin to suck and wrap my tongue around the head of his cock while stroking the base with one hand, the other busily working my pussy. It doesn't take either of us very long. He always comes first. I feel his entire body turn rigid and start to tremble just a little bit before his cock jerks once and his hot come squirts out into my mouth. Feeling him come in my mouth fills me with pride, at least as much room as my mind has for actual thoughts given how close I am to my own orgasm. And just touching my jewel is always enough and I crash into it headlong, moaning and squealing with Daddy's cock still squirting in my mouth.

As both of us come down, I swallow what Daddy gave me and lick his cock clean and carefully put it away again. As I kneel between his legs, he runs his fingers through my hair and tells me what a good little girl I am. All I can say back is, "I love you Daddy."

"I love you too Mindy."