Swinging The Mood (All Four Parts)

Taken from the forced regression book:

Full Force III: Extreme

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here is a story about how to “swing” the mood.

Start with Dilemma

Swinging the Mood

The following Friday, 7pm

Dakota walked into her sister’s house, tossing her purse across the room and sitting down on the sofa.  Burying her face in her hands, she was grateful that her sister and niece weren’t home to see her current meltdown.  Oh, what an angering day it had been.  Work was fine and everything went smoothly.  Dutch texted her at lunch and she was so flirtatious at the time that she lifted the front of her shirt and sent him a picture of her bra. 

It was actually a very good day, in reality.  So why was it all so angering to her?

She really wished she could answer that question.  But this was the case.  It was happening again.  It was a day of blah for her, emotionally.  These days of blah always made her shut down.  It wasn’t a hormonal thing.  So she couldn’t blame her gender for it.  And it wasn’t brought about by bad things happening to her.

There was absolutely no reason for her unhappiness. Yet she was.

Getting her cell phone out of her purse, she started texting with Dutch, hoping for a miracle.  A few days ago , he said he would help her with this shutdown thing.  Hopefully, he could find the solution that she couldn’t.

Dakota:  Hello, Daddy. xoxo

But he didn’t reply back right away.  Several minutes went by, in fact.  And he still hadn’t replied.  Sighing sadly, she got up from the couch – grabbing her purse and walking back to her bedroom.  Kicking her heels off, she tossed her purse and cell phone on her bed. 

Beginning to unbutton her blouse, she scoffed at her image in the mirror on the wall.  She looked really good and had dressed quite business-fashionably for the day.  It had even been one of those days when her hair cooperated with her and her make-up went on with ease … no smudges or mistakes.  And despite all of the great things about this day, she still had the blah feeling about her.

Unzipping the back of her skirt she slid it down her legs and stepped out of it, tossing it and her blouse across the room – towards the hamper.  Sliding her nylons down her legs, she bent over.  And it was at that moment that her cell phone chimed a new text message alert.  Standing up, she tried to walk over to the bed but fell flat on the floor as her feet were still in the nylons.  She sat up and grabbed at the nylons in the middle, pulling on them and laying on her back to put her feet in the air.

That was when her cell phone chimed alert of another new text message.  She crawled over to the foot of the bed and reached up onto the mattress, grabbing her cell phone as she continued to struggle with her nylons.  Looking at the two text messages, she scoffed again.

Dutch:  Hello, BabyGirl.

Dutch:  How was your day?

Putting her phone on speaker, she called Dutch – setting the phone on the floor and grabbing the middle of her nylons.  Sitting up, she began to wrap her left forearm around the middle of the nylons again and again – finally making some progress with getting them off her.

“Hello, Princess,” Dutch’s voice said from her cell phone.

“Hello,” Dakota answered with a tone of obvious frustration – only obvious to her, of course.

“What’s on your mind?” Dutch asked, having learned to get right to the matter at hand when something seemed wrong.

And from the discussion they had a week ago about how she sometimes grew unhappy for no reason at all, he wasn’t about to dally.

“I hate being a girl,” Dakota answered, giving him the wrong impression of what was bothering her.

“Oh … well … uh,” Dutch stammered, searching for what to say.

“No, I’m not talking about that – though I have that to look forward to in a week,” Dakota clarified, finally getting the nylons off her feet and standing up.  “I’m just irritated with everything.  That’s all.”

Getting up and walking over to the hamper, she picked up her clothes and tossed them in, then doing the arm chicken-wing thing to unfasten her bra and add it to the hamper.  Sliding out of her panties, she tossed them in as well.

“What are you wearing, right now?” Dutch asked, trying to change the subject – but more importantly, trying to change the mood of the conversation.

Dakota turned around and looked down at the phone on the floor.  Then she looked at her naked frame in the mirror across the bedroom, smiling at how he had asked that very question and this very moment.

“Nothing,” Dakota said with a playfulness to her tone.

“Not even your earrings?” Dutch asked, just as playfully.

“Yes, I’m still wearing them,” Dakota said with a small laugh.

“I think you might be wearing something else, too,” Dutch said, Dakota looking down at the phone on the floor with confusion on her face.  “Are you in your bedroom?”

“Yes,” Dakota answered, still confused.

“Go to your mirror,” Dutch instructed.  “Get as close as you can.  Look at your image.  Tell me what else you see that you’re wearing.”

Dakota went to the mirror, trying not to laugh at his silliness.  She wasn’t wearing anything else.  What was he talking about?

“Do you see anything?” Dutch asked.

“No,” Dakota asked, grinning as she tried to figure out what he was driving at.  “What else do you think I’m wearing?”

“Lean in and touch the tip of your nose to the mirror and I’ll tell you,” Dutch said, lowering the timbre of his voice – a change in his tone that derived a tingling response in her core.

“Okay,” Dakota said with softness in her voice, leaning in and touching her nose to the mirror – grinning again.  “So what else am I wearing, Daddy?”

“…… a smile,” Dutch said, Dakota then smiling more brightly as she stepped back from the mirror.

“You can’t fix me, Dutch,” Dakota said, walking over and sitting next to her cell phone – then leaning back against the foot of her bed.  “You can’t even help me with my problems because I won’t allow you to.  People have tried … a lot of people.”

“Yeah.  A lot of people can try to help you with your problem,” Dutch said.  “Maybe I can try to help you forget them.”

Dakota looked back over at the mirror as he spoke.

“And if nothing else, maybe I can try to help you see through to the other side of whatever you may be feeling,” Dutch continued.  “Have you considered seeing someone about the unhappiness?  Maybe Misty-n-Morgan will know what you need to get through it and to dodge it in the future.”

“I doubt it,” Dakota said, folding her arms and lowering her chin.  “I’ve used up enough time off from work and I’m tired of interrupting my life to get myself back in order.”

“Is there medication for it?” Dutch suggested, cautiously.

“I’ve taken medication for things before and all it ever does for me is to numb my senses,” Dakota replied.  “It’s like I’m being protected from feeling duress and pain … and some kind of depression that knows no catalyst.”

“And that would only make the crash worse when you come off the pills,” Dutch added, seeing her point.

“That’s if I would ever be able to come off the pills,” she said.

“Okay,” Dutch said, redirecting the conversation once again.  “Why don’t you come over to my place for a few hours this evening.”

“I don’t think I’d be very good company right now,” Dakota sad grimly.  “I mean … I have the weekend off and I don’t have to be at work until Monday at 10 and I did want to spend time with you.”

“Then come over,” Dutch said, seeing the decision as being simple.

“I’m feeling blah.  It’s that generalized malaise thing I told you about last weekend,” Dakota said with sadness.

“I don’t care,” Dutch said with a stronger tone, not a mean change in his voice but one that held more aggression than a moment ago.  “I want you to put on a schoolgirl outfit and come over here right now.”

Dakota smiled, adding shrunken shoulders to her lowered chin and softly laughing.

“Don’t look now, but I bet that smile you’re wearing is becoming a contagious condition,” Dutch said playfully.  “Get yourself ready, Princess.  And make sure your panties are baby pink.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Dakota said with softness in her tone.

15 minutes later

It only took her a short while to put together the schoolgirl outfit and an even quicker amount of time to put it on.  The white button-down shirt was the easy part.  The wider collar, the female cut shape, the stiff cuffs that easily folded up the forearms … that was nothing to figure out.  It was the skirt that was the difficult part. 

Dutch loved to see the schoolgirl look on her.  Because of this, she had gone out and purchased quite a few skirts – the pleated kind.  Some were solid in color.  Others were checkerboarded.  And the color she chose to wear always indicated her mood.  She had a soft pink checkboard one she wore when feeling flirtatious only.  She had a red checkerboard one she wore when she felt mischievous.  She had a solid white one she wore when she was feeling innocent.  But on this night, her mood constantly wavering, she opted for the black checkerboard one – which always kept her state of mind a mystery.

Standing in front of the mirror on the wall, she checked her look one final time before grabbing her purse and her cell phone and dashing out of the house as quickly as she could before anyone got home.  It wasn’t until she got out of the front door that she realized she hadn’t put anything on her feet.  It was no matter, however.  She couldn’t imagine he would be taking her out on the town that night.  And even if he chose to, she had shoes and clothing over at his place.

Her bra and panties were indeed a matching set of baby pink, just as he had instructed her to wear.  Her hair she let down on her shoulders as she started her car and backed out of the driveway.

Early evening traffic on a Friday was a bit heavier than in the day, but still manageable.  Everyone was eager to blow off some steam from the work week past.  Dakota felt the same way.  She just wished that something would happen to snap her out of her funk.  And she really didn’t feel right by going over to Dutch’s place and subjecting him to what could become an extremely torturous situation, should she really get in a foul mood that night.

Pulling up to a red light, she received a text message from Dutch.

Dutch: Unbutton your shirt down to your cleavage.  I wanna see a little bra and a little titty when I open the front door.

Smiling while sticking her tongue into her right cheek, she opened the top three buttons of her shirt – allowing her cleavage to emerge as the light turned green and she stepped on the gas.  She sped through the next five intersections, redefining the yellow lights to mean hurry up.  And at the next red light she came to, she took a picture of the front of her torso – devilishly raising her right eyebrow, then sending it to him.

Another text message came through from him.

Dutch: Take your panties off and tuck them in the middle of your cleavage.

Dakota blushed a little, putting the car in park as she reached under her skirt and slid her panties down her legs.  Taking them off her feet, she balled them up and stuffed them into the middle of her bra.  Then she fluffed the ruffled edges, making her panties look like a pink rose.

At that moment, a car pulled up alongside her, two young guys sitting in the front seat.  Their music was loud, with a heavy beat.  Inconspicuously covering the panties on her chest with her left hand, she took the car out of park and gripped the steering wheel with her right hand.  Looking straight ahead, she made no other body movements as to not draw the guys’ attentions.

But that was a failed endeavor.

“Hey, baby!” the guy in the passenger seat said, Dakota not looking at him and not reacting to him at all.  “Hey!”

Dakota made no body movements, pretending she didn’t hear him.

“Hey!” the guy yelled again, the red light turning green and Dakota slamming on the gas.

But the car caught up next to her quickly.

“Fine then!  Fuck you!” the guy in the passenger seat of that car said as they sped past her.  “Go be fat somewhere else!”

Dakota’s eyes grew big and wide.  What the heck was that?  What was the point of saying that?  Just because she didn’t say hello back as he bellowed his Hey in her direction, that meant it was necessary to insult her?

Well … there went her good mood.  That was all it took.  Now she would have to put on a happy face when she saw Dutch.  From a day that had been very demanding at work, with current mood swings so severe that a pendulum would be jealous, after having put herself together in appearance and having seen the birth of arousal die from a rude statement … now she was supposed to walk up to Dutch’s front door and pretend as if nothing about this day had affected her at all.

Pulling into his driveway, she turned the car off and grew angry with tears – quickly getting ahold of herself before those tears streamed from her eyes, staining her cheeks and ruining her make-up.  Getting out of her car, she grabbed her purse and cell phone, straightening herself up and walking to his front door.  Her posture was perfect and though she was an angered mess inside, she looked as put-together and in control as possible.  She had still pulled it off, despite the odds.

Knocking on his front door, she shrunk up her shoulders, checking the panties she had stuffed in her cleavage and pushing her locks back from the sides of her face.  Closing her eyes, she took in one final deep breath and then exhaled.  Dutch wasn’t the source of her anger and she needed to remind herself to not take anything out on him.

The front door opened and she opened her eyes.  There he stood, Dutch – her Daddy and her love, her world and her everything.  She should have been jumping for joy, leaping up into his arms and turning to mush.  She should have been unshackled from frustrations.  But instead, she felt nothing … just more of that blah feeling.

Recognizing this, Dutch took action.  Taking her by the hand, he led her into the house.  Dakota looked around the kitchen, tempted to ask him if he had anything she could eat as she was starving.  But she said nothing. Turning back to face him, she learned that asking for food would be the final opportunity to speak she would have that night.

When she turned around, she saw Dutch bringing a most scary looking device towards her face.  It was a ring gag with leather straps, but it also had these little metal wires coming off the front of it like the whiskers of a cat.  Gasping at the sight of it, she opened her mouth for a moment.  And that was all the time he needed to put the device on her. 

The top of the ring and the bottom of the ring slipped behind her front upper teeth and front lower teeth, keeping her mouth involuntarily open.  She laughed at the thought of what she must have looked like and also at how, once again, she could never predict what Dutch would do next.  Not resisting him at all, she leaned her head forward, giving him greater ease in fastening the leather straps at the back of her head.

In a moment, she would realize resisting him fastening that scary spider-like O-ring would be her final opportunity to say no to anything that night.

Wrapping his arms around her and holding her against the front of his body, he leaned his head down – taking in the scent on her sternum.  Then he smiled at how she had fashioned the panties in her cleavage to look like a pink rose.

“I know you had a rough day,” Dutch said, his deep timbre rippling throughout her senses.  “Do you wanna be made to forget about it for the rest of the night?”

“Eh-uh,” Dakota said softly, trying to say yes but being unable to because of the O-ring gag that was keeping her mouth open.

Taking her to the kitchen window, he stood behind her – wrapping his arms around her and giving her a wonderful view of the earliest moments of dusk.  Soon, the seasons would change and dusk would happen much earlier in the evening hours.

Reaching into her cleavage, he took the pink panties out of the middle, sniffing them before putting them in his pants pocket.

“No, perfume this time?” Dutch asked, Dakota smiling as much as the gag would allow her to.

She was no slacker and would always make sure every inch of her body as well as every article of clothing she wore was scented sweetly. – Nothing overpowering, but always a little something there.

Dutch began to unbutton her school girl shirt the rest of the way down, Dakota lifted her chin up and leaning it back on his sternum.  Having an opened mouth was beginning to produce a case of drooling for her.  And she wasn’t interested in being so sloppy just then.  In fact, she was only succumbing to him because he was obviously in the mood.  Even though the whole point of this foreplay was to help her take her mind off how mundane the day had been for her, she still couldn’t help but keep those troubling thoughts fresh in her mind.  Whether her current mood simply was a common case of generalized malaise or if it was a funk that would simply take time to pass from her conscience, Dakota wasn’t going to be herself until she got over it.  And it would take a lot more than just a mouth gag and some seductive undressing to snap her out of it this time.

Dutch reached behind her and unfastened the bra strap at the middle of her back, then lowering her bra and button-down shirt off her frame.  Reaching into his right pants pocket, he took out one of her pacifiers – slipping the rubber nipple into her and carefully wedging the pacifier guard into the O-ring.

Dakota tried smiling again, as much as she could, before beginning to nurse on the silicone nipple as she looked out into the side yard.  And there she saw the die-hard fire flies that had remained in the area, despite how late in the summer it was.  She thought back to that night she met Dutch and how she followed the string of lights above at that firefly festival to find him.

Still holding his right forearm across her sternum, he slid his left hand down the front of her body – then up underneath the front of her pleated school girl skirt … the only article of clothing she was still wearing.  Reaching up with both hands, she took hold of his right arm as his fingers wandered onto the sweetness between her legs.

“You are so smooth, Princess,” Dutch whispered in her right ear with his Daddy Voice, his hot breath traveling down the front of her body.  “You are always so, so smooth.”

Oh, how numbing his voice could sometimes be to her.  And then, without warning of shift, his voice could excite her.  He could always melt her down all the way before he heated her back up.

“I’ll make you dinner in a little bit,” Dutch said, taking his hand away from between her legs and turning her around to face him.

Oh, she looked so adorably helpless with that pacifier in her mouth – held there by that O-ring device.  But he could see the conflict in her eyes – one that made clear how her indifference to the moment couldn’t have been any more duressing for her.  It was as if she was screaming for help without making a sound.

“I wanna show you something,” Dutch said, taking her hand and leading her over to the living room entrance.

Dakota took two steps into the living room and froze in place, her eyes gaping wide at what she saw on the coffee table in front of the sofa.  Yes, the usual items there, like her diapers.  But next to her diapers was a pink leather collar as well as matching pink leather wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs.  My goodness.  That was a new touch to his surprises.

But it wasn’t until she saw the straitjacket next to those cuffs that she finally piece together what was about to happen to her.  And it also explained the extensive mouth gag he had just strapped around her head.  No, this was not good.  And for as much as she was grateful that he was trying to make her forget her problems, even if just for that evening, this wasn’t going to help her at all.

Turning back to face, she shook her head no – then reaching up behind her head to unfasten the O-ring mouth gag.  That was the moment when full force, as she knew, became extreme.

Stepping forward, he reached up behind her head, taking hold of her hands and preventing her from unfastening the mouth gag.  She looked at him as if he was crazy.  Then, shaking her head no again, she tried to pull her hands free from his grip.  But Dutch wouldn’t let go.

“Princess, calm yourself down,” Dutch said with a peaceful tone.

Stepping back, she tried to pull away from him – becoming a little desperate.  But when Dutch wrapped his arms around her, picking her up and carrying her over to the sofa, that was when she freaked out. 

Screaming into the pacifier, she flailed her legs – trying to kick him away.  But he kept his grip around her.  So she screamed again, but then realized that her screams hardly made any noise at all.

“Be a good girl, Princess,” Dutch said very calmly and with his most intoxicating Daddy Voice – conditions of his tone that only made her more frantic.  “Don’t fight it.  You’re not getting out of this.”

So she kicked harder, wiggling as much as she could and flailing as much as she could – still to no avail of escape.  Dutch simply held her there, in mid-air and above the sofa, until she had used all of her energy.  And when she stopped flailing, he pinned the front of her body to the sofa.  Grabbing her left arm and holding it behind her back.  He reached for the straitjacket as he sat on top of her. 

Dakota cried tremendously, tears streaming out of her eyes and dripping onto the sofa cushions.  Why was he doing this?  What was he going to do to her?  Tie her up and wait until she got happy again?

With her right arm free, she tried to punch backwards.  And when she did, he grabbed her right wrist and forced her right arm into the one sleeve of the straitjacket.  Wrapping his left leg around her left arm, he sat down on it and then leaned back.  She screamed into her pacifier as if she was in pain, but she wasn’t in any pain at all … not physically.

Rolling to the side, he laid down on his back.  This put Dakota face-up on top of him and still in his grip.  With her right arm completely in the straitjacket, he directed her left arm – forcing it into the other sleeve of the straitjacket.  With both of her arms inside the jacket, he sat up and pinned her face-down onto the sofa once more.  Dakota sobbed uncontrollably as her arms were crossed in front of her and the sleeve ends were being tied at her back.  But she also cried that she was so easily man-handled.  Her defense was very unimpressive.

“Were you this fussy when you spent that therapy session with Misty and Morgan?” Dutch asked as he lowered the zipper at the back of her pleated skirt, Dakota thrashing as much as possible – having regained a little energy from having not fought back for a few seconds.

But the muscles in her legs had become fatigued quite a bit, a typical reaction from overexertion that would happen to anyone.  And it was the fact that Dakota was getting fatigued that only fueled her rage, to the point of actual tantrum.

“Is this also how you acted when you spent a week with Maria?” Dutch asked, pulling her over his left knee and sliding her pleated skirt down to her knees – then placing his right knee behind her thighs to clamp down on her legs.  “It’s such a pity that you always have to start out like this, Princess.  But I think I understand why those therapy treatments put more new thoughts in your head as opposed to the desired results of extracting the right thoughts from you.”

Placing his left hand on her lower back to hold her steady, he cupped her bottom with his right palm.  Drawing the skirt zipper back up, he gave partial-restriction to the movement of her legs – basically preventing her from pulling her legs apart.  Dakota squirmed, knowing what was about to happen and starting into another tirade of sobbing before it ever began.

She had spoken with Dutch about spanking about a month ago and they had tried it, but she learned clearly that Dutch only spanked hard … really hard.  It’s all he understood.  She recalled how her bottom remained sore for the next two days afterwards.  And every time she sat down, she could feel the greatest soreness on the spots he struck repeatedly.  It was only at that point that she actually got something from it … a sense of mild arousal from the memory.  But such a minor return wasn’t worth going through the excruciating experience again.  So, she dropped the idea and never brought it up to him again.

Now bent over his knee, gagged and in a straitjacket with her school girl skirt lowered to her knees, Dakota realized that she had never told him that she didn’t like the harsh spanking he gave her.  And unfortunately, she had no way of telling him now.  But she still tried, mumbling as loudly into the nipple in her mouth as she could while thrashing as much as her restrictions would physically allow her to.

Dutch, however, had no intentions of even listening to any bit of complaining from her.  He raised his right hand high in the air.  There was a greater purpose to this weekend and it began … now.

That same night, 8pm

Dutch swung his right hand down, connecting squarely with the center of her bottom.  Dakota seized up all the muscles in her body, going rigid before she began to wail – her pacifier gag only allowing her to produce the sound of small whimpering noises. He raised his right hand again and swung down again, connecting squarely with that same stripe of skin across the center of both of her bottom cheeks.  Dakota seized up again, squealing and kicking her feet rapidly.  As she recalled, the initial sting wasn’t nearly as painful as when, in later strikes, the sting began to travel inward – into the meat of her backside.

CRACK!!  His right hand landed across the center of her bottom, his palm flat and continuing to press in on her cheeks.  She squealed again, kicking her feet and legs and making it very difficult for him to hold her over his lap as she twisted her torso to roll off his knees.

Dakota landed on the floor, right in front of the sofa.  Getting onto her knees, she tried to stand up – but was put back to the ground when Dutch took her feet out from underneath her.  Grabbing the pink ankle cuffs from the coffee table, he held her right ankle up as he put his weight down on her other leg.

Dakota cried tears of anger, tossing back and forth as she tried to free herself from the straitjacket.  But Dutch kept her pinned firmly to the rug as he attached the cuff around her right ankle.

“There is no getting out of this, Princess,” Dutch said with a calm voice, a tone that enraged Dakota that much more.  “Be a good girl.”

Switching her legs, he attached the other ankle cuff to her left ankle and then he attached the two ankle cuffs to each other.  Sitting back up on the couch, he lifted her back up and draped her over his lap once again.  Putting his right leg behind her thighs, he returned her to the same spanking position she was in a few moments ago.

Dakota wailed, growing into an exhausted state as she tried thrashing and kicking her feet – to find that the ankle cuffs decreased her ability to move that much more.  And as he raised his right hand for a fourth time, her helpless sobs heightened to further irritation.

Swinging down, he contacted with her bottom and then began a barrage of strikes – over and over and over.  Each blow, softened her mental defenses.  On the upswings, her rage returned.  But with each additional blow, her defenses finally broke down.  And when she stopped fighting him, he stopped spanking her.  He was reinforcing the understanding that if she didn’t fight, she wouldn’t be punished.

Dakota understood this, but it only infuriated her more.  She was being forced to do something, once again.  Being Dutch’s BabyGirl was something she actually wanted to do anyway, but she presently wasn’t in the mood.  That was the point.  It was the reason why she was in this situation.  He was helping her find a way to push through the mundane, that blah feeling that always made her shut down.

“Be a good girl,” Dutch said calm as he reached for the pink collar, then slipping it around her neck and fastening it at the back.

But this only recharged her ire.  No longer crying, she now growled into the nipple that was secured in her mouth.  And she began to thrash once again, careless about the consequences.

“Don’t make me do this, Dakota,” Dutch said, burying her face in the sofa and detaching her ankle cuffs from each other as he forced her legs apart in a spread-eagle fashion.

Then he raised his right hand, hoping she would come to her senses but knowing he was going to have to follow through.  And Dakota knew it too.  That’s why she didn’t stop fussing just then.  She figured if it was going to happen, she may as well deserve it.

Dutch swung down with his right hand, connecting between her legs but doing so in a manner where he only tapped her smoothness.  However, it still stung on her surfaces and she seized up, her tears renewing.  Dutch would spank her between the legs a good dozen times before she finally submitted to him completely.

She was in pain from the sting between her legs as well as the swollen condition of her bottom when he finally laid her down on the rug and reached for a diaper.

“A few days ago, I contacted Misty and Morgan,” Dutch said, connecting her ankle cuffs together and lifting her legs straight up as he took ointment to her bottom.

Dakota sniffled, listening to him tell her about his talk with Misty and Morgan, the married couple who gave her the first emotional therapy session – her very first encounter with forced regression.

“The reason your sessions with them didn’t have the desired effect is because those people didn’t mean anything to you at the time,” Dutch said, unfolding a diaper and sliding it underneath her as he held her legs in the air – allowing time for the ointment to dry a little.  “Being forced by someone you know well might have a different effect.  And maybe you will learn what you need to.”

Powdering her front, he lowered her bottom into the diaper and bowed her knees outward as he folded the front of the diaper up and into place, fastening the tapes snuggly at her hips.

“But they started you back at the beginning, back when you had no responsibilities but also no rights,” Dutch said, reaching for a small link chain on the coffee table and connecting it to her ankle cuffs – then connecting the other end to her collar.  “You are going to find a way through this malaise or whatever it is you are feeling right now.  You will never allow it to shut you down again.  And I will force you to make this change.  You can be a good girl about this and we will work through it together.”

Dutch rolled her over onto her side, the chain that connected her collar to her ankle cuffs forcing her to curl up into a fetal ball.  Weeping silently, she relaxed her body as much as possible – too physically fatigued to battle further.

“If you are a bad girl about all of this, we won’t be able to work together on this.  And your bottom will be so sore that you won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week,” Dutch said, getting up and heading to the kitchen – then turning back to her.  “I love you, Dakota.  And I will get you through this.”

Dutch dimmed the living room lights as he went into the kitchen.  Dakota closed her eyes, her new tears streaming down onto the rug.  He was actually being very thoughtful in helping her in such an extreme manner.  He really didn’t have it within to treat her harshly.  But he was forcing himself to do so.  She knew this.  And likely, at that very moment, he was standing in the middle of the kitchen – wiping the tears out of his own eyes.

Dutch made dinner, leaving Dakota on the living room rug – in a straitjacket and a diaper, gagged with a pacifier, collared, cuffed at the ankles, forced into the fetal position by a small link chain and with her center throbbing in the front and the back from a spanking he had just given her.  Oh, what restraints – physically and mentally.

Despite how he was being fair and reasonable about all of this, Dakota knew herself.  And she knew that she would tantrum when the first opportunity to do so presented itself.  So, she tried to prepare herself for the eventuality of being bent over his knee again and being spanked like a naughty little girl.

Clenching her bottom cheeks, she gently shifted her crinkly diapered hips – now recalling how much his spanking hurt but also recalling the experience with a delicious bit of humiliating remembrance.  This was the unforeseen reward of having had previous therapy sessions with others, but also the unfortunate side effect of those sessions.  She found unusual enjoyment in being forced to do things and in the punishments of bad behavior more than she found the point of those sessions.

She knew, before he ever came back into the living room with dinner, that this is what her entire weekend was going to be like.  Oh yes.  There were more battles ahead.  And there would be more tears shed.  And she would likely reach the end of sanity along the way.

The journey to get where she wanted to go wasn’t going to be pleasant.  But with Dutch in control of her, she knew he would get her there – even if she futilely fought him every step of the way.

Setting a tray on the coffee table, he pushed the coffee table out of the way.  The tray had several items on it, not the least of which being a steamy bowl of something.  Then he took a seat on the floor in front of the sofa and picked up Dakota, placing her across his lap.  Looking up at the ceiling for the first time, she saw the illumination of glow-in-the-dark fire fly stickers he had placed there.  This was why he dimmed the lights in the room.  Her mind drifted back to that firefly festival once again.

And this was the momentary distraction he needed to take the pacifier out of its wedged position in the middle of the O-ring gag.  Putting a funnel-like device in the pacifier’s place, he picked up the spoon and scooped out a heaping amount of the warm mush that was to be her dinner.  Dakota’s attention was immediately drawn back to him as he poured the spoonful of mush into the funnel.  The spout of the funnel went part-way into her mouth and it was a little startling for her, to say the least.

The spout had some sort of a valve on it that only allowed things to go in.  This meant two things.  Firstly, it meant that she would have to breathe through her nose until he took the funnel out of her mouth.  And secondly, it was evidence that he had indeed spoken with Misty and Morgan as they obviously told him about how she had a habit of spitting out the food she was being forced to eat.

Dakota sulked and fussed like a baby, but Dutch was undeterred – allowing the first spoonful to slide down the spout and drip into her mouth.  Making a face as if to suggest she was gagging, Dakota leaned her head back – trying to force the spout and funnel out of her mouth.  But he had somehow secured it in the O-ring, the same as how he wedged her pacifier guard into it.

The sludge landed on the center of her tongue.  It was pasty in texture and didn’t really have much taste to it at first. Shoving it into her right cheek, she defiantly refused to swallow it.  Dutch smiled slightly, scooping up another spoonful of the muck and pouring it into the funnel. He knew what she was going to attempt to do and he knew it would only be a matter of time before her mouth filled to its capacity with the mush.  It was a waiting game and one that drew Dakota back into battle mode.

He wasn’t going to get her to swallow it.  She was determined.  And since he was playing fairly by not pinching her nose shut, she believed the odds were pretty good in her favor.  One spoonful after another after another went into the funnel, down the spout and into her mouth – Dakota continuing to push the mush into her cheeks.  Soon she looked like a chipmunk.

“Swallow it, baby,” Dutch said with such calmness that her anger began to well again – producing a scowl on her face.

He reached underneath her and pinched her right bottom cheek through her diaper.  Dakota squealed and began to cry like a baby, complete with fussy whimpers and all.

“Do I need to take my belt off and put welts on the back of your thighs?” Dutch asked, Dakota shaking her head no.  “Then swallow.”

Oh, Dakota didn’t want to abide.  And as usual, when being offered help, she defied it.  Had she not been in restraints, had she not driven over to his house at all, she would have been at home – in her room and on her bed with a pillow over her head … wishing that the blah feeling would leave her.

Dutch pinched harder and Dakota squealed harder.

“Swallow it, baby,” Dutch said calmly and with that Daddy Voice that always melted her.  “Be a good girl.  Choose to be a good girl for Daddy.  Once the back of your thighs are welted, I’ll go straight to the soles of your feet.  And you won’t walk for days.”

Dakota’s eyes grew big and wide, seeing the caring nature in his eyes but understanding clearly what he just said.  Dutch never bluffed.  And she knew it.  Closing her eyes and sobbing, she swallowed the sludge – a fairly large mouthful at this point.

It really didn’t taste all that bad.  It honestly didn’t taste like much of anything, a little chalky and kind of like hummus.  But it wasn’t the taste that was beginning to unravel her mentally.  It was the loss of free will she was experiencing.  This was always the toughest part of any of the treatments.

As a girl, she had learned to protect herself, physically and emotionally, when she needed to.  It was a typical mode of survival for her in life.  But her past had clearly shown a history of poor decisions she had made.  And it had been a slow process in rebuilding her.  Now facing the recurring feeling of blah, she could see the unfettered light at the end of the tunnel.  Oh, how she wished she could live without mundane moments in her head.

Keeping eye contact with Dutch, she welled with tears once again and then succumbed to a few more spoonfuls of the sludge.

“Your freedoms are gone until you get a grip,” Dutch said, Dakota whimpering but swallowing again.

She would swallow every spoonful of the mush until the bowl was empty and with a full tummy, she would begin to burp.  Dutch took the funnel out of her mouth and immediately put a bottle of water in its place.  Being able to control her gulps, Dakota savored the water as it removed the traces of the sludge from her mouth and her throat.  Taking the empty bottle of water out of the O-ring, he sat her up and held her close to him as he rocked her back-n-forth until she burped.  And when she burped, she breathed out a sigh of relief through her nose.  Thank goodness dinner was over.

Leaning her back and resting her neck in the inside of his left elbow, he cradled her head as he reached for the pack of baby wipes.

“Wuh ah you doin?” Dakota mumbled through the open O-ring.

And swiftly, Dutch reached for a baby bottle on that tray, sliding the nipple into her mouth and turning the bottle to screw it into the O-ring.  Squealing, Dakota fussed again.  She just wanted to know what he was doing.

“Drink,” Dutch said calmly, reaching for the pack of baby wipes again.  “Show Daddy what a good girl you are.”

Sighing heavily through her nose, she began to nurse on the nipple and warmed formula flowed into her mouth.  Cocking her throat, she prevented herself from swallowing it.  Oh, she hated formula.  She absolutely hated it.  And Dutch knew this.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Dutch said, taking one of the baby wipes out of the pack.  “And swallow, Princess.  Swallow.”

She closed her eyes to prevent from welling with tears again.  And Dutch gently took the baby wipe to her eyelids.  She had no idea why he was doing this, but it felt very pleasant and she didn’t fight him on it.  In a way, his gentle strokes with that baby wipe were so soothing that they calmed her nerves.  And unknowingly until it happened, she swallowed the formula, then making a face like she was gagging.  Dutch took several baby wipes to her entire face, from her hair line all the way down her neck to the pink collar.

“Princess, you are going to eat what I give you to eat,” Dutch whispered with a calm and even tone as he stroked her hair.  “Drink from your bottle.  Good girl.”

Dakota kept eye contact with him, not realizing that she was slipping into a regressive state.  And not even putting it together that he had removed all of her make-up with those baby wipes.

“You are going to drink what I give you to drink,” Dutch whispered with that same calm and even tone as a moment ago.  “That’s it.  Finish the bottle.  Drink it all.  Good girl.”

Unscrewing the bottle from inside the O-ring, he set it back on the tray – Dakota burping and a little bit of the formula leaking out of her mouth.  She blushed instantly and then burped again.

“Aww, baby,” Dutch said with a cooing tone as he wiped the spittle off her chin.  “Are you gettin’ all messy?”

Then he reached for another baby bottle on the tray, Dakota whimpering as he put the nipple into her mouth and then turned it – screwing it into the O-ring.

“Drink, baby,” Dutch whispered with playfulness in his voice as he gently squeezed the baby bottle this time – forcing the formula into her mouth.

Dakota put up defenses once again, fussing horribly.  When she submitted to him as a baby, it was always her choice.  But laying there, restrained in several ways, she began to drift back to those therapy sessions when she had previously experienced being forcibly regressed.  Dutch had never forced her like this before.  And it all felt different, still inviting as it was him but also alarming as he was doing things to her mind he had never done like this before.

Instinctively, she began to swallow the formula as he reached for something else on the table.  Closing her eyes, she tried to steady herself away from that dizzy feeling – a typical effect she felt when regressing.  But with her eyes closed, she didn’t see that what he had picked up was a bonnet – a white one with frilly ends. 

When he placed the bonnet on her head and tied the strings underneath her chin, she opened her eyes and grumbled angrily at him.  She hated bonnets.  She absolutely hated them.  And Dutch knew this very well.  Oh, he was deliberately making this more difficult for her.  And for as much as his intentions seemed a mystery to her, his actions kept pushing her in the direction of acceptance.

This was a tall order to fill as Dakota never succumbed to anything when she went into shut down mode.  But then again, until this very evening, no one had ever made her try.  And though giving her space seemed like the kind thing to do, it made her feel even more isolated from the world than she already was.

“Soon, you are going to be sooooo sleepy you won’t be able to keep your eyes open,” Dutch said, continuing to keep pressure on the outside of the bottle to force the contents into her mouth.

That was the moment when Dakota figured out that he had laced the formula she was drinking and likely also that bowl of mush.  She really didn’t mind the sleeping pills as she had taken them before.  But this time, it was just one more thing she was losing control of.

Staring up at him with anger in her eyes, she swallowed the formula with big gulps until the bottle was empty.

“Good girl,” Dutch said with syrupy sweetness, once again charging her rage.

He unscrewed the bottle from inside the O-ring and sat her up, Dakota shaking her head no and gurgling as she rested her chin on his left shoulder to try to prevent him from being able to burp her for a second time.  Dutch was doing everything right.  He was being loving and attentive and sweet.  He was treating her so kindly … with the exception of the straitjacket and the restraints, but she knew why she was being restrained.  She simply couldn’t pull herself out of shut down mode and escape the blah feeling.

Dutch began to rock her back-n-forth, lightly bouncing her on her knees.  But oh, did she fuss – making all sounds of gibberish talk through the O-ring as she begged him to let her go … none of which could be understood.  And in the midst of her weeping and fussing, she burped – then weeping harder as she had just done what he was trying to get her to do … yet again.

All of this was beginning to weigh on her resolve.  And, coupled with the sleeping medication beginning to take effect on her, she wearily continued her protest.  In a moment, she would learn that protesting his forced treatment of her would be the final thought she would generate on her own that night.

It was time to swing the mood and Dakota was going to listen.

“You are going to stop all this fussing, right now,” Dutch said sharply but still with calmness in his tone as he disconnected the cuffs at her ankles – then wrapping her legs around his body and reconnecting her ankle cuffs together at his lower lumbar.

She sat on his lap, facing him and only making one more attempt of drooling gibberish before he put her pacifier back in her mouth – wedging the pacifier guard into the O-ring and then pulling her against his chest.

“Shh, shh, shhh,” Dutch shushed her as he petted the bonnet on her head and reached down to pat her diapered behind – Dakota fidgeting and mumbling into her pacifier as a new wave of tears formed in her eyes.  “The next time Daddy spanks you, it will be with a wooden paddle.”

Dakota’s eyes grew big-n-wide as she stopped mumbling and stopped fidgeting, horrified by what it would feel like to be paddled by him – given how painful it was when he only used his bare hand.

“Do you remember that website we looked at a month ago?  DevilishDesignPaddles.com?” he whispered in her ear.  “Well, I bought one of their paddles and I will break it in on your bottom … if you don’t start listening to me.”

Dakota softly whimpered, a slight tremble taking over her frame.

“You will feel nothing that you don’t want to feel because I will implant every thought you have from this point forward,” Dutch whispered into her ear, pulling her very closely to his body and wrapping his arms around her.  “When you fuss, I will tell you to stop.  You will listen to Daddy because you have no choice and because you have no will power.  Your world no longer exists.  All that will matter to you is what I tell you matters.  All you will think about is what I tell you to think about.  And all you will know is that you cannot survive anywhere … except in Daddy’s world.”

His voice grew deeper in timbre – his tone was calm and relaxing, yet controlling and forceful.  Dakota found herself being tousled between the reality of the moment and the drowsiness before sleep.

“Your tummy is nice and full,” he whispered, rubbing the back of her straitjacket.  “And you won’t be able to stay awake much longer.  But it’s okay.  I will be here all weekend long to watch over you at all times.  And your mood will change effortlessly … without you even knowing it is happening.”

Dakota whimpered again, shaking her head no as the sleeping medication really started to kick in.

“You can’t hold out much longer, BabyGirl.  It’s too easy to fall asleep now.  You have to give up,” Dutch whispered, beginning to pat her diapered bottom some more.  “You’ll be a good girl again by Monday morning and you’ll be happier tomorrow morning after you’ve given up and shown your Daddy what a little baby you are.”

Dakota whimpered again, tears welling as her eyelids drooped to half-mast.  Her posture had slumped forward as her defenses required too much focus for her to keep.  She was slipping away.

“You will never be a fussy girl for Daddy again,” Dutch kept whispering in her ear as he stood up, his hands underneath her diapered bottom and her ankle cuffs still connected at his lower lumbar as he carried her back towards the bedrooms.  “You will be a good girl tomorrow morning.  But Daddy knows that you’ll slip up.  You’ll get worse before you get better, but you will never be affected by the blah feelings again.”

Dakota could hardly keep her eyes open at all, but she saw the glow of the nightlight in the outlet above the sink as he carried her past the bathroom – then turning into the room on the left, just after the bathroom.  This was the guest bedroom, the one directly across the hall from his bedroom.  It seemed strange to her that he carried into that room, instead of his.  She always slept in his bed with him whenever she spent the night.  But as she would soon learn, she had lost her place in his bed and would have to earn it back.

This wasn’t just some sort of forced regression he was putting her through.  It was a mental game that was designed to extract her thoughts and implant new ones, just like her therapy sessions before.  But this time, the lessons she would learn would stick.  Dutch knew her limits, unlike Misty, Morgan and Maria – the emotional therapists she had previously seen.  Dutch knew the exact moment when she met a limit and because of this, he could push her beyond that limit … into the extreme where real change would become everlasting.

Through Dakota’s groggy and drooping vision, she could see the guest room.  It looked the same as always, but Dutch had moved the crib from his bedroom into that one.  It was one of the more ingenious little projects he had pulled off, converting a day bed into a crib and making it possible to change back when necessary.

Dutch carried her over to the crib and took a seat on the edge of it, keeping her on his lap and facing him – her ankle cuffs still connected behind his lower back.  She was total mush at this point, the sleeping medication have taken full effect and Dutch’s voice being the only thing keeping her awake.

“You will find a way to get beyond your shut downs and along the way, you will crave things you never believe you would ever enjoy.  You will think about these things so much that you will tingle all over as your urges grow fervent within you,” Dutch whispered, leaning her forward against his chest as he unfastened the straps at the back of her straitjacket – her arms falling motionless at her side as he slid them out of the straitjacket.  “And the whole time, you’ll deny it.  You’ll deny that you want what you are resisting.  But in the end, the electricity dancing across your skin will make you give in to everything I say. You’ll obey me, even though you have shut down.”

Picking up her left arm, he attached a cuff to her wrist and then another one to her right wrist.  They matched the ones on her ankles. Dakota rested limply on his chest, nursing on a pacifier gag and wearing nothing but her diaper.  She was at the mercy of his whims.

“Bad girls get punished for being bad,” Dutch said as he reached to his back and uncuffed her ankles.  “But the punishments aren’t nearly as painful and damaging as what you do to yourself when you decide to shut down.”

Easing her down in the crib, Dutch brought her to rest on her back – attaching both ankle cuffs to the crib bars on the foot board.

“You’re better than that, Dakota.  You’re better than any shut down,” Dutch said, guiding her arms up to the head board bars and attaching her wrist cuffs to them.  “You’re not a bad girl and you know you’re not a bad girl.”

Though tremendously sleeping, Dakota fussed once again, pulling at her cuffs and wiggling on the crib mattress – but no avail of escape from the restraints.  Conceding the struggle, she wept softly.  Putting on a pouty face, made more adorable by the pacifier in her mouth and O-ring gag, Dakota refused to give up completely.

“Show Daddy what a good girl you are,” Dutch said with his Daddy Voice, Dakota melting at the sound of his voice and parting her thighs.  “Good girl.”

He patted the underside of her diaper, a gesture that often sent tingles throughout her body.  It filled her with sensations of mild pleasure but also laced her thoughts with a sense of humiliation – a most delicious combination when she hungered for it.

But presently, she was numb to everything.  And there was nothing she could do about it.  Dutch, however, could do a lot.

“Bad girls get this,” Dutch said, pinching her left nipple with his right hand and twisting it considerably as he reached for something on the other side of the crib mattress with his left hand.

Dakota fussed and squealed.  Pain was pain to her, only becoming pleasurable in memories.  And oh my, did she cry.

“Do you wanna be a bad girl?” Dutch asked, releasing her left nipple and taking her right nipple in his right hand – twisting it the same way as she cried inconsolably.  “Hmm?  Do you want Daddy to twist your little titties?”

Dakota shook her head no, still sobbing and sniffling.

“Now ……. good girls get this,” he said, taking the massage wand he picked up from the other side of the crib and turning it on – then placing its flat rubbery tip on the front of her diaper.

Dakota heaved her chest up, arching her lower back and looking straight up at the ceiling as the vibrations traveled right into her.  He knew that perfect spot to find and hit every time.  Every female had her own unique external spot, that finite pinpoint that would light the fireworks within her.

And Dutch knew where to light her fuse without having to look.

“Which will it be, Dakota?” Dutch asked, still twisting her left nipple while holding the massage wand to the front of her diaper.  “Pleasure or Pain?  Good or Bad?”

The vibrations grew more intense as they penetrated her more deeply and she would have buckled fully, had she not been restrained to that crib by wrists and ankles.  Closing her eyes tightly, she bit into the nipple of her pacifier as she met her limit of vibration arousal and plowed straight into overdrive.  Her body went rigid and she yanked at the restraints as her hands closed into tight fists. 

Her limit was when pleasure became pain, a most understandable stopping point.  But currently, Dutch had the control.

“Now, everything is pain.  Isn’t it?” Dutch asked with a whisper.  “A bad girl only knows pain, Princess.”

Releasing her left nipple from the pinch and taking the massage wand away from the front of her diaper, Dutch stood up and stepped back – reaching into his left pants pocket as Dakota relaxed into the crib mattress – twitching slightly from the sensations.

“You have a decision to sleep on: to be bad or to be good.  But whether bad or good, you’ll never be Big,” Dutch said, kneeling alongside the crib and taking his left hand out of his pants pocket.  “A BabyGirl doesn’t need a spine or any free will at all.  She needs her Daddy’s love and guidance.  But more than anything, she needs to care and to feel everything.  Shut down doesn’t allow that.”

Reaching under her right thigh, he slid his left hand into the back of her diaper, sliding a suppository into her rosebud and using a finger to push it all the way inside her.  Dakota winced and squealed.

“She might also need her diaper changed at three in the morning,” Dutch said, placing the fingertips of his right hand on her forehead and gently sliding them down her face before kissing her forehead and standing – then sliding the side railing of the crib up and into place.

Finally, he put yet another set of crib railings over top of the crib.

“Nightie Night, BabyGirl,” Dutch said, walking out of the guest bedroom and turning off the lights – the night light in the outlet turning on automatically.

Dakota fidgeted for a few seconds, trying to push the suppository out of her bottom.  But it was no use.

She looked up at the ceiling and nursed on her pacifier, contemplating what else her Daddy had in store for her this weekend and what other forced actions she would be subjected to … all along the way as she was coaxed into swinging the mood.

Her eyes closed and she fell asleep.

Full Force III: Extreme

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………….. The Full Force Series


Full Force I: Dakota
Full Force II: Dream Land
Full Force III: Extreme


6 responses to “Swinging The Mood (All Four Parts)

  1. Pingback: Dilemma – Part Two of Two | zorrodaddy.com

  2. Pingback: Swinging The Mood – Part Two of Four | zorrodaddy.com

  3. Pingback: Swinging The Mood – Part Three of Four | zorrodaddy.com

  4. Pingback: Dilemma (Both Parts) | zorrodaddy.com

  5. Pingback: Swinging The Mood – Part Four of Four | zorrodaddy.com

  6. Pingback: Full Force III: Extreme | zorrodaddy.com

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