Daddy's Girl: A Daddy Issues Novel

by Rebel Wild

  “Where were you?” He asks, looking past me down the hall. I try to think of where I could possibly be coming from, but the only thing down that way is the damn library.

  Busted! So busted!

  “I was in the library, sir,” I say with a sigh.

  “I thought Brianna told you that no one’s allowed in there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I would like to say a lot of things, but it goes against the contract, so I’ll just apologize for breaking the rules, sir.”

  “Still as smart and smart-mouthed as ever, I see.”

  “Guilty on both charges, sir.”

  “Don’t get cocky, Miss Warren. It wasn’t a compliment.”

  “I apologize, sir.”

  He tilts his head, scowling at me. I’m sure he’s waiting for me to say something else, but I know when to shut up. I’ll just think about what an asshole he’s being instead of saying it out loud. I have to be careful that my face doesn’t give me away though. I guess it worked because he’s smiling a little.

  “You still enjoy reading?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you find my collection to your liking?”

  “Yes, sir, very much so,” I say, but instantly regret it. It might give him some weird ideas on how to torture me. I can just see him now, using scenes from medieval books to get his rocks off on me.

  “Then feel free to read them whenever you’d like,” he tells me.

  “Really? I can use the library? Are you being serious?”

  “Completely. I remember how much you value books. I’m sure you’ll be careful with them. For now, you need to get ready for dinner.”

  “How shall I dress, sir?”

  “To the nines, Miss Warren. Dinner’s my time and you’ll always dress your best for me but wash your face. I want to see you without makeup.”

  “Yes, sir,” I tell him and quickly go upstairs to my room.

  “Miss Warren,” he calls for me and I turn around, going back down the stairs to stand before him.

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t forget the heels,” he orders. “I want you always in heels.”

  I look at my feet encased in the soft fabric of bright yellow wool and cringe.

  “Yes, sir,” I tell him. I wait to see if there is something else, but he walks away without another word, so I rush up the stairs again to my bathroom.

  I clip my hair up and wash my face before stepping into the shower. Scared I might be late, I don’t take much time enjoying it. I just quickly wash up, then look through my closet for something to wear. I decide on a blue halter neck dress and matching stilettos. I release the clip on my hair so it can fall back down. It was just done today and I don’t want to mess up the look.

  At exactly six o’clock, I go downstairs and into the kitchen. The smells are so delicious they’re even making my nervous stomach growl.

  “It smells wonderful,” I tell Bree.

  “Veggie burgers,” she says, smiling at me. “Tristan had them catered from someplace close to where he works.”

  “He did?” I ask. Looking at the packaging, I smile. It’s from my favorite restaurant. No wonder it smells so good.

  “Shocked the shit out of me,” she says. “The guy hates this type of stuff.”

  I plate up our meals, giving him the larger of the two burgers and a large portion of the salad made to go with it. I cut my burger and leave half before carrying both plates into the dining room where Mr. Garrett’s waiting. At least I have experience in this area. I set his plate in front of him before placing my own. He watches as I pour the iced tea Bree brings over before she disappears into the kitchen again.

  “Is that all you’re having?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I know he requires that I clean my plate and I don’t want to chance piling too much on just to have to try to stuff it all down. He taps his finger on his glass, looking at my plate and then at me.

  “Normally, as a submissive, you need to wait until your Dom permits you to eat. Lucky for you, I’m not that strict.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I tell him, but what I really want to do is give him the finger if he thinks he’s not being strict.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Eat.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I say, picking up the burger and taking a bite.

  I close my eyes as I’m chewing. It’s so juicy and they season it just right.

  “How is it?”

  “As delicious as always,” I say, and he grins.

  “I thought it’d be a nice way to celebrate our arrangement. They’re still your favorite?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” he says, leaning to the side to look at me. I look down to see what he’s frowning about. “You’re too thin.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You never had a problem eating before. My office always smelled of your veggie food.”

  “Things are different now, you realize.”

  “That may be true, but you need to eat more than half of a burger.”

  Great, I hope he doesn’t have a thing with food.

  “I want you to have a snack before you go to bed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He has a thing.

  “You guys need anything else?” Bree asks, coming back to check on us.

  “No,” he tells her. “We can take it from here.”

  “Good night,” she tells him before turning to me. “Sydney.”

  I want to say good night to her, but I dare not speak out of turn.

  “You’re much better at this than you were this morning,” he says. I can tell he’s pleased. “You were always a fast learner. I like that. I like that a lot.”

  He says the last part in a tone that makes me squirm in my seat, wondering about its true meaning. We eat in deafening silence. I’m done with my meal long before he is, so I sit with my head down as he finishes. I’m guessing the loud sound of his fork being placed on his plate means he’s done.

  “Clear,” he says to me of the table and I quickly get up to obey.

  I pass Joe on the way to the kitchen. He seems in a hurry so I don’t say anything to him. I’m probably not supposed to anyway.

  “Bro, I need twenty bucks,” I hear him ask Mr. Garrett.

  “For?”

  “Condoms. I used the last one this morning and—”

  “My wallet’s in my office.”

  I hear Mr. Garrett tell him. I want to laugh at the hint of disgust I hear in his voice. Mr. BDSM can’t stand the thought of his brother fucking.

  “Thanks.”

  “And keep it down. I don’t want to hear Bree’s cat crying all through the damn house.”

  “Yeah, well, we can’t all have sex rooms.”

  Joe rushes by the kitchen door and a second later, Mr. Garrett comes in while I’m loading the dishwasher.

  “It’s time I show you the playroom,” he informs me.

  “Ye… Yes, sir.”

  Already? Of course, already. Like he’s going to actually wait for you to get used to things. He wants to drain every drop of his money out of you.

  I tentatively take his offered hand as he leads me up the stairs and down the hall. He takes the key out of his pants pocket, unlocks the door, and steps aside so that I may enter. If I thought I could make it, and if I knew the code, I would make a run for the front door. I jump about a foot straight up in the air when I hear the sound of the heavy door closing behind me. The light scent of orange furniture polish and leather now invades my senses as I look about the room, fearful of what’s to come.

  Everything is blood red, from the walls to the sheets on the bed, to the red-stained cherry wood floors. The only things of varying colors are the whip
s and canes that are mounted on the wall. The paddles hanging next to them are all various lengths and widths, but are all the same hideous shit brown. Every corner of the room is occupied by some medieval-looking contraption he’ll use to keep me tied down while he delivers the most painful of punishments. Even the large bed has crude straps coming from it. I jump again when he speaks.

  “This is where we’ll be spending the majority of our time together,” he says. “It’s important that you get familiar with things so I won’t have to stop and explain it to you in a scene. If you have questions, ask them now.” My heart begins to beat too fast and my head is light. Nice and slow. I remind myself to breathe. “When you enter this room, I expect you to be kneeling, completely still in the corner, do you understand?” he asks me, but I’m unable to articulate an answer. “Miss Warren, what’s got your tongue?”

  “Nothing.” My breathing is increasing no matter how much I try to slow it down. “I mean, yes, sir.”

  “Have you ever been paddled?” He asks when he sees me glaring at them.

  “No, sir.”

  I’m on the verge of tears. No one has ever hit me before. Once Mom said she hit my hand when I was a baby trying to reach for a pot on the stove, but I don’t even remember that.

  “Look at me,” he yells and my eyes shoot to him. “I will only ask you this once. What’s the matter?”

  “I… I just would feel better if I had a list of limits,” I tell him, frantically looking around.

  He sighs dramatically.

  “Miss Warren, I’m well aware of your virginal…” He circles his hand in the space between us, trying to find the right word. “Situation,” he says. “I’m also aware that everything here would be your limit, so there’s no need for you to waste time listing them.”

  “You… you’re not going to torture me?”

  “I don’t derive my pleasure from torturing women. Unless they enjoy that type of thing.” He smiles a little and I see a glimpse of the man I used to know, but it disappears. “I like to dominate women. Big difference.”

  “So, does that mean you won’t punish me with all this stuff?”

  “Oh, I’ll punish you,” he says, looking me up and down, licking his lips. “But I would much rather make you come than make you cry. For that to happen, our arrangement has to have a level of trust. I will earn yours and my reward for doing so will be your submission.”

  “But you already have my submission. I signed the contract and all that.”

  “True submission has little to do with contracts, but that’s a conversation for another day. It’s late. Retire to your room. We’ll start fresh when I come home tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” I breathe easier, thankful for the reprieve.

  “Miss Warren,” he calls and I quickly turn to face him. “I’m pleased with your choice of clothing tonight. I also like you better with no makeup. I want you to just wear a pink lipstick from now on. Much like the one you used to wear when you’d drop by the office to see your daddy.”

  I wasn’t even allowed to wear makeup back then. I would sneak and put it on just to flirt with him. This is what I get for doing that. Daddy always said my actions would have consequences. I don’t think this is what he had in mind though.

  “Yes, sir,” I tell him.

  “Go now and don’t forget your snack before bed.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say to him and rush out of the room.

  I go straight to the kitchen, fearing he’ll somehow know if I don’t comply with his snack demand. The irony isn’t lost on me. I waited so long to be an adult and here I am, eighteen years old, being forced to eat snacks before bed like a little kid. I grab a green apple and wait until I hear him close the door to his bedroom before I go upstairs again. I feel the need to bathe after being in that torture room, so I take another long hot relaxing shower. Feeling much better, I devour my apple. I didn’t even realize I was still hungry.

  I lie in bed in new silk pajamas smelling of expensive body wash. This mattress is wonderful and I’m sure the thread count on these sheets is high, but as comfortable as it all is, I’m unable to sleep. I miss my bed and I can’t stop thinking about everything that’s happened today and everything that might happen tomorrow.

  Maybe he won’t be so bad. He seemed a little more human in the playroom when he saw how scared I was. I know he has to punish me. I get that it’s part of the deal and I figure I have to break rules to give him a reason. Those types of guys get off on that the most, but maybe Mr. Garrett doesn’t want to truly hurt me.

  Who are you kidding, Sydney, did you see the stuff in that room?

  Sitting up, I grab my laptop and punch in BDSM toys. I’m shocked to see that most of what was in the playroom is pretty standard stuff. Maybe he’s just a normal sick and not the really bad kind of sick. I may have spoken too soon when I stumble upon the more extreme websites of genital clamps, crude gags, and Bento balls. I click on a video and see a girl hanging from a ceiling spread eagle as she screams in what sounds like pain from a caning. I slam the lid closed, disgusted by the sight of her being punished with a vibrator.

  I would much rather make you come than cry, Miss Warren.

  “Not treating me like that, you won’t.”

  I make up my mind not to break a single rule. It will be the first time in history.

  I spend most of the night tossing and turning.

  By two a.m., I’m just about ready to give up on getting any sleep when I hear talking. I crack open my door to listen. I can tell it’s Mr. Garrett, but I can’t hear who he’s talking to. My curiosity gets the better of me, so I creep out of my room and down the hallway. Peeking down the stairs, I see Mr. Garrett pacing back and forth in the corner of the living room. It’s dark, but he’s illuminated by the large windows allowing me to see him. He has paperwork in his hands, flipping the pages, pretending like he’s in the middle of a trial talking to a jury. He moves effortlessly around the room, like a dancer. His voice is powerful, almost seductive. If I was on that jury, I’d totally believe everything he’s saying. I can’t take my eyes off him until he turns and almost catches me. I have to duck back behind the wall to keep from being seen. In fear of being discovered, I sneak back to my room and get back into bed. I leave my door open a crack so I can better hear him. His voice is soothing and it allows me to finally drift off to sleep.

  Chapter Five

  I wake up with the sun shining in my face because I forgot to pull the blinds closed last night. For a moment, I think I’m in my bed, in my apartment, until I stretch and my hand doesn’t land on my wall like it normally does. I open my eyes and look around remembering where I am.

  The unmistakable smell of bacon frying is wafting through my wedged door that reminds me of Mr. Garrett talking me to sleep last night. Checking the time, it’s a little after eight. I shower and try to remember if I’m to dress up for breakfast. I really should have written it all down, but who dresses up for breakfast?

  A submissive, that’s who.

  I reenter the bedroom to find that the bed’s already made and the room has been tidied up. I guess the housekeeper was lying in wait for me to get up. Taking a chance, I change into jeans, a blue shirt, and sneakers before heading down to the kitchen.

  “Morning,” Bree greets me.

  “Morning,” I tell her. “Uh, is Mr. Garrett here?” I ask, looking around.

  “He went into the office about an hour ago. It’s just you, me, and Joe.”

  “Okay,” I tell her, relaxing.

  She sets French toast and bacon in front of me and I smile. It’s one of Daddy’s favorite things to eat for breakfast, for anytime really.

  “It’s veggie bacon and fake eggs,” she says. “I don’t know how you can eat that shit, but give it a try.” She laughs.

  “I’m used to it, I guess.”

  “How was your first night?
” She asks as she sits next to me with her plate.

  “Long,” I tell her, wishing I could have slept better. “It’s strange sleeping in a different bed.”

  “I imagine it would be.”

  “But then I heard Mr. Garrett giving his closing argument. He’s really good.”

  “So, I’ve heard. I sure wouldn’t want to be sitting at the defense table.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Hey, it’s best not to interrupt him when he does that. I did once and he bit my head off.”

  “I won’t,” I assure her. “I just find it interesting.”

  Joe comes in and he doesn’t look pleased with us talking.

  “The shit you women are into,” he says, leaning in the doorway. “Babe, I need to talk to you.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I’m done eating. Your plate’s in the warmer.”

  The staring contest resumes again before he grabs his plate of French toast and huffs off, clearly pissed.

  “He doesn’t like you talking to me,” I state the obvious after he goes.

  “I usually don’t fraternize with Tristan’s friends.”

  “Is it against his rules?”

  “No, no,” she says. “He has no problem with it. It’s just, not something I do. Most of his friends are skank bitches who come at me with an attitude, but you seem to be nicer.”

  “I try to be. No point in being rude.”

  I want to ask her about him and the others to better understand how to deal with him, but I don’t want to take advantage of the company she’s offering me. I dig into my French toast and I swear they are the best I have ever tasted.

  “I could tell you were different,” she goes on to say. “Not as happy to be here, not as impressed.”

  “Impressed?”

  “With Tristan and all of this,” she says, motioning around us.

  “Oh no, he’s okay, really… I mean…” She laughs a little at my very bad attempt to lie. “I find him… well.” I stop, trying to think of a good word to use. “I don’t really know what to make of him. He is very… close to the cuff, as my dad would say.”