by Lena Little
“That’s a big claim, Daddy.”
“That’s not the only thing of Daddy’s that’s big,” he says, and my eyes rake over his body seeing his throbbing need pressing against his pants nearly half way down his leg.
“Now, naughty girl. Are you going to come to daddy and face the consequences like a little rule breaker should, or are you going to make daddy come get his innocent little lamb and drag her, kicking and screaming, to the slaughter himself?”
“You’re mean, Daddy, but I don’t think you’ll come get me. You won’t, you won’t, you won’t.”
“Oh yes I will,” he says, stepping across the threshold like the invisible wall protecting me never existed and I take off running, but my apartment is so small there’s nowhere to go.
He scoops me up easily and I kick and scream, pounding my fists into his back and it does absolutely nothing. He puts me down on my back and pins me, leaning in close and whispering in my ear, “It’s time Daddy spanked you, to teach you what it means to mind.”
His warm breath slides across my neck, causing goosebumps, as his words turn my panties into a sopping wet mess.
In one swift maneuver he slides onto the futon and flips me over so I’m face down across his lap.
“Now I’m going to teach you what happens when you don’t listen to Daddy.”
“No Daddy.”
“Oh yes…oh fucking hell yes.”
And just as the last word leaves his mouth his first spank finds my ass and I lurch forward, the stinging feeling oh so good.
“I’m a bad girl, Daddy. Teach me to mind.”
“Oh, I’m going to teach you all right,” he says, raising his hand again and bringing it down hard on my cheek but this time leaving his hand there, his strong, thick fingers kneading my butt like dough.
His thumb is dangerously close to my slit and I know he can feel my wetness, through my skirt and panties.
“This pleated skirt is providing too much padding. It’s as if you knew you were going to get spanked today, Little Peaches.”
I feel a cool breeze as he yanks my skirt up and his hand comes down on my razor thin cotton panties and I yelp.
“That’s more like it.”
“Is everything okay in here?” a voice says from the door. “Oh shit!”
“Go the fuck away!” Daddy growls and the man takes off running in the other direction.
And just like that the spanking stops.
“Daddy made a mistake. He should have shut the door first, but at least the man couldn’t see anything, not even your face, because of the angle of the futon.”
He pulls me onto his lap and brings my head into his chest, his hand on the back of my head gently stroking my hair.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Apology accepted. Just don’t do it again unless you want to find out what it’s really like to get punished by Daddy.”
A wide smile crosses my lips but he can’t see. “Ok,” I say, the sting of my ass cheeks feeling oh so good. I can’t wait to check them out in the mirror and see if I can make out his big handprint.
“Ok, what?”
“Ok, Daddy.”
8
Daniel
The next morning
I shovel a bite of eggs into my mouth and watch as my woman sashays across the floor, serving up breakfast with a bigger smile than usual. Knowing I have something to do with that puts a huge smile on my face, although I suppress it in public. No need to attract attention, like…
“Nobody move!” a man with a sky mask calls out, pointing a gun at one of Diana’s coworkers. The sound of a coffee pot falling and breaking ricochets throughout the diner and the man turns rapidly toward the sound of it, pointing the gun right at Diana’s chest.
“Don’t move, bitch!”
The table starts to rattle, as my arms shake with anger as I slyly reach for the steak knife, tucking it in my hand so that it’s concealed by the front of my hand and arm. It’s awkward, but it gets the job done.
The man wisely moves the gun away from Diana, pointing it to the cash register. It’s the smartest thing he’s done all day, but I’m still going to make him pay. The thought of anything happening to my woman absolutely shatters me, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do to him.
Breathing in deep, I focus. Those with training for situations like these know that you don’t rise to the situation, you fall back to your level of training. And my record speaks for itself, which is a blessing and a curse.
“Everybody on the floor!” a second man yells, while the first slams his hand into the register repeatedly until it springs open.
As he pulls out the cash and stuffs it into a bag in his jacket it’s then I get a good look at his gun.
Fake.
My eyes dart to the other guy.
Also fake.
These fools are knocking off a diner with two replica Smith & Wessons. I can spot a real and a fake a mile away, but what I can’t quite make out is how I recognize these guys. It’s not from the other night, but they’re definitely familiar.
And although they might not have real guns, they could have real knives or other weapons, and judging from the jitteriness of both of them they could easily be on some sort of speed or amphetamine too.
Don’t play hero. Wait for the opportunity, but only if it comes.
“On the floor, asshole,” the man not emptying out the cash register says and it’s then I realize I’m the one taking the most time out of all the people who were enjoying their breakfasts fifteen seconds ago.
As I go to kneel down I cock my head and survey the parking lot. No getaway car waiting.
Yep, this is an amateur job if I’ve ever seen one. But where have I seen this knucklehead before?
“I got the money. Let’s go!” the other man says, and I don’t go down all the way.
“I’m coming,” the other man says, his fake gun still on me. “I should shoot your ass for not following orders.”
He turns to go, taking his eye off me for a split second and it’s all I need.
I lunge, grabbing him by ankle closest to me and flip him toward the ceiling.
He flips hard and the crack of his skull on the hard tiles has the other hostages ‘oohing’ in near unison.
“Let’s g—“
The other man says turning back to see where his fellow soon to be felon is. He has one hand on the horizontal bar to exit the diner and the other holding the money, having stuffed his ‘gun’ back in his pocket now that the robbery is complete.
Almost.
I dive at him with everything I’ve got, slamming his body into the glass, shattering it into a million pieces as the door comes off its hinges and we fall onto the concrete in front, his body breaking my fall.
“How dare you point a gun at an innocent, and a woman!” I snarl, oblivious to the glass lodged in my hands as I pound his face to a pulp.
After three hits his entire body goes limp and I stop, brace myself with one hand on one knee and stand.
I’m covered in blood and I don’t know which is mine and which is his, but I do know I need to get the hell outta here. Pronto.
“Dixon?” the other man on the floor says, his face badly swollen as he tries to identify me through one eye, which I quickly put my boot in the second I hear police sirens in the distance.
“Give me your apron!” I say to Diana’s co-worker, not wanting to talk to Diana right now as it might reveal that we have a familiarity outside of the restaurant.
“What?” she asks, clearly not with it, probably in a low-grade shock.
I grab it from her body and quickly tie the hands of the man on the floor, before turning to the chef.
“You got security footage?”
“None. Boss been meaning to put it in, but never did.”
I nod. “Just tell the police the truth then.”
I avoid eye contact with Diana, knowing she’s safe, and beat feet into the parking lot, making sure there’s not a getaway car, or motorcy
cle I missed.
Nothing.
I dart down an alley, stripping my shirt and tossing it into a dumpster as the sirens grow louder…as does the sound of my breathing.
But I don’t stop, just keep running. To where, I don’t know.
But I do know I’ll be back…for her.
9
Diana
I climb onto my futon for bed, my head still spinning from the events of the morning.
First, I’m in complete bliss from the day before, just working away, whistling, life is great.
Then there’s a robbery, which is expertly thwarted by Daniel with skills so precise and fast it’s like he knew what to do. Like he was trained for this.
Then the police came, took statements, and shut us down for the day, but not before word got out the guns were fake.
What the heck?
And just when things couldn’t get any stranger, there’s a knock…on my window.
I jump up, and rush to my purse for the pepper spray before I hear, “Don’t pepper spray me, Little Peaches.”
“Don’t Little Peaches me,” I say, taking the pepper spray in hand anyway. It’s clear Daniel is well equipped in the art of fighting, having proven it not once but twice, and I’m not about to be his lucky third victim.
“Let me in.”
“No,” I say.
“Not so loud,” he replies.
“This is my apartment. I'll be as loud or as quiet as I want,” I fire back.
“You need to learn obedience.”
“Take your obedience and shove it. I’m not in little space anymore. This is real and I want real answers. Who are you and what the hell’s going on?”
“If you let me in I’ll tell you.”
“You’ll tell me while you...” I pause, getting closer to the window and see that he’s standing on the decorative ledge on our floor, the third floor, clutching a downspout. “Are you kidding me?”
“You won’t let me in, but I can’t stay out here.”
“You’re not coming in.”
“Just tell me if anyone is out in front of my apartment then.”
“What?”
“I’m coming in,” he says. I prepare the pepper spray, stepping back and taking a wider stance ready to let it loose.
Waiting.
Still waiting.
Suddenly there’s a knock on my door and I squeeze the trigger of the canister, yelling, “Die!”
“Why are you so jumpy?” he asks. “Open the door before someone sees me.”
“No.”
“Listen, we need to talk.”
“You can talk through the door.”
“If I’m seen by the wrong people I’m in trouble, and I’m sorry but I don’t want you seen here with me right now or else you might be in trouble too.”
“Great.”
“Listen. There’s a late night showing of a movie every night at a theater a couple streets over called Grand Cinema.”
“Original.”
“Yeah, and not very grand. I’ll be in the back row tonight. It’s a public place so there’s nothing I can do to harm you. The guy running the projection thing, or whatever it’s called these days, will be right behind us, and there will be probably twenty-five people or so sitting in there. Bring what’s left of your pepper spray and meet me there.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Ok, don’t meet me, but I’ll be there. If I don’t see you then don’t expect to see me anytime soon…but count on seeing me again as soon as I can. Remember, you’re mine.”
I pause, taking it all in. “Daniel, wait,” I say, but nothing comes back. I don’t want to open the door, but I don’t not want to open it either.
Just this morning we were doing light age play like I read about on my Kindle and now we’re switching to spy play? This is a genre jump I’m not ready for, and certainly not familiar with.
Nor am I familiar with the feelings I have for this man.
Do I want answers or do I want the alternative? And no matter what he’s not going to let me go. The man thinks he has a claim on me, and as much as I hate to admit it at this point he’s the only one in my nineteen years who has ever wanted me this bad, or at all for that reason.
I look at my watch and realize the movie starts in half an hour. He could be waiting outside the building ready to grab me and throw me in a van.
I can’t help but shake my head. This is like one of those movies where a single character volunteers to go down in a dark basement, the lightbulb not working of course, and then promptly gets killed off…to the surprise of no one.
Those characters drive me crazy and are literally too stupid to live.
At least that’s what I’ve always thought. Until the movie became real and that character became…me.
10
Daniel
I scoop out another handful of popcorn, trying to look normal in the back row of a movie theater’s late night showing.
I know she’s going to come. I just know it.
And right on cue I see a small girl slide in the side door, head down as she quickly moves up the stairs until she reaches the top row.
I don’t turn, instead holding my hand just above my popcorn box and moving two fingers up and down to confirm it’s me, as if it would be anybody else. Luckily my estimate was wrong and there’s ten people in the entire theater, max, and they're all here for the same reason…to avoid crowds, with generous spacing between each of us.
Until she sits down next to me.
“This better be good and you better not try anything. I’ve got my pepper spray and other things ready in case you do.”
I flatten my palm, moving it up and down slightly as if I’m pressing down her volume button, letting her know we need to keep this quiet. Movie theater acoustics are good for sound coming from the movie, fortunately, and nobody seems to have heard or have noticed.
“Have you seen this one?” I ask, my head motioning toward the screen.
“Why are you wasting my time with this? Just say what you need to say.”
“I’m trying, but you won’t let me.”
She huffs, turns her body so she’s square with the screen and leans back in her seat a little, half of her back still not touching though and I realize she could dart out of here at any moment. And from the look on her face, her body language, and her tone, that moment could be any second.
“It’s called The Departed, and it’s actually a remake of a Hong Kong film that preceded it by four years called Infernal Affairs.”
“I’m not a film buff. I get my kicks from reading books. Ask me why I care.”
“You care because Leonardo DiCaprio’s character is…me.”
“You’re going to try and tell me DiCaprio’s playing a role based on your life?” She shakes her head.
“No. What I’m telling you is that his character, William ‘Billy Costigan Jr.’ has family ties, relatives to be exact, who are in the Irish mafia…but Billy goes through the police academy, wanting to do the ‘right thing’ with his life instead.”
She says nothing but I know she’s listening. Finally.
“Billy gets recruited to go undercover, including false charges against him and jail time that make his story seem more legit. He infiltrates the Irish mafia, and in the process finds out that the mafia also has a mole in the police force.”
“Ok. So?”
“So, I’m an orphan, Little Peaches…just like you. I was a cop, went undercover and while undercover found out there were some mafia types who had infiltrated the police ranks in our town. It took me three years, three long freaking years, but I found out who they were and reported them. The whole station turned against me, saying they were some of our best guys and I was calling them out? Not only that, there were some supposedly clean cops who were taking cuts from the mafia to turn a blind eye.”
“You’re telling me that you uncovered both mafia that had infiltrated your police station and also cops from your p
olice station that were in cahoots with the mafia?”
“Bingo,” I say, taking a handful of popcorn before holding the bucket in front of her. “Want some?”
“No, no, no,” she says, pushing it out of her way, but more importantly her back finds the seat as she settles in. I can see her eyes look off to the side, down and to the left to be precise, which, as someone with extensive interrogation experience and the ability to read people, tells me she’s having an internal dialog. She’s trying to put the puzzle pieces together to see if what I’m saying adds up.
“So why are you living in your crummy apartment then?”
“Well, little one. As you can imagine the cops hate me and the mafia does too. I’ve got nowhere to turn that’s safe.”
“Why don’t you just leave?”
“I did. This happened in another city but apparently one of the would be robbers from the diner today recognized me, said my last name out loud and everything. I must have busted him a long time ago and he saw my name as the arresting officer, or something like that. I’ve put away too many guys to count, and definitely too many to remember over my thirty-seven years, fifteen of those as a cop. Point being is that criminals talk, and although I’m laying low in a crummy apartment building, buying everything with cash, and leaving no traces I still got ID'd.”
“I’m sorry you were in the diner when that went down.”
“I’m not,” I casually shoot back, taking another handful of popcorn. “I became a cop to serve and protect, and I don’t need a badge on my chest for me to do that. I’m glad I was there to protect the diner, and more importantly to protect what’s mine.”
I turn to her and with my hand that’s not covered in butter and salt I take her chin and tip it in my direction, but I can’t wait any longer and my lips crash down on hers.
Despite the flavors already on my lips she tastes like the sweetest thing in the world. I just want to stay like this forever, but I summon all the willpower I have and pull my lips from hers, angry at the void I’ve created.
“So what’s your story?”