The Daddy Treatment

by Ava Sinclair

  “I know you have questions. You’re angry, confused, and more scared than you’re willing to let on. You’re not likely to trust me, but even if you don’t you should know you’re better off here than you are as a ward of the state.”

  Sugar swallows her bite of toast. “And if I’m not a ward of the state, what am I?” She cuts off a piece of egg. I watch its journey to her mouth.

  “You’re my ward.” There’s a tiny bit of egg clinging to her lip. I want to wipe it away, or lick it.

  “Your ward?” She’s swallowed her egg and goes back to the toast. “My ass hurts.”

  I wasn’t expecting this comment, but I don’t avoid it, either. “That’s the purpose of a spanking. It obviously worked since the walls aren’t dripping with food.”

  “Okay. I get it. I’m in some kind of kinky sex slave ring.” She glares at me. “You could have told me, you know. All the stuff you did wasn’t necessary. If you want me to suck your cock and call you daddy, I’ve probably done weirder shit.” She spears two bites of toast and stuffs them into her mouth. Her bravado is building with her strength, along with an I-Don’t-Give-A-Fuck attitude. “So how long do I have to stay here? And am I going to be fucking you, or you and a friend? Will he be spanking me, too?”

  “Enough!” I raise my voice, and she drops the fork in surprise. Was it her intention to make me angry? And why should I be? I’d love nothing more than to have Sugar call me Daddy. And I knew the moment I saw her that I’d want to fuck her, and that may or may not happen. But she’s no whore, and I try to control my irritation that she believes I think so.

  I stand, placing my hands on either side of her legs as I stare down at her. “Do you want another spanking?” I ask. “I can assure you that you won’t like it any more than you liked the last one. As far as what you call me, I believe I established that earlier. So let’s see how smart you are. How do you address me? Think on this one, Sugar, because if you get it wrong, I’ll redden your little backside again.”

  I can see she’s considering whether to test me. The resistance in her eyes is intense, but it’s mixed with uncertainty now.

  “I’m not going to wait all day. If I start counting, you know what it means…”

  “Sir,” she says. “I’m supposed to call you sir.”

  “That’s right. Am I going to hear you compare yourself to a whore again? Or me as a whoremaster? Answer me properly, young lady.”

  Sugar shifts on the bed. “No,” she says through gritted teeth. “No, sir.”

  “Good girl.” I step away from the bed. “I’m sending a maid in to help you get dressed. Afterwards you’ll be escorted to the parlor. Don’t try anything stupid. There are cameras everywhere. You can’t hide from me, Sugar. You can’t get away. This is your new home. It’s where you’ll face consequences. It’s where you’ll get a second chance. There’s no escape, so don’t even try.”

  Chapter 4

  Sugar

  I thought it couldn’t get any weirder.

  I was wrong.

  It’s only after the maid comes in and pulls back the blanket that I realize something is different, that something is missing. There are no panties under my gown. My pussy, I realize, is bare. Not just bare of undergarments, but bare. I’m so shocked that I put my fingers between my legs to ascertain that I’m not imagining it. As luck would have it, that’s just the moment that the maid turns around.

  “Did...?” I look down, then back up at her. “Did someone shave me?”

  She’s dressed in an old-fashioned uniform — blue dress, white apron, white cap. An equally old-fashioned outfit is in her hand. A dress. A child’s dress. Or, more aptly, a childish dress but clearly one in my size.

  “You were denuded,” she says. “And no, it won’t grow back.”

  “You…stole the hair off my pussy?”

  “I didn’t do any such thing.” The maid glares at me. She has a beak of a nose that makes her look like an angry hen when she scowls.

  “I meant you collectively.” I rise from the bed. “You don’t just take something like that from someone.”

  “I’m sure the man you robbed didn’t like having things taken, either.” The maid walks over to the bed and lays out the dress, which is high-waisted with ruffled sleeves and a ribbon that fastens just under the breasts. She lays a pair of white stockings and Mary Jane shoes beside it. “My name is Nora,” she says.

  I don’t know what pisses me off more, the fact that she knows my criminal history or the fact that she’s comparing a desperate woman’s act of robbery to stealing the hair off her pussy. But I can tell I’m going to have to pick my battles if I’m going to get out of here, and I’m not about to defend my past to some fusty old bird woman.

  “I’m not buying any of this, you know.” I walk over and snatch the dress from the bed, holding it up. “Ridiculous,” I say to myself before turning to Nora. “This is a child’s dress. Will you be giving me a lollipop to suggestively lick as well?”

  I catch myself. It’s a variation on the same accusation I raised with the man I now know to be Dr. Eli Crane, but the maid just ignores me.

  “Your guardian is not a patient man, Miss. He wants us downstairs in fifteen minutes. I suggest you stop grousing and get dressed.”

  “Some privacy?” I ask.

  “No.” She narrows her dark eyes.

  “Fine.” I turn my back to her and pull off my gown. I’m bare as a baby underneath, but the reflection I catch of myself in the mirror is decidedly adult. I’m small but muscular, with firm round breasts and a small waist.

  There’s white cotton panties on the bed, but no bra. But there’s no need for one; the padded bodice of the dress is designed to fit and support my chest. The dress, in fact, seems tailored to fit me perfectly.

  The white stockings come up to mid-thigh, just below the dress’s eyelet hem. The shoes, old-fashioned and leather, are surprisingly comfortable.

  “One last touch,” Nora says. She’s holding a yellow bow.

  “Oh, hell no.” I cross my arms.

  The maid weighs my defiance. “I could call Dr. Crane.”

  “So call him. He can beat me over a bow.”

  “Dr. Crane does not beat anyone.”

  “I don’t want to wear it.”

  It’s a standoff. I feel myself tense. Is this really a hill I want to die on? I’m relieved when she lays it aside. “Very well. You don’t have to wear the bow, but only because you look lovely without it.” She steps back, cocking her head for one last assessment, and after announcing that I’m presentable the maid turns on her heel. I’m obviously expected to follow, so I do.

  It’s hard to believe this is the same building I came to in after my trial. There are no metal surfaces in this hallway. The floor is warm oak and covered in a long Oriental runner. The walls are oak, too, and lit by reproduction oil lamps, or at least I think they’re reproduction. I’m positive that the oil paintings depicting pastoral scenes are genuine, and old. Secret labs and antique paintings? Someone has deep pockets.

  The door at the end of the hallway opens to a staircase. I look down to see multiple landings. There’s a floor-to-ceiling window on the first one and I finally get a glimpse of the outdoors. If I weren’t so uncertain of what’s going to happen to me, I’d probably enjoy the view. I’m a city girl whose natural habitat is the gritty side of an urban jungle. Manicured gardens hemmed in by stone walls bounded by rolling meadows is a storybook landscape.

  “Don’t dawdle!” Nora glances back, affording me a good view of her hooked nose. She takes small, quick steps. I walk faster, turning my attention to the ceiling to confirm the truth of Dr. Crane’s assertion. I can see small diameters of glass above me; I know they hide cameras watching my every move.

  At the bottom of the stairs is a large marble foyer. I’m sure the double doors lead to the outside, but an imposing man in a butler’s uniform stands beside them, his bald head fringed by a half moon of white hair. He glances at me, his expression o
ne of bored disdain.

  Above us is a massive chandelier; a marble bust sits on a pedestal on one side of the foyer. There are plants, too, some sort of exotic palms with fronds so shiny they look like they’ve been waxed. The pots holding them are huge.

  We’re heading down another wood-paneled hallway. It’s dimly lit. I can hear voices in the distance but can’t make out the words. We pass several doors before stopping at one. Nora turns to me. Her mouth twitches slightly and she stares at me hard before finally speaking.

  “Dr. Crane is a good man,” she says. “They are all good men. Even if what they do seems frightening or strange, were I younger I’d give anything to be in your place.”

  I find myself staring back. There’s a wistfulness to her tone that takes me by surprise, but there’s no time to question it. She opens the door and my heart begins to pound. I feel my body tense with the expectation of seeing Dr. Crane. But as I walk into the room, I see one other person, and it isn’t him.

  The woman is laying on her belly. Her shock of dark hair is gathered into two ponytails bound with ties in the same powder blue as the child’s party dress scaled to fit her adult body. Her feet, clad in sneakers, are curled over her back and crossed at the ankles. She bobs them as she concentrates on the large coloring book in front of her. Crayons are strewn all over the floor.

  “Young lady.” Nora’s tone is disapproving. “How many times do we have to tell you that we color on the table, not on the expensive rugs?”

  “I dunno,” comes the petulant reply. “How many times have you told me already?”

  “A hundred, maybe?”

  The woman on the floor finally looks up. She’s beautiful, with a flawless coffee and cream complexion.

  “So you’ll have to tell me two hundred times, Nurse Nora. Or maybe…a gazillion.” She shrugs her slim shoulders. “Besides, Daddy says he likes it when I’m creative and I think best on the floor.” She sticks her tongue out at Nora, then looks up at me. “Great. A new one. Let me guess. You want me to share. I’m not, though. I only have one coloring book.”

  “This is stupid.” I speak up, deciding I’ve seen enough. I turn to Nora. “Really? Grown women dressed as little girls? Will someone please just admit this is some kind of crazy sex cult?” I put up my hands and incline my head towards the other woman. “Look, if she wants to roleplay, I don’t give a fuck. But don’t expect me to join her.”

  “Fuck is a bad word.” Mitzi glares at me. “Say it again and someone will wash your mouth out with soap.”

  “Your guardians will be here in a moment.” Nora looks at me. “I don’t want to have to remind you of what will happen if you don’t at least listen…”

  Nora turns without another word and leaves. I hear the door lock behind her. The woman stops coloring and pulls herself to sit cross-legged on the floor. I can see between her thighs. She’s wearing polka-dotted underwear. I bring my gaze back to her face.

  “I’m Mitzi,” she says. “I’m eight.”

  “Bullshit. You look more like you’re twenty-eight. And you can drop the little girl act with me, okay? If no one else will tell me what’s going on, at least you should since apparently we’re in the same situation.”

  She looks me up and down. “Don’t be stupid. We’re nothing alike.” Mitzi leans over and turns a page of the coloring book. Picking up a blue crayon, she starts working on a picture of a unicorn. “You don’t know anything yet.” She glances upwards. “I was like you when I came here, too. Then my daddy gave me everything I needed.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “Yeah, thanks for that. But no thanks.” I turn away from the pretty but useless Mitzi and walk over to the window. We’re on the ground floor. If I can get my bearings, I can at least figure out where the house sits in relation to any roads and plan an escape, but all I see from the tightly sealed parlor windows is a sprawling garden.

  “Taking in the general splendor, are we?” The male voice startles me, and I turn to see a man has quietly entered the room. I recognize him as the physician who helped insert the bolus into my bottom and flush with shame.

  “Daddy!” Mitzi jumps up and vaults into his arms, and I stare in disbelief as he embraces her warmly before cupping her chin in his hand.

  “And how is my little minx today?”

  “I’m very well, Daddy!” She’s staring up at him with a child’s adoration. I decide I may puke and make a display of rolling my eyes just as she looks over. “I thought I might be making a new friend, but she is not nice at all.”

  “Well, she’s new. Give her time.” The man flashes an understanding smile in my direction. It feels condescending, which only makes me more pissed.

  “You can give me ten years,” I say coldly. “But that still won’t be enough time to see this whole thing as more than some perverted fuck club.”

  The man walks over. He’s not wearing his white coat today, but a bespoke blue suit. He’s impeccably dressed, right down to the gold cufflinks monogrammed with the letter B.

  “I’m Chance Brockman, and that is my little one, Mitzi.” He sighs. “I’m sure this must be overwhelming for you. Dr. Crane tells me you think the men here turn women into sex slaves.”

  “Comparing notes already?” I ask. “What do you guys do? Meet every week and discuss which of your dolls gives the best head? Whose ass is tightest when you stick your dick in it?” I cross my arms. “So tell me…when you’re ramming your cock into some woman dressed like a Victorian school girl, does fucking her help you forget that you tricked her into coming here?”

  His thin lips form a tight line. I’ve made him angry. Good.

  “You’re stupid.” Mitzi appears at Dr. Brockman’s side. Her pretty face is fixed in a furious scowl. Her large brown eyes brim with angry tears. “Why are you saying bad things about Daddy when you don’t even know anything about me or him?” She looks up at Dr. Brockman. “Why did you let Dr. Crane bring her here?”

  “Now, now, little one.” Dr. Brockman’s calm demeanor returns. “You were fussy when you arrived, too, remember?”

  She doesn’t answer. Instead she glares at me. “You don’t know anything,” she repeats. “You don’t know how good it feels. You never will, and so you’ll never get a special gift like I just got from my daddy.”

  Mitzi looks up at Dr. Brockman. “Can I show her?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He takes her arm, but she pulls away. “No. I want to!”

  “Mitzi…” His tone is commanding, but she ignores it, and before I can process what’s happening she turns, pulling down her panties as she bends over.

  I’m speechless. Mitzi is spreading her plump bottom cheeks. Her bottom hole is obscured by a golden disc monogrammed with a B in the same font on Dr. Brockman’s cufflinks. I feel my mouth drop open from shock. Something is stuck in her ass.

  “Mitzi!” Dr. Brockman grabs her again, and the room resounds with the sound of his hand smacking her bare backside. She howls, dancing on the end of his arm. He lands two more smacks, and she’s crying in earnest. “Pull your panties up now, bad girl.”

  I can’t move. I can just watch and am so taken aback at the madness of the moment that I don’t see Eli Crane walk in. When I notice him, I realize he’s nearly as surprised as I am.

  “I’m sorry, Eli.” Dr. Brockman walks over to him, pulling a bawling Mitzi along after him. He quietly confers with the other man, obviously apprising his friend that the gig is up. Mitzi literally showed her ass. So much for denying this is a sex club now.

  Eli looks irritated as Dr. Brockman drags Mitzi from the room. She manages to yell at me as she’s hauled out, however. “Don’t you touch my crayons!” she cries.

  The door shuts behind them. I hear it lock.

  “What the fuck?” I ask.

  Chapter 5

  Eli

  It’s hard to keep from showing the full measure of my anger. Chance Brockman is my best friend and co-founder of this place we simply call The Manor. We don’t
always agree on how things should be done. I had wanted some more time alone with Sugar before introducing her to the others. He’d disagreed, arguing that finding others like her might make Sugar more accepting of her situation.

  I should have listened to my instincts, or at the very least I should have insisted that her first impression not be Mitzi. For Chance, she’s a perfect match. Mitzi adapted quickly and came to crave the boundaries and correction that Chance revels in providing. But this was not the time or place for her to act out, and I can see from Sugar’s expression that this marks a major setback.

  “I know this must seem…” I begin, but she cuts me off.

  “…twisted? Sick?” She scoffs and takes a step towards me, her jaw set in resolve. “I want to talk to a legal advocate now.”

  “I’m sorry. You waived the right to any advocacy when you signed the paper, Sugar.”

  “Goddammit!” She yells the word as she turns away, whirling back a moment later. “This is bullshit, okay? Bullshit.”

  “Language!” My tone carries the weight of authority. Even if I understand Sugar’s misgivings, I can’t let what has happened undermine my authority. I have to keep the upper hand. “I don’t allow cursing. Do it again, and you’ll get spanked.”

  Her face is colored with anger, her ferocity is juxtaposed with the girlish dress. But I see the glimmer of doubt in her eyes. She remembers what it feels like to be helpless and punished over my lap. I stare at her, waiting for her to calm down.

  “Why won’t you just be honest?” Her lip trembles slightly. She’s having a tough time holding it together.

  “Mitzi shouldn’t have done that,” I say.

  “I’m glad she did. It just confirms that you’re lying to me. This is some kind of … sex thing.”

  “Did it excite you, Sugar?”

  “I don’t discuss my sex life with strangers,” she fires back sarcastically. “Isn’t that what little girls are told? Not to talk to strangers?”