by Ava Sinclair
I search her eyes for anger and defiance. Instead, I see only hunger.
“Answer me, Sugar. Is that what you need?”
“Fuck off!” Her words are defiant, but I know it’s just for show. I know this isn’t a challenge, but an invitation. I take Sandy away from her and put the cat on the desk, facing the wall. Sandy doesn’t need to see what I’m about to do.
Sugar struggles as I raise her from the chair and sit down to pull her over my lap. But I know she’s not fighting me, but herself. If I were to let her go now I’d be no better than every other man who let her down. She needs this. She needs to submit, and I’m going to take her where she can’t take herself.
I wrap an arm around her waist. I lift up her dress just as I promised I’d do. The white panties with pink trim are stretched tight across her lush bottom cheeks, and I can see a splotch of wetness already soaking the panel of fabric covering her bare pussy. I feel my cock grow hard, not caring if she feels it poking into her.
Is this sexual? It was one of the first things she asked me. With the right couple, what I have to offer goes beyond the emotional. It does for me. I know it does for her. I can tell by the heat of her pussy. My hand is pressed against her lower bottom, my palm so close to the sweet treasure between her legs. I can sense her need. I can feel it. I want her to let to, to experience it. But first, I have to help her submit. I have to give Sugar what she wants.
I begin spank her, the impact of my hand on the under curve of her buttocks leaving an imprint against the pale skin. Sugar cries out as her body jolts. She is struggling, but it’s not the wild struggles that came with her first spanking. I aim the next spanks at the crest of her buttocks.
“You have to be a good girl, Sugar. You can’t just lose your temper. You have to mind me, understand? I’m always watching. I’ll always be here to correct you.”
Her litany of “no’s” and “stops” have been replaced by soft, pained sobs as I direct harder spanks on the crest of her buttocks. I pull her against me as I continue to lecture her.
“The results will always be the same when you disobey, Sugar. I’ll always spank you.” I punctuate this with two smacks, one to the center of each cheek. She is kicking her legs; between them I can see the outer lips of her pussy have parted to reveal the inner folds of flesh. My little one is very, very wet.
“Are you going to be my good little girl?” I level two more hard smacks to the already red lower buttocks.
“Yes!” She wails the word and I drop my hand.
“Do you promise?” My palm is resting across the cleft of her hot little bottom.
“You promise to control your temper?” I squeeze a punished cheek and she whimpers in pain.
“Yes!”
“Yes what? Remember your lesson.”
“Yes sir!”
“Good girl.”
“And you’ll be honest with your daddy?”
Her whole body tenses. Mine does, too. I hold my breath. It’s the first time I’ve referred to myself as a daddy. But that’s what I want to be for her, the daddy figure she never had. I want to be the one Sugar depends on. For everything.
I can’t stop my cock from pressing against her. She has to feel it. There’s no way she can’t. But she’s not moving now. She’s not struggling.
“Do you promise to always tell your daddy the truth?” I move my hand lower. My fingers are just grazing the soft swell of her pussy. “Promise me, Sugar.”
She emits a strangled sob and nods.
“Did the spanking hurt?”
She nods again.
“And this?” I slide one finger across the arousal-slickened folds of her inner flesh. Does this hurt?”
She shudders. “No, sir.”
Oh, god. Her answer has made my cock even harder. But a daddy must be patient. He must guide his little one, especially when she’s been so damaged.
“How does this feel?” I move my finger to her clit. Her soft thighs clamp down on my hand, resisting, but then soften as she arches towards me. Her hands are clutching my lower leg. She’s moaning. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world. If I’m pushing her limits with my dominance, she’s pushing mine with her sweet submission. If only my sweet little Sugar knew how much control she has over me this moment. I’d give her the world if she asked for it.
“I’m going to touch you deeper, Sugar. Will you trust me?”
Her answer is an extended moan. She does not close her legs, and I move my finger from the swollen bud of her clit to slide into the tight silken warmth of her pussy. My jealous cock bobs in protest. I want to taste her, to lick her, to suck her clit, to lap up the arousal coating my fingers. But I can’t rush this. I thrust first with one finger, then two, another circling her clit. She’s moaning and moaning. I look down at her red bottom, at how she’s driving herself against my hand, and have to use all my will to keep from coming. Never has a woman affected me like this.
Her orgasm is sweet and strong and a relief. I don’t know how much longer I could have endured the sweet torture of her submission without giving into my own need. As I withdraw my fingers, I trail them up to graze the tight asterisk of her anus. She shudders anew.
I turn her over on her back, staring down into her sweet face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re perfect, Sugar?”
Her face is flushed, her eyes rimmed with tears, but her expression is that of a woman who’s just been satisfied in a way she’s never experienced.
“No,” she says. “No one has ever told me that in my life.”
“You’re perfect, Sugar,” I say. “I’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear it from this day on.”
Chapter 12
Sugar
I’m officially a hypocrite.
I came here against my will, vowing to fight. I formed early impressions: I was in the clutches of perverts who would use me as other men had used me, only in more twisted ways. I disdained the women who seemed content in this place. They were sick and stupid.
I would not submit.
I am a hypocrite. I am as weak as they are. If I were strong, could I have spent the afternoon in Penelope’s company, watching Disney movies in her pastel bedroom, all the while distracted by the memory of Eli Crane’s long fingers sliding in and out of my drenched, quivering pussy? Even as Penelope had chatted and poured me a cup of tea, I’d been aware of the soft throb between my legs.
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from becoming overly aroused by the memory, by the sensation of my bottom on the hard wooden chairs at her table. I’d wanted to scream, but not from frustration. I’d wanted to scream from relief.
All my life men have treated me like a whore, and over Eli’s lap I’d moaned like one. But when it was over, I hadn’t felt used. He hadn’t discarded me. He’d left me feeling like both the child I never got a chance to be and the woman I never knew I could become.
When I sheepishly apologized for being so distracted, Penelope had just smiled enigmatically. She said she understood. Did she know? I wondered it then, and I wonder it now that we are back from lunch and I see her and Col. Bingham together. He has stopped by with Dr. Brockman, who has brought Mitzi to spend the afternoon with us.
I observe the other two couples, wishing that Eli were here. He told me that he had some important work to do again today, and I find myself missing him and feeling silly for it. Will I eventually trust him as Mitzi and Penelope trust their daddies? I find myself wanting to.
Fight it, a small defiant voice screams in my head.
Fuck off, another voice says.
Across the room, Dr. Brockman whispers something to Mitzi and nods in my direction. She walks over. Today she’s wearing a short red dress with white crinoline, rainbow tights, and white sneakers. And what I first found ridiculous in her, I now see as brave. Will I ever be comfortable enough to embrace a second chance at childhood?
Mitzi holds out a gift bag. “Here. I was rude and greedy when we first met. I picked th
ese out for you myself.”
A few days ago, I’d have told her to shove her gift up her ass, although there probably isn’t room for it given whatever is stick in there. Today I take it. “Thank you.” I look in the bag. There are two coloring books and two packs of crayons.
“The crayons are glittery. And the coloring books are kittens and unicorns.” She twirls a strand of springy black hair around her finger. “I could help you color them.”
“Yeah… that would be nice.” I smile. “Thanks again.”
“Are we to assume we can leave you three alone?” Dr. Brockman walks over. “No more outbursts?” He looks at Mitzi.
“No, Daddy,” she says. “And I won’t show her my butt this time, either.”
“Oh, Mitzi.” He looks at me. “Excuse her. She speaks freely.” He scowls. “Too freely.”
“It’s alright,” I reply.
After kisses from their daddies, Penelope and Mitzi are left alone with me. Mitzi instantly walks over and takes the gift bag away from me.
“Let’s color,” she says, dumping the contents on the table. I can see now why she picked the books and crayons out. I’d be annoyed if I didn’t find how deeply she’s embedded in her child persona so fascinating.
“Don’t be offended.” Penelope takes my hand. “And don’t think you’ll have to act like that. You can be anyone you want here, Sugar.”
“As long as I’m little.”
She smiles. “The women who come here are picked because they are predisposed to becoming little. That’s why it works.”
“It doesn’t always work out.” Mitzi has been eavesdropping. “It didn’t work out with Madeline.”
“Hush, Mitzi.” Penelope scowls, suddenly looking very adult despite her Anna of Green Gables dress and hair bow.
“Who’s Madeline?” I’m suddenly curious.
Penelope shoots an angry look at Mitzi, who shrugs it off. “She was too stubborn to let go. She was mental.”
“She was not mental, Mitzi.” Penelope looks back at me. “Remember I told you sometimes it doesn’t work out? We don’t like to talk about it. The daddies here try so hard, but they can’t heal our hurts without our full surrender.” She looks over at Mitzi. “That makes us sad, doesn’t it, Mitzi?”
Mitzi shrugs again. “She left her dolls. I got one. That was nice.”
“You’re unkind, Mitzi.” Penelope crosses her arms. “But I’m not going to tell your daddy because that’s what you want. You’re selfish, always making him spank you. If you don’t stop being bad all the time, maybe you’ll have to leave.”
Mitzi looks up. Her lip is trembling. “That’s a terrible thing to say. Daddy loves correcting me.”
“You’re supposed to be learning from the spankings. Not acting out so he’ll give them to you like candy.”
Penelope turns back to me. “Mitzi is a brat, but that can tire a daddy out if his little one is too selfish.” She says this bit loudly.
“So there’s a balance?” I ask in spite of myself.
“The desire for correction can be… addicting, especially at first.” Penelope pauses. “I suppose you may already understand?”
I want to say no. I want to say she’s crazy, that this is crazy. But that would be a lie because I can’t think about being the spankings without soaking my panties, because something in his dominance makes me want more.
“Yes. I’m starting to,” I say.
“Come color with me!” Mitzi demands, and Penelope sighs as we walk over. Judging by the rounded points on the crayons, Mitzi has already tried them all out on a half-colored picture of two kittens playing in a bed of flowers.
We sit down and Penelope takes the other coloring book. “Do you mind if I tear out a page?”
“No. Of course not.” I watch as she selects one and pushes the book to me. I flip through until I find a page depicting a unicorn sliding down a rainbow. It will have to do.
I glance up at the two women, and a question occurs to me. “Mitzi. Penelope. Are those your real names?”
Both women look up at me, almost shocked. Mitzi speaks first. “No. My real name was Kisha. But I used to pretend my name was Mitzi. My grandma beat me for it.”
“Why?
“She said I was putting on airs, pretending to be somebody I wasn’t.” Her throat moves as she swallows. “She said I’d never be nobody.” She looks up at me. Her eyes are glittering with tears. “That’s when I knew that Daddy loved me. He said he wanted to give me a nickname. He said I looked like a Mitzi. I knew it was meant to be.”
“It was the same with me,” Penelope confides. “My real name is Angela. My favorite doll when I was little was named Penelope. I don’t remember telling my daddy early on, but I must have. He’d tell me I was his little doll. He said I looked like a Penelope.”
I turn my attention back to my coloring book. “Eli calls me Sugar. There’s something familiar about it, but I don’t know what..”
Mitzi’s next bold comment turns my mind from the subject.
“Does Dr. Crane touch you down there?” She points between her legs.
“Mitzi!” Penelope is aghast. “That is none of your business.”
“Oh, like we don’t talk about it.” And just like that, Mitzi’s little girl persona falls like a veil. “There is nothing wrong with exploring the erotic side of your little girl submission.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. “You can talk….”
“Um, yeah…” Mitzi frowns.
“Like an adult, I mean.”
“I am an adult, you ninny.” She picks up a crayon and lobs it at me. “I choose to live as a little. That’s what we’re given here. A choice to go as deep into our childhood desires as we want. And if we have big girl desires, we can have those met, too. But it’s not required.”
“So I’ve been told.”
The two women are looking at me. Even Penelope seems to be waiting for a response.
“Look,” I say. “I’m not used to talking about myself.”
“Understandable.” Penelope gives me an understanding nod. “After years of denying yourself, it’s a practiced art to explore your feelings, let alone talk about them. But if you ever want to, or have a question…”
“I do…” I speak up, feeling the heat rise to my face. It’s not something I’d ever think to ask, but since the day Mitzi raised her skirts in the parlor, I’ve been curious. “Why were you wearing that plug in your ass?”
Mitzi bursts out laughing. “There you go. See? It’s easy to come out of your shell.” She’s an adult now, confiding in me in an adult manner. “It’s not for everyone, but for some of us, the feeling of being completely…owned. It’s delicious. Penelope is right; I’m a brat. I struggle with that. I like it when Daddy spanks me or straps me. Even when it hurts and makes me cry with shame, it reminds me what it is to feel. But she’s also right that it can get tiresome for a daddy. The plug is a reminder. When he puts a new one in to train my ass, he reminds me that my ass his and that he can fuck it whenever he wants.”
I stare at her in startled silence, but shift in my chair just the same. I imagine those words spoken by Eli in his deep voice.
“I don’t know if I want to be that powerless,” I say. It’s a lie.
“No one makes us do it,” Penelope says. “Nothing happens here that we don’t want.”
“Does Penelope’s ass belong to her daddy?” Mitzi asks in her little girl voice.
“My ass, my pussy. Everything.” Penelope grins, and I’m shocked to hear the words from someone who seems so prim. “But he’s pledged himself to me, too. We’re to be married. So he’s my daddy for always and always.”
“Same here,” Mitzi says. “I wish it could be that way for everybody. Even if I did get Madeline’s dolls, I feel sad for her.”
The others fall quiet. Mitzi hands me a crayon. She’s back in little girl mode. “Color the unicorn’s mane pink,” she says.
Chapter 13
Eli
It
’s a process, Sugar’s road to healing.
From watching her downloaded memories, I’m aware that in the past she’s used sex for short-term validation, as a way to inoculate herself against pain.
I want her. I know she wants me. But I want her to experience what I’m offering holistically. When the time comes, I want it to be perfect for her. I want her first time being claimed to be perfect. I want it to be cathartic.
It’s been four days since I last touched her. I’ve taken to bringing her into my office to assist me with small tasks. I’m kind, but formal. There’s a reason for this. I seek to draw Sugar out. She needs to learn to show me that she wants this, if she does.
“No, Sugar.” I look at the book I asked her to fetch from the shelf. “I need the third volume in that set. Not the fourth.”
“You said the third.”
“No, young lady. I said the fourth. So go fetch it like a good girl.”
I look back down at the report I’m writing. I’m seeking to expand staff, to rescue more women from incarceration, to recruit more like-minded men willing to serve as guardians to deserving wards. The report is heavily cited, and I’ve been having Sugar fetch me the texts I need.
Now I glance back up to see her standing there. “You said the third,” she repeats. I can almost feel her frustration, but it has nothing to do with the texts. She’s yearning for something, something I’m going to make her ask for.
“Sugar. Daddy’s busy. I don’t have time to argue with you. Now get me the fourth book in that set.”
I return to my report. She walks back to the shelf, fetches the correct book and returns to slam it down hard on my desk. I look up at her.
“Now put it back.”
“What?”
“Go put the book back on the shelf.”
“Why?”
“Put. It. Back.” My tone is dark enough to intimidate her. She takes the book and puts it back on the shelf before returning to the desk.