The Daddy Treatment

by Ava Sinclair

  “Is there anything else you need me to do? If not, can I go back to my room?”

  “No, Sugar. You can’t go back to your room. Go fetch me the fourth book.”

  “I just fetched it! You told me to put it back!”

  “That’s right.” I continue typing as I talk. “I want you to fetch it and put it on my desk properly. That means not slamming it.”

  She stands fidgeting, walks over to the shelf, fetches the book, and does as I command.

  “Good girl,” I say. “Now do it again.”

  “This is stupid.”

  “Sugar…” I fix her with a warning stare. “Again.”

  She does it again. And again. And again. Each time I sense her mounting irritation.

  “Are you going to make me do this all day?” By the tenth time, her face is flushed with anger and her voice tight with tension.

  “Yes, unless there’s another punishment you’d prefer.” I stop typing now and look up at her. “Is there, Sugar? Is there some other way we can clear the air and absolve you of your naughty behavior?” I rise from my desk and walk around to where she’s standing. “You’re being intentionally defiant, Sugar. We both know what you want. We both know what you need. But I’m not going to give it to you until you ask me. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “You don’t know what I want.” She won’t look at me. We both know she’s fibbing.

  “Fine. Just know when you decide to ask, there will be extra consequences for lying. Now, you stand right there until you’re ready to be honest with me and yourself.”

  I go back around to my desk and open the book she’s brought me. I begin typing. She stands at the desk.

  “Fine. I’ll stand here all day.” There’s a cute petulance in her voice, but I ignore it. I ignore her. She shifts from foot to foot. I noticed two days ago that she started dressing a little differently. According to Nora, whose tasks include gauging her charge’s tastes, Sugar expressed a fondness for pleated skirts, blouses with Peter Pan collars, knee socks, and loafers. Traditional school girl style. It could not please me more, and I imagine under that plaid skirt she’s quite wet as she mulls over what she wants but can’t ask for.

  The lunch hour is drawing near. I stand, take the pocket watch from my vest and pop it open.

  “Look at the time,” I say. “And not too soon. I’m famished.”

  Sugar sighs, obviously relieved. “So am I. Nora said there’s banana pudding today.”

  “Oh, no. You won’t be coming.” I shake my head sadly. “You’ll stay here, my little one.”

  Tears come to her eyes. I want to hold her, but instead harden my heart.

  “You’re cruel,” she says.

  “I’m not. I’m actually quite indulgent. My highest priority is to give you what you need, Sugar. But you must ask.”

  The tears she’s trying to blink back well up and spill over her eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “Embarrassing? You weren’t embarrassed to ask for banana pudding. If you need something, you must tell me.”

  “It’s not the same thing. Banana pudding isn’t the same thing as…”

  “As what?” I step over to her. “Sugar. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.”

  “I need for you not to be mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad, silly child. But I am disappointed at how stubborn you’re being.” I lean over. “It’s so much easier to submit, little darling. Even if it hurts.”

  I turn to walk away. “I’m locking the door. There are cameras in here. If I see you move a muscle, you’ll skip dinner as well.”

  I know this isn’t the punishment she wants. Sugar wants to be corrected, but not like this. She wants consequences, but not this kind.

  “Wait!” She calls to me before I reach the door. I turn back.

  “Yes?”

  “I….” She’s looking at the floor. She’s fidgeting with her hands. I can see the flush on her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have been rude. I want…I need…”

  “Say it, Sugar. There’s no shame. Not here. Not between us.”

  She draws a ragged breath and looks up. “I need a spanking… Daddy.”

  Never have I heard more beautiful words. I return to where she’s standing and lead her over to the sofa table. “I agree. Bend over, Sugar. Pull up your skirt. Pull your panties down to your knees. Today you’ll bare your bottom for me.”

  There’s a plea in her eyes, a frightened softness. But there’s also desire. She doesn’t want this, but she does. She moves to the edge. Sugar’s hands are shaking slightly as she reaches under her little skirt and bends slightly, dragging her white panties down to just above the tops of her knee socks. I retrieve a paddle from the table’s drawer. When she sees it, her eyes widen.

  “You’ve been a bad little girl. Daddy’s going to paddle your bottom. Do you understand?”

  I half expect her to change her mind. She doesn’t. As I walk behind her, she lifts the skirt from her perfect, round bottom and bends over the table. My gaze meanders down to where her panties are bunched at her knees. Just as I suspected, they are soaked.

  “Spread your legs, naughty girl.”

  She moans as she complies, and when she only spreads her thighs a little, I tap the inside of one with the thin, leather bound paddle. Another soft moan escapes Sugar as she widens her stance. I can see her pussy now, the inner folds dripping. I can smell her arousal, sweet and faint and musky.

  I stand back, trying to ignore the nearly painful stiffness of my cock as I put the paddle against her left cheek. The office resounds with the crack of paddle against flesh and a corresponding wail of pain as I land the first spank. Sugar breaks her position, her hands flying back to clutch her burning cheeks as she faces me with an expression of pained surprise.

  “That hurts!” She speaks to me as if I’ve betrayed her.

  “It’s supposed to. It’s a paddling. You have ten coming for misbehaving and another ten for fibbing. But that one doesn’t count because you moved out of position. Bend back over, Sugar.”

  “No!” She’s rubbing her bottom and glaring at me. She’s testing me, and I have to make a decision. I could give her the choice as I did before. I could let her choose. But that’s not what she wants. She needs to know that I mean what I say. She wants to take this, but she wants me to help her.

  I tap the paddle against the tabletop. “You will either bend over, or I will put you over my lap, give you ten very hard spanks with the paddle, and then make you bend over the table. And I assure you if I do that, you will be skipping lunch and dinner since you’ll be too sore to sit.”

  There. I’ve given her a choice. Bad or worse. I see fear in her eyes, but also relief. There’s only one choice she can make. Whimpering, Sugar bends back over.

  I could spank her harder, but this is the first time with the paddle, and even moderate spanks sting worse than the hand spanking. Sugar bucks and wails after each one, her infantile cries both plaintive and rewarding to a daddy’s ears. I’m aware of how bad it must hurt by the sound of her objections and the rapid reddening of her bottom. But she can’t hide how aroused this makes her. Her inner thighs are slick with her sweet honey. It’s driving me mad, but I have a job to do. I have to keep my word.

  Sugar is a very good girl. Even though her bottom is now covered in angry oval splotches, she’s keeping both her temper and position in check. After each spank, I remind her to stick her bottom out, to keep her legs parted.

  “I can see everything, Sugar,” I tell her. “Your little bottom is so red. Your pussy is so wet. You’re my good, bad little girl. I’m very proud of you for taking your punishment so honestly.”

  By the time it’s over, her hands are on the table, cradling her face in her palms. I put the paddle beside her and place my hands on her shoulders, guiding her up.

  “Sugar, look at me.” She keeps her hands to her face, sobbing. “Look at me.” I pull her hands away from her face. Tears are tracking over her cheeks. Her
eyes are red-rimmed. “Tell me what you are feeling.”

  Her breath comes in rapid hiccoughs. “Sore,” she says.

  “Tell me what else you feel?”

  She struggles with this. “Better? Relieved.” She takes a deep breath. “Embarrassed.”

  “Why embarrassed?”

  “Because of what you said. Because I’m wet.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that. You can be contrite and aroused at the same time, Sugar. It’s the submissive in you. Did you come?”

  She closes her eyes. “Daddy…don’t….”

  “Answer me. Did you come?”

  “Almost.”

  “Almost.” I repeat the word. “Do you want to come, Sugar?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I lift her to sitting on the sofa table. She cries out when her bottom makes contact with the wood. I lean her back and pull her panties off. I spread her legs, kneeling between them. I push aside the full, fleshy outer lips to expose a beautifully elongated inner labia. The nub of her clit is delightfully prominent from under its thin fleshy hood. The first sweep of my tongue over her beautiful vulva is as pleasant for me as it is for her. She tastes divine. She tastes like salty desire. I capture her clit in my mouth, suckling it as I hook two fingers into her pussy, thrusting against the soft spot inside. She comes immediately, her hips rising up to meet my face, thrusting against it, her hot little cheeks bouncing against the top of my table.

  I slip my hands under her, jerking her to me. I lathe the arousal from her pussy like a man starved. I thrust two fingers into her pussy and she climaxex, the silken walls clutching me in a rippling grip.

  I want her. I want to fuck her. I wait to hear her say it. I know she wants it, but there’s still a small part of her holding back. She’s not ready to give herself completely. Not yet. There’s still some little seed of fear deep inside.

  I plant kisses on the inside of her wet thighs. I stand, pulling her to me. She puts her cheek against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, rocking her back and forth.

  “Sugar,” I say. “You’re so very sweet.”

  Chapter 14

  Sugar

  There’s a mirror in my bathroom. It’s oval, with an ornate carved bird on the top rim. It looks like an antique, but if it is, the glass has been replaced. Every mirror of every place I’ve ever lived was pitted and cloudy. This one is clear enough for me to see the reflection of my punished ass, to note each spot where the paddle fell.

  I wince as I trace the edges. I feel a stew of emotion. There’s humiliation, but it doesn’t feel like the humiliation I’m used to. This produces no self-loathing. It feels exciting, like a naughty luxury that makes my pussy tingle. I feel anger, or the trace of it—not at Eli, but at myself. The voice telling me to fight has been nearly drowned out by the moans of pleasure I still hear in my mind. I feel excited. I’ve always resisted authority. Now the slightest warning in Eli’s voice sends a delicious shudder through my body. The trust that started as a spark and has grown every day.

  It's been two days since the paddling. Two days since Eli made me come hard with his mouth and his fingers, two days since my cries of pain became cries of passion on his office table.

  I want more. I want him. I want what Penelope and Mitzi have.

  But I don’t know if I deserve it, or if it will even happen for me. I know sometimes it doesn’t work out. I don’t want to be as needy as Mitzi. I don’t want to be a brat. I want to please him, to obey him. I also want his limits, but I don’t want to get hurt.

  Eli promises never to hurt me. He says I can rely on him. He urges me to let go. He says he will protect me. I know when a man wants me. He wants me. And oh, god… I want him. I want him so bad that when I get a moment alone to nap or sleep it always starts with me on my belly riding the heel of my hand to the memory of what he’s done to me, the way he smells, the sound of his voice, the look of his strong forearms and long fingers.

  He says I’m no whore. I feel I’m on the verge of giving more of myself to him than I’ve ever given to anyone else, but every time I’ve given myself to a man, he’s walked away. Once he took me, he took off.

  I’m so afraid that if I fuck Eli, I’ll lose him. I’ll lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ll lose the only man who’s ever acted like a real daddy, the only man who’s ever treated me like I wasn’t disposable.

  I hear the door open in the other room and hastily drop my gown.

  “How was your nap?” Nora has come in. It’s early afternoon and she arrives carrying a garment bag and a pair of shoes. Adult shoes with heels and straps. I watch as she puts down the shoes and hangs the garment bag on the edge of the wardrobe.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “A surprise. Dr. Crane is taking you to the Exmoor Inn for dinner.” She turns to me and smiles. “Lucky you.”

  She unzips the garment bag to reveal a black dress. Like the shoes, it is sleek and elegant. And obviously for a grown-up. I feel a tinge of sadness I can’t quite explain.

  “He wants me to wear that?”

  Nora has noticed the disappointment in my voice. “Goodness. I’d think such an expensive dress would warrant more excitement.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just… never mind.”

  “Never mind indeed. We’re on a schedule here.” She hastens me to a small dressing table and begins to do my hair. I can only watch as the nursemaid who’s treated me like a child now fusses over me like a socialite getting prepared for some fancy event. She brushes my hair and I stare at my reflection as she arranges my hair into a chignon at the base of my neck. Next she produces a makeup bag and artfully paints my face. She’s standing in front of me, and before I can get a good look at my reflection she’s pulled me from the chair. I stand in the center of the room as she undoes the ribbon ties at the shoulders of my nightgown, which slips down and off.

  “Here.” She reaches into the bottom of the garment bag and takes out a pair of skimpy black panties and a matching bra. I wordlessly put them on, feeling like a little girl playing dress-up. Next comes the dress, which hugs my curves as if it were made for me. It’s been years since I’ve worn heels, but I manage not to teeter as I slip into them.

  Nora steps back. “My word. I’d never recognize you. See?” She turns me towards the dressing table mirror and I stare in disbelief. Before she came in, I was in the bathroom looking wistfully at the marks left by Eli’s paddle. Now I’m staring at a woman who could have stepped out of a fashion magazine.

  “You look stunning.” Nora can’t stop complimenting me, and produces a beautiful velvet wrap just as Eli enters the room. Now I’m the one staring. He’s wearing a black tailored suit with a gray tie. He’s so handsome it makes my stomach flutter. He walks over and offers his arm.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, his gaze sweeping over me. “We’ll be dining out today, Sugar.”

  I don’t reply as I slip my hand over his arm. His coat jacket is smooth. I can feel his muscular arm under it. My gaze moves to his hands. Strong, sexy hands that have spanked me to tears and moans. Am I still his little girl? I want to ask, but remain nervously quiet as he confidently leads me through the house, down the stairs, through the foyer, and out the double doors where the butler nods impassively as we exit. It’s my first time outside since I arrived. I look back as we descend the steps, taking in the massive stone edifice of the manor. Somewhere underneath is the lab where I came to restrained to a chair, where he first told me I was his.

  A car pulls up. It’s long and black and gleaming. The interior is leather. There’s a mini bar, but Eli doesn’t offer me anything. Through the tinted windows, I stare out at the long tree-lined drive. I’m Alice, leaving Wonderland.

  “Relax, Sugar.” His long legs are crossed. He looks at ease. “It’ll be fun.”

  I fake a smile and see my dim image reflected in the window beside me. My lips are so red. I’m beautiful. I never realized it.

  We travel in silence. No b
anter. No asking me about my afternoon. He pulls out his phone and taps away on it as if I’m not there. What should I do? Pout like a little girl? Complain like a girlfriend who got all dolled up only to have her man ignore her? Who am I to him? Who am I?

  The old me would have been memorizing each twist and turn in the road, planning for eventual escape. But the truth is, each one that takes me further from the manor house increases my anxiety. I was just getting used to being little. I don’t want to know the way out now.

  The countryside gives way to small estates with large houses tucked off the road. This neighborhood is as alien to me as the manor house. No cracked, sunbaked sidewalks here. No used needles littering sandlots where freshly-high junkies stumble off to crash until it’s time for their next fix. I wonder if the men in those houses are all like Eli Crane. I try to imagine how my life might have turned out if I’d been raised behind one of those secure doors with a father who told me I could be anything, a father who could afford to make it happen.

  “This is it.” Eli’s voice jars me back to the present. The car has turned onto another drive leading up a hill. The white stone house is large but not particularly elaborate. Its understated elegance is a statement unto itself. It looks old, established, an acceptable place for men with old money to lunch with their wives or colleagues.

  The car slows at the front and a young man in a black waistcoat and white gloves opens my door and extends his hand. He helps me out as Eli exits the other side. The afternoon is bright and cool.

  “I’ve reserved a table for us,” Eli says. I feel his hand on my lower back as he guides me up the steps. Classical music is playing and behind an oak podium, a beautiful woman in a white blouse and black slacks smiles.

  “Dr. Crane,” she says. “Welcome.” Her eyes move over me, lingering on my dress. The smile plastered on her face could be kind or envious depending on what I wanted to see. I don’t ponder it. In spite of the experience of coming to a restaurant like this, I wish I were back in Penelope’s room coloring unicorns.