Daddy Issues

by Ava Sinclair

  “Yes,” she said, looking down.

  “Is punctuality on the list of rules?”

  “Yes,” she said again. “But I didn’t know about the rules then.”

  “This is true,” he agreed. “But I believe a quick spanking will serve not only to remind you to remember the rule in the future, but also will dispel some of your fear.” He gently squeezed her hands. “Will you submit yourself for punishment?”

  Submit. The word caused an electric thrill to run through her. It was easier going over his lap than she imagined. Yes, it was still embarrassing. And yes, her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird in a cage. And yes, it was tempting to tell herself that she was doing this to keep a job she wanted. But she knew he spoke the truth when he said he was not making this—any of this—a condition, and that she was doing this because she wanted to.

  But still she trembled over his lap.

  “There will be five over your blue jeans, Ellie. But after today you will dress properly in my home, and I don’t consider blue jeans proper. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes,” she said.

  “Ow!” There was no warning for the first blow, and no break between the second, the third, the fourth, or the fifth. They fell in crisp, rapid succession, and Ellie cried out in genuine surprised pain with each one. When writing her stories, she’d felt aroused by the spankings she described. But she was not aroused now. She was painfully embarrassed, and her eyes stung with tears of humiliation as William lifted her to her feet.

  “When you are next summoned, will you be on time, young lady?”

  She nodded, her hand snaking back to rub her stinging bottom.

  “Very good.” He paused. “How are you?”

  It seemed like an odd question. “I’m okay.”

  “Good. And your tardiness is a thing of the past. Slate wiped clean.” He stood. “So, still want to stay?”

  “Yes.” There was no hesitation, and she blushed at how easily she made the decision in spite of what happened.

  “Very good,” he said. “Now, take the list upstairs. Memorize it. I’m going to order us an early dinner. Take-out, I’m afraid, although most nights I’ll cook you a healthy meal. Now, what do you like to eat?”

  Take-out had been a rare treat at her old home.

  “You can get anything,” he said, obviously reading her expression.

  “Pizza?” she asked.

  “Deep dish or New York style?”

  “New York,” she said. “Pepperoni, if that’s okay.”

  “Pepperoni it is.”

  He left the room and Ellie followed, going back upstairs to her room. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned against it. She was clutching the list tightly in her sweaty hands as the full emotional impact of what happened suddenly hit her.

  This was real. He was real. She walked across the room to where a cheval mirror stood. Leaning down to place the list on the floor, she turned, unfastening her jeans as she did and then looked back as she lifted the corner on one side of her panties, pulling it up until the faint imprint of William’s handprint was visible against the white skin.

  He’d spanked her. And if she broke the rules, he’d do it again. The thought coincided with the exquisitely persistent throb she only felt when she wrote her stories.

  No. She quickly pulled up her jeans, hastily zipping and buttoning them as she chided herself to get a grip, already. Dr. William Ashworth was offering her a second chance at childhood, nothing more. Yes, he was handsome and exciting, with his Victorian home and cultured bearing. But a man like him probably had his pick of beautiful women—women who sparked attraction, not pity.

  Ellie picked up the list of rules and climbed up on the bed, spreading the paper out in front of her as she read it over and over. With each passage, she felt more comfort in the list with its clear limits and consequences. She’d grown up cursing, and hated the habit. Here it would be forbidden. She needed to stop smoking, although she didn’t think it would be hard since she only smoked when stressed. Now, any and all smoking was forbidden. She was to dress in an appropriate fashion. Ellie frowned. She had two skirts and one dress to her name. Once she’d gotten paid, she’d have to invest in a wardrobe to please him.

  To please him. Ellie smiled at this. It felt nice to want to make someone proud, to even think it could be possible.

  Downstairs, the bell on the door rang and a moment later, William called her name. Ellie rose from the bed and headed from the room, the flush from all that had happened still clinging to her skin.

  Chapter Eight

  “There’s probably enough here to fill a book.”

  William waved the dust motes away with his hand once he’d set down the third box of yellowing papers he’d fetched from the attic.

  It was late Monday morning and William didn’t have a class until noon, so he was getting Ellie set up with some work to keep her busy until he returned. Since her arrival the previous Friday afternoon, she’d become more settled with each passing hour. The day before, he’d taken her to lunch and afterwards to a boutique, where she’d first balked and then relented to his buying her some clothes, although it had taken his quietly reminding her of her agreement to obey him to achieve her compliance.

  “Would it make you feel better if I picked them out?” he’d asked.

  “You want to pick out my clothes?” Her tone had been suspicious, but there was a light in her eyes that indicated she found the idea intriguing.

  They’d left with four pleated skirts, two sweaters, several blouses with Peter Pan collars, knee socks, Mary Jane shoes, two bras, a pack of white cotton panties, and even a couple of hair bows.

  She was wearing one of the outfits today, and William thought back to how she had thanked him. Ellie was so genuine in her gratitude, and he reminded her that providing for her was also part of the paternal role he was taking. But he also told her that despite their arrangements, and the healing he hoped she’d derive from it, he expected her to continue her therapy sessions she told him she’d been attending with Dr. Gruber.

  “Why?” she’d asked. “I feel happier and more content than I could ever remember.”

  He’d chucked her under the chin and smiled. “Because, poppet,” he said. “You still need to talk about how you feel about things sometimes.”

  “Can I tell Dr. Gruber about you? It won’t bother you?”

  “Of course.” William had appreciated her concern. “Your sessions are confidential, Ellie. Besides, I want you to be sure this is for you. If you have any misgivings—any at all—Dr. Gruber will be able to help you work through them. Remember, even if you’re living here in a child’s role, you’re still an adult and it’s still your choice.”

  On his first day back at work since settling her into her new life as his ward, William reminded Ellie to keep that appointment.

  “There’s cab fare on the counter,” he said. “And when you get home, if you can catalog these for me, that would be helpful,” he instructed. He placed his hand on a stack of accordion-style folders filled with documents he’d found in the basement while renovating. “Just separate them by personal correspondence, business correspondence, legal filings, etc. I’m sure you can sort it.”

  “I can,” she said confidently.

  “Well, I’m off then,” he said, and for a moment nearly leaned in to kiss her on the head before turning away to run a hand nervously through his hair. “Right, then. See you this evening.”

  William didn’t allow himself to analyze his attraction to Ellie until after he’d caught the train. She needed a father figure. He’d long desired to be a father figure. But he could not deny the erotic component of their arrangement, even though he’d dismissed the insinuation when he made it. But now the recollection of the spanking he’d administered had him shifting in his seat and positioning his satchel over his stiffening cock.

  She’d softened since coming into his home. The wariness had all but left her, and he found himself watching her as s
he worked, and feeling incredible longing to touch her hair when she twirled a lock around her finger, or to taste the little tongue that pushed against the inside of her cheek when she was lost in thought, or to caress the smooth thigh he caught a glimpse of when her pleated skirt fell back against a raised leg. Ellie radiated sweet, innocent vulnerability.

  He believed she likely felt the same attraction from a submissive standpoint, but knew if she did she may feel guilt over it. It was another reason he wanted her to continue her therapy with an objective third party who could help her understand that there was nothing wrong with her desires. While he didn’t know Dr. Gruber personally, he did know the kindly therapist had a reputation for being open-minded about such things, and he wanted her to have all the positive reinforcement she could get.

  He wanted her to have everything, his Ellie, his little girl lost. She was so damaged, so vulnerable, so unlike the kind of women who usually came into his life—self-assured women in charge of their own lives and, in some cases, eager to take charge of his as well.

  She’s not the only one who would benefit from analysis, his conscience whispered. Why is it that you’re secretly drawn to submission, to vulnerability? There’s more than nobility at play here. Don’t think you didn’t enjoy spanking Ellie.

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest as the train rocked along the rails toward the university. Yes. Yes, I did.

  In fact, he found he could remember every detail—the sting in his palm, the sound of her cries, the feel of her body writhing on his lap, the fear that she’d jump up and run out the door, and then the relief when she didn’t.

  Their conversation prior to the spanking had given him an insight into her psyche, confirming that his instincts about her had been right—that the something that had drawn him to Ellie was a need to submit that matched his need to dominate and nurture.

  He’d watched her carefully after the spanking. She’d not mentioned it, but small things in her behavior led him to believe that she’d embraced the rules. She’d been punctual, had observed her bedtime, had not uttered one curse word. It would allow him to add more rules later, personal rules, if his instincts were correct.

  What about rules for you? The quiet voice of his conscience could not be ignored, and William retraced his steps again, reminding himself that while Ellie had come in for the study, the study had not taken place, and that while she was the age of some of his students, she was not a student.

  In class later, he lectured on the ego and the id and the superego.

  “So the id demands instant gratification.” William was standing in front of a blackboard where he’d drawn a crying infant, its mouth opened in a bawl. ‘Id’ was written on its t-shirt. “It’s our undisciplined inner child, unconcerned with the consequences so long as it gets what it wants.”

  He turned and sketched a stick figure on a bicycle. The rider was wearing a cap that said ‘Ego.’ William explained that if the bike was will, then ego was the rider keeping it from veering off on whatever direction the road would take it.

  He then sketched a small angel on the rider’s shoulder and drew an arrow to it with the label, ‘Superego.’

  “This is what guides our choices,” he said. “It throws conscience into the mix, convicting us or even punishing us with guilt should we want to steer that bike to, say, a whorehouse.”

  “Sounds like a buzzkill,” a student said, and William looked out to see that the speaker was a pretty blonde who smirked at him as those around her giggled.

  “It is a buzzkill,” he replied. “But if the human species walked around buzzed one hundred percent of the time, we’d not have order in our lives or our society.”

  “So we’d be swinging from the trees,” a young man beside her asked.

  “Not even that.” William tossed his chalk aside. “Even higher primates are capable of morality. It’s gratifying to eat an entire handful of fruit, but a chimpanzee will share it with a sick troop member.”

  He glanced at his watch. “That’s it for today. We’re ten minutes over time. The assigned reading is in your syllabus, and there’s a paper on this topic due Wednesday.”

  The students rose to their feet and William turned to check his email while waiting for the next group of students to come in.

  “Dr. Ashworth?”

  He looked up to see the young woman who’d made the buzzkill comment.

  “Miss Tippler,” he said.

  “Please,” she said. “Call me Casey.”

  “What can I do for you, Miss Tippler?” William deliberately ignored the offer, recognizing her as one of the young women who’d been in the company of Derrick Grayson the day he’d gotten Ellie fired.

  “I was just thinking about that Id thing,” she said softly. Casey put her books and phone on the desk, settled herself beside them. Her skirt was short, her legs slightly parted. William knew if he looked, he’d catch a glimpse of her panties. He didn’t look.

  “I was thinking in my paper I’d explore the benefits to indulging the Id.” She smiled at William and bit her lip as she twirled a lock of blond hair around her finger. “I was also thinking, professor. Maybe we could discuss it outside of your office hours. Over coffee? Or something stronger?”

  William removed his glasses and sat back. “Miss Tippler, even if what you were suggesting did not represent a serious professional and ethical breach, I’d not be interested.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her pretty face twisted into an unattractive expression of anger. At that moment, her cell phone began to vibrate where it lay on the desk and they both glanced down at it.

  So, the text read. What did he say? Is it a date? Totally going to nail that cocksucker for what he did to me.

  The name above the text read Derrick G. William raised his eyes to Casey’s.

  “This may be the perfect example of when someone should control their impulses,” he said. “Could you but curb your need for gratification as Mr. Grayson’s lackey, you’d not have just made a fool of yourself.”

  Casey’s face turned beet red, and there were tears in the corners of her eyes as she snatched the phone from William’s desk and fled the room. Had Casey stayed longer, he’d have cautioned her to choose friends who wouldn’t use her. But at least now he knew that Derrick had been punished for what he’d done to Ellie.

  His receptionist filled him in on the details when he returned to his office at the end of the day.

  “He’s been suspended,” Mrs. Everett informed him. “It was the very eloquent statement of the woman in the coffee shop that did him in. It turns out she’s a close friend of the dean of students. Even Derrick’s father’s attempts to run interference couldn’t outweigh her testimony.”

  “Ah, karma strikes,” he said, and proceeded to tell the older woman about Casey’s attempt to lure him into a personal, after-hours tryst. He thought Mrs. Everett would find it amusing, but his long-time receptionist looked concerned.

  “Be careful, William,” she said. “You’re making some pretty powerful enemies between Dr. Kidd and the Graysons. I hope standing up for that young lady in the coffee shop was worth it.”

  “It was,” William said softly.

  “Who was she, anyway?”

  “Just a barista…” He felt suddenly guilty for not telling Mrs. Everett that it wasn’t any barista, but the girl who’d showed up for the study the day of the snowstorm, the girl he’d followed on the train, the girl who was now living at his house, the girl who had agreed to live as his ward.

  “Well, she was lucky to have caught your attention that day. It was nice of you to come to the aid of someone you didn’t know, William.” She patted him on the arm. “You’re a good egg.”

  “I hope so,” he said, and picked up his satchel. “See you tomorrow, Mrs. Everett.”

  The train ride home seemed longer. Usually, William passed the time reading. But today he found himself only thinking of Ellie, of how she’d passed h
er time and whether she was enjoying the work.

  At his stop, he was the first to exit the train and his usual leisurely stroll home went more quickly as he hastened to return to the house where more waited for him than just projects. There were no stops today to examine the offerings of the nearby newsstand or to marvel at the blooms on the tulip poplars planted on the sidewalk. William wasn’t in an observant mood; if he had been, he may have noticed the man on the stoop across the street, his camera trained on the professor as he was greeted at the door by a pretty redhead with a glowing smile and a bow in her hair.

  Chapter Nine

  “This is really quite good.” William smiled as he helped himself to another portion of Yorkshire pudding, and Ellie felt herself beaming with pride. She’d wanted to cook something special for the one-month anniversary of her moving into his house, and had surprised him with a traditional English dish.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It’s the least I could do for all that you’ve done for me.”

  “My dear, it’s an entirely symbiotic relationship,” he replied, and Ellie felt a twinge of guilt. They had been helping one another; she kept house and made great strides in cataloging the papers while he was at work. He kept her feeling safe and protected while providing her a sense of security she craved. But Ellie found herself feeling guilty at least once a week for lying to him about her appointments with Dr. Gruber.

  Even though William had told her to go, Ellie had been skipping the sessions. Sometimes she’d go to see her mother instead; sometimes she’d take the train to the park. And at the end of the day she’d come home and put a check in the box next to the word therapy on the checklist William had put on the refrigerator a week after she’d moved in with him.

  Those marks convicted her when she looked at them, so Ellie avoided looking at the list. She also avoided looking at her self-appointed guardian whenever he asked her how her sessions were going. Instead, she’d turn her back and pretend to engage in some other task while replying in the vaguest of fashions.