The General's Little Angel (Breaking Chains© Book 2)
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The General’s Little Angel
By
C. B. Hunt
Breanna Hayse
©2016 by C.B. Hunt/Breanna Hayse
©All rights reserved.
This is a personal autobiography and reveals information of an intimate and personal nature intended to assist others in recognizing and dealing with serious social, physical, mental, and sexual issues. Some of the names have been changed to protect the identity of actual persons, living or dead.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by C.B. Hunt/Breanna Hayse and Twisted Hearts Productions
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Hunt C.B./ Hayse, Breanna
The General’s Little Angel
(Breaking Chains©: Book 2)
Cover Art by Serena LeBeaux
This book is a biography of true events and includes elements of introductory age-play and domestic discipline. No explicit sexual activity is described; however, some of the issues and violations of personal boundaries might be disturbing to younger audiences. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Twisted Hearts’ or the author’s advocating any non-consensual spanking/sexual activity of any individual or the spanking of minors.
WHY USE TWO NAMES FOR THE SAME AUTHOR?
As a nurse and a therapist, my name (C.B. Hunt) is more familiar to my clients and will allow them easy access when searching for this series. Likewise, my penname is kept for my devoted fans, friends, and family who know me by none other. The Breaking Chains© books are dedicated to those who are trapped in moral, ethical, religious, and/or legal problems covered by the media. This series will include references to the research as applicable with the exception of the names of those personally interviewed to protect their privacy. The proceeds of the first month’s sales will be donated to the charity/foundation representing the topic and any additional funds will be used to assist in research and production to further this series and bring awareness to the serious issues that continue to harm so many people in our society.
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C.B. Hunt/Breanna Hayse (DBA Twisted Hearts Productions of California) is dedicated to the education and assistance of those in need, including the instruction and publication of the Veteran’s Administration therapy program. The company is not to be confused and/or associated with the adult (18+) literature of Twisted Hearts, LLC.
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, RAPE, CHILD ABUSE, AND SELF-HARM ARE SERIOUS ISSUES
If you, or anyone you know, are dealing with any of these topics, there is help! Please don’t try to handle it on your own or ignore it. These situations, and the pain that comes with them, don’t go away or disappear and the long-term effects adversely affect how we conduct our lives and relationships. Most importantly—please remember that you are NOT alone!
NAMI HelpLine
Have a question? Someone else may have already asked it. Check out the list of frequently asked questions.
1-800-950-NAMI (6264) or info@nami.org
The NAMI HelpLine can be reached Monday through Friday, 10 am–6 pm, ET.
https://www.nami.org/Find-Support/NAMI-HelpLine#crisis
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the memory of my beloved commander. The world lost more than his three stars the day he left this earth. Thank you for loving me and showing me that as long as there was a tomorrow, I had hope.
Many of my readers, especially those dedicated fans of my Generals’ Daughter Series, have asked about my first Dom and my introduction into the age-play dynamic. I’m bringing you that story, as well as the background behind what brought me to the place of submission and what occurred after he took me under his protective wing. My general changed my life and took a broken, abused, and unloved little girl and gave her significance and worth. That girl was left in the vanilla world many years ago and was replaced by who I am today. General G requested that I pay it forward, and I do my best to honor that request on a daily basis.
No one really knows what happens behind closed doors and I’ll be honest—this was one of the most difficult books that I have written. It not only brought up many memories, both good and bad, but it also forced me to reveal parts of my past that some might find disturbing. Because of those issues, I thought it would be valuable to use this piece as part of the Breaking Chains© series and hopefully share that no matter what has happened in our past, we have a choice and can break the chains that bind us.
I pray that all of you are blessed with at least one person who has positively impacted your life and that you grab every opportunity and positively touch others. Always remember—your words and actions have the power to either heal or kill. Which direction do you choose?
Luvs, (Listen, Understand, Validate with Sincerity)
Bree
A SPECIAL THANKS GOES TO THE OWNERS, AUTHORS, AND STAFF AT BLACK VELVET SEDUCTIONS!
Your unselfish devotion to promoting this book and spreading the information about this cause has made all the difference. Bless every one of you! Please check out their books on http://blackvelvetseductions.com
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
BREAKING CHAINS
THE GENERAL’S LITTLE ANGEL
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
HAPPILY EVER AFTER
NATIONAL COALITION AGAINST DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
NAMI
JUSTICE FOR LIBERTY (Sample Chapter 1)
Breaking Chains©
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing (Edmund Burkes)
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Can an autobiography be sufficient to reveal life situations, poor choices, and serve a purpose beyond entertainment? Our hope is that each work offered under the Breaking Chains© series will not only present a current, realistic, and well-researched view of real-life situations endured by those around us but will also provide a HEA (Happily Ever After) to leave both the victims of the situations discussed and the reader with a sense of hope. All proceeds from the first month sales will be donated to a charity represented in/by the work.
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THE GENERAL’S LITTLE ANGEL
Thank you to the dedicated staff and volunteers of the Domestic Coalition Against Domestic Violence and the Veteran’s Administration Domestic Violence Relief Program. You selflessly give your time, love, and patience to help those who have suffered any form of domestic violence, abuse, or neglect—and offer hope to the hearts of people who try to relieve their pain through self-harm.
Too many abuse victims fail to report the crimes out of fear or shame, whether it be to protect themselves or someone they love. Keeping domestic violence and rape a secret protects no one in the end—the criminal goes free to harm others, and the victim lives in the shadows of guilt, anger, shame, and fear. Victims need to be encouraged that they have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide from, and nothing to fear. You are not alone. Not anymore.
I have recreated the events and the conversations in this autobiography to the best of my memory. All the characters are real, but names have been changed to
protect the innocent. There is a Happily-Ever-After, but one that I had not expected until this piece was finished. It made me laugh again, and cry—but my fear was gone. I was also finally able to thank the man who changed my life after all the years of being apart.
We at Twisted Hearts Productions of California and all of the wonderful and giving people who supported and promoted this project wish that each of you are blessed with love, joy, hope, and health.
Prologue
How did I end up in this position? I had always made fun of the Marines who had been ordered by the commander to present to headquarters because of misconduct and teased them unmercifully about being called into the principal’s office like naughty little boys. Countless times, I would giggle while watching them squirm on the uncomfortable hard chairs, each looking embarrassed and abashed while awaiting his fate.
It wasn’t so funny now that it was my turn. I still couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to tell me that I couldn’t stay at my desk and sit in my cushy chair while I waited to be summoned. Despite his orders, I remained where I was most comfortable, knowing that I could easily slip into one of the hard chairs if I heard him walking toward the closed office door. He’d never know nor was I going to tell him. Frankly, my state of mind was not in the best place to handle him getting all high and mighty, particularly since I was still nursing a nasty hangover from the previous overindulgent night.
Did this man honestly believe he could change my habits by treating me to one of his infamous lectures? As his personal assistant, I’ve heard enough of them through the closed door that I could recite them verbatim. He never raised his voice, but when those boys left that room, each one looked like he was ready to break into tears. That’s probably why we never had to hold office hours on our base. Non-judicial punishment wasn’t necessary when General G stepped in. His legendary scoldings were enough to scare any Marine, young or old, into behaving.
Allow me to clarify—they could scare any Marine except me, of course. I was immune to lectures and had learned long ago how to tune out anything that I didn’t want to hear as a means of survival. There was nothing he could say that I hadn’t heard before, plus my extensive eighteen years on this earth was adequate preparation to handle life’s circumstances, obstacles, and temptations. I wasn’t like the rest of these Marines, either. I graduated with honors, a promotion and choice of duty station from USMC Intelligence Training Enhancement Program, confirming that I was ‘all that’ and more. Man, was I wrong!
I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair, thinking about the last ‘discussion’ he and I had about two months ago. I admit that going to the O-club on a nightly basis became a habit, along with stumbling into bed at two every morning. I was becoming cranky and irritable during work and Ray decided to put a quick end to my partying before I self-destructed. He assigned me the duty of presenting to the message center daily by 330 am to collect secured TSI/SCI cryptos which I had to sort, translate, and map out in preparation for his 0700 briefings.
I hate ship charting. I mean loathe, like in temper tantrum, cursing, kicking the table in despise of this task. I wasn’t quiet about it either. Of course, throwing a fit at that time in the morning, in the privacy of my office, one would never expect that it would be overheard by anyone—especially the commander. About a week after I started my new chore, I threw one of my famous tantrums, completely unaware that Ray was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and his face frowning in disapproval.
“You done?” he asked. “My office. Now.”
I am pretty good about tuning out lectures. He dressed me up, down, and backward and, having heard him chew out plenty of the boys I worked with, I was not expecting the type of scolding that he issued. Instead of the words regarding ‘conduct unbecoming a Marine,’ he reprimanded me for throwing a temper tantrum like a spoiled rotten little girl. And when I rolled my eyes, he did the most inconceivable thing.
He sent me to the corner.
For whatever reason, that command broke something inside of me, and I began to cry with embarrassment and shame. I trusted and loved the man and having never disappointed him before, hearing him say those things about me was a huge shock to my heart and emotions. There was no arguing with him, either—his powerful presence left me feeling so tiny, helpless, and vulnerable. While grateful that there were no witnesses to my humiliation, I was also appalled. I was an adult, and an adult did not put her nose into the corner!
His comment? An adult did not throw temper tantrums or sass back, either.
I wasn’t there long—just enough to worry about what else would happen if I dared behave this way again. Coming from a strong background of dungeon play and being around dominants alerted me to the warning tone in his voice, the one that said not to push my luck. That ‘feeling’ was reinforced as he hugged me, flicked me on the nose and warned me that ‘next time’ he would not be so lenient. I think I sat on his lap and cried for a good ten minutes or so afterward, spilling out my insecurities. He was a good listener and allowed me to vent. He also promised that he would do anything he could to take care of me.
I guess it was time for a refresher course. Sigh …
“Miss Hayse?” I heard him call from behind the closed door. The formality indicated that he was unaware that we were alone. He never called me by rank either, believing that it was more respectful to speak to ladies as ladies. Pft. I rose from my desk and peeked into the room.
“You rang?”
Removing the wire-rimmed glasses from his face, he dispensed a disapproving frown. “Is there anyone out there waiting for me?”
Not budging from the doorway, I shook my head. “Nope. You told me not to schedule any appointments on Friday afternoons, remember? You wanted them to be our catchup time so that we didn’t have to spend the weekends here scrambling to do the things needed for the upcoming week. Did you want some coffee? I can put on a fresh pot.”
His frown deepened. “No, thank you. Where were you sitting?”
“In the hard chair like you told me.” I avoided his eyes.
“You know better than to lie to me, don’t you?”
“I suppose.” I shrugged, still not stepping into the room.
“You suppose,” he repeated patiently. “Get in here and lock the door behind you.”
There was something in his voice that bothered and confused me. He preferred to keep a casual environment unless there were other ‘big wigs’ around, and most formalities went straight out the window the day that I started working for him. I sensed that was about to change.
I followed his finger to the chair that was positioned in front of his desk and sat down. Out of habit, I picked up the notepad that I kept on the little side table and opened it as though readying to take his schedule.
He rested his elbows on the desk and leaned his chin on his clasped hands. “Do you know why I called you in?”
“I’m your personal assistant, which means that I’m at your beck and call anytime you need me. Calling me into your office means that we need to discuss next week’s schedule and arrange your travel plans. Either that, or I’m supposed to remember to pick up your uniforms from the cleaners, schedule a massage because you’re overworked, or have a gallon of rocky road ice cream delivered to your house for you to eat while you binge over a weekend of watching chick flicks.”
“Try again, and without the smart-ass comments.”
I put the pad down and looked across the desk at the man. General G was what I called ‘geeky handsome;’ tall, fit, dignified, and confident. He was one of those charismatic individuals who drew the attention of the room with a powerful presence that was impossible to ignore. I adored and admired him as a person and a boss, and until this point, I had primarily received praise from him. I lapped it up like a starving puppy and for reasons that he didn't know.
With a sigh, I shrugged. “I assume you heard about last night. I have an explanation.”
“I’m listening.”
“I
was stressed out and just went for a couple of drinks at the O-club.”
“You’re enlisted. Who brought you in as a guest?”
“This hellhole lacks female officers, and none of the locals are allowed inside the club,” I said, flashing him a cheesy smile. “The boys like seeing a girl now and then and were more than willing to be my escort—especially after I dropped the CG bomb.”
“You pulled MY rank on them?”
The expression on his face wiped away my grin. “Not exactly. I just hinted that you wouldn’t be happy if they refused to let me inside.”
“Where did you get that idea? No, don’t answer me. I don’t know what to do with you, young lady. Your position with me reflects this office. I’ve already told both you and Les that I expect exemplary behavior at all times.”
“Les always goes out drinking! Just because he’s a guy …”
“Lower your voice this instant.” He rose from his chair and braced his hands on his desk so he could lean forward to look at me. Physically, he struck an intimidating pose at over six feet tall with broad, square shoulders and a hard, muscular body.
“Les is 22, never drinks when he knows I need a driver, and never gets out of control. And yes, he’s a man. He can take care of himself while an intoxicated little girl can’t. As you aptly pointed out, the male to female ratio on base is sorely disproportional, and all it takes is one drunken idiot to hurt you.”
“I can take care of myself.” I snapped, crossing my arms and slouching in my chair. “I’m not a child.”
“You are exactly that. Uncross your arms and sit up straight.” He lifted a piece of paper and read it aloud. “Dancing on the table tops. Throwing glasses against the wall. Telling the bartender to fuck himself when he refused to give you another kamikaze. Kamikazes? How many shots did you have?”