The General's Little Angel (Breaking Chains© Book 2)

by C. B. Hunt

  “I can’t believe that you’ve been spying on me!”

  “Believe it, girl. I’ve seen the bruises on your arms. I know that he’s the one who put you in the hospital and made you lose that baby. Look at me, angel. You’re in danger. Get away from him before he really harms you.”

  “He gets a little rough when he messes around. He’s not dangerous, and he’s never done anything intentional. When I’ve gotten hurt, it’s been because I’m a klutz and fall over my own two feet.”

  “You know better than to lie to me.” His eyes darkened, and I felt myself shrink. “What are you going to say when you end up blind after he busts up your face? Or paralyzed after he throws you against something and breaks your back? Or dead when he chokes you? He’s violent. Get away from him before it’s too late. Please!” Worry was etched across his face.

  “I’m a big girl. I can take good care of myself.”

  “Dear Jesus.” His voice softened, and he touched my cheek after closing his eyes for a moment. “You’re not a big girl. You’re a sweet, innocent child who should never have seen or experienced any bit of the crap you’ve lived though. You don’t have to go back to that world that you grew up in. Staying with him will be a repeat of history. Please listen and come with me. Put this stubbornness away and be reasonable. He is going to kill you if he has the chance.”

  “I’ll be fine. You’re a drama queen.” If only he knew how much I wanted to accept his offer! But I couldn’t undo what had already started, nor could I think of a better way to protect him from people like Les. I wished I could explain that I was willing to suffer because I loved him so much, but he would never have accepted it.

  “I don’t want to lose you. You’re too important to me, Baby.”

  I was unable to resist the impulse to climbed onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. Resting my head on his chest, I snuggled against him for the final time. “I don’t want to lose you either, Daddy, but neither of us has a choice. You’ve given so much of yourself to me and have helped me when no one else wanted to. You’ll always be a part of me and will never be far away from my mind.”

  He held me tightly, and his eyes watered. “Just promise me three things.”

  “Anything.”

  “The first is to call if you ever need me. I will be there for you, day or night and will do anything I can to help you. The second is never to let go of that little girl inside of you. That is when you are at your best and your happiest. Never let anyone take that little girl away from you either. Promise me!”

  “I promise. And the third?”

  “I want you to pay it forward. If a time comes that there are people you can help, do it for them and only ask that they give to others in payment for helping them. It’s the only way we can eliminate the selfish people in this world.”

  “I promise, Daddy. I love you. I’m going to miss you so much.”

  “I’m going to miss you even more, my love. You gave me hope again, and I’ll never forget that. Take these and remember me.” He handed me his stars and closed my fingers around them. The sharp edges on the star points and the back tacks cut into my hand, but the pain did nothing to relieve the aching in my heart. With a final hug and kiss, we said our goodbyes.

  I stood in the back of the formation, at attention with the rest of the Marines, as the Changing of Command Ceremony took place. I watched as Ray shook the hand of the new commander, shook the hands of the upper echelon officers and the Sergeant Major, and then waved at the troops as he entered his car to leave for the airport. Tears streamed silently down my face knowing that it would be the last time I would ever see his smile.

  Epilogue

  It took many years to write these memoirs, and I initially did so with two purposes in mind. The first was to respond to the requests of my readers regarding the origins of my life as a submissive. The second was to share my story and pray that it reaches someone out there who needs to know that he/she is not alone. I didn’t realize how much more would come from writing this book until the end.

  I’m ashamed to admit that I never kept the first two promises to Ray. I had become a battered spouse and caught in a home that was as dangerous, if not worse, as the one I had lived as a child. Keeping that little girl inside of me was not an option—survival was. As he predicted, history repeat itself, and I was kept silent by the strength of fear.

  The abuse had elevated to the point that I had been hospitalized on several occasions with minor fractures, concussions, and severe muscle tears that were reported as being ‘sport’ related injuries. None of the doctors or nurses questioned my husband, especially since he brought me into the emergency room and feigned concern. I was only safe for the short time I was in the presence of others. After that, there was no telling what would happen—especially if he was drinking. No one would listen, so I said nothing.

  His violence extended into the sexual realm, and I ended up losing two more babies due to severe uterine infections following forced penetration of various objects. When asked about our sex life, he told the physicians that I self-indulged and had a voracious appetite. I was so embarrassed that I said nothing. He even went to the extent of offering me to his drunken friends for their use, but I locked myself in my bedroom and escaped through the window. I was safe—at least for that night. No one would listen, so I said nothing.

  The man controlled every aspect of my life and lived to destroy my happiness. He publicly demeaned and verbally humiliated me at every opportunity he had, forbade me from interacting with friends and colleagues, pocketed every penny I earned, and even forced me to turn down my acceptance into medical school. Things didn’t change for me after our daughter was born except he doted on her and was careful to hide his abuse from both her and others. That included placing his hand tightly over my mouth to silence me as he raped me in whatever manner he wanted. No one would listen, so I said nothing.

  Holidays were especially difficult. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas he took our daughter up north to visit with his family while I stayed home and worked. Not only was I never invited, but my daughter would come home and tell me how the relatives constantly told her that holidays were always nice as long as the ‘Kike’ wasn’t around, and promised her that I would never be invited to ruin things for her. She knew that my husband’s family, who were German, used it as a derogatory term for my Jewish heritage. My husband also knew about my childhood and the estranged relationship that I had with my family, yet arranged for our daughter to have a month with them out of state. They never hurt her, thank God, but they also filled her mind with hateful things against me. No one would listen, so I said nothing.

  It took a long time before the command finally did something about his drinking and violence, and he was demoted and fined. They never considered how his shame would affect the ones who received the brunt of his anger. Once he was discharged from the service, he decided that he earned the right of sitting around the house drinking beer and watching football with his friends. The more he insulted me, the more fun he had. Not that it mattered. No one would listen, so I said nothing.

  Confrontation is not a strong suit of mine, so I started working night shifts as a pediatric hospice nurse just to avoid being around him and his drunken tirades. On the advice of a concerned friend, I opened up a secret bank account and started putting money aside. Statements were sent to a private PO Box as were written accountings of his behavior. My only relief was that he never indicated an interest in hurting our daughter.

  Despite the elements involved in pediatric hospice, I found my niche in the nursing community. Being available for the little ones and their families gave me a place to offer the fullness of my heart and share the compassion and love that I longed to give. Without realizing it, working with terminally ill children and grieving families provided an opportunity to fulfill Ray’s third request—to pay it forward. I couldn’t do enough to help these people through their pain and the more I gave of myself, the more I wanted to give.
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  Because of my personal situation, I started working as a volunteer for women’s shelters. I never admitted to anyone that I was one of the battered spouses or that I shared their fear of being found and punished for trying to protect themselves from the sickness of their partners. I cried with these poor women, trying to soothe and reassure them as they sobbed and expressed their fears, self-doubts, and guilt. I spoke words of reason and wisdom to their hearts—words that I wish I were able to speak to myself. It was always easier to say than to do.

  Of course, the more I avoided my husband, the more domineering he became, and the abuse escalated to a dangerous level. As much as I needed my daddy, my pride disabled me from bringing myself to call him. To make matters worse for me was that my husband had somehow found out about my BDSM fantasies. (I had no proof, but I suspected that Les had contacted him after he had been demoted and then transferred to Alaska). I was constantly mocked and publicly embarrassed about being a pervert and then he used the information as implied consent to harm me.

  After years of suffering beatings during his drunken rages, sexual assault, and severe mental and emotional abuse, I finally gained the courage to get a divorce. I obtained an attorney from the shelter and attempted to press criminal charges for the sexual violence. During mediation, my attorney and I were both shocked when my husband’s attorney presented the rebuttal that due to my ‘taboo sexual preference,’ forced intercourse and other such ‘abnormal activities’ were considered consensual within our marital relationship.

  My attorney demanded proof from my ex-husband that I had ever approached him regarding the lifestyle or that I practiced it in secret. Of course, there was none. He then presented my medical records which not only indicated my mental competence, but revealed that the cause of my multiple injuries was related to physical abuse.

  That is when it got ugly. My husband's attorney hinted at the possibility that I, not my husband, had psychological problems for desiring to practice such perversions. He then threatened that if we pressed the issue and went to trial, the public exposure of my 'perversions' would not only cost me my license but also expose my ‘sickness’ to my daughter and scare her away from me.

  I couldn't believe this was happening. The fact that this man had beaten me to the point that I required multiple hospitalizations or that he was an alcoholic and couldn’t even hold a job meant nothing when compared to a lifestyle that I wasn't even involved in at the time!

  Flabbergasted, I left for my graveyard shift that night. When I returned the next morning, my house was cleaned out of nearly every piece of furniture, and all my clothes and books had been thrown into the swimming pool. My daughter left a note that she decided to live with her father and his family where she wouldn’t be ‘corrupted.’ She was fourteen at the time and had the legal right to choose which home she wanted, but the letter was obviously dictated through my husband and his family.

  This was another betrayal that brought me to my knees and, for the first time since I had left Ray, I hurt myself. This time, though, it didn’t have the same effect as when Ray used to help ‘me feel,’ so I stopped after the second insertion, crawled into a corner, and sobbed for my daddy and the life that I had before Les had polluted it.

  The following morning, I pulled out the stars and the sapphire he had given me. I could hear his words in my mind urging me to fight for myself. I got on the phone and called the police, filed a report with them and the insurance company, and then went out and bought myself a couch and television. The first movie I watched was Under the Tuscan Sun, and it gave me a fresh new perspective on how to view my new life. I followed the movie’s advice and one-by-one, made each room of the house mine and removed all evidence of my ex. I learned how to lay tile, put up drywall, do woodwork, install electric fixtures, and even knocked out a wall and made a window between the kitchen and living room!

  As for the ex, he ended up being court ordered to quick-claim the house and the title of the car to me. There was a lot of equity in the place, so I got a second on the mortgage to pay off my attorney fees. From that moment, I tried to keep my life as simple as possible as I learned how to be alone for the first time.

  Being apart from my ex-husband and doing all of these things on my own helped to build my shattered confidence. It also gave me the drive to find a way to help those who were hurting and give them a voice. I returned to college for my Master’s degree in Psychology, primarily wanting to understand why strong, intelligent women such as myself stay/or migrate into abusive situations. The research I did also made me address the question as to why anyone with an abusive past, especially one that involved physical harm, would take the step into BDSM. With this, my thesis took a turn as I recalled how safe and strong I felt when under the care of a Daddy Dom. It was a huge risk to present ‘Do I Dare’ to the committee, but it was accepted with open arms and raised enough questions that the subject was added to the college’s curriculum.

  Word got around, and soon I was invited to work with the veteran’s administration to help domestic violence victims involved in alternative lifestyles. I still work there to this day.

  Shortly after I completed my Master’s program and returned to hospice nursing, I met John. Most of you know the story after that—a fairytale love affair of two people from terrible backgrounds coming together to fight against those who seek to harm others. He was everything Ray was and more, and completed what my beloved general had started.

  Happily Ever After

  Happy endings don’t always come disguised in unicorns and rainbows, true love, or the demise of evil. For years, I regretted not keeping my promise to Ray to call him if I needed him. There were so many times that I had wanted to pick up the phone to just hear his voice and remember what it felt like to have a daddy who had loved me unconditionally. I reasoned to myself that my decision not to go to Quantico had allowed me to eventually find John in California. For years, I struggled with the need to contact Ray and always talked myself out of it. I wanted him to meet John, knowing that he would approve of the man I wisely chose to be my life-mate and to tell him that I was sorry for not listening to his advice.

  It broke my heart to discover that Ray had died several years ago. He was only 69. I was so angry with myself and felt robbed of the chance to both thank and tell him the truth of what had happened and why I had broken both of our hearts. I tried praying, but it never gave me the finality I desperately needed. I ever wrote a series, the Generals’ Daughter, based on his character and how wonderful he had been to me. But it still didn’t release me of that inner need.

  It’s strange how things work out when you least expect it. I started writing this book in response to my readers’ requests to share about my first Daddy Dom and my life, and it forced me to recall how happy and complete I had felt when with him. My girlfriend was visiting, so I got on the internet to show her a picture of my handsome general and began to cry when I came upon some information that brought me to my knees.

  Ray had remarried, had two daughters, and several grandchildren. He had also moved to San Diego and had been thirty minutes away from me for almost ten years before he passed away. All that time, he was right here with me, and I never knew. I also found out that he was buried a half an hour from our new house!

  I wanted to write the last words of this book as I sat on Daddy’s lap for the last time. John took me to his gravesite so that I could say goodbye. I wrote this letter and buried it there. When we left, I realized that it was not a goodbye, but a hello. I could come back anytime and talk to him.

  Dear Daddy,

  There are so many things I want to share with you; good and bad, but first, I have to say I’m so very sorry for hurting you when I left. I couldn’t explain my reason at the time because I had to protect you at all costs, even if it meant losing the only person who made me feel safe, protected, and loved. You meant more to me than I did. The night before Les transferred, he betrayed my trust and forced himself on me. He then threatened
that he would report ‘us’ if I told anyone what he had done, even though you and I did nothing wrong. I couldn’t take the risk that anyone would believe the truth about you and me—people always seem to prefer to believe lies if they are more interesting, nor could I risk your future.

  Please forgive me.

  I’m ashamed to say that my distrust in people still exists and that you were right about the presence of those who would go to any extent to harm others in order to gain for themselves. I’ve experienced that time and time again; most recently this year in a way that you would have found appalling. I just wish I had paid better attention to your lessons in dealing with these types—it would have saved me so much heartache and pain. I also wished that you had been there for me to lean on and love me through the pain and betrayal, but you had already left this life by the time I gained the courage to ask for your help.

  You were the only father figure I had ever known, the only person who believed in me, and the only one who saw all the good things that I had to offer. I know my choices disappointed you, starting with my first marriage. Again, I did it to spare you from the rumors and gossip spread by the little minds and jealous peons. You were right about the man I married—I lost two more children the same way that I lost the first, through his abuse. Not having you to hold my hand during the last two deaths like you did on the first made me realize how much of your heart you gave to me. I don’t even want to go into the other things that happened—today I just want to hug you again and tell you that you were right all along about so many things.