Daddy Issues Read online

  I took a deep breath. I needed to re­mem­ber why I was here and it wasn’t to get into a hair-pulling, name call­ing, cat-fight with this little blonde bitch.

  “You’re right,” I said, look­ing down at my new san­dals. “I…I do have is­sues. But one of the reas­ons my Daddy, uh, Papa brought me here was be­cause we heard they have medi­cine to help girls like me. Littles who have a hard time let­ting…let­ting their Bigs do what they want to do to them.”

  “God, you can’t even say it, can you? You can’t let your Daddy fuck you.” Mandy gave me a mean glance. “You’re pathetic.”

  I was hold­ing on to my tem­per with both hands.

  “Okay, maybe I am,” I said. “But is it true? About the medi­cine?”

  “Maybe.” She gave me a mys­ter­i­ous smile. “You cer­tainly need some­thing, I can tell that.”

  “But who can give it to me?” I pressed. “Should I make an ap­point­ment to go see the Nurse?”

  “Nurse Nancy?” She laughed in­cred­u­lously. “That old bat is only here to make sure some clue­less Daddy doesn’t try to fit a King Kong-sized plug in a Baby­girl with a Tinker­bell-sized hole. She’s use­less.”

  “Well then who—”

  “I’m tired of talk­ing to you.” Mandy turned poin­tedly and went back to ad­mir­ing her re­flec­tion in the oval mir­ror. “Come see me again when you’re not such a bor­ing goody-two-shoes.”

  I tried speak­ing to her two or three more times but she poin­tedly ig­nored me. At last, I had no choice but to go back to Salt, who was just fin­ish­ing a con­ver­sa­tion with Patty’s Daddy. They were shak­ing hands when I got there and then the other man stood and began call­ing for his Little.

  “Patty? Patty, come on now, it’s time to go.”

  Patty looked up from the clay an­imal she’d been build­ing in the art corner.

  “But Daddy, I don’t want to go yet. I’m hav­ing fun.”

  “Patty…” His voice got stern. “Come on now, we don’t have time for this non­sense.”

  “But I don’t want to go.” She stood up and stomped her foot, a child­ish pout on her pretty face.

  “Patty, do I have to spank you? Is that the only way you’ll learn your les­son?”

  “I’m not scared of you!” she yelled at him. Tak­ing the lump of wet clay she’d been work­ing with, she threw it at him. It landed with a splat on his con­ser­vat­ive blue suit, mak­ing a big gray, smeary stain.

  Her Daddy’s face darkened. “That’s it, young lady! You de­serve a spank­ing and you’re get­ting one right now.”

  He grabbed her by the arm, sat down in one of the wooden chairs, and dragged her over his lap.

  “No, Daddy! No, no, no!” Patty wailed. She kicked and struggled but he se­cured her firmly with one arm around her waist and raised the little pleated skirt she had on to bare her in­no­cent blue cot­ton panties.

  Every eye in the play­room was on them now, in­clud­ing mine and Salt’s, and I had an idea that was ex­actly how Patty wanted it. She con­tin­ued to cry and thrash as loudly as pos­sible as her Daddy pulled down her panties and began spank­ing her with a small, black leather paddle he’d ap­par­ently had in his pocket the whole time.

  “Quite a show,” Salt re­marked in a low voice as we watched Patty’s ass get red­der and red­der. She was still wear­ing the pink, rhinestone-stud­ded plug which stuck out from between her plump cheeks prom­in­ently.

  “Prob­ably one they re­peat a lot,” I re­marked. “Why else would he carry a paddle with him every­where he goes?”

  “Do you think she is in real pain…or en­joy­ing it as she did last night?” he mur­mured softly.

  “I…I don’t know.” I glanced up at him un­cer­tainly and saw that he was look­ing at me again, the same way he had been the night be­fore when Patty was moan­ing and com­ing as her Daddy put her new plug in. What was he think­ing?

  I knew what I was think­ing—I was won­der­ing what it would be like to be in that po­s­i­tion. To be help­less over someone’s knee tak­ing a spank­ing I knew I de­served…Then I pushed the idea away. It was just too weird.

  At last the scene between Patty and her stern Daddy seemed to be wind­ing down.

  “Have you learned your les­son, kit­ten?” he was croon­ing, rub­bing her glow­ing red ass cheeks gently.

  “Y-yes, Daddy,” Patty was sob­bing, her red hair hanging in her face. “I’m sorry I was bad.”

  “It’s all right, kit­ten—I for­give you,” he said sooth­ingly. “Now come up to the room so Daddy can put some spe­cial cool­ing gel on your poor little bot­tom.”

  “Ooo, Daddy…” She fluttered her wet eye­lashes at him flir­ta­tiously. “And will you spread some on my other parts too and will you rub it in really good? “ She sat up and ran one fin­ger­nail down his tie. “You know how much I love it when you pet my little kitty, Daddy.”

  He frowned sternly. “I don’t know, kit­ten. You’ve been a very naughty girl—I don’t know if you de­serve to have your kitty pet­ted.”

  “But please?” she begged shame­lessly. “You know how fast I can come after you spank me. Please, Daddy?”

  “Well…we’ll see,” he said, smil­ing in­dul­gently as though she was ask­ing for an ice cream cone in­stead of his fin­gers between her legs. “For now, just come up to the room and we can de­cide there.”

  “Well,” I muttered as they fi­nally left. “I guess that an­swers our ques­tion about whether she was get­ting any pleas­ure from be­ing spanked or not.”

  “What kind of pleas­ure, do you think?” Salt asked thought­fully as we left the play­room and headed back to our suite to get ready for din­ner. “The pleas­ure of a mas­ochist, do you think? She wants to be hurt sexu­ally?”

  “That might be part of it,” I said doubt­fully. “But it could also be the pleas­ure of sub­mis­sion—the idea that he can do any­thing he wants and she can’t stop him.”

  “The pleas­ure of sub­mis­sion, eh? I have never heard you speak of such a thing be­fore.” Salt was look­ing at me spec­u­lat­ively again. I made my­self look away.

  “Well, did you learn any­thing from the other Dad­dies?” I asked, des­per­ate to change the sub­ject.

  Salt used the old fash­ioned key that opened the door to our suite and ushered me in­side.

  “A lot and then again, not nearly enough,” he said, frown­ing. “What about you? Was talk with Berkley’s brat pro­duct­ive?”

  I sighed and went to sit on the couch. There was no fire in the grate but I could see the maid must have been in be­cause there were fresh logs laid all ready to go.

  “She seems to know some­thing but she won’t tell me,” I said, reach­ing down to un­buckle my new san­dals. They were more com­fort­able than the aw­ful pat­ent leather shoes I’d worn the night be­fore but the straps still rubbed me. I couldn’t wait to get them off.

  “Why not?” Salt asked, sit­ting down be­side me. “Here, al­low me.”

  He brushed my hands away and pulled my feet into his lap. This time I didn’t even try to fight it. His hands seemed like they would be too big to handle the little shoes but he man­aged the dainty straps with ease and then began rub­bing one of my feet.

  “Ahhh…” I melted back against the arm of the couch with a happy groan. “God, Salt, if I’d known you were so good at this I would have been beg­ging for foot mas­sages every spare minute of our en­tire part­ner­ship.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” he said quietly. “Be­fore we came here, to this place, you would not have been com­fort­able to let me touch you so…in­tim­ately. You were un­com­fort­able with mas­sage last night at first. Only now you be­gin to get used to it.”

  “I…guess so.” I shif­ted un­com­fort­ably on the couch. “But I mean, it’s just a foot mas­sage. How in­tim­ate can that be?”

  “Feet are very del­ic­ate…can be very sens­it­ive.” He tra