“I like it. Do it again.”
“Daddy…” Her voice is deeper this time, and she drags out the moniker for a few extra syllables.
“I guess if your subconscious causes you to call me Daddy, you’re ready for me to dominate you in a way that’s worthy of the name.”
“Yes, Sir. Please?”
“Okay, but there are rules.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Sassy girl.”
She giggles. “Always.”
“We’ll see how sassy you are after I’ve spanked you for the first time. Your only experiences are from watching other people get spanked or reading about it. You have no idea if you’ll even like it or not.”
“Natasha didn’t think she would, and she does.”
“You are not Natasha. You are not any other Little girl. You’re you. Do not ever compare yourself to anyone else. You and I will have our own dynamic, and it doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s.”
“Okay.” She’s at least slightly subdued. That’s rare.
“First, we’re going to spend some time talking about what you want from a Daddy and setting some ground rules.”
Her shoulders fall. “Okay…”
I chuckle. “Did you think as soon as Quinten walked out the door, I would haul you over my knees, spank you senseless, and then fuck you over the arm of the couch?”
She shrugs. “It’s not a bad idea.”
I roll my eyes. “Not going to happen.”
“Can you at least give me a possible timeline here?”
I narrow my gaze at her. “Listen, naughty girl, how about you let me be the Dominant and you try being the submissive? Think you can handle that?”
She shrugs again. “Maybe… I mean, I’ve been submitting to you for a week, haven’t I?”
“Oh, my dear, sweet Little girl. I have not begun to dominate you like I want to. Not even close.”
“Thank God. I was hoping you would eventually up the ante.”
I give her hair another tug. “Who’s in charge here?”
“You are, Daddy.”
I grab her shoulders and turn her around. “Kitchen. Now.”
She giggles adorably as she skips off in that direction. She’s lighter than she’s been since I picked her up from the hospital. I’m relieved. Apparently, this visit with Quinten was a good idea.
“Sit.” I point toward the table before heading to grab some paper and colored pencils from the kitchen drawer that’s filled with coloring books and other art supplies.
I’ve been collecting Little paraphernalia for years, but I’ve received deliveries every day for the past few weeks, too. Most of it, Simone knows nothing about. She will soon enough.
I set the paper in front of her and hand her the box of pencils. “Pick a color.”
She opens it and carefully taps her lips before choosing orange. Interesting choice.
