by Lena Little
The question is, will I be able to resist him?
6
Daniel
I hear a light rapping of knuckles on wood and shoot out of my seat like a cannon, racing to the door. I was showered and ready for the at six this morning and have just been doing light exercise, to avoid sweating, interspersed with pacing my apartment.
Until now.
“Hey, Little Peaches,” I say, pulling the door open wide to get a good look at my woman.
She buries her hands in her front and angles her knees to the side, a Shirley Temple like move if I’ve ever seen one. And it’s the first time I’ve seen a young woman sporting pigtails in…forever.
Her short pink skirt shows off her athletic legs, and her white T-shirt with sparkles and a galloping pony on it say it all.
“Hi there,” she says, her tone playful and absolutely completing this little girl that I see in front of me. My heart does a backflip and I feel my pulse in my neck.
“You look adorable,” I say, using the word ‘adorable’ for the first time in my life. Ever. It’s not even a word that would even cross my mind, yet it flows out so naturally, like water down a stream.
“Thank you.” She pauses. “Where are we going?”
“That’s none of your business,” I say completely serious, but with a playful look in my eye.
“Oh,” she says, her eyebrows shooting up.
“When you’re with me there’s no need to think. I’ve got everything covered, always.” I pause. “Not to mention thinking isn’t something that little girls should be worried about.”
“We’re walking though, right?” she asks, a bit of fear in her eye and this new vibe that’s shooting through me stutters, and I’m flashed back into reality. “I’m afraid of driving.”
And just like that…it’s back.
It was like she was snapping out of this different version of herself and back into the hardened girl I’ve been trying to make progress with.
“No driving. Only walking, but I’ll take the side closest to the street to keep you safe…”
“Diana,” she says, the sound of her name light and musical, and her eyes dance in merriment as she finally reveals her identity. “And you?”
“Da…niel,” I say, my name getting stuck on the tip of my tongue for reasons I can’t explain. It’s like there was another word that wanted to come out, one I’ve never spoken to another person before, but it was right there yet for some reason I couldn’t quite say it.
“Is it far?”
“Don’t worry, little one. I’ll make sure everything is okay.”
“But my shoes?” she says, her lower lip rolling upward and out as I look down in time to see her toes also pointing up toward the sky in some open toed shoes, her toenails carefully painted with hearts and unicorns. How is that even possible on such a small area?
“Do you have tennis shoes?”
She nods, a big smile covering her face. “Let me change real quick.”
She darts back over into her apartment and I can’t resist the urge to follow her, to get a glimpse inside her world, her private space, her life.
As she’s turned away, pulling socks out of a duffel bag, my eyes scan her room quickly, trying to avoid getting caught.
I can’t help but lock onto the fact that the room is barren, she’s sleeping on a futon and my fists clench. She doesn’t deserve this, not to ever spend another night like this in her life, and I’m going to fix this. Today.
But my eyes narrow as I notice something sitting on the futon now…a row of stuffed animals, all lined up almost like they’re playing with one another.
“Ready,” she says, taking a big step toward me and sticking the landing with two feet, like Mary Lou Retton at the 1984 Olympics.
“We’re off,” I say, imagining what she’d look like when that tight little top of hers comes off, her pert nipples sharp as class cutters making me wonder how they haven’t cut through the fabric yet.
And she’s not the only one.
I’ve never been this hard in my entire life. Ever.
Sure, I’m a warm-blooded male, but I’ve never had time for dating, which is one thing, but this is something more than that. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s something about what she does to me, the way she makes me feel.
It’s slightly confusing yet entirely illuminating at the same moment, as if I’ve been living in the dark my entire life up until her.
We walk and talk on the way to the coffee shop and in what seems like one minute flat, but in reality has to be at least twenty, we arrive.
We grab a corner table, as I insist on privacy. In one move she hops onto her seat, swings her feet forward hard and the chair slides up to the table where she bellies up.
I pull my head back in disbelief, and then look around the side of the table realizing that her feet don’t even touch the floor. That’s how she got so much leverage to slide the chair like that…while she was in it.
“Can I get you two anything?” the waitress asks, coming around very quickly.
“I’ll take—“
I raise a finger, stopping her. “She’ll have one chocolate fudge muffin with vanilla icing and rainbow sprinkles,” I say, and then pause realizing there’s nothing in this place for me.
“And you, dad?” the waitress asks.
She’s a young woman and she means well, so I don’t take offense to her thinking this is my daughter. She is a little girl after all and I’m like a giant seated next to her. If she stood I’d still be taller sitting down. Not to mention the waitress isn’t challenging me, so I let it slide.
“I’ll have a glass of water.”
“Coming right up,” she says.
“Oh, and a freshly squeezed orange juice, for my little girl,” I say, but I don’t mean it in the way the waitress thinks…it just slipped out and makes sense to me.
And I think to Diana too.
Diana giggles and then attempts to rub it in with, “She thinks you’re my dad.”
Little does she know she’s pouring gas on the fire.
“Should I call you dad too?” she laughs, slapping her hands together as she laughs at her own joke.
I lean back in my seat, my eyes narrowing as a smirk tugs at one corner of my mouth. “No sweetheart. I much prefer…Daddy.”
Her entire body freezes and an audible swallow can be heard as far as two tables over, before she starts coughing.
I grab a napkin and hand it to her and she quickly gets her coughing under control. And it’s not the kind of humorous coughing where someone is caught off guard. It’s the kind of realization coughing where someone is stopped in their tracks, their entire paradigm shifting in real time.
Nothing else is said as my eyes focus on hers, but they quickly find the floor. I reach across the table, taking her tiny chin in my hand and lift it up. “You should look me in the eye when we’re together having a conversation. Do you understand?”
She nods into my index finger and thumb.
“I need to hear you say it.”
“I understand.”
“The correct answer is…I understand, Daddy.”
“I understand…Daddy.”
My whole world flips and I have to drag myself away quickly from her and tuck my hands under the table, rock-crushing fists forming as my eyes close and I inhale deep, as if I can catch that single word, that title, still floating in the air and absorb it through all of my senses. Always.
I want to take that word and bottle it up like a lightning bug in a Mason jar on a sweltering Fourth of July night. That’s exactly what it is, what she is to me, lighting in a bottle.
“Here ya go,” the waitress says, sitting our things down. “Enjoy,” she adds before making herself disappear.
Diana looks at me as she takes a proper sized fork, the size you’d use for a meal and uses it to cut off a bite of her muffin, hot white fudge pouring out and I can’t help but picture another white, hot, sticky explosion
that would occur if a certain part of me was touched right now.
She leans to one side and then the other, her legs crossing so that she’s so small you could practically put her entire body in a FedEx overnight box. How in the world can she do that?
Taking the sticky sweetness in her mouth, she manages to get some on her cheek, and a little bit hangs around on her lip.
I reach across the table with my thumb, wiping it clean after she finishes chewing and then just leave the rough tip of my thumb there on her lower lip, knowing she wants the same thing I do, until…she leans forward and sucks the goo off my finger.
My balls pull up tight and my dick jerks in my pants, but thankfully I don’t spill. I can only imagine how much precome has leaked from the tip of my rod at this point and the only thing on my mind is not making a mess here, in public, embarrassing me and my little one.
As I pull my hand back across the table she reaches for the fork, dropping it into her lap which elicits a shrug.
“Miss,” I call, motioning for our waitress to come with four finger of one hand. “We need a dessert fork.”
“Sure,” she replies and rushes off to grab one as Diana squeezes her orange juice mug with the heels of her hands and brings the cup to her mouth. Obviously the waitress, or barista, thought the drink was for me.
The fork arrives and I take it from the waitress, cutting off a bite and carefully bringing it to Diana’s mouth, keeping my other hand cupped underneath the fork.
My little princess takes it into her mouth, slowly pulling her head back and my chest swells with pride as she closes her eyes as she chews, obviously overjoyed by my selection.
“Aren’t you afraid of spoiling me?” she inquires, her head cocked to the side.
“Not when you’re a good little girl, and not to mention I’m sure I’m quite capable of handling a spoiled little girl.”
She takes my comment in stride, as if it’s the most natural answer ever, and for us, it is.
If you would have given me one hundred to one odds that I’d be in this position with her now, saying these things, I wouldn’t have made the bet. Bet a dollar to win a hundred? I’m not a gambling man, but I would have called you crazy.
And now the crazy one is me, because I’m head over heels for this little spunky angel.
Once I’m about three quarters of the way through feeding her she stops, pulling her head back from a bite I’m holding.
“You need to eat all your dessert,” my voice is firm but fair.
“I’ve got a tummy ache. The chocolate is too rich.”
“We don’t throw food away, Little Peaches. We eat every bite. Many are not as fortunate as we are today.”
Her face squishes up and she pouts like a kid, but I stand my ground, holding the fork out in my extended arms.
“You have three seconds to take this in your mouth and start chewing or daddy’s going to punish you. One…,” I begin, not wasting any time, not letting her get the upper hand. “Two.”
She lurches forward and takes the bite and chews immediately.
“You’re a very good girl and I’m proud of you.” I pause, clear my throat and lean in a bit closer. “You will always do what Daddy asks of you. Do you understand?”
Her eyes glaze for just a nanosecond as I register a flicker of confusion in her eyes, and she nods.
“Remember, we answer with words not with our body.”
“Yes…Daddy.”
“Very good. You should know there will be other things Daddy will require from you, but we will discover those things when the time calls for it. Just know that anything I demand of you is always in your best interests. Understand that I will always take care of you, and make sure your pleasure comes first. You are my angel and your happiness means everything to me. Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she replies without hesitation.
Knowing we’re on the same wavelength only reaffirms what I already knew. She was meant for me. Me and only me.
I’m consumed by thoughts of her, the need to care for her every need on this planet. To give her anything and everything she could ever want. No one has ever made me feel this way and the craziest part is she did it so quickly.
I finish feeding her her muffin, expecting she’s going to have a pretty severe stomach ache later and will need a nap. She might even get ornery.
I motion for her to finish her juice and she does, although it takes her three times tipping it back to polish it off.
“Thank you for this, Daniel. I feel like I can finally be myself,” she confesses.
“I feel like I can finally be the person I was meant to be too, little one. Thanks to you.”
I motion for the check.
“Oh…and don’t forget, you can call me Daddy.”
7
Diana
We arrive back at our building at sunset. What was scheduled to be a coffee ‘date’ turned into an all day affair. After coffee we walked around nicer parts of the city and even found a park, where Daniel pushed me on a swing.
The wind in my hair as I felt so carefree, swinging up so high that he could give me an ‘Underdog’, where he pushed through and continued moving forward underneath me until he was in front of me. It was everything I didn’t get to experience in my childhood and all the fun I wanted as an adult.
And the crazy thing is I knew it was going to be like that today. Something happened last night after he left me to go inside my apartment. I changed into the person I always knew I was, but wasn’t ready to come out of my cocoon and spread my wings yet.
He allowed that. He facilitated that. Not only that, he played a figurative trumpet behind me, letting me be the star of my own special day.
One thing, though, stuck in my mind. He kept calling me ‘good girl’, amongst other things. There was only one incident where I was naughty and that was at the coffee shop, and I wasn’t really that naughty at all, correcting my behavior before he really got close to dishing out any sort of punishment.
And punishment, and what it might be, was what interested me most as this day was winding down. Seeing that it wasn’t a day I wanted to end anytime soon I figured it was time to kill two birds with one stone.
I take off up the stairs of our apartment building in a rush. “Slow down, young lady. You might hurt yourself.”
I hear him, but I don’t listen.
“Slow. Down!” his deep baritone echoes through the stairway, commanding me to freeze in my tracks, but I don’t. Instead I just continue right up to my apartment, open it and dash inside…leaving the door open.
My heart pounds in my chest as the sound of each footstep of this gigantic man coming up the stairs echoes from the hallway and into my room.
He starts whistling, calmly and totally as if nothing’s wrong. But when he reaches what should be his front door he doesn’t stop, continuing to my door.
His shoulder fill the entire door frame, his hands on his hips and his stance wide, the look he gives me fills my entire stomach, with both dread and butterflies at the same time.
“I told you to go slowly up the stairs…and you didn’t,” he recounts, his eyes narrowing a little more with each word. “Now you’re going to find out what happens when you jeopardize what’s mine.”
Oh snap!
I cower back on the futon, pulling Bugsy and Benny in front of me, holding the stuffed rabbits in front of me as if stuffed polyester is some sort of shield against well over two hundred pounds of sheer muscle, two hundred and fifty pounds if I was venturing a guess.
“Come here,” he says, pointing to the threshold of the door at the tips of his feet.
I shake my head no, frowning and sticking out my lower lip.
“Little Peaches, did your father ever spank you as a child?”
Oh. My. God. He really just went there.
“I never knew my daddy.”
“You mean you never knew your father.” I cock an eyebrow curiously at his semantics. “See a father is someone w
ho carpools to work, sits at a desk all day until his muscles atrophy beyond the point of repair. Then he marches his miserable ass to the chiropractor twice a week and complains to your mother how much it hurts to sit through your school plays.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, what you’re about to learn is what a daddy is. See a daddy is none of those things. A daddy keeps you in line, and when you get out of line he spanks you, pulls your hair, and fucks you so hard the legs of the bed break. Then he takes you out for ice cream and buys you a new stuffie.” He pauses. “Big difference, and I haven’t even mentioned the most important difference.”
“What’s that, Daddy?”
“That you enjoy every…single…second of it. And so does Daddy.”
I swallow hard and he snaps his fingers, pointing to the floor again as if the threshold of my door is an invisible force field that he’s not permitted to cross. I actually appreciate that he doesn’t just come in my apartment uninvited, even though he seems to be saying, and doing, whatever else he wants right now.
My apartment is almost functioning as a safe world, a safe place, but the problem is despite a dangerous past I’m drawn to it. Freud or Jung or whoever would probably have a field day with me, or maybe even more likely Friedrich Nietzsche who once said, “The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.”
Mr. Nietzsche may have been a bit off about men wanting danger and play…because women want it too.
“You can’t make me come.”
“That’s right, little one,” he says not missing a beat. “But the thing is you want to come. Curiosity killed the cat, and that won’t happen here, but I can promise you the little kitten in front of me wants to test the theory about having nine lives. And I can promise you Daddy will make you feel more alive than you ever have.”
