Daddy Issues

by Evangeline Anderson

  I’d had a mo­ment to calm down and now I was thor­oughly ashamed of my little break down. Hon­estly, I couldn’t ima­gine what had come over me. Why had I freaked out that way? I’d seen things in Vice that would make a whore blush. Why had the live ac­tion butt plug show been my un­do­ing?

  I couldn’t an­swer any of those ques­tions and I couldn’t ad­mit to Salt that I was really up­set either. I didn’t want him to think of me as weak or crazy or too stu­pidly emo­tional and fe­male to do my job.

  So I lied.

  “I’m per­fectly fine,” I said calmly. “That was all just an act. Pretty good, huh?”

  “An act?” He frowned at me, his eyes dark. “Andi, don’t lie to me. I feel you trem­bling. And there are still tears in your eyes.”

  “There are?” I reached up and brushed at my right eye hes­it­antly. My fin­gers came away wet. “Wow, I’m an even bet­ter act­ress than I thought.” I tried to laugh but it came out sound­ing forced and choked.

  “Andi…” Salt took me by the shoulders and looked at me in­tently. “You need to tell me now if this is too much for you. I feel strongly that we need to be here but we can leave and let the Cap­tain find someone else.”

  Part of me—a big part—wanted to jump at his of­fer of an easy out. We were so close to the front door—only three feet away from it! But then I thought bet­ter of it. I’d like to say I re­membered the girl on the video beg­ging for sex in that shame­ful way be­cause she was hopped up on Please. I have to be hon­est though, what I was really think­ing about was my pro­fes­sional repu­ta­tion.

  Be­ing a wo­man and the smal­lest wo­man at that, in the PD, wasn’t easy. I had gone out of my way to cul­tiv­ate a tough outer de­meanor—a hard shell that said “don’t fuck with me” in no un­cer­tain terms. I didn’t let any­one crack that shell—didn’t let any­one all the way be­hind my shields. Not even Salt.

  So I gave him a smile that only felt a little forced.

  “Salt, really—I’m fine. I just thought that I wasn’t be­ing con­vin­cing enough as a Little in the be­gin­ning there so I ad­ded a little drama to the equa­tion. You can bet that Berkley be­lieves our cover now, right?”

  “I sup­pose so.” Salt still looked troubled but just then a huge gong rang some­where in the back of the build­ing.

  “Din­ner is served,” I heard the but­ler call­ing in a dig­ni­fied voice and then the gonging sound came again.

  “Uh-oh—we’d bet­ter get go­ing,” I told Salt. “We’re go­ing to be late!”

  “True. I sup­pose we should go.” Tak­ing my arm through his again, he led me through the entry­way and to­wards the din­ing room. As we left, I had one last glimpse in the or­nate mir­ror. A girl with bows in her hair and tear tracks run­ning down her cheeks looked back at me.

  I looked away quickly and con­cen­trated on keep­ing up with Salt’s long strides. Everything was go­ing to be fine. It had to be. I would make it be, I prom­ised my­self. I wasn’t go­ing to foul up this case and ruin my repu­ta­tion just be­cause I had got­ten a little freaked out.

  I was still giv­ing my­self a pep-talk when we entered a large din­ing area that looked like some­thing you’d see in a movie about Brit­ish roy­alty. There was only one long table run­ning down the length of the room with a crys­tal chan­delier hanging above it. A fine, white linen table­cloth covered the long sur­face and it was laid with real china and sil­ver and crys­tal gob­lets. There were also ex­pens­ive lace nap­kins that looked like they would be com­pletely use­less for do­ing any­thing but dab­bing del­ic­ately at the corners of your mouth.

  Or­nately carved wooden chairs were placed along the length of the long table and Dir­ector Berkley was sit­ting in the ex­act middle, presid­ing over the en­tire room like some kind of me­di­eval lord. To the right of him sat the red-haired girl, Patty, and her Daddy who we had seen up­stairs in the med­ical suite. All traces of tears were wiped away now and she looked com­pletely happy and con­tent, lean­ing against her Daddy’s arm and whis­per­ing some­thing into his ear.

  To Berkley’s left side was an empty chair and after that, sev­eral more couples on either side of the table. The mon­strous piece of fur­niture looked like it would seat around forty people but I only coun­ted thir­teen at the mo­ment. I wondered who was miss­ing and where we were sup­posed to sit.

  Dir­ector Berkley answered my ques­tion by beck­on­ing us over.

  “Come, come, Mr. Saltanov,” he said to Salt. “Come sit across from me. Is your Baby­girl feel­ing bet­ter?”

  “Much bet­ter, thank you,” Salt said shortly. He pulled out a chair for me but when I sat down in it, I found that I could barely reach the table. In ad­di­tion to be­ing ri­dicu­lously long, it was also ri­dicu­lously tall. It was just right for Salt be­cause he was so tall him­self that nor­mal tables al­ways fell some­where around his lap. But for short little me, it was above my chest. I would have to reach up like a kid at the grow-ups table to get any­thing.

  Salt saw the prob­lem at once.

  “What is wrong with this table? Is there some­place else for my mishka to sit?” he asked, frown­ing at Berkley.

  “Cer­tainly, Mr. Saltanov.” Berkley smiled. “She can sit in your lap. Or, fail­ing that, she can have a booster seat. Which do you prefer? Some of the Dad­dies like to eat in peace while oth­ers find that hav­ing their Baby­girl squirm­ing on their lap all through din­ner builds the ah…an­ti­cip­a­tion of what is to come.”

  “Mishka can have booster chair,” Salt said at once.

  Berkley made a mo­tion to one of the livered ser­vants who were stand­ing around the peri­meter of the room.

  “I see. So you don’t in­tend to play with your Baby­girl after din­ner?”

  “If you mean that in a sexual way then no, I do not in­tend to do that,” Salt growled.

  “A pity.” Berkley sniffed. “I was go­ing to in­vite the two of you to the Dad­dies’ Lounge for brandy and ci­gars and other things after din­ner but if your re­la­tion­ship isn’t sexual, you might not prefer to be there.”

  I bit my lip. Great, we’d just lost a chance to be in a more cas­ual set­ting with every­one at the In­sti­tute. It would have been a great place to get to know the other couples bet­ter and see if any one of them seemed like the types to sell Please. On the other hand, I was grate­ful that Salt was tak­ing a hard line and de­clar­ing our re­la­tion­ship not sexual—at least I thought I was.

  “The Lounge sounds like great fun but we will not be able to go,” Salt said.

  “Tell me,” Berkley said, as a ser­vant brought an over­sized pad­ded foot­stool look­ing thing that fit in my chair for me to sit on. “Is your mishka a com­plete vir­gin? Or have you already claimed her mouth and her pussy and you’re sav­ing her ass for last?”

  I nearly choked on a sip of too-sweet pink punch that filled my gob­let. Salt seemed to feel like the ques­tion was too much as well be­cause his face darkened.

  “This is a very private mat­ter—is not your busi­ness, Dir­ector,” he growled.

  “I beg your par­don, my dear Mr. Saltanov but it is my busi­ness,” Berkley re­turned. “How else am I to know how to com­pose your sched­ule? I take my du­ties as dir­ector and owner of the In­sti­tute very ser­i­ously. I need to know ex­actly where you and your Baby­girl stand, in or­der to avoid any more, ah, prob­lems like the one we had earlier.”

  “I see.” Salt scowled. “Very well, I will tell you this. Is mishka vir­gin? No, but she is vir­gin to me. We have only been to­gether three months and she is still frightened and un­sure of her­self. So I am tak­ing things slowly—very slowly. I do not wish to vi­ol­ate her body or her trust.”

  “Of course. I see.” Berkley nod­ded ser­i­ously. “Well, hope­fully you can take your re­la­tion­ship to the next level while you’re here as you said you wished to earlier when you asked for some­thing to he

lp her, ah…loosen up a little.”

  “Only if mishka is ready,” Salt in­sisted. “She is far from that right now.”

  “Well, we find that many shy and in­ex­per­i­enced Baby­girls dis­cover their sexual nature while they are at the In­sti­tute,” Berkley said. “Why, by the time you’re ready to leave, you may have claimed all three of your little mishka’s vir­gin­it­ies.”

  Salt frowned. “I thought you said you do not of­fer aph­ro­dis­i­acs here.”

  “We don’t.” Berkley smiled at him. “But there’s some­thing in the at­mo­sphere here—in be­ing with like-minded couples who like to play as you do. It’s very stim­u­lat­ing. Or maybe it’s just some­thing in the wa­ter.” He laughed and nod­ded at me. “Drink your punch, little girl. It’s good for you.”

  I forced my­self to take an­other sip of the sickly-sweet pink punch even though I didn’t like it at all and then set the gob­let down. A server ap­peared be­hind me and sud­denly the empty china plate in front of me was whisked away and a full one took its place.

  After all the op­u­lence of the fur­niture and sur­round­ings, I’d been ex­pect­ing gour­met frou-frou food like frog legs or foie gras or some other in­ed­ible del­ic­acy. I was pleas­antly sur­prised to see that the plate in front of me con­tained fairly plain stuff. Rare roast beef, mashed pota­toes and gravy, fresh green beans with tiny pearl onions in them…it ac­tu­ally looked good. And des­pite all the tur­moil I’d just been through, I found I was hungry.

  Salt must have been too be­cause he dug in eagerly. As we ate, I scanned the table, look­ing at the other couples. They all seemed to fit a pat­tern, I saw. The men were all fairly tall—though none was as tall as Salt—and the wo­men were all ex­tra petite, like me. I didn’t be­lieve a single one of them was over 5’3. This made it easy for them to sit in their Dad­dies’ laps, which most of them were do­ing.

  Many of the Dad­dies ap­peared to be ten to twenty years older than their Baby­girls. How­ever there were a few couples where they looked to be about the same age. I did see one couple, though, where the Daddy looked to be around sixty and his Baby­girl was prob­ably only around twenty. I was pretty sure I knew who was pay­ing for that re­la­tion­ship.

  The only thing I didn’t like about din­ner was the weird pink punch which I no­ticed that all the other Baby­girls had in their gob­lets too. The Dad­dies, how­ever, had both wa­ter and a crys­tal gob­let of red wine in front of them. I sipped a little more of my punch and made a face.

  “Hey,” I muttered to Salt. “Can I have some of your wa­ter?”

  “Cer­tainly.” He star­ted to hand it to me but just then a petite blonde girl flounced into the din­ing room, draw­ing all eyes to her.

  It wasn’t like I wanted to look at her but I couldn’t help it. She was wear­ing an out­fit that made the slutty school­girl getup I’d tried on the night be­fore look ab­so­lutely tame.

  Her top was an off-the-shoulder white blouse which hardly de­served the name. It tied in front, barely cov­er­ing her full breasts and clearly show­ing the out­line of her pink nipples press­ing against the thin fab­ric. Then there was a long ex­panse of tanned, toned ab­do­men and a tiny little blue skirt which barely covered her ass. Peek­ing out from un­der the skirt were white lace garters con­nec­ted to white thigh-high hose. High-heeled Mary Jane shoes and a golden neck­lace which said Prin­cess com­pleted the out­fit.

  “Hi Daddy.” She came to sit across from me, in the empty chair at Berkley’s side and dropped a kiss on his cheek.

  Berkley’s face darkened.

  “Prin­cess, what have I told you about be­ing late for din­ner?”

  The blonde girl pouted.

  “Not to be. And I’m sorry, Daddy but I had to let my new nail pol­ish dry. She held out one hand, show­ing off glit­tery pink pol­ish a girl in high school might like. “See? Isn’t it pretty?”

  “It is but I’m still not pleased with you.” Berkley frowned. “If you’re not care­ful, you’re go­ing to earn your­self a pun­ish­ment. Now come and sit on Daddy’s lap and eat your sup­per.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” the girl said de­murely. She scooted over and settled on the Dir­ector’s lap, grind­ing against him in a way that was pos­it­ively in­de­cent as she began to take bird-like bites from his plate.

  “Bring some punch for my prin­cess,” Berkley com­manded one of his ser­vants. At once, a large gob­let of the bright pink stuff was put in front of her. She drank it eagerly, still rub­bing against Berkley’s lap.

  “Mmm, Daddy, I just love sit­ting in your lap for din­ner,” she purred.

  Berkley laughed and put down his fork. Reach­ing around the blonde girl, he cas­u­ally cupped one of her thrust­ing breasts and held it in his hand like a ripe fruit.

  “As you have prob­ably guessed,” he said to Salt. “This is my own Baby­girl, Mandy. She’s my sweet little prin­cess—well, most of the time when she’s not be­ing naughty.”

  “Daddy!” the blonde girl ob­jec­ted. “I’m not naughty! Most of the time, any­way.” She giggled.

  “Yes, you are, prin­cess. That’s why Daddy has to pun­ish you so of­ten,” Berkley mur­mured. He was tra­cing her nipple now, I saw, mak­ing it stick out even fur­ther through the thin fab­ric. Tug­ging at the edge of her white top, he slid it down un­til her na­ked breast was re­vealed. Her nipple was very dark pink and looked achingly tight.

  “Oh, Daddy!” Mandy ex­claimed, look­ing down at her­self without mak­ing any move to cover her breast. “Now just look what you did to my top!”

  “That’s all right, prin­cess, just fin­ish your punch,” Berkley mur­mured. He pinched her ex­posed nipple lightly and she moaned and rubbed against him some more. God, were they go­ing to go for it right here at the din­ner table?

  I tried to ima­gine act­ing that way with Salt and felt a strange flut­ter in my stom­ach. Sud­denly I found I had lost my ap­pet­ite.

  “But I’m be­ing rude,” Berkley said, still fond­ling the blonde girl in his lap. “Prin­cess, this is the new couple I told you about. This is Mr. Saltanov—he’s from Rus­sia. And this is his Baby­girl, mishka.”

  “Hi.” Mandy barely looked at us—she was too busy writh­ing around in Berkley’s lap. Ap­par­ently he thought her in­at­ten­tion was a prob­lem be­cause he re­luct­antly re­leased her breast and pulled her white top back into po­s­i­tion.

  “Now, Mandy, that’s not a very nice way to greet our new guests,” he said to her re­prov­ingly. “I thought maybe you and mishka here could have a play-date to­mor­row.”

  “Huh…” Mandy looked me up and down, ap­par­ently see­ing me for the first time. “I don’t think so, Daddy,” she sneered. “She doesn’t look grown up enough to play with me.”

  I felt sud­denly grubby and way too young in the blue party dress. I wish I had worn my own slutty school­girl out­fit even though I didn’t think I could pos­sibly out-slut Mandy. She ap­peared to be a pro at it.

  “Now, Mandy—that is not nice. Not nice at all! I warned you that you were go­ing to get a pun­ish­ment, didn’t I?”

  “Daddy?” Mandy’s pale green eyes got wide and her bot­tom lip trembled. “Please, Daddy, you’re not go­ing to spank me, are you?”

  “I most cer­tainly am, young lady,” Berkley said, frown­ing. “Now get over my knee and pull up your skirt this in­stant.”

  Mandy moaned and pro­tested but I no­ticed she moved pretty quickly to get into po­s­i­tion over Berkley’s knee. Every­one at the table was watch­ing their little dis­play by now and I had a feel­ing that was just ex­actly the way they wanted it.

  Berkley pushed up her little blue skirt, bar­ing tiny white lace panties that were barely more than a thong. Even though most of her ass was already bare, he made a show of pulling the tiny scrap of lace down past her hips be­fore spank­ing her soundly on both cheeks.

  “Daddy! Daddy, no—please!�� Mandy wailed, wrig­gling like a fish as tears filled her eyes. I no­ticed though, that she never wiggled com­pletely off his lap, which she could eas­ily have done if she tried. I wondered if she was get­ting wet from this, like the red­head, Patty, had earlier from get­ting her new plug put in. Then I de­cided I really didn’t want to know.

  Berkley spanked un­til both of his Baby­girl’s ass cheeks were a glow­ing red. Then he gave her a fi­nal smack and pulled her panties back up.

  “Now,” he said sternly, look­ing into Mandy’s tearstained face. “Have you learned your les­son, prin­cess?”

  “Yes.” Mandy gave a little sob. “I…I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ll have a play-date with the new little girl if you want me to.”

  “Very good, Prin­cess,” Berkley said gravely.

  Mandy’s eyes flashed. “Even if she does look like she got her clothes from the Good Will.” She gave me a wicked sneer and I real­ized she wasn’t really con­trite at all. In fact, it seemed to me she was angling for an­other pun­ish­ment.

  “Mandy!” Berkley roared. “That is un­ac­cept­able. Get down—you’re spend­ing the rest of din­ner un­der the table.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” Without even a protest, Mandy dropped to her knees and slithered out of sight, un­der the long white linen table­cloth.

  “My deep­est apo­lo­gies,” Berkley said, frown­ing. “Mandy is…is…” There was a muffled sound from un­der the table that soun­ded like a zip­per com­ing down and Berkley’s’ eyes crossed for a mo­ment. “Mandy is some­thing of a brat,” he con­tin­ued at last, ob­vi­ously for­cing him­self to talk. “I have to…have to pun­ish her…con­tinu­ously.”

  Salt and I ex­changed a glance. Was Mandy do­ing what we thought she was do­ing? From the way Berkley was grip­ping the table­cloth, it seemed likely. I wanted to take a peek un­der the table to be sure, but then I de­cided again that I really didn’t want to know.

  “Is un­der­stand­able,” Salt said blandly. “Some­times Littles can be…trouble­some.”

  “Trouble­some…yes, that’s it ex­actly. That’s my little Mandy in a…in a nut­shell,” Berkley groaned.

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