Daddy's Girl: A Daddy Issues Novel by Rebel Wild (books to read for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

“Yes, sir.”

“You never had a problem eating before. My office always smelled of your veggie food.”

“Things are different now, you realize.”

“That may be true, but you need to eat more than half of a burger.”

Great, I hope he doesn’t have a thing with food.

“I want you to have a snack before you go to bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

He has a thing.

“You guys need anything else?” Bree asks, coming back to check on us.

“No,” he tells her. “We can take it from here.”

“Good night,” she tells him before turning to me. “Sydney.”

I want to say good night to her, but I dare not speak out of turn.

“You’re much better at this than you were this morning,” he says. I can tell he’s pleased. “You were always a fast learner. I like that. I like that a lot.”

He says the last part in a tone that makes me squirm in my seat, wondering about its true meaning. We eat in deafening silence. I’m done with my meal long before he is, so I sit with my head down as he finishes. I’m guessing the loud sound of his fork being placed on his plate means he’s done.

“Clear,” he says to me of the table and I quickly get up to obey.

I pass Joe on the way to the kitchen. He seems in a hurry so I don’t say anything to him. I’m probably not supposed to anyway.

“Bro, I need twenty bucks,” I hear him ask Mr. Garrett.

“For?”

“Condoms. I used the last one this morning and—”

“My wallet’s in my office.”

I hear Mr. Garrett tell him. I want to laugh at the hint of disgust I hear in his voice. Mr. BDSM can’t stand the thought of his brother fucking.

“Thanks.”

“And keep it down. I don’t want to hear Bree’s cat crying all through the damn house.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all have sex rooms.”

Joe rushes by the kitchen door and a second later, Mr. Garrett comes in while I’m loading the dishwasher.

“It’s time I show you the playroom,” he informs me.

“Ye… Yes, sir.”

Already? Of course, already. Like he’s going to actually wait for you to get used to things. He wants to drain every drop of his money out of you.

I tentatively take his offered hand as he leads me up the stairs and down the hall. He takes the key out of his pants pocket, unlocks the door, and steps aside so that I may enter. If I thought I could make it, and if I knew the code, I would make a run for the front door. I jump about a foot straight up in the air when I hear the sound of the heavy door closing behind me. The light scent of orange furniture polish and leather now invades my senses as I look about the room, fearful of what’s to come.

Everything is blood red, from the walls to the sheets on the bed, to the red-stained cherry wood floors. The only things of varying colors are the whips and canes that are mounted on the wall. The paddles hanging next to them are all various lengths and widths, but are all the same hideous shit brown. Every corner of the room is occupied by some medieval-looking contraption he’ll use to keep me tied down while he delivers the most painful of punishments. Even the large bed has crude straps coming from it. I jump again when he speaks.

“This is where we’ll be spending the majority of our time together,” he says. “It’s important that you get familiar with things so I won’t have to stop and explain it to you in a scene. If you have questions, ask them now.” My heart begins to beat too fast and my head is light. Nice and slow. I remind myself to breathe. “When you enter this room, I expect you to be kneeling, completely still in the corner, do you understand?” he asks me, but I’m unable to articulate an answer. “Miss Warren, what’s got your tongue?”

“Nothing.” My breathing is increasing no matter how much I try to slow it down. “I mean, yes, sir.”

“Have you ever been paddled?” He asks when he sees me glaring at them.

“No, sir.”

I’m on the verge of tears. No one has ever hit me before. Once Mom said she hit my hand when I was a baby trying to reach for a pot on the stove, but I don’t even remember that.

“Look at me,” he yells and my eyes shoot to him. “I will only ask you this once. What’s the matter?”

“I… I just would feel better if I had a list of limits,” I tell him, frantically looking around.

He sighs dramatically.

“Miss Warren, I’m well aware of your virginal…” He circles his hand in the space between us, trying to find the right word. “Situation,” he says. “I’m also aware that everything here would be your limit, so there’s no need for you to waste time listing them.”

“You… you’re not going to torture me?”

“I don’t derive my pleasure from torturing women. Unless they enjoy that type of thing.” He smiles a little and I see a glimpse of the man I used to know, but it disappears. “I like to dominate women. Big difference.”

“So, does that mean you won’t punish me with all this stuff?”

“Oh, I’ll punish you,” he says, looking me up and down, licking his lips. “But I would much rather make you come than make you cry. For that to happen, our arrangement has to have a level of trust. I will earn yours and my reward for doing so will be your submission.”

“But you already have my submission. I signed the contract and all that.”

“True submission has little to do with contracts, but that’s a conversation for another day. It’s late. Retire to your room. We’ll start fresh when I come home tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” I breathe easier, thankful for the reprieve.

“Miss Warren,” he calls and I quickly turn to face him. “I’m pleased with your