Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Elijah gave me his business card before we parted ways. It’s still in the bottom of my bag, but I don’t need it. I’ve memorized every detail, partly because he told me to. He insisted that if I ever needed anything for any reason, I should call him. If he wasn’t close enough to help me, he would find someone else who could.
I memorized the feel of his card and the font of the script. I memorized the number and the spelling of his name. That last part is silly because his name is not difficult.
I’m trembling all over again at the thought of seeing him as I head for the locker room. I don’t cross his path as I shuffle that direction, but I’m glad. I’d rather change into my Little clothes before I see him.
Yes, I can and do adult. I’m an English teacher for heaven’s sake. I adult most of the time. But I’m the most comfortable when I’m here at the club in my Little headspace, playing with the other Littles in the play room.
When I get to my locker, I quickly change into the soft cotton dress I brought. It’s white with little red bunnies on it. Silly material, but I love bunnies, and red is my favorite color. When I saw it, I had to have it.
I put on my red flats and arrange my hair in long pigtails. Finally I step out of the locker room, promising myself I won’t look for Elijah. I’ll head straight for the play room. It would be foolish for me to get all excited about seeing a man I’ve been lusting after. It would probably only make things worse if I saw him.
But the moment I step into the hallway next to the play room, there he is. Larger than life. His back is to me, but I would recognize him anywhere. Is he bigger, broader, taller than when I saw him two weeks ago?
Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.
I slow my steps, but he must have sensed me because he turns around. Immediately he smiles. “Hey there. I was hoping I would get to see you.” He closes the distance between us in two strides before cupping my face and tipping my head back.
His smile turns into a frown, and his brow furrows. “Are you okay, Baby girl? You look tired. Are you not feeling well?”
I shake my head slightly in his palm. “I’m fine.” My voice is soft and doesn’t sound convincing even to my ears.
He narrows his eyes farther. He also tips my head back farther and leans closer. “You have bags under your eyes, Petra. You’re not sleeping.”
I swallow, not responding to his statement. He’s right, and I don’t want to lie to him. After all, he’s a Daddy. I don’t usually lie to anyone, but especially not Daddies. They have a tendency to spank naughty Little girls who lie.
I’m not like other Littles I’ve met. I don’t like to get into trouble. I’m not mischievous. I don’t spend my days plotting ways I can misbehave in an effort to intentionally get spanked. Apparently that’s a common thing in this lifestyle, so I’m an outlier.
“Come,” he encourages. “Sit with me. Let’s talk.” He takes my hand, waiting for me to give him permission.
When I nod, he turns me away from the play room I’ve been coveting and into a quiet recovery room. It’s the same room he took me to after I was attacked. He heads for the same chair, sits, and lifts me into his lap.
I feel decidedly Little as soon as he starts rocking me. I’ve never had a Daddy, so it’s a weird experience for me. Suddenly, emotions overwhelm me, and I start crying. Tears run down my cheeks unbidden. I can’t stop them.
I jerk my face down, but they still fall.
“Oh, sweet Little girl.” He rolls me against his chest and holds me tighter, rubbing my back and rocking me. “Let it all out, Baby girl.”
It’s like a dam opens up, probably because I’m exhausted. I can’t seem to stop, no matter how hard I will myself to shut off the waterworks.
Elijah is so patient. He simply rocks me and rubs my back while I cry. When I finally slow to a sniffle, he leans toward the table next to us and snags several tissues. He uses them to wipe my face and my nose.
“Better?” he asks, though his expression is one of concern.
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was all about.”
He narrows his gaze yet again and holds my chin with his fingers. His face is inches from mine. “I think you’re fibbing.”
I gasp. More tears fall unbidden. My bottom lip trembles.
“Sweet Little one, I’m not mad at you. I’m just worried about you. You’re not sleeping. I can tell by looking at your eyes. Or have you been sick?”