Page 18 of Daddy Devious

There’s no other word for the sight that greets me. Along the far wall is a crib, with one of those sheer princess canopies that hangs from the ceiling shrouding it. Just to the right of the crib is a strange sort of table with what looks to be a small mattress ontop. Both pieces of furniture are far too large for a baby or even a toddler

But they are perfectly sized for me.

As is the giant rocking horse, and the dollhouse that looks like a perfect replica of the house we’re standing in right now.

“What the fuck?”

The question slips out before I even think to stop it, and needles sting my skin as Mr. Stone swats my exposed thigh. Just once, but for some reason it’s enough to bring tears to my eyes. Something about being popped on the leg like that makes me feel impossibly small, even more like a child than either of the spankings I’ve received.

“My patience is running thin, Victoria. I hope a change of clothes and some food in your belly will help improve your mood, otherwise you are going to get a demonstration on exactly how creative your Daddy can be when it comes to punishing naughty Little girls.”

I resist the urge to point out that what would improve my mood is, you know,not being treated like a literal baby.“Sorry, Daddy.”

His expression softens, and I can almost delude myself into thinking there’s affection in his eyes when he smiles at me. “There’s my sweet little one. Would you like to pick out your pajamas or should Daddy do it for you?”

As much as I would love to reassert my independence, even a little bit, this is all just so…much.The thought of having to make a decision right now, even one as simple and unimportant as sleepwear, threatens to overwhelm me. “Daddy,” I whisper, immediately burying my face in his neck, as if I can somehow hide from my shame.

“Of course, little one. Let’s see…” He carries me over to another door, which turns out to be a walk-in closet the size of my apartment back in New York. I lift my head just enough toscan the rows of clothing. Big, frilly dresses line the wall, and it surprises me that the first emotion I feel is a deep longing.

The dresses are gorgeous. Each one is a different pastel shade, every color of the rainbow and then some, with layers and layers of tulle or crinoline or something to give them volume.

I reach out for the one that calls me the most. The soft green is covered in tiny pink roses, turning the entire dress into a garden of sorts. “It’s so pretty,” I say with a sigh.

“Would you like to wear that one tomorrow?”

“Oh, I can’t. It’s too pretty. I don’t want it to get ruined.”

“We’ll be extra careful, then. But tomorrow is a big day and big days call for pretty dresses. Don’t you think?”

I can’t think. My brain is locked down, refusing to process what’s happening to me. “Maybe.”

“Hmm. We’ll leave that question for the morning, then.” With me still wrapped around him, somehow Mr. Stone manages to bend down and pull open a drawer. It’s lined with clothes, again in all colors of the rainbow, but they don’t quite look like pajamas to me.

“Here we go. You like unicorns, don’t you, my little thief?”

And just like that, I’m five years old again, buzzing with excitement over my favorite animal. It never mattered to me that they supposedly weren’t real. Every year on my birthday, when I blow out the candles, I wish for a unicorn, even now.

“Iloveunicorns!” I say with a happy squeal as he pulls an item from the drawer. The material is white, covered with frolicking unicorns in pink and gold. It’s everything five-year-old me could have dreamed of. For just a moment, excitement overrules the embarrassment and pain of my ordeal to this point as I run my hand over the pretty fabric.

Mr. Stone chuckles. “I know.”

“You do? How?”

“Daddies always know.”

Something tickles the back of my brain, like what he’s saying is important. But I’m too tired, despite the lengthy nap I took on the plane, to put everything together right now.

So I ignore the tickle as he carries me back out to the bedroom… and straight to the table beside the crib.

“What are you doing?” My voice trembles a bit as he lays me down on the soft cushion. Something is happening. Something important, and despite my exhaustion, fear snakes its way up my spine.

“Changing you.” He says it as simply as if he’s telling me it’s going to be partly sunny with a chance of rain today, while he pulls my shoes from my feet and tosses them to the side.

“You don’t have to do that. I can dress myself.”

“You can, but?—”

“I may not. Yeah, I got the memo.”

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