Page 22 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

I wipe her tears away with the backs of my hands to avoid getting any of the disinfectant on my fingers in her eyes.“You’re everything to me, baby doll. I never imagined how much happiness you’d bring into my life. I’m so grateful for you, Emmy.”

“Daddy. Same, Daddy.”

I chuckle. “Same, huh?”

She nods and I wonder if she’s getting overwhelmed. Emily’s so articulate; when she gets less verbal, it’s a sign her emotions are swamping her linguistic cortex. But this could also be what she’s like in very littlespace. I’ll have to watch how it goes.

But for now, I want to give my little girl something she’s wanted for a long time.

I lift her off the changing table, wrapping her around me so she straddles my hips, which puts no pressure on the piercings. Grateful I’ve finally recovered enough that I can carry her without strain or risk of dropping her, I walk over to the long cradle near the reading and napping corner.

It’s shaped like a dingy, narrowing to a point at one end. The other end is flattened. With the prow, it would be an uncomfortable squeeze for a tall man or woman but for my tiny baby doll, it’s an easy fit. I lower her into it and check on the piercings to make sure they haven’t started bleeding again. Once I’m reassured, I cover her with a light blanket and slip the pacifier into her mouth. Her eyes shutter, reddened lids coming together and parting slowly.

“That’s right, my baby girl. You relax and let Daddy rock you. If you feel sleepy, let yourself drift off. Daddy will wake you when it’s time to go.”

She nods sleepily.

I pull a stool over from the reading nook and park myself next to the cradle.

I rock her for less than five minutes before the pacifier drops out of her slack mouth. She gives a tiny, adorable snore.

Even after she’s asleep, I rock her for a long time, looking down at my little wonder. Feeling the swell of impossible emotion in my chest. Her hand’s clutching the blanket between her breasts. The pink diamond glinting on her ring finger reminds me that as hard as that diamond is, there’s a harder, more unbreakable core of trust and faith between us. We’ve had to fight to get to this place. We’ve battled through injury and adversity and insecurity to get here. And it’s been worth every scar.

seven

EMILY

Knee time.

Those two words strike fear into the hearts of submissives everywhere. Well, the heart ofthissubmissive. Kneeling to your Dom and baring your soul? That’s daunting.

But today? Today, I’m undaunted.

I position the ladderback chair Daddy likes to sit in during Knee Time and leave a cushion on the chair’s seat. I used to put it on the floor so everything was ready when Daddy came in but now I leave the pillow on the chair so Daddy can put it on the floor to invite me over. He likes the way that sets the scene better.

I take off the cute corduroy overall dress and cotton sweater with its ruffled sleeves Daddy put me in this morning, fold them, and leave them on the bed. I brush out my hair, resettle my cat ears on the top of my head, check that my white thigh highs with their cute pink ribbons around the top are even, then kneel by the door to wait for Daddy.

While I wait, I go over the things Daddy will want from me. He can ask anything but he always starts with a good thoughtand a worry. I have two good thoughts and one little worry. Daddy wants me to be scrupulously honest with him, so I’m not going to invent a big worry. Then I just have to weather whatever questions he’s thought up. I love my Daddy but he is a demon with probing questions, as well as with his evil, knobbly paddle.

I might love that paddle a little bit. Wow, did it get me into subspace fast.

But Daddy definitely doesn’t need to know that. It’s evil. Even more evil than Belphegor. I’m going to have to find a suitably evil name for the knobbly paddle. Belial? Hmm.

As I’m pondering, Daddy walks through the door. His stride is even, his footsteps firm. It makes something bright and smiley blossom in my chest to hear him walking so steadily. For the longest time after his injury, he had a hitch in his step. It wasn’t a big one but I registered it on some level. I was always aware that my Daddy was hurt.

He’s not anymore.

He puts his phone in the speaker dock and taps up a playlist. It’s not one of his spank-tracks, which is slightly disappointing but he did give me a super-spanking last night before the fucking and the diapering and the rocking.

Which was one of the more transcendent experiences of my life.

The music he puts on isn’t immediately familiar but the longer I listen, the more familiar it sounds. Behind the melody I almost know, there’s a pounding beat. It’s classical but classical played by a house DJ.

“Daddy, what is this?” I ask.

“Myles turned me on to it. It’s by a group called Pink Elephant Music. According to them, they sexy-up classical.”

I didn’t realize Daddy was on playlist-buddy terms with Mr. De Leon. I guess planning for the Great Baby Caper changed things between them.

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