Page 42 of Tame Me Daddy

Throughout our tour, we encountered other members who greeted Grant with obvious respect and welcomed me with genuine friendliness. No one pried about our dynamic or my newness; they simply accepted my presence as if I'd always belonged.

As we completed our circuit of the main floor, Grant gestured toward a staircase at the far end of the lounge. "There's something specific I wanted to show you," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Only if you're comfortable."

I studied his face, noting the rare vulnerability there. Whatever waited upstairs clearly mattered to him—something he wanted to share with me that went beyond a simple tour of the facilities.

"I am," I nodded, trusting him completely. "I am."

*

The upstairs hallway was quieter than the main floor, with thick carpet that muffled our footsteps. Various doors lined the corridor, each marked with a small sign indicating its purpose. Some had red lights above them—occupied, I assumed. Grant led me past several rooms labeled for different interests until we stopped before a door decorated with pastel colors and whimsical designs. Unlike the more austere signage elsewhere, this door featured hand-painted flowers and playful swirls surrounding a sign that read "Little Space - Respect and Kindness Required." My heart stuttered in my chest as I realized what this room must be for.

"This is what I wanted you to see," Grant said softly, his voice barely above a whisper in the quiet hallway. His eyes held mine, serious and searching. "A place where you could safely explore that side of yourself, if you wanted to."

My throat tightened. That side of myself. The part I'd spent years burying under layers of adulthood and responsibility. The part that had made my family look at me with disgust when they'd discovered the stuffed animals hidden under my bed at twenty-three, the coloring books tucked beneath my mattress. The childish things that adults—real, normal adults—weren't supposed to want or need.

"You’ve been so good at stopping this part from taking over when you’re scared, I figure you could do with some time celebrating it. Would you like to look inside?" Grant asked, giving me an out if I needed it. "We don't have to go in."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Grant pushed the door open gently, revealing a space that made my breath catch.

The room was larger than I'd expected, designed with obvious care and thought. One side featured an adult-sized crib with pastel bedding and a mobile hanging above it. Beside it stood a wooden rocking chair large enough to comfortably hold an adult body, draped with a soft-looking blanket. Shelves lined the walls, filled with stuffed animals of all sizes—bears, rabbits, unicorns, and other creatures with soft fur and gentle eyes.

The other side of the room contained a craft table surrounded by adult-height chairs, its surface covered with coloring books, crayons, markers, and modeling clay. More shelves displayed jars of buttons, sparkly stickers, and craft supplies. A bookcase held children's books with colorful spines alongside what looked like journals and sketchbooks.

Everything in the room was scaled for adults yet evoked the comforting security of childhood—the safe, nurturing parts that some people never got to experience the first time around.Nothing about the space felt sexual or perverse. Instead, it radiated safety, comfort, and permission to be vulnerable.

I stood frozen in the doorway, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions—shame battling with longing, fear wrestling with a profound sense of recognition. This room represented everything I'd hidden, everything I'd been told was wrong with me. Yet seeing it laid out so lovingly, so thoughtfully, made those desires seem less like a sickness and more like simply another way of being.

"No one here will judge you," Grant whispered, his hand warm and steady on my lower back. His touch anchored me as the room seemed to swim before my eyes. "I know people have made you feel bad in the past. That’s not going to happen again. Everyone in this club has some aspect of themselves that society doesn't understand. That's why this place exists."

I took a tentative step into the room, drawn by a small collection of wooden toys on a low shelf—blocks and puzzles and a carved train set that reminded me of the horse figure Grant had given me. My fingers itched to touch them, to feel their smooth surfaces and fitting pieces together.

"The people who use this room are professionals, homeowners, business leaders in their outside lives," Grant continued, staying close but not rushing me. "They come here because this is a part of who they are—not all of who they are, but an important part nonetheless."

My eyes burned with unshed tears. How long had I convinced myself I was broken, perverted, wrong for wanting this kind of comfort? How many nights had I lain awake hating myself for desires I couldn't seem to shake?

At that moment, a door I hadn't noticed opened at the far end of the room. A woman stepped through, stopping short when she saw us standing there. She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, with a round face and chestnut hair pulled backin a simple ponytail. She wore pastel pink overalls over a t-shirt decorated with cartoon characters—clearly embracing her little side in a way that looked comfortable and unforced.

"Oh! Sorry," she said, her voice carrying a slight but noticeable childlike quality. "I didn't know anyone else was coming in."

"That's alright," Grant replied with gentle authority. "We're just looking around. This is Cherry's first time here."

The woman's expression softened with immediate understanding. "Are you new?" she asked me directly, her voice shifting slightly toward a more adult tone while maintaining its friendly warmth.

I nodded, still struggling to find my voice.

"It was scary for me too, the first time," she confided, moving further into the room but keeping a respectful distance. She played with the strap of her overalls in a nervous gesture that I recognized in myself. "But everyone's super nice. I'm Lily. Or, well, that's my Little name."

"I'm Cherry," I managed, then immediately felt silly—she already knew that from Grant's introduction.

If Lily noticed my awkwardness, she didn't show it. "I come here about twice a month," she continued conversationally. "It helps with my stress. I'm an accountant, so, you know . . ." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Numbers all day."

Her casual explanation of how this fit into her otherwise normal life helped ease the tension gripping my chest. She pointed toward a shelf displaying various art projects—clearly made by adults but with the uninhibited joy of childlike creation. "I did the rainbow one. You can make something too if you want. The clay is super squishy—it's my favorite."

Grant's hand found my shoulder, squeezing gently. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for," he murmured close to my ear. "We can just observe, or leave entirely. Your choice."

I looked around the room again, seeing it with slightly less terror now. The soft colors, the comfortable furniture, the toys and crafts—all of it called to a part of me I'd kept locked away for so long it had almost withered from neglect. In this safe, controlled environment—with Grant's reassuring presence by my side—the idea of letting my little side emerge felt less frightening than it ever had before.

"Do you have a Daddy who comes with you?" I asked Lily, the question slipping out before I could censor it.

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