CHAPTER TWELVE
The following morning, I awoke bright and early and when I rolled from my side onto my back, forgetting the caning the day before, I was swiftly reminded as the pain from the caning returned. With a sharp intake of breath I returned to my side and touched the soft skin of my behind. It hurt, a lot. Even though I had given it a good salt bath and some decent after care, I couldn't deny the pain.
Getting up, I walked from the bed into my en suite bathroom to inspect my sore behind in the mirror.
Overnight the bruising had become darker and the welts more pronounced. I had never thought of myself as an easy bruiser, but wondered if perhaps I was as I looked at myself in the mirror. This wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. But then, it was exactly what I had signed up for. Daddy hadn't punished me for anything before and it was just a shock to the system that now I was being punished for something naughty that I had done.
When breakfast came, so did Daddy's letter. I wasn't sure that I wanted to open it in front of Al who had delivered it, so waited for him to leave the room before I did.
Hello girl,
As before, I would like you to visualize your dreams and goals for me. I want those dreams to be as big as you can make them - no dream is too big - and I want you to write out those dreams and goals that you would most like to see happen. They can be that you want to be a woman of independent means yourself, that you want to own a company, that you are ready to learn more about BDSM, that you want to open your own BDSM business. Whatever it is, I want you to write it down and bring to to me, girl. You will do this this afternoon after your lunch, so you have all morning to work out what you want and how you will get it.
With love,
Daddy
I read the paper twice over before folding it back up and putting it back into the envelope it was delivered in. I heaved a massive sigh at how annoying this task still felt - even after the punishment I had received over my last failed attempt - and lay back on my bed, to let my mind do some work for me.
I had read somewhere that the human brain was like a big computer, and that if we presented our minds with our biggest problems eventually our minds would work through them and find some solution. So there I was, concentrating on finding a solution by using the big computer-brain inside my scull.
It's never easy to find a solution though, or at least, it doesn't feel that way when you can't come up with instant solutions to your problems, as of course you would like to do.
Still feeling the dull ache from the caning, I sat down with the diary Daddy had given me already and got as comfortable as I could on my very bruised, freshly caned bum while I flicked through the diary. There was so much in here, but Daddy was right that these were not big dreams. Actually, it read more like a laundry list of someone who dreamed small. Also, of someone who was pretty basic in their tastes. I wanted to visit Paris, really? What about the Amazon rain forest or Mongolia? Why hadn't I said I wanted to go somewhere obscure and impressive? But then, when I thought about it, I didn't want to go to those places. This whole thing was about being true to myself, after all.
I hadn't thought of myself as someone who dreamed small before Daddy had rudely pointed it out, but now I was surrounded by all of Daddy's money and could see that yes, it was possible for someone to be this rich and to still want more from life. My dreams of financial stability seemed quite small by comparison. Actually, it all looked pretty small from where I was standing. I couldn't stand that, and wanted to come up with bigger dreams. But what?
When you had spent your life under someones thumb, and then had made yourself someones slave (by literally selling yourself blindly to them, no less) it was a rather believable possibility that perhaps you didn't know how to dream big. Of course you didn't know how to dream big if you were so used to being told what to do that you hardly had space in your life for big dreams.
This thought was a bit of a no-brainier, really, but was also the leverage I needed when it came to sorting this stuff out. I needed to get over myself, and get beyond the training I had already received. I needed to grow, and to shine for my Daddy. I had read about this a lot in BDSM non-fiction, about how people used kink to work through their problems, and to create a structure by which to challenge their own presumptions.
Obviously, this was Daddy's way of practicing BDSM, and it was something that not only did I have to adhere to, but something that I was quite happy to adhere to going forward.
So there I sat, thinking about all of the things I would want if I could have anything I wanted. At first, just as had happened before, my dreams were small. I thought about how I wouldn't mind some more financial stability. I thought too about how I wouldn't mind a couple more friends, or, sex with Daddy. Actually, I thought about sex with my Daddy quite a bit before I finally owned up to it and wrote that on the page.
I could do anything I liked, so why spend so much time worrying about my thoughts and where they went? I could dream up whatever I wanted.
And Daddy had told me to do this, and to dream big. So long as I dreamed big, I shouldn't get in trouble again. This was about following orders, I reminding myself as I put pen to paper and started writing out my dreams for Daddy, trying not to get too bogged down in if the dreams would be 'okay' or not.
It was later that afternoon when I entered Daddy's study wearing nothing but a smile did I feel the resurgence of confidence I hadn't felt in a long time. Owning my dreams was a big deal, and showing off those dreams to the man I loved was a big deal, too.
I had a little skip in my step as I stopped in front of Daddy's desk. Daddy looked a little tired and a little harried, but he forced a smile onto his face and told me to stand right there and tell him about the dreams I had written down.
Not needing the piece of paper, I boldly told my Daddy - in a way that didn't feel like timid me at all, actually, I felt a little outside of my body at the time - about how I felt about him. I told him about what I wanted in my future, a future that heavily featured him.
"Daddy," I began, "I want to keep you in my life, but if I had my way, things would change. Our relationship would become sexual and I would be more than a bed warmer to you. Daddy, I would be desired by you, as well as loved by you."
My answer seemed to catch Daddy off guard, just as I had expected, so I went on. "Daddy, if I had my way I would also own a few businesses and invest some money in places where it should be invested. Daddy, I would have my own income and would not be in a position where I needed you anymore. Daddy, I would only have you around because I wanted you around."
My answer was honest, and right from the heart. It seemed to catch Daddy off guard, and as I had expected him to have something to say right after I finished, I was taken aback and rushed to fill the silence.
"I would also like to learn French, Daddy. And to live abroad. I would like to study at university for the fun of it, to learn to write poetry. I would also like other skills too Daddy, I would like to learn how to whittle and play the harmonica. I would like to live in different places, to write, to read, and to enjoy nature. I really want to enjoy nature more, because when I do, I feel so rich." I told him.
Daddy waited for me to finish what I was saying before he spoke again. With a small smile he told me, "that's wonderful, baby girl."
There was a respect in Daddy's eyes that I had not seen there before. There was something there that I hadn't expected to see but when I did see it, it made me very happy.
"I like your answers." Daddy told me, "but I wasn't expecting them." His eyes were not on mine after those words, but were staring down at his desk in front of him.
"You like my answers?" I asked Daddy, feeling a bit nervous at his words.
Daddy simply nodded his head to indicate yes while still looking down at his desk, and picked up a pen on his desk to play with it. "I do, but I don't." He answered. He sounded pensive, it scared me more than when he had that sadistic glint in his eye before punishing me.
"What do you mean?" I asked, wanting his approval so badly that it hurt.
"I mean that I like that the dreams are big." He told me, "But I am not sure if they are realistic."
Knowing that I was Daddy's slave, I thought I knew what he meant. I thought that he meant that my dreams of a romantic relationship were a bit unrealistic, and that this slave relationship wasn't the type of relationship that can simply morph into a romantic relationship just because you want it to. I let out a deep sigh and thought hard about what had been said before answering, but I couldn't help it, my wayward heart would not be still.
"Can you tell me what's not realistic about my dreams, Daddy?" I asked. My heart hurt but all I wanted in that moment was to hear him to say the words, rather than to have me guessing. I didn't feel much like engaging in mind reading right then. I didn't like mind reading, or think it was fair for him to make me do it.
Taking a breath, Daddy told me, "girl, you are my slave. I have bought you and you signed a contract to say that all of your assets would belong to me. Because of this, there is no way you can be independently wealthy. Your property is my property. I do want you to learn the skills of making money, but when you make it, it is still my money."
I took my own deep breath and tried to focus on just that. My breath felt a little hollow as I pushed it in and out, in and out, in and out. I breathed a bunch of times before I mustered the strength to respond, "Okay Daddy." I tentatively agreed, "but what about everything else?" I asked.
What I really wanted to know was if he would take me and make me his. I desired him so much. I desired his body a lot, but not as much as I desired his heart. I wanted both. I wanted to give him both my heart and my body too. But not in the 'all owning' way, in a romantic way. I hungered for those things the most - more than I desired to learn a language, or own a lot of things or be independently wealthy - I hungered to make my Daddy happy, and to give myself to him. I hungered to be his, not just in name, but in body, and heart, and soul too. I wanted to show him how devoted I was. I wanted to show him how deep this love went and how deep it would go into the future. My love for Daddy grew every day and I didn't see that changing any time soon.
The pang of rejection was strong though, when Daddy shook his head and told me, "girl, you are my slave baby girl. You are not my girlfriend. I am sorry."
There was a sadness, a tenderness, in how Daddy said those words. They made the blow of rejection that much harder to bear.
I wanted to run away, to let my legs take me away from him. I wanted to run, to hide. I couldn't deal with what I had just heard. My Daddy didn't want me, and that stung.
"May I please be excused, Daddy?" I asked, fully expecting him to say no and to have to run out of the study and later be punished, but that's not what happened. Daddy simply nodded and told me I could go, so I did. There was mercy in letting me leave. I turned to leave and before I was even out of the study, tears welled inside my eyes. I couldn't get enough air into my lungs as I choked down the air and my body was gripped by sobs. I let a few escape - I couldn't stop them - before I was out into the hall.
Down the hallway I ran, and I ran, and I ran. I ran all the way back to the little room. All the way back to my room where I threw myself on my bed and cried.
I could not tell you how long I cried for, but by the time I was done feeling sorry for myself, and went to take a shower to wash all the snot and tears from my time spent ugly-crying away, it was dark outside. As the warm water ran down my cool skin, I reflected on how long it must have been. But that didn't help me one little bit, so I let it go.
Spending hours crying didn't seem shameful when it came to that level of rejection. I had been literally living for this guy - with nothing in my life besides the things that pleased him - for what felt like years, even if it had only been months. After making him the center of my being, he had turned around and told me that it didn't matter, that he would never make me fully his in the way that I desired to be fully his.
The feelings of resentment grew inside of me, to replace the feelings of rejection, sadness and shock that had gripped me at first. I resented this man for everything. I resented him for having taken me in the first place. I resented him for this role of baby girl slave that even though I had consented to it had made me feel vulnerable to him. I resented him for being so attractive to me that I had hung around for so long hoping for a change in the form of the relationship. Worst of all was that I resented myself, too, and that I resented myself for getting involved in this in the first place more than I would ever allow myself to resent him.
I resented myself for ever signing up for this crazy idea, I resented myself for ever developing feelings for anyone, I resented myself for not doing what a normal person would have done and just eat chocolate and ice cream when their family member passed away, before getting a boring job just because it gave them some structure in their day and some semblance of a social life.
I could have been a woman with a hobby, rather than a woman who was kept as a sort of pet. But then, I reminded myself, I did kind of love this most of the time. There was a reason I had wanted it in the first place. I loved it. The dynamic really only sucked for me when I was pining over my Daddy or getting upset that he wouldn't love me in the way I had wanted to be loved - a way I had never even communicated to him in the first place.
Perhaps I was crazy, or perhaps I was just lonely. Loneliness is the biggest killer, or so they say. If I was suffering from deep, desperate loneliness, then it would explain a lot.
I was laying on my bed, having dried my soft skin with the towel before placing the towel under my head to capture the wetness from the hair that I couldn't be bothered drying when there was a knock at the door.
Sitting up straight, I ran my finders through my hair in an attempt to make it look good. If that was my Daddy, I was going to look good for him, even as he had hurt me and I resented him for that, I wouldn't have him see me in any way that I didn't decide he would see me.
I stood beside the bed and called, "coming!" To the door, allowing myself a small smile at the innuendo in that comment before reaching for the cool door knob and opening the door.
Standing there, of course, was not my Daddy but was a butler, all turned out in coat and tails as usual. He was smiling at me and had a tray of food ready for me. It must be dinner time, I mused as I looked down at the tray.
Nodding once, I moved out of the way and allowed Al to wheel the tray into my room where he would set the table for one and allow me to eat my dinner, as happened when I was being punished.
But was I being punished? I had done nothing wrong. I had done exactly what my Daddy had told me to do. In fact, when I thought about it, when he set a task for me to do and I completed it. That was what good slave girls did for their Daddies. So what was the problem? Even if the answers Daddy sought were different to the ones which he received, Daddy had to know that I had feelings for him. He had to know that all along.
Being a woman who can never fully hide her feelings was something that came at a great disadvantage. Before I had live here, I was frequently in a position where I couldn't hide my feelings of resentment from a boss who made me work on a weekend, or couldn't hide my upset feelings from family members. Now, I was the slave of a man who either didn't know, or likely denied, the feelings I had for him.
Al finished setting my table and placed a letter beside the place setting he had set for me. "This is for you." He told me with a little knowing smile.
Nodding, I sat down at the place where he had indicated and took the letter in hand. With that, Al was gone and I was left wondering, just what is wrong with my Daddy and am I ready to open this letter?