Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
It’s after nine when I get home, and I pace my small house for half an hour, looking at everything I own and pondering my life. Everything is off, though. The place suddenly doesn’t feel like it’s even mine. I get the sensation I’ve been just staying here, renting this space, temporarily. It’s true that I don’t own the house, but I’ve never felt like an interloper before.
Also, it’s too quiet. After years of being at peace with my own silence, I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel like I belong here. I find myself wishing I had gone to Daddy’s house instead like he suggested, but I’m not a big baby, and it’s late. It’s after ten when I glance at my phone and ponder calling him.
I don’t want him to think I can’t be on my own. I’ve been on my own forever. Now I don’t want to be. My entire outlook on life has changed so fast that I don’t recognize myself.
I like the new me better. I hope she gets to stay. I’ll be devastated if Daddy changes his mind or gets tired of me. I’m already so deeply his in every way. I’ve had intimate experiences with him that I’ve only read about in books before now. What if we break up and he tells people how kinky I am?
Who would he tell? Our mutual friends are also kinky. Besides, I’m letting my brain run haywire. There’s no need in me making up ridiculous future possibilities. They’re so farfetched. I need to take a deep breath and live in the moment, accept my newfound good fortune, and enjoy every minute of it.
I force myself to go through the usual motions of my nighttime routine, taking a shower to wash off the scent of sweet, sticky candy. I brush my teeth extra long because I know Daddy would approve. I put on one of my cotton nightgowns and a pair of panties. I pace around my room, restless. Finally I go to my closet, pull out my box of Little things, and rifle through it. I don’t know for sure what I’m looking for until I spot it at the bottom of the bin.
It’s a stuffed dog. He’s a terrier. I bought him last year when I dressed up as Dorothy for a Halloween party at the Dungeon. He’s the only stuffed animal I own. I snatch him out of the bin, put the lid back on, and rush over to jump into bed.
Snuggling the terrier against my chest, I curl up on my side, pull the covers over my head, and open my e-reader. Maybe if I read one of my many Little romances, it will take my mind off the fact that I’m lonely.
I can’t focus, though, and I end up reading the same paragraph over and over until I give up. Still curled up and using the dim light of my e-reader to see, I stroke my terrier’s head. “What’s happening to me?” I ask him.
He stares at me, not responding. He really needs a name, and that thought makes me start crying. Why have I kept him in a bin in the closet for all this time? I bet he was scared in there. And why didn’t I give him a name? How mean am I?
I pet him and kiss all over his face until he starts to look happier. I don’t care that it’s an illusion. I keep crying. Pent-up, nervous energy escapes me, and I nearly jump out of my skin when my phone rings on my nightstand.
I reach my arm out to grab it, see that it’s Daddy, and answer it. “Daddy…” I sniffle.
“Sophia? Baby girl, what’s wrong?”
I cry harder. “Everything. And I didn’t name my dog,” I sob.
“Slow down, Baby girl. Tell Daddy what’s happening. Are you hurt or sick?”
I shake my head.
“Sophia?” His voice is urgent.
I realize he can’t see me. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s just that my house is lonely and, and, and…”
“I’m coming over. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Can you keep talking to me while I drive?”
I nod again and feel foolish. “Yes, Daddy.” I sniffle. I’m being ridiculous.
“Did something happen, Little one?” he asks. I can hear his engine start. He’s driving already.
“No. Yes. I mean, no. You, you, you…”
“Deep breaths, Little one. I will be there in a few minutes. Where are you?”
“Under the covers in my bed.”
“Okay, will you be able to come out for a minute to open the door for Daddy when I get there?”
“Yes, Sir.” I sniffle and hug the terrier closer, rocking him, silently telling him how sorry I am for keeping him in a box. When did I get this Little? Have I been in denial for all these years?