“I don’t need to see the doctor. I’m not sick.” And I get regular physicals to keep up with the demands of my dance career.
“All Little girls have to visit Doctor D when they come to the island, Isabella.” Pushing up in the bed, he presses a button on the nightstand. “Peter will be up in a minute to help us. You should use your diaper now, or you’ll have to wait until we’re done with the prep.”
“I don’t want to use my diaper. And who the fuck is Peter?”
It isn’t until Daddy turns, his expression hard as he stares at me, that I realize I’ve let my mask slip. The thought of letting anyone on this island examine me, and the news that some new stranger will be “helping” me get ready for that examination, has rattled me.
“Little girls do not use such foul language. Am I understood, Isabella?”
“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry.”
“The next time it happens, you’ll be sucking on a bar of soap while Daddy spanks all the naughtiness out of you. Now, I don’t want any more arguments out of you, Little girl. Use your diaper, or you’ll have to hold it.”
“Hold it until when?”
Before he can answer me, there’s a knock at the door and Daddy smiles. Not the sweet smile he gave me when he first awoke, but one that promises all manner of wicked things to come. “That’s Peter,” he says, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt that clings to his sculpted body in ways I don’t want to appreciate. And yet, my pussy clenches at the sight of him, looking so rumpled and sexy and commanding.
I’m so fucked.
Turning away, he strides across the room and opens the door. There’s a short, hushed conversation and then the sound of footsteps down the hall before Daddy returns to the bed and scoops me up in his arms.
“All right, little one. Time to go get ready for Doctor D.”
Even though I have no idea exactly what that entails, terror grips me, digging sharp talons into my chest as Daddy carries me down the hall to my nursery. “I don’t wanna go to the doctor!”
Daddy’s chest rumbles with laughter. “Little girls never do. But it’s Daddy’s job to keep you happy and healthy, and part of that is going to the doctor on a regular basis.”
This is obviously an argument I’m not going to win, but I can’t seem to help myself. The calm I was able to wrap around me yesterday, the fake compliance, has completely deserted me and I find myself struggling in his arms. “No! I’m not going and you can’t make me!”
Daddy slows to a stop, his brow rising as he looks down at me. But it isn’t anger I see in his eyes. It’s amusement, plain as day, lighting the stormy gray.
And that amusement scares me right down to my bones.
“Do you really want to test me on that, little doll? Because I will be all too happy to show you just how easily Icanmake you do whatever I wish.”
I want to fight. To force him to work for my obedience instead of meekly handing it over, whether it’s all for show or not.
But seeing the amusement and what, if I’m not mistaken, appears to be hunger in his eyes, makes me think twice. I’m not about to give this man the satisfaction of punishing me. Whatever it is he has planned for me, I’ll bear it in silence rather than give him a reason to flex his sadistic muscles.
“No, Daddy,” I say, forcing my voice to lower to a more respectful tone. “I’m sorry, I just got scared. I really don’t wanna go to the doctor.”
“My poor little doll. Daddy will be right beside you the whole time. And if you’re a very good girl for Doctor D, Daddy has a surprise for you afterward.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that he doesnottell me there’s no reason to be scared. Just that he’ll be with me through it.
At least he isn’t a liar on top of all his other sins, I guess.
A man I assume is Peter waits for us in the nursery. While he’s not nearly as handsome as Daddy, there’s no denying his rugged good looks, with his salt-and- pepper hair and a face that looks like it’s carved from stone. His custom suit almost seems out of place on him, as though he’s playing a part he wasn’t meant to play.
My Daddy, however, looks exactly his part, king of his domain, whether he’s wearing a suit or the sweats he wears now. And I hate myself for being so attracted to him, regardless of how he’s dressed.
“Is the bag ready, Peter?” Daddy asks as he lays me down on the changing table.
“Almost, sir. I wanted to wait and see if you need any additional… modifications.”
Daddy looks down at me, that same cruel smile from earlier tugging at his lips. “That’s entirely up to our little Isabella here. Are you going to be a good girl for me, little one? Or do you need some incentive to behave?”
I have no idea what bag they’re talking about, or what form this “incentive” might take, but I do know I want absolutely nothing to do with it. “No, Daddy, I’ll be good, I promise.”
