Accept help when offered.
Trust Daddy's judgment when you can't trust your own.
Physical therapy exercises daily - your body needs care too.
"These are..." She looks up at me, something vulnerable and hopeful in her expression. "Very specific."
"You need specific. Vague doesn't work for you." I sit beside her, close enough that our thighs touch. "These aren't suggestions, Lilah. These are requirements. You agreed to let me take care of you. This is how I do it."
"What happens if I break one?" Her voice is small, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.
"Depends on which rule and why you broke it. But there will be consequences. Understood?"
She nods, then catches herself and corrects it verbally. "Yes, Daddy."
"Good girl. Sign it."
"Sign it?" Her eyes widen slightly.
"Bottom of the page. This is a contract between us. You're agreeing to follow the rules. I'm agreeing to enforce them fairlyand take care of you." I watch her process this, see the moment she understands the weight and the freedom of what I'm offering.
Her hand shakes slightly as she signs at the bottom, her signature small and neat. I sign below hers, my handwriting bold and decisive, then fold the paper and pocket it for safekeeping.
"Now." I pull her into my lap, arranging her so she's comfortable and secure. "Tell me about your day."
She relaxes against me immediately, the tension draining from her shoulders as she recounts her classes. A difficult client she actually handled well without needing my intervention. The new instructor working out perfectly, taking on more responsibility. Revenue up another fifteen percent this month.
Everything's going right, which makes it all the more obvious when she gets vague about lunch.
"What did you eat?" I ask casually, though I already suspect I know the answer.
"Oh, um. I had a protein bar."
"That's not lunch, Lilah."
"It's protein! And I was busy. A client showed up early for their appointment and I just grabbed something quick—"
"Stop." I turn her to face me, making her meet my eyes. "What's rule number one?"
Her face falls, color draining as she realizes what she's done. "Three meals a day."
"And a protein bar is not a meal. When did this client show up?"
"During my lunch break." The admission comes out small and ashamed.
"And you couldn't tell them to wait thirty minutes while you ate a proper meal?"
"But they were already here, and I didn't want to seem unprofessional—"
"Yes, you could. That's exactly what boundaries are for." I'm not angry, just disappointed, which somehow seems worse based on how she's looking at me - like I've caught her doing something terrible instead of just falling back into old patterns. "You put someone else's convenience ahead of your own basic needs."
"But!"
"Lilah." My command voice cuts through her protest, and she goes quiet immediately. "You're getting a punishment."
Her breath catches audibly, and I can see her pupils dilate even as anxiety crosses her face. We've discussed this extensively but never actually done it. "Daddy."
"No arguments. You knew the rule. You broke it. There are consequences." I stand, pulling her up with me and setting her on her feet. "Lock the front door. We're not doing this where someone might walk in."
