Page 25 of Wild Daddy

"Good. That's what happens when you stop thinking and start trusting." He pulls me against his chest, and I melt into his warmth. "Now, are you ready to build a shelter the way I taught you?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"What do you say?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"That's my good girl. Now pull up your big girl pants and let’s get to work.”

The second attempt goes much better. Instead of analyzing every piece of wood, I follow his instructions step by step. Instead of questioning his methods, I pay attention to how the materials feel in my hands. Instead of trying to understand the engineering, I focus on the task.

An hour and a half later, with a break for lunch, I have something that actually looks like shelter. It’s not as good as the one he’s built, that we’re apparently going to sleep in tonight, but it looks like Icouldsleep in it if I absolutely had to, and probably not die.

"Better," Cade says, examining my work. "Much better. Good girl."

Those magic words make my pussy weep. "It's not going to win any design awards."

"It doesn't need to win awards. It needs to keep you alive." He checks his watch. "Speaking of which, it's almost two. You want to call your professor?"

I had completely forgotten about the check-in, which is probably a first in my academic career. "Oh. Right."

He hands me the satellite phone, and I dial Professor Harrison's direct line.

"Marley!" His voice crackles through the connection. "Right on time. How's the research going?"

"Good. Really good, actually." I glance at Cade, who's pretending not to listen while he organizes gear. "I'm gathering a lot of... hands-on data."

"Excellent. I'm particularly interested in your observations about power dynamics and authority structures in survivalsituations. Are you documenting the psychological patterns you discussed in your proposal?"

I look at my notebook, "I'm taking a more... experiential approach to the research."

"Experiential?"

"Immersive. Participatory observation rather than detached analysis."

"Hmm." Professor Harrison sounds skeptical. "That's a significant departure from your methodology. Are you maintaining academic objectivity?"

Academic objectivity. Right. The thing I'm supposed to be doing instead of getting spanked by my research subject.

"I'm gathering comprehensive data," I say, which isn't technically a lie.

"Okay, good. I've scheduled your defense for next Friday. That gives you exactly one week to complete your analysis and prepare your presentation."

My stomach drops. "Next Friday?"

"Is that a problem?"

I look at Cade, who's definitely listening now. "No, that's... that's fine."

"Excellent. Don't disappoint me, Marley."

The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone like it just delivered my death sentence.

"Everything okay?" Cade asks.

"My thesis defense is next Friday."

"That's good, right? You'll be done with school." The way he says it, like it’s a relief but for me, my life is planned. I only see more school ahead. Then, teaching, then more school more than likely. My parents have seven advanced degrees between them; this is the Voss legacy and I’m the more crystalline example of what they believe is true success.

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