Page 29 of Daddy's Little Mafia Princess
With a pat on my butt, he sends me upstairs with instructions to strip naked and find a corner to stand in.
“Nose to the wall,” he says as I head up to the master bedroom. “I want you to think about what you’ve done. When I come up, you will decide if your failure to listen should be addressed by Daddy’s hand or his belt.”
Hisbelt? The ground vanishes out from under me, and I trip on the next stair, almost falling. Catching the railing, I find my balance before glancing uncertainly back at him.
“You heard me,” he said, smiling softly. His voice is so gentle, but apart from that smile, his expression is stern. “All your clothes off. Find a corner. Have your decision ready for me by the time I get up there.”
This is a trick—a trap. I know this game, just like I know what a belt feels like. There’s nothing loving or gentle about them, but he’s been good to me so far. Well… except for kidnapping me, holding me hostage… everything he did to me in his bedroombefore, during, and after our shower… putting me in little girl panties, making me call him Daddy.
How weird I’m not afraid of him after all that. I was far more afraid of my father. Somewhere between the bottom of the stairs and the top, the white hotel carpet turns into the tan fibers of my father’s house. I feel nothing except the shaking in my knees and dread-filled certainty that he—not Viktor—will come soon to beat me.
With his belt. That’s what he wants me to choose. If I pick his hand, I’ll get the belt longer and harder for not owning up to my sins and selecting it right away. The trick is it doesn’t really matter. If I choose his belt, he’ll know I agree with him, and I’ll still get whipped. Maybe on the back again. Maybe my legs.
I’m almost in tears by the time I reach the next floor. The master bedroom is huge and strikingly white everywhere but the bedspread, which is midnight blue—the only sapphire in a diamond room. I don’t have time to enjoy it. My hands are already shaking, and I need to get into position so I don’t earn extra by being caught out of it.
I take the underwear out of the front bib of my jumper and lay it as neatly as I can on a nearby chair. Removing my little-girl shoes and frilly ankle socks, I tuck those under the bed, so I won’t trip over them, then my jumper and the white t-shirt join my panties. With every article I remove, my actions get slower, as if staying dressed might be the only hail Mary keeping punishment from coming.
What corner should I pick?
The hotel chair takes up the nearest one, the other by the window. Although the drapes are partially drawn, I’m not about to step up to all that glass naked. I don’t care how many drapes are drawn to shield me.
That leaves the corner by the bathroom and the other by the bed.
Feeling as if I’m going to throw up, I choose the one by the bathroom, just in case. Oh crap, he’s coming up the stairs, the carpet muffling his shoes but not the soft bump of each step bringing him closer to me.
Panic jumps in my chest, but it’s weirdly countered by a flush of warmth unfurling between my legs, spreading through my sex to my womb. I shouldn’t feel anything like that, but it was as if my subconscious is telling me, “Oh, he won’t really use the belt. He won’t hurt us.”
I scramble into the right position in the corner, with my nose almost pressing against the wall by the time he comes in, with his belt already in his hand.
I didn’t know how close I was until I see it dangling in his grip and promptly burst into tears.
“Come here, Princess.” Laying the belt on the bed, he sits next to it and pats his waiting lap.
I have no other option. Running doesn’t escape punishment, only adds to it. If he doesn’t catch me, his men just outside the door will. I’ve already taken my clothes off, so I’d be the crazy woman running naked through the hotel and casino. It’s hopeless, and I know it. Just like I know, the longer I linger in this corner, the worse I’m making it for myself. Experience taught me that a long time ago.
“Clara,” he calls with the warning tone that makes my nipples tighten and my stomach knot creeping into his voice. “Come to Daddy, Princess.”
I suck in air, trying to ground myself to endure the worst. Don’t cry. That’s another lesson my father taught me. Don’t cry, don’t scream, and don’t fight, no matter how much it hurts. It only leads to more.
Turning from the corner, I go to him, but my knees are shaking. My hands are, too, so I hide them behind my back so he won’t see how badly, but I can see the belt folded in half by hiship, looped like a thin black snake within his easy reach. With every step, I’m surprised when I don’t collapse. Soon, I’m within his easy reach.
He removed his jacket downstairs and was dressed now in gray suit pants and his white, button-down business shirt. His attention is on his sleeves as he rolls them up past his brawny forearms to his elbows.
“Did you think about it?”
I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, which makes it hard to answer. I nod instead. I’ve done nothing but think about his belt since he sent me up here.
“Tell me what you did to get sent to the corner.” He finishes rolling up one sleeve and turns to the next.
My mind goes blank. I can’t think past the belt.
“I… I…”
Done with both sleeves, he rests his hands on his thighs. There is no anger on his face, no judgment or condemnation. He just waits, watching me flounder for a good minute before gently inserting, “Was it because you argued with me?”
The second he said it, I remember downstairs in the restaurant. I can’t recall anything I said, but I remember the back and forth of talking to him. I leap on the answer he provided.
“Yes.”
