Page 3 of Mindy
“Ah. Well, I’ll let you handle Francesca. I’ll make sure Mindy is okay.” Tricia lowered herself to sitting on the floor, legs crossed.
Mason gave Mindy’s pigtail a slight playful tug before rising. “I’ll make sure Francesca gives you a proper apology after I blister her bottom.”
“You okay?” Tricia asked gently as Mason walked away.
Mindy nodded.
Tricia picked up the brain teaser and turned it around in every direction. “These are so hard to do.”
Mindy sniffled. Now that Franny was gone, she really wanted to rein in her tears.
“You like a challenge though, don’t you, Baby girl?” Tricia asked.
Mindy shrugged as she took the offered toy from Tricia.
“I never see you misbehave. I assume discipline isn’t something you’re interested in when you’re in Little space?”
Mindy shook her head, keeping her face down. “No, Ma’am,” she managed to whisper. The truth was she didn’t even knowhowto misbehave. She watched other Littles do it all the time, but the concept was foreign to her. A lot of things were foreign to her.
“You know you don’t have to be naughty to get a spanking, right? If you’re interested in that kind of roleplaying, all you have to do is ask one of us to spank you, and we’d be happy to.” Tricia set a hand on Mindy’s and gave a gentle squeeze.
Mindy stared at the woman’s firm grip. Her nails were blunt but perfectly filed and painted a pretty shade of pink. Mindy guessed Tricia was in her late thirties. She had thick brown hair that hung in waves. She usually had it pulled back in a low ponytail.
“I like your polish,” Mindy whispered before she could stop herself.
“Yeah? I have it in my purse. If you’d like, I could paint your nails for you.”
Mindy lifted her gaze and met Tricia’s eyes. Pretty green eyes that seemed to smile all the time. She wore minimal makeup. Just mascara, light blush, subtle eye shadow, and lip gloss.
Mindy knew she was a Domme, but she wasn’t the sort who wore black leather, high heels, and a revealing bustier. She was usually always dressed in comfortable jeans and a stylish T-shirt. Today, her shirt was green. It made her eyes pop.
“What do you think, Mindy?”
Mindy flinched as she realized she hadn’t responded to Tricia’s suggestion. She found herself nodding. “I’d like that.”
At twenty-five, Mindy wasn’t so young that she could be Tricia’s daughter, but she was young enough to feel drawn to the woman as a Little would a Mommy. It wasn’t rocket science. Mindy’s real mother hadn’t been much of a mother, so it was refreshing to have Tricia smile at her and offer kindness.
“Come.” Tricia stood and held out a hand, which Mindy took, letting the woman pull her to her feet.
Mindy easily abandoned the crayons and the brain teaser as she let Tricia lead her toward a table in the corner.
“Wait right here, Baby girl. I’ll be right back.”
Mindy watched as Tricia headed across the room, presumably to grab the polish. Tricia was the only person at the club who referred to Mindy as Baby girl. Not justLittlebutBaby. It always sent a thrill down Mindy’s spine.
Mindy had known she was Little for a long time, but deep inside, she also acknowledged she enjoyed playing in a very young age range. No one else at the club seemed to aim as young as her, so she didn’t let on or say anything, but in her heart she craved a deeper regression.
Being Little and living alone wasn’t easy. She’d never had a caregiver. She’d met several Daddies at the club in the past year since she’d joined, but she’d never made a special connection with any of them.
Sometimes when she was alone in her apartment, she pretended to be even younger, but it was harder to regress deeper alone.
Tricia returned with the nail polish and sat in the chair next to Mindy’s. She reached over, grabbed the sides of the plastic seat, and turned Mindy so she was fully facing Tricia instead of the table.
After shaking up the polish, she lifted Mindy’s hand into her warm palm. “What pretty nails you have, Baby girl,” she commented.
“I don’t bite them,” Mindy announced. Mostly because that had been a rule her mother enforced by admonishing her every time Mindy lifted a hand toward her mouth for her entire childhood. Her mother had often swatted at Mindy’s hand. When Mindy had been very young, the swats had been to keep her from sucking her thumb. When she’d gotten older and begun to feel stressed, she’d gotten swatted for biting her nails.
To this day, keeping her hands away from her mouth was always a challenge.
