Page 340 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

Sheila had taken pretty much everything when they’d amicably parted, but he still had a few things and he found the best of them almost right away—a brand-new binky in a beat-up package that he had no problem ripping apart. This would be better for her teeth than her thumb, and certainly better for her blisters. He dug around until he found two more sippy cups and a set of Little Mermaid dishes, complete with plastic utensils. He also found a bottle, a partial package of diapers, and a bunny hat with long paws that dangled past the shoulders and ears that flapped when the paws were pulled. Sheila's old crib was half buried under storage boxes in the backroom, which would make it difficult to get ready for tonight. He'd sleep on the couch, he decided, and put her to sleep in his bed. His arms laden with a bunch of Little things he wasn't even sure she'd want, much less need, he headed for the living room to find the couch empty.

Because, of course it was.

He found her in the kitchen, sitting bare naked on the floor in front of a wide-open fridge, his mostly empty jug of milk resting between her splayed legs. That she'd drunk straight from it was as clear as the frothy mustache on her upper lip. When she saw him, she wrapped her arms around the jug and hugged it to her stomach.

Dropping his armload on the counter, he bent to hook two fingers in the handle and lightly pulled. She didn't let go.

"Let Daddy have the milk and I'll pour you some."

He pulled again, gently increasing pressure until she reluctantly let go. She sniffled.

"Hang on," he soothed as she folded in on herself, hugging her legs now and rocking slightly as her breathing turned to crying.

He had nothing with which to make her a bottle. What he did have, however, were a few oatmeal-flavored protein drinks. These made quick convenient lunches when he didn't have time for breaks in the day. They also were better than just plain milk when it came to little girls and any current lack of their nutritional needs.

Rinsing out the bottle and washing the lid, he poured the protein drink into it. Recapping, he shook it once, and then held it out to her.

The look she gave it was as mutinous as they came. She was tired, she was hurt, and he was more than willing to draw on all his stores of patience until she became more like herself again.

She didn't know what she was doing, he reasoned. For sure, she didn't know what she was doing to him.

Stop looking at her like this, he told himself sternly. The last thing he needed to have was an erection right before he picked her up. Or worse, the last thing he needed was for her to notice he had one.

She wasn't his. She was a victim. A member of society that he had sworn to protect and serve.

The protecting part wasn't going to be hard. It was burning, raging inside him, the need to protect, forced onto a back burner for the moment. Serving wasn't hard either, not when his Daddy Dom side was roused like this. That's the part that was going to hurt him. This didn't feel like a job. Try though he did, he couldn’t make himself adhere to the rules of professionalism.

Not when he stood holding a bottle out to Tabby, already at least ten years his junior, and yet lost right now in a headspace that was so much younger.

I didn't know the car was stolen…

And for that, her father had walked away and left her to deal with the world entirely on her own?

"Drink your bottle," he cajoled, but she wouldn't take it.

She looked at the milk and whimpered.

"You can have all the milk you want after you drink your bottle."

In a flash, the whimper was gone and mutiny once more darkened her eyes. She scowled, her hands flopping into her lap.

She glowered up at him. She didn’t say a word, but nuances of 'no’ were all over her face when he offered the bottle. She turned away.

His palm itched to deliver a well-placed swat. In the headspace she was in, she would accept it. She might even want it, but she had already endured so much today. What she needed most right now were cuddles, not spanks. He could be patient while she acted out her pain and frustration. Needs of all kinds came always before wants.

Setting the bottle on the counter, he bent to pick her up. She whined again, but didn't fight him. Wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, she held on, even dropping her head to rest on his shoulder before popping her thumb in her mouth to suck. The doctor had bandaged both her hands in a lot of white tape and gauze. The last thing she needed was to get it all wet or to suck out the antibiotics he’d put on her popped blisters.

Humming a soft lullabye, he carried her to the living room couch, setting her down in the center before placing the bottle on the end table and gathering her into his arms. He turned her on her bottom so her back was to him, then drew her down to lie half in his lap while he cradled her.

This time when he offered her the bottle, he did it with her in a comfortable feeding position and he was no longer interested in her holding it for herself.

"Mm," she protested around her thumb.

"No, Tabby," he reprimanded, pushing her thumb away. "Daddy doesn't want to spank your bottom, but you need to eat, baby girl. Say ah for Daddy."

The mutiny softened in her eyes as she looked at him.

"You don't want Daddy to give your bottom a smack, do you?" he coaxed when she didn't open her mouth. He lightly caressed the tip of the bottle along her soft lips. "You're not wearing your diaper. Daddy has a very big, very hard hand. See?" He wiggled all the fingers he didn't need to hold the bottle with. "Babygirl's poor little bottom will feel all the ouchies for a very long time. You don't want that, do you?"

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