Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Isabella
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
Why the hell did I do that? I’d convinced myself that if I just went along with this madman, if I just did what he asked of me, maybe I’d be safe.
Instead, I’ve done the exact opposite. And now he’s looking at me in the way I imagine a lion watches its prey, with a combination of deadly intent and pure glee.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes. This time I don’t even have to pull on my stage training to conjure them. With the sheer terror gripping me, the tears come all on their own as I do my best to squeeze myself into the corner of the tub, away from his reach.
But of course, there’s no escape. The man I only know as “Daddy” reaches for me, strong fingers wrapping around my arm a second before he hauls me up out of the water, bending me over the side of the tub, the cold porcelain pressing into my stomach.
That bit of discomfort is the least of my worries, as I soon discover. Daddy rubs his hand over my bare ass, and I tremble at the intimate touch. It seems like only a matter of time before he violates me in some way but I'm hoping to delay that fate as long as possible. Long enough, if I'm incredibly lucky, for me to find an escape before he does anything too awful.
I'm not feeling very lucky.
“My naughty little doll,” Daddy says with a sigh. “I had hoped you would make it at least a few hours before needing to have your bottom warmed. But you chose to be naughty and splash Daddy with water, instead.”
“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I promise!” I would promise to stand on my head and recite all fifty states and their capitals if it meant escaping whatever punishment he has in mind.
“Little girls always make promises they can’t keep when they’re about to get a spanking,” he says with a low chuckle that sends shivers up my spine.
He raises his hand, only to bring it down again with so much force the pain radiates across my bare skin. And he doesn’t give me even a second to breathe, to process what’s just happened before he strikes the opposite cheek.
A spanking. I am at the mercy of a madman, in some undisclosed location, getting my bottom spanked like a misbehaving child. Why that’s more humiliating than waking up in a onesie and a diaper, I don’t know, but the embarrassment is almost more than I can bear.
It’s certainly enough to strip whatever dignity I might still have from me and reduce me to a crying, begging mess. “Daddy, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please don’t spank me anymore!”
To my complete shock, the spanking stops there, with his heavy hand resting on my scorched flesh. “Are you going to be a good girl for me, Isabella?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I say with a sniffle. I'm almost grateful for the title he insists on. A real name would make him feel more like a person, I think, and the only thing keeping me grounded right now is the pretense that he isn't quite human but a monster simply wearing a human suit.
I know it's not true. But I'm willing to embrace whatever lies my mind wishes to tell me if it means escaping here with my sanity still intact.
“I will warn you, the next time I have to punish you, I won’t be so lenient. Hopefully for your sake you’ve learned your lesson.”
He lowers me back into the water, and I wince when my bottom presses against the hard tub floor. If this was him being lenient then I will do everything in my power to never make him angry again.
Still sniffling, tears dripping down my nose into the bath water, I pick up one of the mermaids. They are pretty cute, actually, something I would have enjoyed as a kid. More to the point, they give me something to focus on. Something that’s not… him .
And I need the distraction more than ever when he begins to wash me. The feel of the soapy washcloth running along my arms and then my breasts makes my skin crawl, so I focus on my mermaids. I imagine being one of them, swimming away from this house of humiliating horrors, back to freedom.
Maybe I would just stay a mermaid. As much as I love being a ballerina, what’s really waiting for me back in New York? A shitty apartment, a second job I hate, and running drugs. Being a mermaid would be so much better. Just living my days free and happy with the fishes.
Do sharks eat mermaids? That might be a downside to this plan. But maybe mermaids have a way of communicating with the sharks and they’re friends instead. If I had a shark friend, I could send him after Daddy.
“What’s so funny, little doll?”
Daddy’s question jerks me out of my imaginary world, back to the present, where he is busy scrubbing my legs.
I wasn’t even aware I’d laughed until he’d spoken, and I’m both embarrassed and annoyed with myself for getting so lost in my game. While it did help to distance me from what was happening to my body, I can’t afford to get that distracted again, not if I’m going to have any hope of escaping.
But of course I can’t let him know that, so I just offer up a shy smile and hope he doesn’t notice my inner turmoil. “Nothing. Just thinking about mermaids. And sharks.”
“Sharks, huh?” he asks with a laugh of his own. “Do you think mermaids and sharks are enemies or friends?”
“Friends. Definitely friends. And the sharks eat anyone who’s mean to the mermaids.”
“Then I suppose it’s lucky for me you’re a ballerina and not a mermaid, isn’t it?”
It’s eerie how closely his thoughts mirror my own. But it does give me the courage to lift my head and meet his pale gaze. “Yup.”
“Awww, little doll.” Eyes twinkling with amusement now, he runs a hand over my hair. “Would you really send a shark after your Daddy?”
My heart beats faster against my ribcage, and the metallic taste of fear on my tongue is almost enough to convince me to lie. But for whatever reason, my sense of preservation seems to have taken a hike. “Yes, I would. You spanked me.”
Really, Izzy? The man kidnapped you, dressed you like a baby, and has god only knows what planned for you and you’re pouting like a child over a spanking?
If Daddy finds the source of my protest odd, he doesn’t say. He simply tilts his head to the side, those clear gray eyes studying me with such intensity it makes the breath tangle in my chest. “I did. And why did I spank you, Isabella?”
Something about the way he says my name makes my stomach clench. There’s an undercurrent there, telling me to tread carefully. It’s enough to have me backing down, dropping my gaze back to the mermaids. “Because I was naughty.”
“You were very naughty. And if you’re naughty again, you will get spanked again. I’m sure your shark friends will understand that misbehaving Little girls sometimes need their bottoms spanked to help them learn how to be good.”
“They’re sharks,” I mumble. “They only understand biting people.”
He chuckles, and the sound unravels some of the knots in my stomach. “You may have a point there, little doll. Lean your head back so Daddy can wash your hair.”
I can’t focus on my mermaids in this position, but at least I can close my eyes. Pretend I’m just taking a shower in my own apartment, and this was all a bad dream.
That illusion only lasts as long as it takes him to wash and detangle my hair, but it gives me enough time for my breathing to even out and my heart rate to settle back into a normal rhythm.
“All right, my little doll. Up on your knees.”
Wary, and with good reason as far as I’m concerned, I open one eye to peek up at him. “Why?”
One dark brow rises, and though he’s still smiling, there’s a hardness to his expression that tells me I’m pushing my luck. “Because Daddy said so, Isabella. Do you want another spanking?”
“No, Daddy.”
“Then I suggest you do as you’re told. One.”
I may be well into my twenties, but I still know what it means when an “adult” starts counting. So I scramble up onto my knees, and if I splash a little more than necessary in the process it’s really his fault for making me rush.
Sighing, Daddy shakes his head as he looks down at his soaked clothes. “If this keeps up, I’m just going to have to bathe with you from now on.”
Well, shit. That’s the last thing I want.
Isn’t it?
Heat flares to life between my thighs at the thought of this strict, gorgeous man naked in the bath with me. Holding me tight against his chest as he runs his soapy hands over every inch of my skin. Down to my pussy, running his fingers between my lips to my aching clit.
I’m so caught off guard by the unexpected fantasy, it takes me a moment to realize it’s not entirely in my head. While Daddy isn’t in the tub with me, his fingers are in fact inside me, stoking the fires of my need with slow, exploratory strokes.
Squealing in shock, I lurch forward, but there’s nowhere for me to go. No escape from his questing fingers.
“Shh, little doll. Daddy needs to make sure you’re nice and clean everywhere . Including this pretty little pussy.”
“I can clean myself!”
“Nonsense. Little girls don’t give themselves baths. That’s Daddy’s job. And what’s this?”
Horror fills my chest, a pressure I’m sure is going to either split me in half or smother me when the tips of his fingers find my clit. Pleasure races through my veins, followed closely by shame and humiliation.
How can I be enjoying anything this man is doing to me? This monster who drugged me and kidnapped me right from my own apartment? What the hell is wrong with me that I can feel anything but disgust when he touches me?
“My pretty little doll,” he murmurs, a hint of awe in his voice. “So wet and needy for Daddy. Your poor little clit is so swollen. Do you want Daddy to make you come, little one?”
“No!” Yes, god, yes. Please.
“Really?” Now there’s amusement in his tone as his fingers roll my aching clit, driving me closer and closer to that horrifying edge. “Are you sure about that, Isabella? Think very, very carefully about your answer.”
To my unending shame, I hesitate. Just for a second, but it’s long enough for more of that burning shame to flood my body. Because there should be no hesitation, no second guessing. My answer should be clear and immediate.
“I don’t want you to fucking touch me,” I manage to whisper, tears clogging my throat
It’s both a shock and a relief when his fingers go still on my clit. “Very well.”
His voice is ice cold now, and despite the warm water still lapping at my thighs, a chill runs down my spine. Pulling his hand away, he leans over to open the drain on the tub before rising to his feet and lifting me from the water.
Even though I can tell he’s annoyed with me, his hands are gentle when he wraps a fluffy towel of emerald-green around me. When I’m completely dry, he picks me up again and carries me back to the bedroom I woke in this morning, where he lays me down on a thick pillow of sorts.
Smiling down at me, he pulls a thick and heavy band across my stomach, securing me in place. There’s something not quite right about his smile. A hard edge to it that tells me the pain and humiliation I’ve already suffered this morning are just the beginning.
“Time to get you ready for the day, my pretty little doll.”