Chapter Seven
Quinn waited for Cheyenne to change behind the divider in the medical playroom.
It had been two weeks since the discipline session, and Quinn was obviously serious when he declared they would begin working on her fear of all things doctor.
Cheyenne was a hard sell. It had required some convincing, a few phone calls, and a planning meeting with their friend, Doctor Carter Taylor, before Cheyenne agreed to try Quinn’s plan.
While none of them were sure about what would actually happen, they hoped for the best.
Cheyenne felt small and out of control as she went behind the divider to change.
She needed to use the restroom again. Suddenly her bladder was spasming.
Cheyenne knew that Master Carter, known as Dr. Taylor tonight, had set it all up, so when she and Quinn arrived, they would be ushered into the room by Julie, a club trainee.
“It’s nerves, sweetheart,” said the benevolent-sounding Dr. Taylor.
Her mental response was, “He went to school for that,” her mind snapped with irritation. Luckily, her tongue didn’t follow suit. Spanking to start the evening would not have bode well for the rest of the plan.
The taste of fear became metallic as blood from her bitten lip coated her tongue. Cheyenne had never been in a scene or played with anyone other than Quinn, and that heightened her skittishness, causing her anxiety to permeate every cell of her body. She rubbed her arms to ward off the chill.
“If you’d please undress, Miss Sterling, the doctor should be in shortly,” said Julie.
They’d agreed to follow wherever this took them, no matter where that was, but the one in control was Cheyenne.
The single session was outlined meticulously and still Cheyenne’s chest was tightening.
In control was not what she was feeling at all.
She was fine entering the club, and then the almost paralyzing fear began to take hold as she topped the stairs, heading down the long hallway to the playroom.
Her breath came in short, shallow pants the closer they came to the door.
She knew what a condemned prisoner felt like walking to their execution.
As she entered the room, her breath was painful.
Were it not for Quinn, who propelled her forward, she would have run out of the door.
She thought about their last preparatory conversation at a local diner.
“Sometimes with a childhood fear, it helps to re-examine the earliest memory and be that child again. It’s called many things, but regression is one of them.”
Cheyenne wasn’t so sure. “Wait,” she screeched, sitting arrow-straight in her seat, “are you saying you want me to be a Little? Like when you and Josh’s Susan is Susie?” Her face scrunched in disbelief.
“Well, yes and no. Susie likes to be a Little for a variety of reasons, but as far as I know, one of them isn’t working through a fear she had in childhood.”
“So, you want me to behave like a child?” Leaning away from the words and those saying them. “No thank you.”
Quinn reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.
“Cheyenne, I don’t think that’s what he’s saying here.
” He leaned in and this time, captured her hand in his warm ones.
She allowed the contact. “I think Carter is saying that if you would feel more protected as a younger version of yourself, then use it. Children need protection, sheltering, and it’s expected that the adults in their lives will provide that. ”
“Hello, don’t you remember anything I told you about my childhood?”
Carter jumped in, casting a cautioning look to Quinn before Quinn dragged her over his knee in response to her sassy mouth.
Carter leaned into Cheyenne, garnering her attention.
“No, I just want to keep it open for you. Sometimes, according to the club psychologist, if we go back to that earliest memory, try to slip into that place and time when we first felt the fear, it can help replace that fear with empowerment.” He leaned back a bit and shrugged.
“You know, like a recurring nightmare where something happens, and we feel powerless. If we plan it out before hand and know what we want to do in that dream, then when it happens again, we are more likely to be able to control the outcome, destroying its hold on us.” He patted her hand encouragingly.
“If you find it easier to slip into a younger persona, do it. We’ll follow your lead. ”
“Do you know when that earliest memory is, a stór?”
Squinting in an attempt to recall, she shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t really, just by the time school physicals and immunizations came around, I was petrified.”
“Think of what actually scares you so that you can control the outcome. If you can’t, then if you decide you can regress for the scene to access that part of your memories. We’ll target the age as the entrance into school. Was that first grade?” asked Carter.
Cheyenne shook her head. “Kindergarten.”
“Right then, that’s the plan.” Quinlan patted Cheyenne’s hand in reassurance, and his chair scraped as he pushed it back from the table, signaling the end of the meeting.
Now, three days later, here she was, semi-dressed in a hospital gown. Cheyenne came out from behind the divider in a robe; her breathing was quick and shallow. She looked at the exit and took a step toward it.
“Cheyenne, what’s your safe word, piscín?”
“Popsicle, sir.” Piscín was the thing that reminded her that this was play, pure and simple. This isn’t something I can’t stop. Popsicle will stop play.
“Use it if this becomes too much for you,” warned Quinlan, “but I don’t think it will be. We’re going to be careful with you. Yellow is your slow down word.” He reached his hand out to her. “Come sit in my lap while we wait.” She nervously smiled at the invitation.
“Yes, sir.” His lap was a haven of comfort and familiarity; she sank into that welcoming space slowly.
Master Carter came in shortly after that, attired in a long white coat with his name embroidered on the breast pocket, equipped with a stethoscope draped around his neck.
Quinn stood up, placing Cheyenne’s feet on the floor in front of him.
She backed up into him hard in an attempt to escape what Doctor Taylor symbolized—medicine—and find her protector.
“Good afternoon, Miss Sterling. Who do you have with you?” he said, indicating Quinn.
Cheyenne shrugged her shoulders petulantly. She didn’t like this already, as her fluttering tummy could attest.
“Is this your daddy?” Carter sent an inquiring look first to Cheyenne and then to Quinn. She groaned, “At least.”
She felt a solid slap on her right thigh. “Ow.”
Quinn gave Cheyenne a hard look before turning back to Carter. “Doctor Taylor, please don’t allow my piscín to speak to you in that manner.” He looked back at his fiancée, still resplendent in a militant glare. “Do not be a cailín beag dána, understand me?”
She slammed her bottom into the vacated chair and tried to hide her wince unsuccessfully. “I’m not a naughty little girl.” The pout came out accompanying crossed arms, giving the impression of being exactly that. A pouty, sassy Little One, looking for attention from her Daddy.
As horrified as she felt in a scene that made her Quinn’s naughty Little Girl, there was a strange comfort in it. She didn’t hate it as much as she expected. That angered her even more because intellectually and professionally she was a woman who worked hard for the respect she enjoyed.
She shouldn’t find comfort in being a child sometimes.
Yet she did. She wanted Quinn, wanted his protectiveness, her man who would stand in the way of all harm, Daddy.
That frightened her. She had the urge to throw up, cry, run for the door, but instead, she spoke barely above a whisper, “Yellow, sir.”
She sat in pseudo-calm, waiting for Quinn’s response, ignoring Master Carter altogether. Quinn was immediately responsive, picking her up off the seat and taking her spot, settling her in his lap. She inhaled his scent and closed her eyes, attempting to send her mind out of the room.
She snuggled into his warmth and tried to wiggle even further into his protection.
“Talk to me,” he said as he kissed her cheek and looped a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I can’t be a Little even in play, Sir. It’s not right.”
“Ah.” Quinn kissed the top of her head, propping his chin there, caressing her arm as they talked.
“Well, what if I said there was only the suggestion of Little play? You don’t fall into Little headspace naturally, and that’s fine.
To me, it looks like you’re the one who went there because it feels like you are more likely to be protected there.
Remember what Dr. Taylor said about following your lead?
That sometimes people find it helps to go back to that time in their life that the event occurred?
I believe you want this but are afraid to do it. What do you think?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “But I’m too helpless as a little girl. I don’t really think I’m cut out for this. Is that what you want me to be? I really don’t think I can,” she said in a small, defeated voice.
He placed his finger under her chin and lifted her head up to gaze into her fearful, confused face.
“You do what you want, honey. We’ll adjust but if you can, just try for this scene only.
If you don’t feel this helps or if it’s too overwhelming for you, then play the yellow card again.
I’m so proud that you trusted me enough to play it now.
I love you. Scene with me this time, okay? ”
She knew she would do anything she could to make Quinn happy. He always had her best interests at heart, and if he wanted her to try, he must see some value in it, even if she was skeptical.
She nodded her head slowly, still unsure. “All right for this one time, I can do it.”
“That’s my girl,” he said as he leaned down to take possession of her mouth in a quick, warm kiss.