Daddy's Here(26)

"That wicked child stole my daughter's bicycle from my garden."

"Did she indeed? Well, thank you Mr Smith, I know how hard that must have been for you. Please sit down."

"This is ridiculous," Abbey said. "I can't believe you're doing this. You're all insane."

"You have heard the evidence," Mr Watson said, talking over her. "How do you find the defendant?"

"Guilty!" the room shouted in a single voice.

"Hold on," Abbey said, holding up her hands. "Don't I get to defend myself?"

"You have been found guilty as charged," Mr Watson said, sitting rigidly  upright for the first time. "For such crimes, you would normally be  expelled from the village. But our own Papa returned just this morning  and he has offered to handle your punishment. I sentence you to a week  in his nursery."         

     



 





Chapter Five





When Mr Watson said, "Take her away," Abbey almost collapsed, her legs  losing their strength. A nursery? A week in a nursery? What on earth  were they talking about? It had to be a dream, it couldn't possibly be  real. Nothing this bad ever happened in reality. She was stuck in the  arms of the two men dragging her out of the village hall, a crowd of  people lining the pavements to watch her go.

She was still in a daze when she was reached the lane at the edge of the  village, a house looming large before her. It stood alone surrounded by  a muddy field, no road leading up to it. Instead there was only a gap  in the wall that lined the road and beyond that a worn track that headed  up to the front door. The house itself looked ramshackle, loose tiles  had slipped on the roof, ivy climbed over the walls, though the windows  were untouched. The mud under her feet squelched as the men forced her  up the track, not letting go of her until they were on the doorstep.  "What do you expect me to do?" she asked, looking defiantly up at them.

"Knock," one said. "Papa will be waiting for you."

"Papa? My father is in there? What's he doing in there?" She rapped on the door, shouting, "Father! Daddy, I'm here. Help me!"

The door swung open a moment later and she staggered back at the sight  of the figure that appeared before her, falling into the arms of her  guards. "You … you're not my father." She recognised his face. "Not you,"  she muttered, remembering how he'd looked when she'd kneed him between  the legs in the club. "Please, not you."

"Hello, little girl," the man smiled, a wide mouthed smile that looked  like it might swallow her up like the wolf and Red Riding Hood, "I'm  your new Papa." He turned to her guards. "Bring her in."

The men nodded, shoving Abbey in through the door, slamming it closed  behind her, leaving her alone with the towering bulk of a beast in front  of her. "This way," the man said, taking her by the hand, his enormous  fingers swallowing up hers, leading her through the house.

Abbey followed him, certain that if she tried to yank her hand free, he  would tear her arm out of its socket without breaking into a sweat.  "Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"To the nursery," he replied, pushing open a door and stepping inside.

Abbey couldn't take anymore. She had been tired when awoken, terrified  by the insanity of the village trial, beaten by her guards and dragged  in her dressing gown through the cold of the morning to this dark house  and the sight of the nursery tipped her over the edge. The sight of a  cot next to a changing mat, a pile of nappies besides a tray of dummies,  all of it surrounded by light pink walls and murals of smiling dolls,  it was too much. She burst into tears, sobbing her heart out as the man  let go of her hand and turned to look at her, frowning as he did so.  "That's good," he grinned. "Get that out of the way now and then we'll  carry on."

"You monster," she replied, glaring up at him through a fog of tears, hardly able to breathe.

"Because crocodile tears have no effect on me? Because I think  misbehaviour warrants punishment? There are many monsters you will meet  in life if that is the case."

He took a step towards her and Abbey tried to run. She had barely leaned  towards the door before he grabbed hold of her, bringing her close  enough to his face for her to see the dark glint in his eyes, the  sharpness of his teeth as his grin grew wider, the longer she looked,  the less there seemed any humour in that grin, just power, cold, dark,  power.

"I am your Papa until I see fit to release you. I don't care about your  past actions. I care only about your future. Now take a look around you.  This room will be your home for the next twenty-four hours. Behave and  you'll gain access to the playroom."

"This nursery? You are going to keep me in here?" Abbey cursed herself  for the weakness of her voice but with his hand digging into her arm and  his eyes boring into hers, she was more scared than she'd ever been in  her life. He could do anything to her and she would be unable to do a  thing about it. "You're kidnapping me?"

"Don't be so melodramatic. You are being punished for your crimes. Mark  my words, if you behave, you will leave the nursery quickly. If you do  not, you will be here for some considerable time. It makes no difference  to me."

"I'm leaving." She tried to free herself from his grip but he leaned closer, so close she could feel his breath on her.

"You are going to do what you're told, starting right now."         

     



 

"Or what?" Abbey regretted the words as soon as they were out of her  mouth but something about that grin made her want to defy him, anything  to stop him smiling.

"Or things like this will happen."

Abbey was about to ask what he meant when he suddenly pulled her towards  him, grabbing her round the waist and pressing her against him.

"Don't," she began and he just laughed. "Not again, please."

"Don't what? Don't fuck you? There's no need to worry about that. You  don't need fucking, despite your feeble attempts to seduce me. What you  need is disciplining."

"Disciplining?"

"Like this," he replied, twisting her over his leg as he sank back into  the chair behind him. Abbey fell over his legs, her hands brushing the  floor, her head by his shins, only his hand stopping her from slipping  forwards and off him.

"What are you doing?" she managed to ask as he grabbed her dressing gown  and pulled it upwards. She felt his eyes on her legs as she kicked out  and tried to free herself. Underneath the gown, she wore grey silken  shorts and vest, the only night attire she'd been able to find in the  pile of cases and boxes dumped in the house. Somewhere, her clothes were  buried but she had not had time to find them before the villagers had  come to drag her out of her new home.

He wrenched the shorts down to her thighs, exposing her rear to his gaze as she fought to free herself. "Let me go."

"Feel free to cry again," he replied, his hand slapping down on her  rear. "If it makes you feel any better, you can scream too. That's it,  just like that."

Abbey did scream. She cried out until she was hoarse but no one came to  help. His hand slapped down on her bottom again and again, sending a  heat burning through her that was matched by the heat of her shame, the  feel of being so exposed and so helpless. It wasn't just the pain of his  spanking, it was the fact that he seemed to be enjoying it, pressing  her down against his lap and humming to himself, as if it was just  another mundane chore but one he was rather partial to carrying out.

"Please," she muttered as his hand slammed down on her buttocks yet again. "Please stop."

"Not yet," he replied, his hand moving down so the next blows struck the  tops of her thighs. "You are not quite red enough for my liking."

"Oh for the love of God, please stop. It hurts so much."

"It is supposed to. Next time you think about misbehaving, I want you to  remember today, remember this moment, remember how this feels."

He was mad. It was the only explanation. She had been handed over to a  madman and there was nothing she could do to escape until he let go of  her. Having had control of her own life since her mother died, Abbey was  not used to someone else making the decisions, deciding what would  happen to her. She felt scared and tired and in pain and ashamed all at  once and underlying it all was the sense of injustice. She did not  deserve this.

"There," he said at last, his hand sliding over her rear, the tortured  nerve endings so sensitive she could feel every ridge of his skin and  her own. "That's better. You look good with a little red to your  cheeks."

"You brute," she said when he lifted her to her feet. She yanked up her  shorts, wrapping the gown around her as her legs gave way and she fell  to the floor.

"You might be a bit wobbly," he said. "Always happens the first time. I'm guessing you've not been spanked before."