Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
While that’s great and all for that moment in time, it doesn’t solve anything. I’m still a Dom whose sub is experiencing something that should be addressed directly, because it’s my responsibility. It is my literal job, my duty, the true obligation of a Dominant who’s been given the gift of a submissive of their own, to not only take care of her physically and mentally, but also to never stop guiding her to improve and grow. Not for me but for herself. When I can be successful in that most important duty, then my reward will come—because when a service submissive understands their value and believes in themselves and their skills, their confidence will naturally lead them to want to please their Dom even more.
My old, selfish self would find that last part the sole reason to try to “fix” my sub, if I’d owned one back then. Now though, it’s an afterthought. My doll, my wife, and her being genuinely happy and thriving in her roles in our shared world is the only thing that truly matters to me.
And that means I need to fix the things I realize now that I fucked up. No excuses. It was all me. I’m the Dominant. She’s the sub who did her job of following my lead, like the good girl she is. I led her astray, and now, I’m gonna fucking bring her back to where she should’ve been all this time. Under the care of a Dom who is fucking worthy of her.
Side note, I should really warn Twyla that phone calls through the car’s speakers can be heard loud and clear from outside the vehicle. The cuteness aggression I felt toward my adorable wife when she held up her hand to let me know she was on the phone inside the car a few days ago rivaled all the times I’ve gotten it around Luna. The only thing that saved her from me going over there, pulling her out of the car, and squeezing her until she squealed was our daughter nailing me in the balls a few minutes later.
And—fuck my life—it occurs to me now, I could’ve easily used that as the perfect opportunity to teach Luna she shouldn’t hit boys there just for fun. But instead, I was more worried about making her feel bad that she hurt Daddy, so I played it off entirely, as if my soul hadn’t just yeeted itself from my body and left me seeing Tweety Bird for a while after. So convincing, in fact, that even Twyla didn’t sense the pain I was in—an exponential amount that caused me to miss the plan Clarice and she devised—and that woman is more in tune with me than a damn mind-reader.
Karma, I guess.
Additionally, I’m wondering if I’m doing more harm than good by handling my daughter with… well… kid gloves. What’s going to happen to her when she goes to school? She starts Kindergarten in only six more months. Children can be fucking assholes. I know that from lots and lots of experience. Experiences that continued all the way up through college—never mind the fact that I was almost a decade younger than all my peers. I might’ve been genius-level book smart, but I didn’t have the life experience or the upbringing to know how to recognize manipulative motherfuckers and defend myself against them.
Fuuuck, even I just used manipulation to get Luna to do what I wanted—no matter if it was done specifically to protect her, so she wouldn’t get her feelings hurt. Is that just making her more susceptible to it? Will her dad doing that to her, the one man in the entire world she’s supposed to be able to trust a hundred percent, make her think that’s normal and what people should do to one another? Will it make her weak against coercion when she’s older?
Am I doing Luna a disservice by not jumping on every teachable moment I can, to prepare her for life, how sometimes we have to do things just because we’re told, because they’re the rules, the law? That there are times when she won’t be allowed to justify her actions or talk her way into or out of things, even when she believes with her whole heart that she’s right? What will she go through when she gets into trouble for something I never took the time to teach her is actually a no-no?
And since I’m not doing that, it’s fallen on Twyla to try to do all of it, to essentially pick up my slack, on top of trying to be a type of parent she wouldn’t choose to be if given the opti—
“Seth!”
My name being yelled in Doc’s “Dad voice”—the strong, authoritative tone that makes a kid’s ass clench with dread, which, come to think of it, I’ve never once even come close to using on my daughter—startles me out of my spiraling internal crisis. My ass, in fact, clenching with dread.