DAY ONE OF DADDY’S PUNISHMENT

Then, with a look of grave seriousness on his face, Daddy said he was angry, and that he was very disappointed with me. I don’t know what I did to make him so, but I was sure scared; last time Daddy said he was angry at me he made my lip bleed, and he made me stay in my room for a long, long time. I thought about hiding so Daddy couldn’t find me, but I knew that would just make him more mad, and I’d get it twice as bad when he did find me, so I just told him that I was sorry for whatever I had done, and then I started cleaning up our dinner plates.

Daddy didn’t say another word; I am kind of used to that, Daddy stays really quiet when he is mad, that’s how I know he’s still mad, because when he is no longer mad he will talk to me again. He watched as I cleared the table and then took the dirty dinner plates to the sink, and when I put the ketchup and the butter back into the refrigerator, but he didn’t say a word. When I’d finished clearing the table I went to the sink to wash our dishes, and I could feel him staring at me, still sitting in his chair at the table, and I was afraid to turn around to look at him because that would probably just make him mad all over again.

The water from the faucet was so cold that I could feel goosebumps pop up all over my body as soon as I put my hands in the water, but Daddy says that hot water is too expensive so I have had to get used to doing the dishes and taking my baths in the cold. I’ve tried to get used to it, but it’s hard; I guess my body still isn’t used to it because I still get the goosebumps, and it’s been almost six months now since the heat was shut off, but I am thinking that maybe it’ll be easier when it gets to be Summer again, and the days are warmer.

I was washing the glasses we drank out of at dinner, and I guess I let my mind wander a little because I was remembering back when I used to sit on Daddy’s lap after dinner and he and I would watch Mommy standing right where I was then, doing the dinner dishes with her back towards us, and that was when I got really, really scared. I didn’t hear Daddy get up from his chair and walk up behind me, I was still thinking about watching Mommy when she would do the dishes, but when he spoke right next to my ear it scared me so much that I dropped the glass I was washing and it shattered on the tile floor.

I started to cry right then; I knew Daddy didn’t like cry-babies and I knew I shouldn’t do it, but I just couldn’t stop myself. Too many memories of what Daddy did to Mommy when he was mad at her, and how he would remove me from his lap and then get up and walk to where Mommy was standing at the sink; he would be mad at her and he would make her cry, and now he was mad at me and I was sure he was going to make me cry, and it was all his fault in the first place because he was the one who snuck up behind me and talked in my ear, I wouldn’t have dropped the glass if he had not done that, and I was already scared because he had told me he was mad. So, I cried. I couldn’t help myself.

“Shut up!” Daddy told me, “or I’ll give you something to really cry about.” He has said that to me plenty of times before, and I’ve always managed to quiet down, but this time I was just too scared. I tried, and I just ended up making stupid crying sounds instead. I braced myself to take the impact of the blow I was sure was coming to me, thinking about how unfair it was that he was so much bigger and stronger than I was, and how he was behind me so I didn’t even know when and where it was coming, and that just made me make even louder, stupider sounds.

I jumped a little when I felt him place both of his big hands on my shoulders, and I was still crying and trying not to, and still making baby sounds, so it took me a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t hurting me (at least for the moment), but instead he was applying pressure on my shoulders to force me downward. I guessed that he wanted me to bend down to pick up the broken glass, so I started to do so, but when I got about half way down and was in a sort of squat position he slipped his big hands under my armpits and stopped me, and then he started to turn me around.

It was kind of awkward to turn around with Daddy still holding my shoulders, but I managed a sort of frog-walk in a half circle and when I was completely facing him I looked up to see his face; he had a smile I’d never seen before and it was kind of creepy, not the smile I had seen back in better days when Mommy was still around and Daddy was happy, more of a smile that said he had made a decision and that he was pleased to no longer have to think about it. That smile replaced my fright with curiosity, and I opened my mouth to ask him why, and that was when he slipped his big thumb into my mouth.

What a strange sight we must have been; me squatting up against the kitchen sink and Daddy standing directly in front of me with his thumb in my mouth, but I didn’t laugh or even try to protest, and when Daddy told me to close my mouth and suck on his thumb because I was just a baby, I did so because I had never seen such a strange look on Daddy’s face before. I stopped sucking my own thumb when I was six, and it took me a couple moments to do it right for Daddy, but I guess I got a hang of it pretty quickly because soon he was slipping his thumb back and forth in my mouth, almost pulling it all the way out before sliding it back in; saying things like “that’s right, Baby” and telling me to suck it harder.

He had a crazed look on his face, and I guess I was now more fascinated than scared because I started to get into it for him, sucking his thumb like it was the world’s tastiest lollipop, as he continued to encourage me. But then he removed his other hand from my shoulder and placed it upon the back of my head, his big fingers wrapping around my neck, guiding my head back and forth over his thumb. Daddy continued to slip his thumb back and forth in my mouth, but now he stopped talking and just closed his eyes while he did it, but he still had that strange, kind of creepy smile on his lips the whole time.

It was weird, and I kind of felt a little funny sucking Daddy’s thumb, but it was much better than getting a whooping from him, so I just kept letting him guide my head back and forth over his thumb. There’s no clock in the kitchen so I don’t really know how long we did that, my best guess would be maybe five minutes or so, and eventually he instructed me to use my tongue to lick his thumb each time it went all the way into my mouth. I began to relax a little because Daddy was using a much softer tone of voice by now, I didn’t think he was still angry with me because he was saying things like “yeah, Baby” and “that’s right,” so I just shut my eyes and continued to do what he wanted, just waiting for it all to be over so I could go back to cleaning the dishes and dinner things.

Daddy stopped moving his thumb into my mouth eventually; like I said, I don’t know how much time later and just paused with his thumb just at the tips of my lips. He still had his big hand on the back of my neck, but he was no longer trying to move my head forward or his thumb into my mouth. I opened my eyes to look at him but he still had his eyes closed. We stayed that way for a short time, and then with his eyes still closed he stepped forward and directly up against me. I had no idea what was coming next, and there really wasn’t much more than a half step between us to begin with, but I stayed put as he removed his thumb from my mouth and pressed his jeans up against me.

The first thing I realized was that Daddy had something very hard in his pants, maybe in his pocket or something, but he was pressing it up against my face. He began using the hand that was on the back of my neck to hold me against him, and whatever was in his pants felt very warm. Daddy then put his other hand behind my neck as well, and as he held me firm against whatever that warm, hard thing in his pants was, he also started to move his hips a little, kind of like he was dancing up against me, rubbing his jeans on my mouth and against my face. Daddy did this for a couple of minutes, occasionally moving one of his big strong hands up to the back of my head so that he could turn my face, which would make the hard thing in his pants press up against my cheek and ear, all the while he remained quiet and his eyes stayed shut.

Daddy picked up the pace a little, moving his hips a little bit faster as he pressed up against me and I started to worry that whatever the hard thing he had in his pocket was going to hurt me, but then he made a loud grunting sound that sounded like it came from deep inside his throat, and stopped completely. He let go of my neck and the back of my head with both of his hands and then he took a step backwards and opened his eyes. He didn’t look mad at me anymore, in fact, he looked kind of sleepy, but I stayed exactly as I was and just looked up at him because he had not given me any further instructions and I didn’t want to anger him all over again. We stayed that way for a little bit, me looking up at him from my squat position against the cabinet below the sink and him looking back down at me with his sleepy eyes, and then all at once he shook his head as if he was coming out of a daydream. His eyes cleared and he looked around quickly then back down at me.

When he finally spoke his voice held no anger, but that look of grave seriousness was back on his face. There was no smile, creepy or otherwise, and his eyes had cleared and sharpened in the look I had become very familiar with, the look that meant he was not screwing around. I was told that I would have to be punished for making Daddy mad, and also that I would have to “do extra work” to make up for the glass I had broken. I didn’t dare protest, the seriousness on his face told me that I had no choice but to listen to what he said, so instead I stayed silent and just nodded that I understood.

Daddy informed me that he was going to take a shower, and that he expected me to have the broken glass picked up and the rest of the dinner dishes finished before he was done. I was told that as soon as I finished these chores I was to go get my pajamas on, and then I was to climb into his bed and wait for the rest of my punishment. I hadn’t said a single word since dinner and when I spoke my voice was kind of thick and crackly because of my crying, but I managed to squeak out a soft “Yes, Sir” at his back as he walked down the hall towards his bedroom.

WF 13.1.2016