Logan turns a page in his newspaper, a whispery crinkle that penetrates my haze for a moment, before I drift again. He’s going to want me to apologize to him once he lets me out of the cage. I have no trouble doing so. I embarrassed him by sniping at Rachel-the-bitch, and I am sorry. My daddy’s happiness is what matters most to me, and I hate that I’ve tarnished that happiness.
He’s also going to want me to apologize to Rachel. I’ll have more trouble doing that, but I will because he wants me to, and because I am a tiny bit remorseful, and because I really do want to be the bigger person.
Logan clears his throat twice, which is our signal. He used to count backwards from ten, but in the weeks we’ve been together I’ve gotten so attuned to him that all I need to bring me back up is for him to clear his throat purposefully.
I blink. My eyes are dry. I focus on him.
“Emmy, tell Daddy what you’re thinking.”
I take my thumb, which is very wrinkled, out of my mouth and answer him, “I’m thinking that I love my daddy.”
Which is the truth. That’s what I was thinking when he asked. And I’m scrupulously honest with Logan.
“Daddy loves you, too, sweet baby. Have you had any thoughts about what we discussed before you went into the playpen?”
“Yes, Daddy. I understand why you don’t want me saying mean things to Rachel. I’m sorry for what I said because it hurt her feelings and embarrassed you. I want to apologize.”
Logan nods and rises from his stool. He twists the catch on the lower cage door and swings it open. The cage isn’t locked. It never is. I stay in the cage because that’s where Logan has put me and more than anything else, I want to please my daddy. I can’t crawl out on my own after lying curled up for so long, and he knows that. He reaches in and draws my legs through the open cage door. I shift onto my back and stretch, with a hiss as pins and needles race up my thighs. Logan’s warm hands close on my knee. He massages down my calf to my ankle, then up again, helping the blood flow back to where it belongs. He switches and massages my right leg, until my toes are tingling. I look up at him through the cage’s top bars, through tears of genuine gratitude.
“Ta very much, Daddy,” I say, using the British phrase that Logan’s taught me. He was born and spent his first decade in England. British words and sayings still pepper his speech. I think they’re cute, but I wouldn’t tell him that, because Doms aren’t supposed to be cute.
“You’re welcome, baby doll. Ready to come out?”
I nod. Logan puts his big hands on my hips and helps me slide through the lower door until I’m all the way out. He offers me his hands and helps me rise. I shiver a little; the basement’s temperature raises goose-bumps on my skin now that I’m no longer in subspace. Logan takes a folded blue blanket, one of my Ravenclaw fuzzies, off the bar and wraps it around me before he draws me over to one of the couches near the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. He sits, pulling me into his lap.
Before he was injured, Daddy probably would have picked me up and carried me to the couch, but his leg’s still too unsteady. Still, he’s much, much better than he was right after the evil massage man hurt him, when he couldn’t even bear to hold me in his lap. Grateful that he can now, I curl against his chest and tuck my face into his neck, inhaling the woodsy, smoky scent of his aftershave.
He cradles me in one strong arm, and, after taking out my scrunchies, strokes my hair. He kisses the top of my head and murmurs, “Daddy’s proud of you, baby.”
His words warm me even more than my fuzzy. I know why he’s proud of me. I’ve struggled with non-impact punishments from the beginning. He can paddle me black and blue and it just turns me on. But non-impact punishments twist my brain inside out. I panic. My brain vomits up every fear I’ve ever felt and swamps me with terror. The first time Logan put me in the cage, I screamed for five solid minutes and begged him to take me out for the next thirty. He didn’t. Logan’s fair but very firm. After an hour, I finally accepted his discipline and drifted into subspace. There were a few tears today, but no screaming, no panic, and I hit subspace in record time. He’s proud of my submission, and I’m proud of it, too.
I hug him super-tight. “Love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, baby.” He always says it back, always reassures me that my feelings are fully reciprocated. “Would you like to apologize now?”
I nod into his neck.
“Good girl. Let me see your eyes.”
I lift my head and look up into his dark eyes. They’re burning a little because Logan’s a sadist and disciplining me arouses him, but, after a week of doing at least a scene a day, we’re both pretty sated. Still, he might want to play, or just fuck, after I apologize. He often does after he disciplines me, although he doesn’t always allow me an orgasm, depending on how badly I’ve screwed up. I really hope he lets me have an orgasm this time, because just that hot, domly glare makes me tingle in all the best places.
“I apologize for being petty and mean to Rachel and for embarrassing you,” I say. “I’ll ignore her in the future and not let the things she says get under my skin. I want to be the bigger person, even though I’m very little.”
Logan grins before he hides it by kissing the tip of my
