She shrugged. “Yeah, if it’s a real rule. Like, bedtime, and meds, and using words when I get upset so I don’t run away and hide. But Daddy never tells me how to be Little. He just likes it when I’m happy.”
She sounded so sure.
I wanted to ask about punishments, and what if you messed up, but I was scared to ask. I settled for, “What if you’re too much? Or you mess up the rules?”
Abby laughed, smacking her marker down on the table. It made a wet spot on the page and Abby didn’t even look worried.“Sometimes Daddy spanks me if I break a rule,” she declared, like it was the world’s most normal thing. “But only for the rules that keep me safe, like using my words or saying if I’m scared or if I have to take my medicine. He never spanks for silly stuff. Only if I need reminding.”
Her cheeks were pink, but she didn’t seem embarrassed at all. She beamed at me. “It doesn’t even hurt unless you want it to. Some Littles like it, you know? Sometimes it’s fun.” She dropped her voice lower, like it was our secret. “Sometimes I mess up on purpose, just to see if Daddy will notice.” She wiggled in her chair and giggled, then looked at her coloring like nothing had even happened.
Heat flushed up my neck so quickly I almost dropped my marker. The idea of being spanked by Walker, of him putting me over his knee like I was really his, made my thighs clench together under the table. I stared at the kittens on the coloring page, but every thought in my head was suddenly about Walker’s big hands and the weight of his palm and how he’d sounded when he called me princess.
I fumbled with the marker cap, heart pounding in my chest.
Abby noticed, obviously. She grinned sideways, eyes bright. “You ever think about it? Like, about being in trouble?”
I blinked. “Um…sometimes?” My voice came out too high. I risked a glance at Walker, who was still standing by the wall, arms crossed, watching me like he could see right through me.
Abby just nodded, all matter of fact. “It’s okay if it makes you nervous. The first time Daddy spanked me I cried, but not because it hurt. It just…made me feel Little. Like, really Little. But then Daddy cuddled me and said it was all okay, and after that I didn’t mind anymore.” She shrugged and stuck a glitter sticker on her page. “Some Littles don’t like it at all. Some want to be spanked lots. Daddy says it’s all about what makes you feel safe or happy.”
The room was suddenly too warm. My palms were sweaty on the coloring page, and I flinched when Abby pressed a star sticker onto my wrist. “You okay?” she whispered, all soft and sweet now.
I nodded, but my throat was tight. “It’s just…different than I thought.”
She tilted her head. “Is it good different or scary different?”
I almost laughed, but the sound stuck in my chest. “Both, I think.”
Abby’s grin came back, bright as ever. “That’s how I knew I wanted Gideon to be my Daddy. I was scared, but I still wanted it. Like, the scared made it better? Does that make sense?”
It did, weirdly. My mind kept looping back to the idea of Walker making rules, of him deciding when I needed to be punished, of his hands on my body and me being Little and helpless and not fighting it. My stomach twisted, and I could feel how damp the inside of my panties had gotten just from thinking about it. I squeezed my knees together, mortified, but Abby only grinned wider, like she already knew.
"It's supposed to be fun," she whispered and looked down, like the secret of the universe was hidden in her coloring book. "Daddy says sometimes Littles worry too much about being perfect. You just have to be you and let your Daddy take care of the scary bits."
I wanted that. God, I wanted it so much it hurt in my chest.
Across the room, Walker hadn't moved. He was a dark, steady presence, arms folded, watching like his whole job was to keep the world from touching me. I caught his eye for half a second and my whole body flushed hot. I looked down again, scribbling pink flowers on the kittens' ears because I couldn't trust my voice not to shake.
Abby kept coloring, but after a while she wriggled onto her knees, bouncing a little. "You wanna see the train?" she stage-whispered. "It's so cool. They let you go around as many times as you want. Last week, I went eight times, and Daddy only groaned a little bit." She peeked up at me, bangs falling in her eyes. "Unless you wanna stay here and color more?"
I hesitated. The room was still loud, the colors still too bright, but with Abby there beside me, it felt less like being on display. More like I could just…belong. Maybe if I just did what she did, I'd figure out how to be Little. Maybe Walker would be proud. The thought made my cheeks burn all over again.
"Can we do both?" My voice came out tiny.
Abby beamed. "Yessss. See? That's how you do it. Littles always get to choose." She snatched her coloring page and mine, then led the way to the train with a hop-skip that made me giggle. I clutched Mr. Snuggles, careful not to trip with my fuzzy socks, and followed.
The play mat was soft under my feet. A volunteer waved us over and helped us climb onto the little seats, which totally fit because we were both so tiny. Walker came closer, arms still folded, and Abby waggled her fingers at him.
"Bye, Walker! We're going on an adventure!"
He gave her the tiniest smile, but his whole face changed when he looked at me. "Hold on tight, princess," he said, voice like velvet and thunder at once. My stomach swooped.
The train chugged off, slow and steady, and Abby started narrating a story about kittens who drove trains and ate cupcakes and battled with a dragon made of glitter. I laughed. I couldn't help it. The motion, the silliness, the way she made it sound like all of this belonged to me too—it was magic.
We went around twice before Abby declared she needed a snack or she might "starve very dramatically." I giggled so hard I snorted. Mr. Snuggles almost fell but I caught him just in time.
I glanced over at Walker and my body ached. Not the sick, scary ache that meant I was crashing, but the hot, throbbykind that made it impossible to sit still. I couldn’t focus on the coloring anymore. Couldn’t even look at the train, or at Abby, who was already talking about what snack she should get next. All I could think about was Walker. The way he’d looked at me, the weight of his hand on my arm, his voice deep and rough when he called me princess. The way he’d watched me the whole time, not missing a single thing.
I needed him.
