CHAPTER EIGHT
Waylon
“Are you worthless?” I ask.
“No, Daddy!” she says through sobs, and my hand descends again. I can’t believe how long I’ve spanked her. I reach down and grab the waistband of her sweatpants and pull them over her ass. Then, I lift her to a sitting position, straddling my lap.
I look directly at her and say, “You’re not worthless, and I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.
She nods, lower lip trembling. I prepare myself for her to break up with me, and I can only hope if she does that I’ve changed her life for the good. She opens her mouth and says, “Daddy, what do I do if I feel worthless?”
I couldn’t have hoped for a better question. I stroke her cheek and kiss her forehead. “You can’t help your feelings, and you’ll never be punished for them. There’s a big difference between saying you feel worthless and saying you are worthless. There’s a big difference between saying you’re a loser and saying you feel like a loser.”
She’s staring at me, and I add, “If you feel worthless or like a loser, you come to me and tell me how you feel. We’ll talk about it, and I’ll help you through those feelings. If you put yourself down, though, I swear to God this spanking will seem like a sweet massage.”
She gasps, looks at me, and then nods. Then, she starts crying and says, “Oh, Daddy!” She throws her arms around me and weeps against my shoulder as I kiss her neck and stroke her hair. She whispers, “How did everything just come crashing down? I don’t understand?”
I continue to stroke her hair, and I say, “We need to work on you believing in yourself no matter what’s happening, whether or not anybody gives you approval for anything.” I pull her back and look into her eyes and say, “You don’t require anyone’s approval to be a worthy person, not even mine.”There’s nothing wrong with you, and nobody gets to tell you there is.”
“But what if I’m never a writer?”
“You mean something else,” I say. “You mean what if no agent ever tells you that you’re a writer.” She nods, tears still in her eyes. “That’s not the same thing as never being a writer, little girl,” I say. “That’s something entirely different.”
“So, I can’t be disappointed?” She asks.
“Of course, you can,” I say. “You can be disappointed, feel like you’re worthless, and feel like a failure. You can do all of those things, but you can never put yourself down. Words have power, and when you speak, you make reality from something that isn’t real. Feelings pass, and we’ll work on helping you deal with them.”
I can see in her eyes as she suddenly understands what I’m saying. “I can lose without being a loser. I can fail without being a failure.” She says the words in a voice full of wonder. “That’s what you mean, Daddy, isn’t it?”
I smile and say, “That’s it, little girl.” She smiles brightly and throws her arms around me again.
“Daddy, it’s so hard,” she whispers against my neck. “The last, I mean, the one who…”
“Your last Daddy,” I say.
“No,” she says. “He was never a Daddy. I thought he was, but he wanted to control me and make me feel small. You want me to feel good about myself. You’re different. You want me to….”
She can’t finish. I say, “I want you to see yourself the way I see you. You’re strong, smart, beautiful, and creative.”
“Is that really what you see?” she asks.
“And so much more, little girl.”
“And you’re my Daddy,” she says. “You’re my only Daddy.” She starts crying again, and I stroke her hair and kiss her neck. She finally pulls herself back and says, “But he succeeded, Daddy. He made me feel like I couldn’t do anything right like I was a loser.” She presses her lips together. “But you won’t let me feel that way.”
“You’ll feel that way sometimes,” I say. “We all do. I won’t let you believe it, though. I won’t let you behave like it’s true, and I sure as hell won’t let you say that about yourself.”
“I love you, Daddy,” she says and puts her head back on my shoulder. She’s not crying now, but I let my hands stroke her hair and back anyway. “But there’s one thing I don’t understand, Daddy,” she says.
“What’s that, pumpkin?”
She pulls back and tries to keep a straight face. She can’t, though, and she giggles as she says, “Why do you still have your clothes on when I was naked and on top of you a second ago?”
I laugh and say, “I can fix that, little girl.”
She giggles and slides off me. I push my pants and boxers down to my ankles, and she reaches for my cock. I bat her hand away and growl, “Be patient, little girl!”
She giggles again, and I turn her around and swat her ass. It’s not hard, but she yelps from the soreness of her ass cheeks. I lift her shirt up and off and then pull her pants down as she kicks off her shoes. She almost falls, but I catch her and lift her, turning her around and pulling her onto me.