Taste me, Daddy novel Chapter 3

I roll my eyes and scoff. "For what?"

"Maya Louise, did you just roll your eyes at and sass your Father?!"

My eyes widen at that tone.

My step-Father is ex-military, you see. He served for many years before I was born, until I was ten or eleven years old, at which time he was medically discharged and awarded a purple heart; he saved his entire SEALS team during a shore mission gone wrong, which is when he was injured. He was gone for months, sometimes years at a time before that discharge and then he was suddenly home twenty-four-seven; it was quite the adjustment for all of us.

My mother had me and my sister when she was quite young and she was over in her head in water when our real father left her for a waitress and skipped town. The man whom I call my father is not my biological dad but he has been more than that to me. I was only a few months old when he and my mother got married so I don’t remember anyone else apart from him being my father. I had always called him Dad or daddy.

As a little girl, I used to love hearing him tell me stories about how he saved people in other countries, how he loved tasting their incredibly different foods and wearing their vastly different clothing; I used to marvel in his descriptions of other countries, other oceans, other languages.

That was back when I was the little kid who loved it when her Daddy finally came home after being gone "for forever." That was when my Daddy came home between missions. That was when he was Daddy and not the man who came back to us after that discharge.

The man who came home after that medical discharge was cold, distant, quiet, but commanding. He ordered us all around; my mother, my older Sister, and myself; and he expected immediate obedience. He was ridiculously strict when it came to everything from watching television: "A waste of time. Pick up a book, instead!" to going out with friends: "Who are their parents? Why haven't your Mother and I met their family, yet? You can go out with them after we meet them. Until then, you can go and do your homework."

I used to love it when Daddy came home from missions.

Now? Not so much.

I mean...of course I'm glad that my Father survived because I know that some families weren't so lucky. I'm grateful and thank God every day that he not only lived after the attack that could have easily claimed his life; but that he came home whole, with his entire team also alive, and that their wounds all healed well. I love my step-Father and I'm happy to still have him; I just wish my Daddy had come back, instead, but Mama says that war changes a man and that nearly dying changes him even more.

It sucks.

My playful, fun, and funny Daddy was gone and, in his place, is Daddy Drill Sergeant.

That's the voice he's using; the Commander's voice. "Answer me, little girl"

We've been playing this game since I turned 18 a few months ago. He says something parental and I say something back that I know will make him mad because I want what happens next. He pretends not to know what I want, what I look forward to, and he pretends he doesn't like it, too. He likes it, though. He likes it because he gets hard every time just like I get soaking wet for him. He knows he can have me because I've never fought him on it.

I let him touch me, spank me, get hard for me.

I just have to be careful that I don't push him too far because his anger sometimes wins out.

I blink wide eyes. "Daddy..." I reply carefully. "I'm not a little girl, anymore."

Wrong answer; I know it instantly.

His eyes narrow. "So you think you're too grown for my discipline, do you?" he barks angrily, his face turning red and that vein in his temple throbbing visibly. "You think that turning eighteen means that you can do whatever the fuck you please?" he demands loudly and crosses his thick arms over his chest; he spreads his legs a bit, the stance of a Commander addressing his troops or, in this case, one troop. "In my house? Living under my roof?"