Kitty Angel

“Wake up, sweetie, we’re there.”

You mumble incoherently for a second, while you take stock of your situation. The car, the little house in the country, and the babysitter you totally don’t need in the driver’s seat. You’re way too old for all of this now. But at least you apparently got some rest, rather than meaningless small talk for the ride over here. You feel completely refreshed and awake now.

“I think now it’s time to talk about what kind of fun and games we’re going to have this week. Don’t you?” I talk slowly as I get out of the car and walk around to your side, as if you might need help opening the door.

You mutter something pretty disrespectful about how you’d be happier staying alone for a week. How you’re an adult now, and how unreasonable it is that your parents are locking you out of the house while they’re away.

“So angry,” I shake my head slightly, not voicing the expected dismay about today’s youth. “This is why I prefer to look after babies, their tantrums are much cuter. But maybe there’s a compromise here. None of your friends are around, you know? If you wanted to be my little girl again, nobody would ever know. I’ve still got the magic touch.”

You know the difference between magic and hypnosis, and you’re not afraid to say so. And you’re already sure what your answer would be if I asked you to play along with my fantasies again this year. Unless there was something in it for you, perhaps. But no. You don’t dwell on confusing memories; you just reiterate the thing you’re sure about. You tell me again that you plan to treat me less like a babysitter and more like a housekeeper during your stay this year; so that you can go out and have fun like the adult you are.

“And this is why I need a little magic to help you tell the truth, isn’t it? So I can know how you really feel even when you’re lying to yourself. So let’s try this, a simple, practical question. How would you like to start today? We could go see what the craft table in the garage has to offer, or I’ve got some more lego sets you could try out. Or I could put you in a cute diaper so you can play in the baby gym, and let go of those silly big-girl thoughts. Maybe you’re ready for lunch already, or you could have a little accident in your panties so we’ve got an excuse for you to be back in diapers. If you want to go potty first, that would really prove what a big girl you are. Or maybe innocence isn’t quite what you’re after. Maybe you’d rather be a bratty teen who goes potty in her pants just to earn a spanking. Or I’ve got a new games console if you wants some screen time, I’m sure we could find a movie to watch together, or… if you really want to be that grown-up, maybe you can convince me you deserve some adult fun and games. What do you think?”

The last option sounds kind of appealing; you’re old enough to admit that your babysitter looks kind of hot, in a mature way. But you’re already sure that option would come with a price; agreeing to do some of the childish things as well, perhaps. And you’re not sure it would be worth it. So you try to find some other options, like jokingly suggesting movies you’re sure I wouldn’t be so comfortable with.

“I’ve watched Pirates before,” I answer with a smirk. “I wasn’t always a babysitter. But this kind of insincere answer is why I need a little magic. Tell me which option you’d really enjoy the most. Just the truth.”

The sharpness in my voice takes you by surprise, and your first response is a wordless syllable like when you first woke up, no thoughts and no meaning until you understand the situation.

“See, isn’t it easier when you’re honest with your feelings?” I’m almost laughing now. “And for cooperating so easily, I’ll give you the choice. Number one or number two. Or would you prefer both? Just the truth.”

Again, that pointed tone in the question, demanding a response before you could even ask what the options are. You hear the sound of your own voice, but if there is a word in there you don’t know what it is.

It can be hard when you have to make too many decisions. I could see it when you were sitting at the bar; not sure if you’re looking for a man who can make you feel safe, or one who might set your heart racing. Trying to guess what lies inside the strangers around you, and finding the right way to present yourself so they would give you what you want. Even how young to tell them you are; though I’m sure you’d like to imagine you’re younger than you feel.

You didn’t need to do any of that. I’m not someone you were looking for, but I found you. And you don’t need to make those kinds of decisions again. Instead of a game of teasing and misdirection, trying to find what someone wants without really opening your heart, I could just offer to tell you stories. About different types of little girls, and what they want from their daddies. Somehow, the stories of your past experiences often fitted into the tapestry of different tales. And it wasn’t long before we were carried away in a fog of words, the edges of each story blurring into the next until maybe you were only aware of the images in your mind, not the words that helped to conjure them. Maybe at some point, my voice filled your mind so completely, and felt so soft and warm, that you lost the boundary between stories and memories, dreams and reality as well.

Now you’re just sitting in front of me, listening to my voice, eager to see where the night will go. You don’t need to know, you don’t need to decide. You don’t need to think about how tomorrow will go, or what I will think about your choices. You don’t need to think at all, I can do that for you, and you can just keep nodding along as my voice caresses your mind. We’ve shared so many little stories already, of how different girls might enjoy time with Daddy, and when you come to sit on my lap, we’ll know which one you want most.

You don’t need to think about it, or what it might mean. You don’t need to make a decision, because the choice isn’t yours. Deep down, there is a part of you that knows which of those stories you would enjoy the most right now, and when you sit on my lap you can just let it happen. Maybe you’ll rub yourself against me, desperate for my touch, or maybe you’ll play innocent and try to tease me. Maybe you’ll bounce up and down like a joyful child, or offer your cheek for a kiss. Whatever fantasy you need, however naughty, small, innocent, or excited you want to be, you will show me without needing to decide a thing. And then I will make your deepest dreams come true.

The choice isn’t yours now, so come here and sit on my lap. That’s it, just let go of that need to be in control, and show me what you want the most. Show Daddy how good you are, and how little you need to be…

…

I've recently started thinking that there's a daddy-mommy axis in identity, that's almost but not quite parallel to the male-female axis.

Is this a common thing? Is this something you could get behind?

Is it reasonable for a woman to be a Daddy? Is that something you'd be okay with? Because I can see myself in the "Daddy" box, but don't think I could fit in "Mommy". And I'd mostly say I'm an enby, could maybe vibe with "woman", but never with "man". (Maaaaybe I can manage "bloke", but that's a stretch; and probably influenced by someone I had a lot of respect for when I was younger)

No big ones that I actually remember to check. I've kind of been hermit mode on social media since a few accounts got deleted.

Because of the other content in my feed, I didn't realise it was an ad until the picture loaded. That's a very different kind of training from the posts above and below it.

Hey! I think Wattpad likes deleting the middle part of trilogies. I'm going to repost that one elsewhere, just as soon as I can get through editing it. Until then, it's up on Google Docs for anyone willing to volunteer for editing, or my Inkitt/Patreon supporters.