Another solid strike, her knees buckled but she stood. A fourth (my hand was stinging enough that I had determined that would be the last before we left the room) and she dropped again. Same as before, she cried and stood back up whimpering; she even reassumed her position. I stood her up and told her that we were done for now. She wiped the tears from her eyes and ‘straightened’ herself up. Ready to go downstairs.As we walked to the elevator, she held my hand but was walking just a little behind and to the left of me. In the vanilla world this would not have caused comment but in our world she was being overtly and absolutely submissive to me. I recall looking into her eyes while we rode the elevator to the first floor, that she seemed ‘lost in space’. Thought maybe she had a bit too much wine this afternoon but with the benefit of hindsight I see that she was almost completely in subspace. Her body was functioning, doing what she was told, but her mind was very much. Concern displaced her earlier fear of the man. Cautious, as though he was a wild b**st instead of her father, Emily stepped closer.Less than a foot away from him, she asked, “Are you sick? Is there something the matter?”Emily gasped when her father’s eyes snapped open.“Really,” he said through fritted teeth. “It’d be better for both of us if you left me alone.”“But I’m worried about you. If you’re sick--”Cutting Emily off again, the words exploded from him. “It isn’t anything like that! I’m not fucking poorly. I’m not ill. I haven’t been to no doctor.” He paused, and the eyes on his daughter were anxious and troubled. As he sucked in a deep gulp of air and let it out on one long sigh he closed those eyes again. his fingers were tight against the arms of the chair. After several seconds of obvious inner turmoil, he opened his eyelids lifted and he stared at his daughter. “But I should probably go and see one,” he added. “A fucking head doctor, I mean. What I’m thinking, Emily ….
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