The Fort Part 2- Don't Call Me Daddy
Chapter 13- Downstairs/Upstairs
© L 2025
Standing on the landing you steady yourself leaning on the bannister to compose yourself, or at least try to. Taking some deep breaths you take a moment, your head is spinning. Did that really just happen? You really can't face your office right now, but you need to sort it out, and secure it. It's only as you get to the doorway you question how I got in. You feel in your pocket and find that your key is still there. Just as you do, your eyes meet the glass of whisky you left last night when you heard a noise downstairs. The realisation then strikes you, you never came back to the room, you left it open. You switch off the computer and monitor, take the glass, throw the glitter pots in the bin, getting glitter over your hand.
As for the spilled glitter, I will be dealing with that, you're not sure how yet, it is my mess, I will be clearing it up. But regardless, you know you'll be finding glitter for the next year no matter how much the carpet is cleaned of it. It's why you keep it locked away, and why you rarely agree to let me use it. You pull the door closed, it automatically locks, but you push on it just to check. As you walk back slowly past my bedroom, the door is open, and you glance in. You see my favourite teddy resting on top of my toys, walking in, you retrieve Radcliffe, you also take the monitor. You walk into your bedroom not looking at or acknowledging me, not that I have moved, and I practically hold my breath when you walk in. You place my teddy on your bed, and place the monitor on your bedside table, both you position looking at me, then you leave, but at least this time you don't slam the door.
Downstairs
You head downstairs, your head pounding, you head into the kitchen. You get yourself a glass of water, take some headache pills, and walk to the sofa that 15 minutes ago you were happily sleeping on. You sit down, adrenaline still running through you. You can't help but feel crushed, your mind is racing. On the one hand you are devastated I broke your office rule, especially today. You look at the blankets in the corner of the room ready to be made into our fort, the table still has my plans, list's and unfinished sign on it, the kitchen work top is full of treats for the weekend. On the other hand you can't help but partly blame yourself, you never leave your office unlocked, and yes, you know that is no excuse, but you are still angry with yourself all the same.
You're also frustrated with yourself for not getting my glitter. You promised me when you got home, the first thing you would do was get it, and you didn't, and I didn't badger or harass you. I trusted you would get it, that you would keep your promise. You never break promises, and yes it may not be the most important promise you have ever made, but to you that is irrelevant, you still broke it.
As the painkillers kick in you feel yourself feeling more composed, feeling yourself getting back in control, and you check my monitor to see me crying and wiping my eyes. While tears never effect your judgement when it comes to addressing my behaviour, you still hate seeing me cry when you have told me off. My tears of pain turn you on, but my tears of sorrow break your heart. Yes you have to address what I did, but you need time to think, to fully calm before you hand out any punishment, you are far too angry right now. But you also know you have a responsibility to stop me going into sub drop, so you grab a writing pad and a pen, and head up stairs. Entering your bedroom, I'm sitting up in my cage, but dare not make eye contact with you. You drop both the items through the bars and order me to look at you. 'Write this down', you say commandingly, 'I broke Masters office rule and will be punished severely'. You see me hesitate as you say the words punished severely, and just wait until I've finished writing.
'You will write that out 250 times. This isn't your main punishment, but it will give you something to concentrate on. I hope by the time you've written it out 250 times you are suitability worried'. You pause as I look up at you. 'Because you should be! When you are done, shut the note pad, put the pen on top, and assume your apology position. I will keep watch, and come and get you once you are finished'. With that you turn and leave, heading back downstairs. You know how much this will torture me, but you know me well enough to know these will be the neatest, best written lines I've ever done. Having something to focus on will stop sub drop. However, downstairs you bring up my monitor on your phone and set it in front of you, glancing at it regularly, just in case.
Upstairs
Your bedroom is somewhat sound proof, for obvious reasons, so as soon as you slam your bedroom door I don't hear anything further. But I don't move, I've no idea how long you are leaving me, and I'm still in shock. Not specifically because of what I did, or your reaction. I trust you completely, so even when you held me in the corridor it never occurred to me you would hurt me, but you have scared me more than I can remember ever feeling. As you ordered me into my cage I crawled in on all fours. My cage is big enough for me to sit in, but I just can't move. Only once before have I broken your office rule, but you were in your office when I walked in, without knocking and without you asking.
I vividly remember the pain you inflicted on me, I remember the promise you made me that day too. You told me that day you had taken it easy on me, and if I ever broke it again, you would break me. Now you said this in context, it's not the first time you have used that phrase, you say it to emphasise a point, and within it I know you will severely push my limits. But I also know you will never cross the line of complete trust I have given you. I reprimand myself over and over again. Why did I go into your office? Why did I need the glitter that much? Why didn't I shut the door and just colour my sign in? Act first think later, you have always said gets me into more trouble with you than anything else. If I had got the glitter and you hadn't caught me in your office, you would have still known I got it when I used it, the outcome would have been the same.
As these thoughts cloud my mind you burst through the door my teddy in one hand, my monitor in the other. You place them down and leave, not looking at me, not acknowledging me, and that hurts so much. The monitor is obvious, when I'm in my cage you always make sure you can keep an eye on me. While it is only a guess, occasionally, you make my teddy watch while you punish me, especially when I've been very naughty in little space. It's something I hate, something that definitely reminds me you are in control, and can do (within our limits), what you want, its humiliating, and shameful.
Once you leave me again I sit down in my cage. With you placing the monitor to watch me, I know it could technically be hours before you return to me, you've not ordered me into a particular position, so I make myself as comfortable as I can. Sitting in silence, my mind now turns to our weekend. I rarely cry at any time because of our dynamic, occasionally when you push my limits of pain, and humiliation I can endure I do, but you are always there. If I cry because I have broken a rule, done something I shouldn't have, I really must have messed up, and I can head into sub drop very easily. Now I feel tears fill my eyes, as I begin to realise not only have I broken one of your most fundamental rules, completely betrayed your trust, but I have ruined our fort weekend too.
I wipe my eyes, angry and frustrated, and you notice me do this on my monitor. Within moments you enter your bedroom and walk to my cage. I can feel my heart beating so loudly I'm convinced you can hear it too. I keep my head down, too scared and to be honest, too ashamed to raise my head and look at you. Just then you drop a large writing pad and pen into my cage through the bars. 'Look at me', you say sternly, you are no longer shouting, but this almost scares me more, and I slowly raise my eyes to meet yours.
You tell me to write the following sentence down- I broke Masters office rule and will be punished severely. As you speak the line, it sends a metaphorical shiver through me. I can barely write the last two words, punished severely. I'm not stupid, I knew you would punish me heavily, but writing it down reinforces this message. It only gets worse when you then tell me I will rewrite that same line 250 times, adding you hope I'm suitability worried by the time I'm finished. I'm already more scared than I can remember being, I don't see how this can get any worse.
You soon leave, you offer no words of comfort, not that I deserve any, but the absence of any comfort is deafening. I sit staring at the page probably for only minutes but it seems like hours. As much as I want to get the lines over and done with to the best I can do, I am not ready for what will happen when I am finished, and I'm not sure I ever will be!
I glance up at my teddy, and my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Slowly I write the numbers 1 to 20 on the page, and, line by line I rewrite the same sentence you told me to. Line by line the words severely punished echo through me, alongside one word 'Master', conjuring images I have only seen in more extreme porn films.