Happy birthday, baby

chapter 1

When we get back from shopping, the driveway is full of cars. While you admire your new lingerie, I surreptitiously send Madelyn a text: We’re here.

I glance over at you in the passenger seat, but you haven’t looked up yet, haven’t noticed what’s waiting for you. You look so innocent in your pink skater dress and Happy Birthday headband. Your space buns are messy from a day of adjusting the headband, but that just makes them cuter. The only thing grown up about you is the pile of teddies and bralettes in your lap.

Or, I should say, the only thing grown about you yet.

Suddenly, your head pops up and you look at me with those big blue eyes. “Daddy,” you announce, “I’m hungry.”

“Of course you are, baby girl,” I croon. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” You got so mad at me at the mall. I walked you past the Cinnabon, the Panera, the Auntie Anne’s–all your favorites. And when you rubbed your little belly and told me you were hungry or asked for a snack, I said no. Every time. When your blood sugar dropped, I gave you a lollipop.

“Can we pretty please eat soon?” you ask now. “It is my birthday, after all….”

“You don’t get to eat if you’re going to be a brat.”

You perk up, your posture perfect, your best little smile on. “I’m good!” you promise. “I’m not a brat!” Before I can respond, you finally notice all the cars. You recognize all of them. I knew you wouldn’t want to be embarrassed in front of strangers on your birthday. “Is this my party?” you squeak. I can practically feel the excitement radiating off you, and I fall in love with you all over again.

We’re ready, Madelyn texts. I park our car on the street and turn to you. “Happy Birthday, baby.”

“Happy Birthday, Daddy,” you respond, then blush. “I mean…”

I put a finger to your lips. “Hush. This is your birthday party, and all our closest friends are waiting for you.” I emphasize “closest,” to hint at what kind of party this will be. “You need to stay little for your party, and you need to follow my directions.”

Your blush deepens. “Do–are they?” you stammer.

“Yes, they all know about you. They know everything about you,” I say with a shade of menace. Before you can get anxious and ask another question, I assure you, “They know because you told them. These are only the people you trust.” You visibly relax. “I’ve already told them no pictures or videos. Now, when you go inside, go straight upstairs and change into the outfit I laid out for you. Then we’ll go down to the basement.”

You nod and get out of the car. I shoo you inside and collect our packages from the day. It’s a mix of lingerie, Claire’s products, and makeup. I spoiled you.

The outfit you’ll find upstairs isn’t one you’ll like. I imagine you’ll come out of the bedroom complaining, but I won’t change my mind. I set out a pair of snug high-waisted shorts–the ones with the little gold buttons instead of a zipper. I also put out that crop top you’ve never gotten up the courage to wear in public. Today’s the day.

I run downstairs briefly to make sure everything is arranged. Your best friend, Madelyn, is just finishing opening the wine. Dinner is all laid out on a folding table I borrowed from the office, and your throne and restraints are set up at the end of the buffet. It’s perfect. I remind everyone of the plan and the rules:

1. Every time someone goes through the buffet, they have to feed you something off their plate. They should also feed you any time your mouth is empty.
2. No photos or videos.
3. Your safe word is Goldilocks, and if you say it, the feeding stops immediately.
4. If your mouth is full and you stomp both your feet on the ground at the same time, that counts as your safe word and the feeding stops immediately.
5. No one can touch any part of you except your belly unless you’ve safe-worded and they’re untying you.
6. No one can clean you up unless you’ve safe-worded.

Everyone nods in agreement, and I run upstairs to get you.