Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY Ext 357
Daddy’s shop has a lot of rules. Like a lot. “Don’t touch the buttons on the lift,” “Don’t mess with the air compressor,” “Put the tools back where they belong.” On and on; seriously, how is one little girl supposed to know and remember all of Daddy’s silly rules every time she wants to visit his workshop? He says the shop can be a dangerous place for curious girls, and all of the rules are to protect me and keep me safe, but honestly, I just think he makes them up so he can spank me whenever he feels like it.
For example, the day I waltzed into his shop and stopped in my tracks. A colorful eruption of sparkles exploded in front of Daddy as he hunched over the bench. The sparks were so bright they made him look like a dark shadow as he worked under a big helmet. My feet started bringing me closer, mesmerized by how the bright lights danced off every surface around him. Because I wasn’t looking where I was going, my foot kicked something heavy on the floor, and the clang caught Daddy’s attention. His helmet-covered head snapped in my direction, and the sparks stopped immediately. I could tell just by his posture I was in trouble.
