by Maren Smith
She waited, but he only arched a dark eyebrow. She couldn’t believe she had to spell it out for him. “Why?”
He blinked. “Can you be more specific?”
She lowered her voice even more. “Why… any of this? I don’t get it. That is a grown man in a diaper.”
“Yes, it is.”
“And that’s a grown woman sucking her thumb.”
He remained unfazed, apparently finding nothing abnormal in anything taking place in this room.
“Why?” Sandy asked again. “Why would anyone want to do this?”
“Why did you?” he countered.
So she could see if this place was the den of pedophilia half the people of Granger gossiped that it might be, and possibly even get the evidence she’d need to support the article she was going to write about it later. Not that she could tell him any of that. Her face flamed. She couldn’t just not answer his question, either. Not without sparking suspicion, and already the silence had dragged on for too long.
Reeve noticed, too. His dark eyes still hadn’t left hers; a twitch tugged at the corners of his mouth, as if he were tempted to smile, but he didn’t yet want her to know how much he was starting to suspect. She had to say something, but Sandy couldn’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t end with her in this dress, sucking on a pacifier and hugging her dinosaur for the rest of the weekend.
“I’m waiting.” His expression was shuttered, making it damn near unreadable. Every now and then she thought she glimpsed amusement interspersed among the flickering shadows of what might have been disapproval. But those flickers were so faint and they came and went so fast. She never could pin down for sure exactly what she was seeing. At least he wasn’t angry with her anymore. At this moment, it was the only thing Sandy was sure of.
“I saw the option online,” she hedged. “I guess I’m just curious.”
“All right.” For the first time, Reeve took a quick glance at the other Littles in the nursery. With a nod of his chin, he directed her attention to one. “The man in the diaper is a high-powered partner for a multibillion-dollar law firm. He works ten and twelve hours a day, every day of the week, every month of the year, and as far as I know, the only vacation he ever takes is the one that brings him here. It lasts three days and he spends all of them in the Nursery where he doesn’t have to take a single phone call, or make any decision more difficult or life-impacting than does he want to be awake or does he want to sleep some more. And the young lady sucking her thumb?” Edging in a little closer and lowering his voice, when Reeve redirected her attention, his breath caressed the shell of her ear and her whole body prickled at the heated nearness of him.
“That young lady is a survivor,” Reeve continued. “One of I don’t know how many men and women whose childhoods were ripped from them through physical, mental or sexual abuse. They say the lack of a loving parent or a safe upbringing is the main reason some find solace in this kink. I don’t know if that’s true or not; I’m not a psychologist. But I do know the Castle is a haven for people who might not have anywhere else to express the Little within. I’m proud of that.” He looked at her. “I’ll defend that.”
The fine hairs along her nape prickled again. If she didn’t know better, Sandy would have thought that was a warning directed specifically at her. But he couldn’t possibly know who she was or why she was here. And he was a resident of Granger, so he couldn’t have helped but overhear some of the same rumors she had.
Except the rumors had specified underage children and, as the saying went, where there was smoke… Except that everyone in this nursery was old enough to consent to their diapers, bottles and building blocks. The man in his crib had to be in his late fifties, if not his sixties. The mostly naked woman with the teddy bear was at least forty and Maggie, at thirty-something, seemed the youngest of them all. Where were the real Littles? Maybe they separated them out by age. A place this size could easily have more than one nursery and, really, people who carried out their illegal activities in the open didn’t remain undetected for long. The Castle had been around for years. Whatever they were doing, they had to be hiding it.
“Are there other Little programs?” Suddenly aware she could not have asked that question any more suspiciously if she’d tried, Sandy backpedaled. “I mean, maybe I’ll feel more comfortable around, you know…” She patted the air, casting about for a reason that wouldn’t raise his suspicions. “—people closer to my own age,” she finished lamely. “You know, so I’ll feel more comfortable.”
There went those flickers again, right before his expression shuttered completely. It was a weak excuse and one he could have countered simply by pointing out that she was actually pretty close to Maggie’s apparent age. But he didn’t. Instead, he pasted on a smile that tickled every inner red flag Sandy owned, and said, “Sure. I can do that.”
He signaled to Eric, but deep in conversation with the Nanny who ran the Nursery, Eric held up a staying finger in return. Reeve wasn’t inclined to wait.
“Right this way,” he said, and off they went.
It couldn’t be that easy. Trying not to get excited, Sandy followed him back out of the Nursery and down the long maze of torch-lit hallways. It was just the two of them now. She tried not to let herself get too excited about that either, but even knowing what she was doing and what he might be a part of, it still did weird things to her nipples every time he held a door for her. Or when he took her arm, halting their progress long enough to allow a larger group of costumed, collared, sometimes even masked people to pass them on narrow staircases. Or when the heat of his hand touched the small of her back, just above her tingling, tender, lace-ruffled bottom, directing without words for her to start walking again. At last they came to a massive door, marked by an engraved plaque that read ‘St. Castle’s Catholic School’. When he heaved it open, a gaggle of schoolgirls came spilling out.
“Sorry,” one giggled.
“Excuse us,” another chimed in as they poured past. There were at least a dozen of them, all dressed in Catholic school uniforms, books clutched to their chests and hair done up in ribbons, barrettes, hairbands or pigtails. Only one paused to pay either Reeve or Sandy any attention at all, and it was just to flash a quick smile which Reeve answered before she hurried to catch up with her group.
Sandy wasn’t a jealous person by nature. She had no reason to be jealous of that exchange. So whatever that kneejerk feeling was that made her want to step in between Reeve and that retreating girl, or maybe even just to smile at him and see if he’d smile back at her too, she stamped back down until she could convince herself she’d never felt it to start with.
“In you go,” Reeve said, holding the door.
Walking through, Sandy found herself on the upper level of a two-story library full of schoolchildren. Except, every single one of these children had to be at least twenty, and one was pushing eighty. She had the walker and oxygen tank to prove it, complete with sparkling eyes and mischievous smile.
“We have three full classrooms,” Reeve announced as he listed his way through pretty much the same information the online brochure had offered. “You can choose to be in the 24/7 private school program or to go to school during the day and have a ‘home’ life at night. Teachers can and will administer punishments for minor misbehavior and bratting. Repeat offenders will be sent to the principal. Especially naughty behavior might result in a parent being summoned. And, of course, if you want to be really, really naughty, Master Marshall is more than happy to fit you into his busy schedule.”
Sandy caught herself staring at the super short hem of an effeminate man flirting with another male student by the bookcases, almost directly under the balcony below them. They looked right, they looked left. Clasping hands, they ducked out of sight behind the bookcases. The feminine man giggled, and Sandy blushed when the distinct sound of a zipper clicking down teeth trickled up to her burning ears.
Leaning his elbows on the bannister, Reeve both smiled and th
en loudly cleared his throat. “Report to the principal’s office,” he boomed in feigned disapproval. “Both of you.”
That zipper immediately shot back up and both ‘students’ raced through the library and out the lower level exit. Before the door could close behind them, both men burst into laughter.
Snorting, Reeve shook his head until he noticed Sandy staring at him. Smile fading, he straightened off the rail. “Is this not closer to what you meant?”
It wasn’t and, somehow, she thought he knew that. But worse, and for reasons she couldn’t even begin to examine, Sandy wasn’t having any trouble imagining herself in some unknown principal’s office, dressed in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform, with her tummy tied up in knots because Reeve had been called to deal with her behavior. She had even less trouble imagining how he would look at her as he walked into the room, or how she would look bent across his lap while he raised the back of her regulation skirt and lowered her anything but regulation panties. She could even imagine the view she’d present as he peppered her bright red bottom with all the same merciless smacks that he’d given her before. Thinking about it now, it seemed far more erotic than it had been when she’d been going through it back in their room. She could practically feel herself kicking and fussing, throwing back her head and one wayward hand just so he could catch it and pin it out of his way, and maybe even add to her sentence because she wasn’t taking her spanking like a penitent girl should.
Her bottom tingled, but that was nothing compared to the sensation that flushed through her belly, shooting up into her nipples and down between her thighs. Her pussy quivered as she imagined how he’d hold her afterwards. Like Eric had held her, perched upon the lap he’d just punished her over, cradled against his chest like she mattered to him and her tears dried upon his neck. No, not just holding. Soothing her, with comforting caresses from those hard, scarred hands of his as he rocked her and whispered in a tender voice: Who’s my good girl now?
Stomach quivering, Sandy made herself look away. She forced her stare down, into the empty library below. It was so much safer. “I’m ten years too old to put on that uniform.”
“What does age have to do with anything?” He sounded annoyed.
“Spoken like a man who likes his women dressed up like a three-year-old.” Sandy was instantly sorry she’d said that. She hadn’t meant to be so cutting, and honestly, she didn’t think it was even true. He was only making a point. And besides, none of the other Littles had come running to him the way Maggie had to Eric, who practically exuded ‘parental’ vibes from his pores.
“Are you three?” Reeve asked, his voice as soft as his tone was hard.
Every bit as uncomfortable as she was confused, Sandy folded her arms. She didn’t want to look at Reeve, but he didn’t give her that choice.
Catching her chin, he forced her gaze to his with fingers that held her firmly but with none of the biting anger that she could see flashing in the back of his dark eyes. Even more softly, he demanded an answer. “Are. You. Three?”
Twists of shame began to knot inside her, but she beat them back. She was a journalist, damn it. She was supposed to look for answers in situations that didn’t add up. She didn’t need to feel guilty for doing her job, but the knots wouldn’t go away. Rather, the harder he stared at her, the worse they tangled and tightened.
“No,” she whispered.
“Do you see any three-year-olds here?”
That didn’t mean there weren’t any.
“No,” she whispered again, stomach rolling at the thought.
“Being a Little is not the same as being a child. Being a Little is about a woman or a man rediscovering the child within. It’s about being one’s self, in the most carefree way imaginable. It’s not always about sex. Half the Littles here want no sexual contact at all. Some want structure, some want discipline. Some want nothing more than just a vacation away from the constant, day-to-day adult responsibilities. If that’s not you, fine, but don’t yuck another person’s yum simply because you don’t understand it. The people in this room and back in the Nursery, they’ve been judged enough without you adding to the shit pile. I doubt you’re anywhere near pristine enough to be passing judgment on anyone.”
He let go of her chin as if he were repelled by the touch of her. Stung, Sandy recoiled, too. Her confusion turned angry. True, she hadn’t asked her questions very diplomatically and, honestly, she was losing her perspective. This man her body was fluttering for might very well be the enemy, so what right did he have to dish out this kind of recrimination? “Like you’re judging me, you mean? How can you say—”
Reeve grabbed her again. More than her chin this time, the whole of his huge hand caught her by the throat, and it happened so fast. Sandy jerked back, stumbling over her own feet in her haste to retreat, but he followed her. Propelled her, even, and the next thing she knew, her back hit the bookcase behind her and the heated weight of Reeve pinned her to it. His whole body was as hard as his grip. His belly was on her belly. His hips bumped full up against hers a half second before the wedge of one of his thighs shoved itself between her legs, forcing her feet apart. She grabbed his shoulders just to keep her balance.
“You don’t have a Little bone in your body,” he said, his purr so devoid of the temper she could see burning in the depths of his eyes. She could feel the heady beat of his heart in the tips of her breasts, mashed as they were up against his chest. Hers was panicked; his was steady and strong.
“Please let go of my neck.” Her voice quavered wildly, but the most terrifying part of this wasn’t the way he was holding her, or even the way he was staring her down. It was the fact that she wasn’t afraid of him. She ought to be. Nobody held someone else in a grip this controlled and absolute without the victim being terrified on some level. And yet, strangely, what was stirring inside of Sandy was as far from terrified as it was perilously close to aroused. It was his leg, that was why her body was so confused. Wedged so tightly between her own, the hard ridge of his upper thigh was smashed against the folds of her sex, actually forcing her up onto her tiptoes. It was his grip on her neck. That was the harsh touch of a man who wanted to choke her, but his thumb had a different idea. It was caressing her, tracing a gentle path up and down, back and forth across the rapid pulse that betrayed her. It was his eyes, too. His eyes glared as if they despised her, and yet when they finally broke free of her own gaze, they went straight to her lips. That made her look at his lips in return.
“Why,” he wondered, “would anyone pretend to be a Little when they have no interest in it? And don’t say because you were curious. Don’t lie to me. I don’t like it.”
“I am curious,” she insisted. “It’s natural to be curious about things you don’t understand. Let go of my neck, Reeve.”
His thumb caressed her pulse again. He tipped his head, as if angling for a kiss. He wasn’t going to steal it from her. Thieves did that, and he was not a thief. He was a conqueror; he was going to take it. “I beg your pardon?”
She had absolutely no confusion about what he was really saying.
“Daddy Reeve,” she corrected herself, but he shook his head once.
“We both know I am not your Daddy, Sandy. I have no interest in being your Daddy, because I have no interest in being gentle with you. Try again.”
Her pussy spasmed, then throbbed. Could he feel that, that reflexive twitch to the heart-fluttering threat she could hear running rife behind his words? Could he feel her stumbling heart in the pulse that trembled beneath his caressing thumb? She licked her suddenly dry lips, not at all sure she should say what he was demanding of her. “Master.”
His pupils flared. So did his nose when he inhaled. He flexed his fingers upon her throat, adjusting his grip. “Kneel,” he breathed. Only by the barest degree did he pull his pinning weight from her body. His wedging thigh retreated, lowering her off her unsteady toes. It felt like someone else’s legs when hers folded underneath her, buckling disjointedly as she
slid down the bookcase in awkward obedience at his feet.
Cold and craggy, the bumps of each stone block bit into her knees and shins. Don’t look. Don’t look, she told herself, her fists clutched tight in the folds of her babydoll dress. But when she tried to raise her eyes back to his, they only got halfway up before she locked with the bulge of his crotch. It was only natural, she supposed. It was directly in front of her face. What wasn’t natural was the spasm of twitches that rocked her sex all the way up to her womb, or the tickling moisture that wept from her, saturating the crotch of her panties.
She should not be aroused by this, and she knew it. Her breasts should not feel this swollen and heavy, with the pulse of her heart beating in the tenseness of nipples that begged to be touched. Her clit should not now be throbbing along in time. She wasn’t just trembling anymore; she was shaking, and licking her lips again, and God, if the urge to close what few inches separated them and press her open, hungry mouth to the front of that bulge wasn’t the most overwhelming thing she’d felt all day.
Reeve’s breathy chuckle washed over her in mortifying waves. “My eyes are up here, woman.”
This was so wrong, in every way that she understood sex and wanted it to be. And yet, with the flames of her own humiliation licking up in her face, it didn’t feel wrong. Not… entirely. Not even when he lowered himself onto his haunches and at last her eyes found his again.
Moving slowly, giving her plenty of time to realize what he intended, Reeve slid his hand up the inner slope of her thigh. He reached beneath the ruffled hem of her dress, past the flinch of her belly and into the elastic of her underwear. Shame licked hotter. She knew what he would feel as he slicked his fingers in the helplessness of her arousal.
“I’m so confused,” she whispered, almost on the verge of tears.
Master Reeve’s handsome mouth curled. “Open,” he ordered, and sank two fingers deep inside her.
She knew exactly what he intended to do then, too, and still Sandy swallowed back the shame and opened her mouth.