The Billionaire's Little Secret

by Carmen Quick

  I heard him open the cabinet, and saw him very carefully selecting a large pacifier, and then he returned to me, his dick sprung high into the air, red and desperate. Yet he was going to deny himself of me. I knew that. He was going to push the hard, smelly plastic into my mouth, then he was going to check my diaper, then maybe, he’d give me another milky treat.

  And I was going to let him do it all to me. I was going to melt into the floor, and take whatever he wanted to give me. Because I was Lilly Smith. And I was the strongest woman in the world.

  Liberty. Peace. Strength.

  Love…

  FREE PREVIEW OF DADDY’S LITTLE SECRET

  There was nothing special about the Tuesday morning my whole life blew apart. Really. Nothing special at all.

  Don’t believe me? Okay. Well let’s think about this. It was a little rainy out. I was on my way to Schott’s Bakery to buy some kind of special, fancy-pants, artisanal bread for my boss, Violetta. She likes these amazingly intricate sandwiches for lunch, with pickled cucumber, salmon and water chestnuts, usually on sourdough or rye. Don’t ask me - they sound repulsive. So anyway. I was heading down 24th street, on the way to buy this bread, shielding my head from the rain with my anorak. And yeah - you heard me right. I wear an anorak. It’s bright pink, full of zips and functional pockets, and it does the job just right, thank you very much. Okay, okay, it’s a little ugly, but I never seem to get round to going shopping, and I’ve been stuck with this same anorak for the past five years. At least my dress underneath was a little smarter - you have to be smart for my job, in marketing. Even when you’re at the bottom rung of the ladder like me. Jeez, I’m barely even on the first rung.

  The problem with shielding my head from the rain so vehemently with my anorak, was that it wasn’t too easy to see where I was going. The other thing about being out in the rain was the dangerous effect it had on my bladder. Hearing all that rain, pattering down onto the pavement, dripping onto my plastic hood, it made me realize just how bad I needed to pee.

  That’s wen I bumped into him.

  And that’s about the moment my whole life blew apart.

  But before we get to the deep regression and the crazily intense period of self-actualization, let me take you back a few steps. You’re gonna need to conserve your energy, and take my story in little by little… believe me.

  ***

  So. My name’s Lauren Winter and like I say, I work in marketing. Chances are, if you’re reading this, you’ll already know this is going to be a slightly unusual book; a no-holds-barred confession of my gradual regression by a handsome stranger. What you probably don’t know is what sort of a girl I am - or at least what sort of a girl I was - before all this happened. Well, let me be frank about this, because I need to be honest. I am - or rather, I should say, I was - what you might call a late bloomer. I was still a virgin at twenty-one, and I’d always felt it was important I saved myself for Mr. Right. I wasn’t, like, super religious or anything, although my parents are both Catholic, and I think some of that’s rubbed off on me. I still go to church a couple of times a year, you know, and I even kneel beside my bed and pray some nights. These days I mostly pray for forgiveness from my sins… but it doesn’t stop me sinning.

  What you’ve got to remember is that before I met the man who turned my life upside down, the man who captured my heart and who made me call him Daddy, I knew nothing about the adult baby lifestyle. Probably if you’d described to me the thrill of getting strapped into a snug little diaper, or the ecstasy of submitting to a stern man, I would have laughed, and wouldn’t have believed that people really did that sort of thing. But it wasn’t even that I was having ‘vanilla’ sex, either. I was painfully inexperienced in all matters sexual, out of choice.

  I suppose when I was eighteen I felt pretty good about my decision to stay celibate before marriage. I’d watch my best friend Deborah hooking up with spotty, awkward guys with buck teeth, and I’d think, Jeez, Deborah, rather you than me. But time wore on, and the guys my friends hooked up with got progressively more handsome, more muscular, and more like the type of guy I’d always hoped Mr. Right would be for me. My best friend Deborah told me about the things her boyfriend, Andy, would do to her at night. The way he’d caress her face as he slowly entered her, how he’d tell her she was beautiful as he rode her cunt faster and faster… Oh. Excuse me for using that word. Cunt. I never used to use it. That’s something he got me into. I know a lot of people don’t like it. Heck, I never used to like it. It made me cringe. But now it makes me think of him. Cunt, cunt, cunt. It makes me think of my flower opening up and letting him enter me in all sorts of strange and exciting ways…

  But don’t let me get ahead of myself. I’m trying to tell you what I was like then, not what I’m like now. Back then, I’d have blushed at the word sex alone. I didn’t even understand how you did it, not properly. I mean, I got the mechanics of it - I’d seen TV, right? But I never really understood how it worked. I felt a little squeamish when I thought about it too long. I figure I was mostly scared. I didn’t understand how anything was ever going to fit into that tiny space between my legs. But believe me, stuff was going to fit alright. Some seriously big stuff.

  You’re probably getting the idea by now anyway. Before I met my stranger, I had as much experience as a newly-hatched mayfly. By which I mean, not much! You’ll have to excuse my funny way of talking. It’s both a blessing and a curse of mine. A blessing, because it helps to have a quirky mind in advertising - my boss says I’m a blabbermouth who’s capable of thinking so far outside the box that the box is just a speck on the horizon. But a curse, because sometimes people just wanna hear it plain. And so that’s what I’m trying to give you now. The truth. Nothing more, nothing less, just what happened, in intimate detail. You’re going to learn exactly how Lauren lost her cherry. And how Lauren became Little Lorrie; a snickering, humiliated baby who wore diapers in public, wet herself on command, and learned to act like a silly little tot who only had eyes for her special Daddy.

  Hold onto your hats, folks. It’s gonna be one hell of a ride.

  ***

  So. I was outside, on my way to buy bread. It was raining and I was desperate to pee. I was wearing an anorak. I bumped into someone cos I’m a giant doofus. What next? Well. At first, I was so flustered at having bumped into someone that I couldn’t talk. Which is unusual for me, being the chatterbox I am!

  He was the first to speak. I heard his voice before I even saw his face. ‘Watch where you’re going,’ he barked, and I scowled, wiping my hair away from my eyes. It was soaking wet and plastered to my face in a most unattractive fashion. So much for my anorak keeping me dry - I looked like a drowned rat!

  I had that feeling, before I looked at his face. You know, that feeling that I was about to like what I saw. It’s not like I have a sixth sense or anything like that. I’m not a psychic! But it was a combination of factors. The firm, muscular, tight feeling of his torso, as my soft and rather bouncy body plowed into it. And then the scent of him. The strong waft of manly aftershave. It was like pepper, juniper and razor blades. Okay, not razor blades exactly, but there was something sharp about the smell of him that felt strangely like it sliced me in half. I know - crazy, right?

  I opened my mouth, my lips parting, about to apologize - thank goodness at least I’d freshly applied a layer of Chanel L’Eclatante pink lipstick before leaving work, to stop me looking a total mess - but when I saw his face, I was lost for words again.

  My first thought was Don Draper from Mad Men. But that was probably just the wide-eyed, marketing gal within me. He was a little younger than that. In his late thirties or early forties, maybe. His hair was dark and messy, his eyes scowling and lively, as if they were working hard to contain many dark, dark secrets. He looked every bit as handsome as I’d imagined. More so. But he also looked wild. How could a man in a Brioni pinstripe suit (I knew it was Brioni as I’d researched an article on them earlier in the year) look so goddamn wild?
It was like he’d stepped right out of the jungle and this was the first time he’d ever put on a suit. Incredible.

  So many phrases began racing through my mind.

  I’m so sorry, sir, it was an accident.

  You’re right, I really ought to watch where I’m going.

  Oh heck, I’m such a klutz, Mister!

  This darn rain… I hope it clears up soon…

  All the usual chatty bullcrap that normally tumbles right outta my mouth. But none of it seemed… appropriate for this guy. It was like he could see right through me. I stood up straight, lifted my hood back, and looked at him, trying to communicate through the expression in my eyes that I was indeed real sorry, and that in just a moment, I would find the right words to make some lame attempt at small-talk with him, but right now, I was, for once, struck dumb.

  I parted my moist lips, hoping that I could get the words out this time.

  The stranger looked down at me, still standing close to me, our bodies still touching, my chest still pressed awkwardly against his. He reached up to my face and wiped a strand of rain-soaked hair away from my cheek. The water continued to pelt down onto my face, running down onto his hand, down his sleeve, but he didn’t seem to mind. I looked up at him expectantly.

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ he said, his hands pressing lightly but firmly upon my chin, closing my mouth. He studied me for some time, looking first at my mouth, then at my eyes, my hair, and eventually, his eyes trailing down my body. I felt strangely indignant and excited all at once. I cursed myself for wearing such an ugly anorak, and hoped that he could at least sense the shapely figure that lurked beneath my coat.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said eventually. ‘This is how it’s going to work between us from now on. I’ll do the talking. You listen. Okay?’

  Not knowing what else to do, I simply nodded. I could feel this strange energy crackling between the two of us, like lightning.

  ‘I expect you’re sorry for bumping into me,’ he said, studying me for my response. I nodded again, as emphatically as I could. I’m very sorry, I thought. Please don’t hurt me. But I wasn’t really scared. If anything, I was kinda mesmerized by this man. I felt like I was under some sort of spell… and I wanted to see where this might end up.

  He drew his hand away from my face. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Nice little girls like you should be sorry when they bump into men like me.’ The way he said the word little really stuck out to me. It was gentle, tender even, a real contrast to the intensity behind his eyes.

  Now he took my hand in his. ‘I expect you’re running because you have somewhere very important to be. Am I right?’

  I bowed my head. I didn’t want to nod. I didn’t want to leave this man, to go and buy bread for my psycho boss, Violetta.

  ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘You’ve got someplace to be, but you don’t want to go.’

  I looked up, my eyes shining with recognition. Slowly, I nodded. The pressure in my bladder was suddenly almost unbearable. I had to squirm to stop myself from losing control.

  It was a horrible feeling, but a familiar one. I don’t know why, but I had always needed to use the bathroom a lot. For as long as I could remember, I’d had to pee way more than the average person, and it was even worse when I was under any kind of stress or pressure. My current job didn’t help with the problem, and my current situation, feeling so silly in front of this handsome, commanding man, didn’t help at all.

  He looked down at my body as I clamped my thighs together. For some reason, I still didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to admit that I needed to pee, that the place I needed to get to was simply the bathroom

  ‘Listen,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I’m going to put you in a cab now. You’re going to ride to the Plaza Hotel with me, and I’m going to talk to you for a while.’ He paused. ‘Okay?’

  Again, for the fourth time, I nodded. And then I nodded some more.

  ***

  You need to know that I’m not crazy. I swear I’m not. In those personality tests they make you do on business weekends I come out as an INFJ. Apparently that makes me an ‘advocate’: I’m quiet and mystical, and extremely idealistic. Good careers for INFJs like me include counselors, psychologists, life coaches and spiritual guides. The only thing that’s crazy about someone like me is that, with my personality type, I ended up in marketing.

  I’m certainly not the kinda gal who gets in a cab with a complete stranger.

  I’m the kinda gal who spends a month planning what she’s going to have for dinner.

  And yet… Here I was, in New York City, getting into a cab with a man in a Brioni suit… and that’s all I knew about him. All he knew about me was I was a bedraggled mess, wearing a pink anorak. He hadn’t even heard my voice, for heaven’s sake! I could be totally mute, for all he knew!

  In the cab, the stranger didn’t say a word, except to tell the driver to head for the Plaza. The cabbie nodded, as if this was all just totally normal for him, as if he drove a pair of strangers to the Plaza every day… Not that he knew we were strangers, of course. I wonder who he thought we were. A smart businessman, and a soaking wet girl in a cheap raincoat. Did he look like my rich uncle? My dad? Certainly not my lover. Hang on. Why was I thinking about him being my lover? I knew nothing about him. He told me he was going to talk to me at the hotel. Just talk. Maybe he was a lonely guy, going through a heavy divorce, in need of a gentle female ear. I’d never thought of myself as a good listener, but maybe I could give it a try.

  He didn’t look at me once during the ride. His face was angled away from me, looking out of the window at the busy streets, full of working people walking back and forth up the crowded sidewalks. There were people carrying briefcases, off to important meetings. There were chefs carrying trays of pastries covered in cellophane, and women in stilettos navigating the rain with far more grace than I had just done. Why had this stranger chosen me to sit beside him?

  Just then, I remembered something. Violetta, my boss. Shit. I took out my cell and wrote a hurried text, shielding my screen so the stranger couldn’t see. Emergency, I typed. Just seen an old woman get mugged on 24th street. Taking her to the cops to give a statement. I pressed send before I had a chance to realise what the heck I had just done. Jeez, Lauren! You crazy weirdo! Why did I just do that? If something was to happen to me in the hands of this gentleman, nobody would ever know how to find me.

  And yet…

  I was beginning to feel something. Excitement. Pleasure. The joy of doing something naughty and not caring about the consequences. The joy of finally, maybe, having a real adventure. And luckily, sitting down had helped with the other situation, the one between my legs. Sometimes, standing would help, sometimes, sitting down or going for a walk. It was fortunate that for me, the calm rumbling of the engine had slightly dampened my immediate need to relieve myself.

  As the cab approached the Plaza, I looked up at its imposing architecture and began to feel quite dizzy. It was such a beautiful building. So regal. So full of history. I’d seen it across The Pond in Central Park plenty of times, of course, but never up close, quite like this. Never as a potential visitor. My heart began to race, wondering if I was really going into this impressive building. Perhaps we’d eat macaroons and drink fragrant tea in the legendary Rose Club. I’d heard about that place, located in the very spot Liza Minnelli performed back when there was a nightclub there. I imagined how it might feel to drink tea in the spot where Liza Minnelli perhaps once sang Teach Me Tonight. I shuddered. My best friend, Deborah, would never believe a story like that. I couldn’t wait to tell her about all of this, to be honest.

  Suddenly I realized he was talking to me. ‘It’s time to get out. We’re here.’

  Oh, shit, how embarrassing. The cab had stopped and he was holding open my door. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, telling me to get out. Me and my daydreaming! I looked up at him, noticing how tall and muscular he was. Oh my god. I wondered how pathetic I looked t
o him. My hair was still damp, but starting to frizz up as it dried. I had a horrible feeling my mascara had probably run too.

  I took a deep breath, resolving to find a mirror once we entered the Plaza, and I got out of the cab, and stood next to my tall, dark stranger.

  ***

  The inside of the Plaza was even more incredible than the outside. There were huge chandeliers hanging from the ornate ceiling, and everything looked like it had been dipped in marble and gold. Even the people looked like they’d been dipped in something expensive. The women in here were glamorous, and the men were handsome. And there I was in my yellow anorak. I’d never felt so out of place in my life.

  I thought back to the last time I’d been somewhere this fancy, and felt even more out of place when I realized that the only thing I could think of was St.Patrick’s Cathedral, the neo-gothic church in Manhattan. Something about the inside of the Plaza made me want to drop to me knees and pray, just like being in church. It was a place to worship opulence and extravagance, I thought to myself, as I walked past crowds of the faithful.

  I looked up at my mysterious chaperone. He belonged here. He seemed more relaxed than he’d been with me before, and his strong features and killer eyes made me wonder again who and what he was. It was the first time I’d had a chance to get a good look at his face without him staring at me. His eyes were softer than I’d thought at first, and were a rich, hazel color, warm and strangely reassuring. I must have been staring, because the moment he caught me looking, his expression hardened again, his scowl even more stern than before.

  Ugh, Lauren, you idiot, play it cool! Hang on… I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Why wasn’t I allowed to look at the guy I was with? Why was I even thinking about any of this stuff? What had I gotten myself into?