Breaking Little Emily (Dark Age Play Romance) (My Little World Book 4)

by Becca Little

  “I think you’re finally beginning to understand what it means to submit to me.” He said as he took me in his arms and we slid underneath the covers.

  It was the first time since I arrived there that I felt like a woman in his arms. I knew that I would remain as his Little Emily, but there were certainly times when I needed to feel like a woman and he had given me that gift for one night. I wasn’t sure where the next stage of our journey—my journey into submission—would take me. I was completely engulfed in every bit of his desire for me, and I was proud to be his. As I drifted to sleep, I found myself lost in a dream of our future together.

  I knew that I would be his bride one day, and I would be the best wife that he could ever ask for. My future was decided and my road was paved. It was going to lead me straight back into his arms every time I departed from them for a brief second. The love we shared was real, and he was everything I could have ever wanted. I couldn’t wait to find out what manner of pleasure and pain waited for me—I would be running to it with open arms and I would embrace it. It was my life.

  Chapter 9

  After being chained up for so long, my taste of freedom left me feeling scared and lost. The first day that I woke up without diapers and the chain, I lay in bed for nearly an hour unsure what to do. I finally got up and took a bath on my own, taking extra time to clean myself and shave off the stubble that had grown since I last groomed the areas of my body that needed tending.

  Even without the chain, I felt compelled to stay in the room. It had been my prison and it brought me a strange sense of comfort. I was sure it was a textbook case of Stockholm syndrome manifesting in me, but I just didn’t know how to convince my body to leave. Waking up in Stark’s bed was easy because he took care of me and I was there to serve him. Waking up in my own bed was absolutely terrifying.

  I knew Stark was away tending to some business he couldn’t handle at home and that left a hole in my stomach. He had a business trip planned and as much as he wanted to either cancel it or take me with him, the complexity just wouldn’t allow it. I was all alone in his house and I had to fend for myself for the first time since he brought me home with him.

  I had transitioned from a grown woman trying to pull myself away from my own despair to his Little Emily—still consumed with despair—but my despair became the absence of the man I loved. I had never felt so downright needy before in my life. After the death of my parents, I tried to be independent, and I thought I would never be able to rely on another human being. I certainly didn’t think I would ever find myself dependent on one.

  Freedom wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I sat down in the floor by my bed and I held the chain in my hand. Why couldn’t it still be attached to my leg? Why couldn’t Stark come through those doors and take care of me the way he did every morning? Maybe I wasn’t ready to move on to the next stage yet. I sat there for what seemed like forever before standing up and walking to the dresser. I pulled it open and found one of the diapers I was no longer required to wear. I didn’t care. I wanted the comfort. I slipped it on and fastened it around my waist before sitting back in the floor next to the chain.

  Stark wanted me to be a big girl, but I wasn’t ready. He had groomed me for that moment so he could leave me alone and I could fend for myself. It would only be for two days. He left me mid-afternoon Friday, and would return by the same time Sunday. I just had to survive Saturday on my own. There would be nobody to come by and take care of me, nobody to see if I was still breathing, and nobody to make sure I was safe.

  Even my tutor, Ms. Hattie, took Saturdays off. I would have settled for one of her lessons, complete with her harsh stare when I didn’t do something right, over the silence of his gigantic mansion. After another hour passed, I found myself getting hungry. I had to eat even if I didn’t feel like I had an appetite. Normally, Stark would start my day by bringing me breakfast, but now that I was a big girl, I was expected to be able to find my own form of nourishment. On unsteady knees and trembling toes, I started my trek downstairs.

  Stark’s mansion was creepy when he wasn’t by my side. His taste for Gothic themed decor straight out of the Victorian-era was almost as bad as the medieval themes he overlaid it with. I really hadn’t had an opportunity to explore it in any capacity. I was the main room by the door, the library, the kitchen area where we ate, and the so many bedrooms upstairs I had lost count—one was my room as a little girl, and the other was where we would live as a married couple one day.

  The areas I had seen were safe, and I assumed the rest of the house was as well. I just had a hard time shaking off the feeling that someone was watching me through the slits in one of the iron armor visors, or through the eyes on one of his numerous works of art. I knew the idea was foolish, but my mentality had started to shift during the time I spent with him, and I felt more like a child than the adult I used to be. I finally made it downstairs after walking with trepidation past the numerous scary artifacts lining his home.

  “Come on, Emily. Get it together.” I shook my head and went into the kitchen.

  I decided to have a bowl of cereal. I wasn’t a huge fan of the selection which consisted of shredded wheat and unsweetened corn flakes, but I forced a bowl of corn flakes down anyway. After I was done, I felt like I needed the comfort of my bottle. I took some milk from the refrigerator that was only for my bottle and started to prepare it. Stark had gotten special milk for me, from a woman who was nursing a baby. It was sweeter than regular milk, and it had a familiar taste that was like memories long forgotten trying to push through the surface.

  I fixed the bottle and then my eyes drifted to his bottle of Scotch whiskey sitting on the counter. Alcohol always made me feel better, and made me more courageous. I removed the top from my bottle and added a couple of shots to it. It swirled in the milk and turned it an almost amber hue. It sort of resembled chocolate milk. I took my first sip from the nipple on top of the bottle and the taste was overwhelming and bitter. It didn’t taste anything like the special rum bottle he made for me. My face wrinkled into a disgusted scowl without me even trying, but I continued to drink from it.

  I was always a lightweight when it came to heavy spirits, and two shots of whiskey hit me pretty hard considering how fast I drank them. Unfortunately, that also started to make me want more, so I found myself adding a healthy portion of his whiskey to another bottle of milk. I lay on the floor in the living room as the warm sensation surged through my body. My head started to buzz and my body felt weak.

  By the time the bottle was done, my arms and feet were numb to the touch. I tried to stand up and my whole body swayed from one side to the other. I took one step to the right, but the rest of my body went left, and then I slipped. My face went forward directly into the edge of a table. I managed to bring a hand up to protect myself at the last second, but the table split my hand wide open and one of his family photos tipped over and shattered on the floor.

  “Shit! Fuck! Ow!” I jumped up and even in my drunken state, I realized I was in serious trouble.

  My hand was bleeding, and it wasn’t a normal cut. The blood was pumping out with each heartbeat. If it wasn’t for the alcohol in my veins, the blood would have probably been enough to make me pass out. I ran to the bathroom as fast as I could, shredding my feet across the broken glass from the picture frame. It hurt, but the pain in my hand distracted me. I ran ice water over the cut until it stopped bleeding and then I examined it. I probably would need stitches, but there was no way for me to get to the hospital without calling Stark. I didn’t want to make him angry.

  I wrapped it in several plastic adhesive bandages and then wrapped that in tape. My whole hand throbbed. I tried to take a step and the realization of the broken glass shards in my feet drove more pain through my body. I sat down on the edge of the sink and brought my foot up. It was torn and I could see a shard sticking out. I used a pair of tweezers and successfully removed it, but it caused more blood.

  Stark’s house looked like a
murder scene. There were bloody footprints, a trail of blood to the bathroom, and I had managed to saturate his rug. I looked at my hand and it appeared the bleeding had slowed down, although I could see it pooling underneath the bandage. Stark had left me an emergency number, and said I should call it if I needed him, but I was afraid I was going to be in a lot of trouble when he got home.

  The best thing I could do was clean everything up and lessen the impact of his anger. He really hadn’t been angry at me since I arrived, but I was sure the current situation would bring his wrath. I cleaned the broken glass up piece by piece and removed the rest of it from the frame. I sat up the picture without the glass, and it didn’t look bad. There was a tiny dent from where it hit the floor, but it was otherwise unscathed. The blood was another issue altogether.

  I used the computer in the main room that didn’t have the restrictions of my laptop and looked up ways to clean up blood online. I assembled a variety of household cleaners based on what the research suggested. My hand and feet continued to ache as I worked my way across his floor trying to clean everything up, but I persevered. It took me most of the day, but by nightfall, I had mostly cleaned the place up. I was thankful his hardwood floors had a water-resistant finish. As much as I tried, I couldn’t get the rug clean, so I moved all the furniture around and flipped it.

  The underside was a little dirtier, but after some cleaning, I managed to get it looking normal. It was clear that what I was staring at was intended to be the bottom, or it had once been the top before it faded, but it was still better than the blood smear. I felt proud of myself as I walked into the kitchen for dinner. My hand still hurt, but the pain was dulled. I found a bottle of Tylenol and popped a few of them before eating a sandwich for dinner.

  Chapter 10

  It took me a while to fall asleep, but my body was exhausted. I lay there with pain in my head from the alcohol’s after effects, pain in my foot, and a sharp shooting pain resonating from my hand. The Tylenol did very little to curb it. When sleep finally did take me, it was not the nice kind of sleep. I was filled with nightmares when I did close my eyes and between the combination of pain and those, I woke up multiple times. The house creaked a lot in the middle of the night, and my imagination started to play tricks on me.

  I needed to relax in the worst kind of way. I tried in desperation to close my eyes and will myself to sleep, but I couldn’t make it happen. There was only one thing that always left me exhausted and sleepy when I was at home, but Stark had forbidden it. I wasn’t supposed to touch myself without his permission and it was one of the rules he left me with. I flipped and flopped around, but I finally gave into the temptation. It would just be the one time, and he would never have to know.

  I slipped my good hand underneath the cover and loosened the diaper. At least with it on, I could avoid making a mess on the bed. I could toss it first thing in the morning, and he would never know a thing about it. With any luck, I could get a good night’s sleep once it was over. My fingers drifted down and started to rub my clitoris. Even through the pain, it got hard as a little knot against the tip of my finger. I slid my finger down the slit until I was pushing myself into my vaginal cavity, bringing my natural lubrication to the surface.

  I rubbed the lubrication up and down my slit, around my clitoris, and once I was extremely wet, I started circling my clitoris in a rapid fashion. I was never one who got off as well from internal stimulation as I did with direct rubbing on the tender knot. Even with the pain, it didn’t take me long. My body started to surge with pleasure and I even moaned a few times before I finally felt the orgasm coming. I picked up the pace and moved my hips up and down.

  I imagined Stark there, shoving his wonderful cock into my pussy as I pleasured myself. The orgasm was rather powerful, and my whole body quivered as it was completed. The spot between my legs was damp, and I considered taking the diaper off, but I was so overwhelmed with relief and my eyes were heavy, so I just drifted to sleep.

  ***

  “Emily, wake up darling.” I heard a voice in my sleep. I assumed I was dreaming. “Emily?” There was shaking—nope, this was real.

  “Stark?” My eyes opened and I sat up in bed. “You’re home early!”

  “I did everything I could to get back to you as soon as possible. I missed y—Emily, what happened to your hand?” He reached out and grabbed the crude bandage which had dried blood on the surface.

  “I cut it… It’ll be okay. I missed you too!” I reached up for a hug, but he scooped me out of bed and took me to the bathroom.

  “Let me look at this.” He started to unwrap the bandage.

  My hand throbbed as he removed the bandage. The Tylenol had provided more relief than I realized, and it was swollen against the bandage. He unwrapped the tape and tossed it to the side and then stared with a perplexed look when he saw the crude job I had done with the plastic adhesive bandages. He peeled them off one by one, taking care not to hurt me anymore than he needed to. The wound had a bruised look around the edges, and the center was a gash filled with dried blood.

  He held it up to the light and gently touched it. As soon as he did, it opened again and I saw blood oozing out. He closed my eyes and felt my head spinning. Without the benefit of the alcohol, it made me extremely squeamish. I heard him digging around underneath the sink as he held my wrist and when I finally opened my eyes to peek, I saw cotton and hydrogen peroxide. He held my hand over the sink and gently cleaned it. Unfortunately, it hurt and stung like crazy, even though he was trying not to injure me further.

  “Emily, this may need stitches.” He finally got it cleaned and examined the wound closer.

  “Please, I don’t want to go to the hospital. It’ll be fine.” I shook my head back and forth, trying not to look at it.

  “I think I have some liquid adhesive in the bathroom downstairs. Let me go check. We can try that for a day, and if it doesn’t heal up, then we are definitely going to the doctor.” He disappeared and left me there holding my throbbing hand.

  Luckily, he was right and he had some liquid adhesive which he used to expertly close the wound. He would have made a great doctor. By the time he was done, I could barely tell the cut was there other than the thin line of pooled blood right underneath the glue. He wrapped my hand up in a fresh bandage and rubbed my shoulders a few times.

  He went over and started to run a bath for me. I realized I probably didn’t smell very good since I had globs of sweat pouring down my body from panic, alcohol and pain the day before. He doused the water in various smelling salts—some of my absolute favorites and then checked the temperature. After some brief adjustments, he stood up and walked to me. He helped me out of my pajama top, and then the bottoms before his eyes focused on my lower torso.

  “You’re wearing a diaper? I told you we were past that.” He started to remove it.

  “I know… I just felt better in it and you were gone. I was going to take it off before you came home today.” I admitted as he peeled it off.

  “Did you use it?” He looked at the area where my pussy had been. “No, this isn’t pee… EMILY!” He glared at me as he realized the dried stain was the result of my masturbation.

  “I’m sorry!” I clenched my face into a tight sorrowful look.

  “We will talk about that later. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He helped me into the bath and started to clean me off.

  The first few times he bathed me were nice, but I still felt rather strange. I welcomed his affection after being without him the day before. One day alone and I managed to wreck his house and hurt myself. He used the bath brush to wash and rub away all the grime I had built up and when his hands came down to my feet, he examined them closely. He didn’t say anything, and he continued to clean me up, so I didn’t offer any other information.

  The less he knew, the better it would be for me in the long run. I knew I would have to offer some form of explanation, and I wracked my brain trying to come up with something. I didn’t want to lie to
him, but the truth was going to be a painful confession. Once I was clean he took me into the bedroom and dressed me up in one of my favorite new dresses and fixed my hair the way I liked it—pretty pigtails with pink ribbons.

  “Okay, Emily. Come with me, I have something special to show you.” He took me by my good hand.

  “You aren’t mad at me?” I asked as I followed behind him.

  “I’m upset that you hurt yourself, but I’m not angry at you. We will talk about all of this later, but right now I want to show you the surprise I got for you.” We walked downstairs and then he took me to the back of the house.

  “Is that?” I looked into the distance where I saw a horse galloping around a field.

  “That’s right. I got you a horse. A proper young lady needs to learn how to ride, and it will teach you incredible discipline as you bond with your new friend.” He patted my head. “I’ll arrange for lessons as soon as your hand is healed.”

  He walked away and left me standing there staring at the magnificent steed running in the distance. I couldn’t believe he bought me an actual horse. I had wanted one my whole life, and I had always wanted to learn how to ride. I finally broke from my stare and turned around to see him walking towards the kitchen. My eyes drifted to the one piece of evidence I didn’t clean up—the baby bottle. I left it sitting on the counter in my panic and there was no doubt that it smelled heavily of his Scotch.

  It was almost like slow motion in front of me as he walked over, picked it up and unscrewed the top. He dumped the remaining drizzle in the bottom and then looked at it with a perplexed look. He sniffed it, pulled his face away, stared at it, and then sniffed it again. By the time his eyes came to focus on me I knew for a fact he had figured it out and I was seconds from being cooked alive in his wrath.