Chapter 17: Daddy Devious: Chapter 16

I feel just like a princess greeting her court as Uncle Evan and Uncle Gideon arrive, each bearing their own gifts. They exclaim over my tiara and my pretty dress, and although something in the back of my mind tells me they might be even more dangerous than my Daddy, I’m too caught up in the thrill of it all to care.

Not too caught up, however, to put up a fuss when Daddy tells me to lift my skirt to show Uncle Gideon my diaper when he asks about it. Humiliation turns my face inferno-hot and I grab the hem of my dress, pulling it down to hide the thick cotton covering my naughty bits.

“Victoria.” There’s a hardness to Daddy’s voice I recognize all too well. A hardness that tells me I’m well on my way to earning another spanking. “Don’t be rude. Lift your dress so your Uncle Gideon can see your pretty diaper.”

“But Daddy, I don’t want to!” I whine, pushing my bottom lip out in the hope that if I’m cute enough he’ll let me get away with my defiance.

No such luck.

“Victoria, you can either do as you’re told and show Uncle Gideon your diaper like a good girl, or he can see your diaper when I take it off to spank your bare bottom. Which would you prefer?”

Although the last spanking didn’t really hurt as much as I pretended it did, I’m not keen to have a repeat in front of so many people, especially without the protection of my diaper, so I reluctantly lift the edge of the dress just a bit.

“Higher, Victoria.”

Sniffling back tears, I raise the dress even higher. If I wasn’t wearing the diaper, all of my naughty parts would be on display right now, but somehow it feels like that would be less humiliating than this.

“Absolutely precious,” Uncle Gideon says, his voice surprisingly soothing. “Turn around, Tori. I want to see your bottom, too.”

I just know my cheeks are bright red, but I’d rather it be my face than my other set of cheeks. So I turn my back to them, and this time Daddy raises my dress for me.

“Has she used them, yet?” There’s an eagerness in the new voice. Uncle Evan’s, I think.

“Not yet. I’ve given her the choice so far, but she has been warned that if she’s exceptionally naughty, that choice will be removed for her.”

“Daddy.” I’m whining again, but I’m too far gone to care. With all the embarrassment I’ve faced, I think I’ve earned the right. “Don’t tell them that!”

A sharp swat lands on my thigh, harder than any Daddy has given me before and I yelp at the sting. “Do not talk to your Daddy that way, little girl.”

Not Daddy. Auntie Cat. An ache settles under my chest at her words. For some reason, it’s even worse being chastised by her than anyone else. “I’m sorry,” I manage to whisper past the thickness in my throat.

And then I’m up in Daddy’s arms, being cradled and rocked like an actual baby. “Little girls are known to get cranky when they’re hungry. We should probably eat.”

Maybe it’s manipulative on my part, but I make sure to sniffle extra loud as I loop my arms around his neck, pressing my face against his shoulder. “Auntie Cat hit me,” I tell him, making my voice as pitiful as possible.

But when he looks down, I can already tell I’m not going to find an ally in him. “She spanked your thigh because you were being very rude. You’re lucky I’m in such a good mood, or else you’d be over my knee getting your bare bottom spanked in front of everyone. If you don’t fix your attitude soon, that is exactly what will happen. Am I understood, little girl?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“That’s my good girl. Hopefully getting some food in that tummy will help you feel a little less cranky. I have so many things I’d rather do with my pretty little baby tonight than punishing you.”

Heat flares to life between my thighs at the dark promise in his words. “Like what?”

“You’ll see in a bit. As long as you’re a very good girl.”

Before I can even try to wheedle more information out of him, Daddy puts me down in a chair near the head of the table. But not just any chair. Just like at the cafe yesterday, I’m placed into an adult-sized highchair, complete with a plastic tray that locks me in place. More waves of humiliation hit as the rest of our “family” takes their places around the table, in perfectly normal chairs, of course.

“I want to sit in a real chair,” I whisper to Daddy, deliberately making my voice sound more grown up instead of the high, childlike tone he brings out of me so easily.

“That is a real chair, little one.”

“You know what I mean. A real chair. Not a baby chair.”

A smile curves his lips, but it’s not at all reassuring. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not a baby.”

“Oh, but you are, little thief. You are my baby. Isn’t that right, Victoria?”

I’m all too aware of the intense gazes of my new family locked on me, waiting for my response. And even though I can’t explain why, I know in my gut this is a turning point. This is a moment where everything is about to change, somehow, and it all comes down to how I answer this single question.

Am I his baby? Or am I simply his temporary hostage? It shocks me to realize how badly I want to be his, for real, not just because some contract says it’s so.

The life I had before this was filled with constant stress, weighing heavy around my neck like the proverbial millstone. After years of caring for my mother, watching her wither away right in front of my eyes, only to be faced with a mountain of debt I could never in a million years hope to pay off, my life here on the island almost feels like a dream.

It’s humiliating, yes. Painful, too, especially when I’ve been naughty. And while my brain acknowledges this house is nothing more than a beautifully decorated prison, in some ways I’ve never felt more free than I have these past few days in his care.

Is this some strange form of Stockholm Syndrome? Am I slowly losing my mind?

Maybe. But whatever the reasoning is, I find myself nodding slowly.

“Y-yes, Daddy. I’m your baby.”

Maxwell

Pride swells in my chest at Victoria’s words. It’s a victory I hadn’t hoped to score so quickly, or at all if I’m being perfectly honest. Part of me had wondered if I would simply have to keep her locked in her nursery once her contract was up until she finally accepted her role as my Little girl.

And yet, here she is, saying the words I longed to hear.

“Good girl.” Leaning over, I run a hand over her curls, granting her a beaming smile. “So no more fussing about your chair?”

“No, Daddy,” she says with a sigh, her bottom lip puffing out in that pout I find so irresistible.

“Thank you, little one.”

Her cheeks darken at my praise, and she rewards me with a shy smile. A moment later, my staff appears, settling a bowl of soup in front of everyone. Victoria’s is in a small, plastic bowl that is placed in front of me instead of on her tray, a move that does not go unnoticed by my eagle-eyed Little girl who scowls at the offending bowl. But to my delight, she doesn’t protest when I scoop up a spoonful of creamy tomato bisque and raise it to her lips.

My friends aren’t eating. Instead, they’re watching us with hungry gazes as Victoria opens her mouth to accept that first bite of dinner.

“Mmm.” She bounces in her chair, then winces, no doubt having gotten a sudden reminder of the plug she still holds in her bottom. “Yummy!”

Laughter breaks out around the table, shattering the spell she’s woven over my friends. They turn their focus to their own meals, though I still catch them glancing up every now and then.

Dinner takes much longer than usual, since I am feeding both myself and Victoria. But the conversation flows easily, just like always, and I’m reminded of why I chose these people, specifically, to join me in my quest to create our forbidden little island.

Jasper teases Victoria, tickling her when she pouts, and my heart clenches at the sound of her high, happy shrieks echoing around the room. When Victoria balks at finishing her vegetables, Catharina cajoles her into obedience. Even Gideon and Evander join in, praising her when she does as she’s told and sending her mockingly stern glances when she doesn’t.

And then there’s Victoria herself. Regardless of how she came to the island, she is in her element, soaking up the attention like a sponge. Which is good for her, because she is about to be center stage.

The last plates are whisked away, and I rise to release her from her highchair. Relief flickers across her face, and I have to swallow a laugh at how adorably in the dark she is about what’s to come.

“Come, little one. Time for dessert.”

Even as I set her on the edge of the table, she doesn’t seem to grasp what’s happening. “What’s for dessert, Daddy?”

“You, little thief. Though really, I suppose it would be more accurate to call you the main course.”