Chapter 9: Daddy Devious: Chapter 8

Poor little thief.

She looks like she might start crying again at the sight of the diaper, but there’s nothing to be done. The longer I delay her transformation into my Little girl, the more difficult it will be for her in the long run. It’s like getting in a cold pool on a hot day—better to just jump in the deep end and get the shock of it all over with at once, instead of tiptoeing in and dragging out the inevitable.

Schooling my expression into a stern mask, I look down at her wriggling form. “Stop moving around, Victoria. Do you want another spanking?”

That gives her pause, at least, and she goes still, her bottom lip puffing out in an adorable pout. “No, Daddy.”

“Good girl. You are going to wear the diaper, but you don’t have to use it for now. If you need to potty, you can ask Daddy to take you.”

“Then why do I have to wear it at all?”

She sounds so sweet and pitiful it’s a struggle not to smile at her whining. “To help you remember your role, little one. The diaper is a constant reminder that you belong to Daddy now. As long as you’re a good Little girl, you won’t have to use it.”

“But I don’t want to wear a diaper.”

The tortured whisper tugs at my heart, but I can’t relent. “You’ll forget you even have it on after a while.”

Gripping her ankles again, I raise her legs up into the same position I used to spank her a moment ago. Pink still lingers on her cheeks and thighs, filling me with a fierce sense of satisfaction at the sight of my fingerprints on her skin.

As does the sight of her arousal practically dripping from her sweet little pussy. I’m tempted to point it out, to force her to acknowledge how much she enjoys my dominance before finger-fucking her to another screaming orgasm.

But forcing her to sit in her arousal, wet and aching for her Daddy’s touch is a much more satisfying option for the time being.

So I slide the diaper beneath her bottom, and lower her legs back to the cushion. She whimpers again when I pull the cotton up between her legs and fasten the tabs to hold it in place.

Adorable. That’s the only word that comes to mind at the sight of my sweet Little Victoria, stretched out on her changing table, naked but for the colorful pink diaper covering her bottom. Her pretty little breasts shudder a bit as she draws in a big breath, and I can’t resist. Leaning down, I pull one tender peak into my mouth, delighted when she arches up into my touch with a shocked cry.

“Such beautiful little breasts you have, my little thief. I can’t wait to play with them more.” Reluctantly, I straighten and reach for her onesie. “But that will have to wait. Arms up.”

With another soft whine, she raises her arms so I can slip the unicorn-dotted outfit over her head. I unhook the strap around her waist to finish dressing her, then I lift her up from the changing table.

Instantly, her arms and legs come around me like before, and she clings to me like a baby monkey. I carry her from the nursery, through the door connecting her room to mine. Raising her head, she looks around, but doesn’t ask any questions as we walk through my bedroom to my sitting room. Dinner is waiting for us on the table, the fragrant scent of tomato sauce filling the space.

There’s a highchair sitting to the right of my usual spot, but I can’t bear the thought of letting her go again just yet. Not when she’s clinging to me as if I’m a life raft in the middle of a stormy sea. It’s a small comfort, all things considered, but I find myself not only willing to give her this, but wanting to. The thought of being the person she turns to when the world around her is too scary to face is… intoxicating.

So I settle into my chair, shifting her so she’s cuddled on my lap instead of wrapped around me.

“Spaghetti?” Curiosity colors her tone as she lifts her head to sniff at the air. “I love spaghetti!”

“Not just any spaghetti,” I tell her, lifting the silver lid from the chafer in the middle of the table. “Your mother’s spaghetti.”

It’s her comfort food. The meal her mother used to make for her whenever she’d had a hard day at school or when they were celebrating something special. What makes it unique are the cocktail sausages mixed in with the meat sauce. An odd choice for spaghetti, and not authentic in the least, but I wanted something to remind her of her childhood. To give her a sense of comfort, yes, but also to tie her to me. I want every memory, every comfort, every last bit of her so inextricably linked with me that when the thirty days of her contract are up, she won’t be able to bear the thought of being apart from me.

By the time I’m through with Little Victoria, I won’t just be her Daddy.

I will be her entire world.

Victoria

The sight of my favorite comfort food is such a shock, for a moment I forget I’m wearing a diaper and a onesie, perched on Mr. Stone’s lap like a literal baby.

How the hell did he know about this? It’s not something that has ever come up in conversation at work, as far as I can recall. Perhaps I’ve told my friends about it at some point, but I can’t wrap my mind around him caring enough to talk to my friends about me.

Again, I wonder how long he’s been planning all this. Long enough, apparently, to learn things like my favorite foods from childhood, my favorite colors, my love of unicorns. Suddenly, my exhausted brain is in overdrive, trying to put the pieces together. The answer feels like it’s hovering just on the edges of my mind, but I can’t quite see it.

Or perhaps, my brain is keeping it from me on purpose. Perhaps the truth is so sinister, so devious, my brain has decided it’s better for me not to know.

You’re being dramatic, Victoria. Just appreciate the gesture.

“This is… thank you.” For what seems like the millionth time in the past few hours, tears well in my eyes. “It’s lovely.”

“You’re welcome, little one.” Leaning forward, he scoops spaghetti onto a plate in front of us. With me still on his lap, he somehow manages to cut one of the little sausages up into tiny pieces.

And then he spears one of the tiny pieces with his fork, scoops up some noodles, and lifts the fork to my lips.

Instinctively, I open my mouth, welcoming in the delicious meal. The sauce is incredible, certainly better than anything I could buy at the store, and the noodles are cooked to perfection. It’s the taste of the sausages, however, that has me swallowing hard so I don’t burst into tears right at the table. Just like my mom used to make, a comfort I didn’t know I needed. I cling to it as I accept another bite of spaghetti, and another.

As I eat, my brain struggles to come to terms with the fact that I am on a remote island, thousands of miles from home, sitting on the lap of one of the richest men alive while he feeds me my mother’s spaghetti.

How is this my life?

While my brain grapples with this new reality, it is also yelling at me to tell him I can feed myself. But I can already hear his voice in my head, telling me that while I can feed myself, I may not. So I don’t even bother to protest as he feeds me another morsel. As I chew, he feeds himself a few bites, then switches back to feeding me. We eat in silence, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable or heavy. It just feels… nice.

When my stomach feels like it might burst, I shake my head at the fork he’s holding to my lips.

“All done, my little thief?”

“Full.” The response sounds childish, even to my own ears, but it doesn’t seem to bother Mr. Stone.

“Are you too full for dessert?”

I sit up straighter, excitement humming along my skin at the suggestion. “Dessert?”

“Yes. I have something very special for my sweet Little girl tonight.”

There’s an undertone to his words that has me narrowing my eyes at him. “It’s not your cock, is it?”

I half expect to get tossed over his lap again, but to my surprise, he throws his head back and laughs, long and loud. “Didn’t you have your fill of Daddy’s cum on the plane, little one?”

“I did. That’s why I’m hoping it’s something else.”

“It is. If you’re not too full, of course.”

“There’s no such thing as too full for dessert. Everyone knows dessert goes to a separate tummy.”

Laughing again, he rises from the table, effortlessly swooping me up in his arms. “Is that so? I must have missed that lesson in anatomy class.”

“Maybe you weren’t paying attention. Naughty Daddy. Maybe you need a spanking.”

Glancing down, he raises an eyebrow, and though his eyes still dance with amusement, my breath catches in my lungs at the warning in his gaze. “Don’t even think about trying it, little girl.”

“It was just a joke,” I mumble, dropping my gaze to his chest.

“Well, in my experience, Little girls often find ways to turn jokes into naughty behavior, so it’s best to cut it off at the pass. You aren’t in trouble, little one.”

I’m still not sure why it matters to me so much if he’s upset with me. I mean, I certainly don’t want another spanking. But it’s more than that. Something deeper, almost like a longing inside me I can’t pinpoint or begin to explain.

“You promise you aren’t mad?” I ask, peeking up at him through my lashes as he carries me back to my bedroom, where he settles into a chair.

“No, little one. I’m not angry.”

Relief washes over me, unraveling the knots my stomach had tied itself into when he’d scolded me. “Why did we come back to my room? I thought we were having dessert.”

“We are.” Leaning to the side, he fiddles with something I can’t see. “This is a very special dessert, just for Little girls. Your Auntie Cat has worked very, very hard to make this for you, so I want you to drink as much as your tummy can handle.”

“Who’s Auntie Cat?”

Wait. Drink as much as my tummy can handle?

And then I see what he has in his hand. A bottle, full of milk.

Please, please let Auntie Cat be the name of his cow.

Mr. Stone pops the lid off the bottle, and I watch in fascinated horror as he brings the rubber tip to my mouth. When I press my lips into a thin line, pulling my head back and shaking it in clear denial, his expression hardens.

“Victoria. Auntie Cat will be very disappointed if you refuse her milk. Do you want to start your relationship out on such a sour note before you even meet her?”

No. I don’t want that. For reasons I yet again cannot explain, the thought of disappointing this complete stranger nearly brings tears to my eyes.

I already know I’m going to drink the damn milk. But maybe I can get something out of it, first. “If I drink it, will you tell me who Auntie Cat is? And about the others?”

A sigh rumbles in his chest. “I don’t make a habit of negotiating, Victoria. But yes, I will tell you about your new family if you drink your milk.”

I can’t quite bring myself to actually say the words, so I simply open my mouth. The rubber tip feels a bit funny in my mouth, like it’s not supposed to be there.

But then I give the nipples a tentative suck, and sweet, cold milk floods my mouth. Sweeter than any milk I’ve had before, I can understand why Mr. Stone referred to it as dessert.

Holding the bottle to my lips as I suckle, he begins to rock us back and forth in the chair. “Let’s see. Where should we start? I suppose we’ll just go clockwise around the island. Which would be… your Uncle Jasper, first. He’s our real estate mogul. When we first started talking about building ourselves a safe haven, he was the one who went hunting for a place for us to settle. I believe you’ll come to think of him as the ‘fun uncle’, but don’t let that fool you into thinking he’ll put up with any naughtiness. He’s just as strict as he is fun.”

Jasper… real estate mogul… the information teases something at the back of my brain, but again that answer hovers just out of reach.

“Next would be Uncle Evan. I’m not sure I should tell you too much about him. I wouldn’t want my little girl to have nightmares. But while some people might consider him a very bad man, you’ll be perfectly safe with him.

Uncle Gideon and I actually grew up together. We went to the same schools from preschool all the way through college. Gideon is very quiet, especially around new people, so don’t be surprised if he doesn’t talk much when you first meet him. Some might call him shy, but they’d be wrong. It’s more that he likes to watch people. So if you think you can get away with anything around Uncle Gideon, you might want to think twice, little one. Nothing gets past that man.”

There’s such easy affection in his tone, I already feel as though I know these people. Like I can trust them, at least as much as I trust Mr. Stone.

Well, perhaps not Uncle Evan, whoever he might be. But the rest of them, maybe.

“And finally, we have your Auntie Cat. I think you’ll probably like her the best. She’s been waiting longer than any of us for a Little girl of her very own. Even if you aren’t hers, I fear she’s going to spoil you plenty. But just like Uncle Jasper, don’t think that makes her an easy mark. She is the strictest of all of us, and she keeps a hairbrush in her purse at all times, just in case a naughty Little girl requires some correction.”

Between the milk in my tummy and Mr. Stone’s soothing voice, the exhaustion I’ve been fighting since we left the plane drags me under. I push the bottle away, whimpering and shaking my head to tell him I don’t want anymore.

“Such a good girl. You drank nearly the whole bottle,” he murmurs, setting the bottle aside and rising from the chair. “Sleep now, my sweet little thief. We have a big day in the morning.”

I fall asleep as the side of the crib comes up, caging me in, and my dreams are filled with unicorns and fountains of the sweetest milk I’ve ever tasted. And Maxwell Stone, watching from the shadows, waiting for just the right moment to pounce and make me his.