Niko
We’ve settled into a routine. It’s amazing and fun and perfect. It’s also built on ignoring the elephant in the room.
Brea is living with me. She’s totally my Little in every way. She’s thriving. If I had any doubts that I rushed her or that she didn’t know enough about the world to make this kind of decision, they’ve been squelched because everyone can see how happy she is.
She smiles. There’s a bounce in her step. She works as hard as she always has, including her studies, but she also enjoys downtime. Mostly because I insist on it. That’s part of what works for us. She thrives on my dominance. She’s happiest when she’s following my directions.
When she has downtime during the day, she immediately looks to me for guidance. And I give it to her. Sometimes that means she spends extra time reading or writing, but sometimes that means I insist she watch television or play quietly in her room.
It’s like she needs permission to enjoy life, and I give it to her.
Our sex life is growing by baby steps. Brea has made it clear on more than one occasion that she wants to put a period at the end of that sentence. I’m definitely the one holding back. I’m doing so for my own selfish reasons—namely that I’m afraid of what the future holds for us as a couple.
We don’t talk about it. We live in a suspended state as if I live here. I don’t. I love Brea. There’s no doubt in my mind. I’d do anything for her. But I have a life outside of this resort.
I can stay here for weeks or perhaps even months. But years? Not likely. It’s not just my house and my friends I miss. It’s my work. My involvement in important community projects. My support for women’s shelters and finding safe housing for the abused.
I’ve been managing okay remotely so far. I take calls, answer emails, and follow up with my directors and financial advisory team. But it’s not the same as being there in person, hands-on. I can’t stay away from Seattle forever.
Even under the best of circumstances in which Brea didn’t care about her job and decided to move with me to Seattle, what would she do there? It would be overwhelming. She could live part-time as my Little in the house, but she wouldn’t be able to attend fundraisers in pigtails, carrying a doll.
My heart clenches every time I think of how deeply I’m involved with her while at the same time keeping one foot in another world.
I rub my temples. I’m sitting on the porch on a warm afternoon, enjoying the rare sunshine. Brea is napping. Sort of.
I smile as I rock. Brea has perfected the art of masturbation. I’m practically jealous of her fingers some days. I’m pretty sure she masturbates before every nap and early in the mornings. I’ve heard her often enough to guess.
I’ve never once disturbed her since that first day I nearly sent her into the stratosphere from mortification. I want her to be comfortable with her body. I’m glad she’s exploring. I’m incredibly pleased that she’s such a sexual being.
It may be unconventional—me encouraging my Little to touch herself, but Brea’s missed out on so many things in life. I’m not going to deny her that pleasure. She deserves it.
Hell, I take myself in hand at least once a day too. I absolutely don’t want to get caught, so I most often do it in the shower in the early morning. I’m pretty sure she has started listening for when I get in the shower to put her fingers to work.
There’s something a bit off about two grown adults in a consensual relationship not having actual sex but masturbating alone in separate rooms.
I enjoy her body too. Every day. Usually in the evenings when I give her a bath. She’s like a blooming flower. There are no words to describe how pleasurable it is to watch her blossom.
Brea has touched me several times through my pants, even my sleep pants. She’s marginally aware of how big I am, even though I haven’t let her take me out and explore. I just can’t. I don’t have the willpower to stop myself from going all the way, and I’d feel like a heel afterward if we end up deciding we can’t make things work.
My chest hurts every time I consider that possibility. She’s mine. She’s the most important person in my life. Part of me knows I could never leave her. The other part of me can’t fathom how we’re going to work things out.
I have another concern. Her family. She speaks of them rarely. I know she must miss her siblings tremendously, especially the oldest sisters. She worries about them.
I’m pretty sure she’s downright pissed with her father for how sheltered he kept her. I still don’t know the level of abuse she may have endured. I don’t think it was physical, but even if all her father did was keep her and her siblings isolated from the world, that in and of itself is abusive. As for her mother, I think Brea feels sorry for her and assigns her less of the blame.
I don’t think she can maintain this complete separation from them forever. It will slowly eat at her until she needs to make contact. I don’t blame her. I would support her all the way. I hate her isolation from her immediate family.
On the other hand, would they do more harm than good if she reached out to them? Chastise her for living her life. Even if they had no idea she was participating in age play or any form of sex, they still might turn their backs on her out of principle. That would hurt.
I want to protect her. I want to tuck her into my pocket and keep her safe from the world—that includes her parents or anyone else who might not understand her or be kind to her.
Am I doing her a disservice?
I take a deep breath and tip my head back to stare at the sky. What the hell am I going to do? Tomorrow I need to go home for a night to oversee the packing and shipment of my secret project.
I need Brea to go with me for several reasons. For one, I can’t stand the idea of being without her. For two, she needs contact with the outside world. And three, I need to know how well she can manage outside of her bubble.
I glance at my watch. It’s time to wake her. She’s been sleeping so well that the bags under her eyes have disappeared. I groan as I stand.
It’s time. I need to tell her about our trip to Seattle. I can’t put it off any longer.
As I ease into her room, I smile. Watching her sleep is precious. When she’s totally dead to the world is the only time I know she’s fully at peace. Nothing haunts her when she’s sleeping, at least not since she moved in with me. It’s the only time she fully settles. She’s not rushing around cleaning or cooking or studying. She’s not fretting over forced downtime. She’s not worried about her sisters.
I sit on the edge of the bed, hating to wake her. This is true every afternoon. I wish I could just sit here and watch her for hours, but she’d be a mess later at night if I let her sleep any longer.
When I set my hand on her hip and stroke her, her eyes flutter open. She smiles. She’s never confused about where she is anymore. She knows she’s in her Little girl bed in her room in my cabin.
Sometimes I wonder if she would wake up in a panic if she slept in my bed. That doesn’t stop me from dreaming of a day when it will be true. I want Brea in my arms in my bed badly. Not badly enough to mess with her mind, but enough that I flip around anxiously wishing she were next to me every night.
“Daddy…” she says, her smile all mine.
“Did you rest well, kitten?”
She nods. “Uh-huh.”
I lean over and kiss her because it’s what I do every time I wake her. It’s what I do every time I put her to bed or drop her off at the main house or even leave a room. I kiss my sweet girl and look into her eyes so she knows how loved she is even though neither of us has spoken that word.
I ease the covers down her body, making her giggle as I reveal her one inch at a time. She naps in nothing but her panties now because I know the covers are comforting and she gets too hot if she’s also wearing clothes. Plus, she doesn’t like to return to the main house wrinkly.
“Daddy,” she admonishes, snatching for the blankets. It’s our ritual. She still feels awkward when she’s naked, especially when I stare at her fucking hot body. No matter how hard I try to get her to relax in her skin, she’s still shy. The only times I’m able to get her to forget her nudity is when I have my mouth on her, pretty much anywhere on her body.
I tug the covers out of her reach, clasp her hands in mine, pin them to her sides, and lean over to kiss her nipples, back and forth, flicking my tongue over the tips each time.
She squirms. “Daddy…” Her voice is huskier.
Finally, I relent and let her go, though I’d rather suck her nipples until she comes. I’m convinced I could probably make her come from breast play alone.
I grab her around the waist and lift her out of bed, setting her on her feet before reaching for the skimpy camisole I let her wear under her dresses. She shivers as I pull it over her head. It’s a simple thin, white, cotton undergarment with spaghetti straps. It gives her the sense that she’s more covered under her dresses since I rarely offer her a bra anymore.
She looks so fucking sexy standing in front of me in the thin cotton and her panties. Her nipples are hard points that stab the front of the camisole. I can even see their darker shade of pink, and I take a moment to soak in every inch of her before she lifts her arms for me to put her dress back on.
I hook her around the waist and pull her between my legs as she adjusts the front of her dress, glancing down at it.
I know what she’s doing. She’s making sure no one can see her nipples. I never leave her vulnerable. She may be Little, but I doubt she’ll ever have the ability to expose herself to anyone. Hell, she barely exposes herself to me. When her dresses aren’t loose enough or thick enough to hide her nipples, I let her wear a bra.
She’s not going to be the sort of Little who likes people to see her panties. I’ll never pull her skirt up and spank her in public or even in front of our closest friends. Twenty-four years of modesty have a solid hold on her. I’ve changed my instincts to accommodate her.
Some Littles enjoy the thrill of being embarrassed and exposed in front of people. That will never be Brea.
She giggles as I swing her up to lie her on her back so I can tug her leggings over her feet and up her legs. I add her shoes and socks next before lifting her back onto her feet in front of me.
Time to get serious. I set my hands on her biceps. Since I’m sitting on her bed and she’s standing between my legs, we’re eye to eye. “I need to talk to you about something, kitten.”
She frowns. “What, Daddy?”
“Some of the items that are going in the new room downstairs are being moved here from my personal collection from my home in Seattle. I need to go home tomorrow and supervise the packing and transportation. It might take several hours, so I’ll need to spend the night and return home the following day.”
She swallows. “Okay.”
I can see the world closing in on her a bit.
“I want you to come with me, kitten.” I hold her gaze, watching for her reaction. I have no idea how she might feel about this plan.
“Go to Seattle with you? Overnight?”
“Yes. It’s just one night, but I don’t like the idea of leaving you here without me. Will you come with me?”
She searches my face, thinking. “What about my job?”
“They’ll be fine without you for twenty-four hours, kitten. Leah said she’ll pick up the slack.”
“Oh. Leah knows about this?” Her lip trembles.
Shit. Fuck. “Yes. Everyone knows. I didn’t tell you yet because I didn’t want you to fret about it any longer than necessary.”
“Oh.” She wrings her fingers together. I knew she would. That’s what she does when she’s particularly stressed. “I haven’t left here since I first arrived.” She glances down at her hands.
I rub her arms up and down and pull her closer, kissing her forehead. “I know, Little one. We’ll just be going to my house. Nowhere else. Just my house and back here the next day. Do you think you can do that with me?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
I reach for her chin and lift her face. “If I gave you a choice, what would you choose?”
“Between staying here alone and going with you to Seattle?”
“Yes.”
She stares at me for several seconds. “I’d rather go with you, Daddy.”
Thank fuck. “Okay. That’s what we’re doing then. Tomorrow morning.” I give her hips a shake. “And I don’t want you to be mad that everyone knew about this but you because you’re going to fret all day and that’s why no one told you sooner.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl. Can you put it out of your mind?”
“No, Sir.”
I chuckle. “At least you’re honest.”