Jax’s expression hardened. “I’m always serious about my little girl’s care. Mateo is fully trained to assist with your needs when Daddy is busy.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Be good for him. I have work to do.”
Blushing like the sun, I followed Mateo down the hall, my nakedness making my face burn as hot as my ass felt from Jax’s horrible belt. He led me to a small room that made my stomach drop—it was decorated like a little girl’s bedroom, with pale pink walls and white furniture. A twin bed with a ruffled comforter dominated one corner.
“This is your room, miss,” Mateo said professionally. “The bathroom is through that door.”
He pointed to a connecting door, then asked without any change in tone, “Do you need to use the facilities?”
My bladder did feel uncomfortably full after the pounding Jax had given me, but I felt reluctant to admit this to Mateo. The thought of using the bathroom with him watching was too humiliating to contemplate.
“Um, I’m fine,” I lied, shifting my weight uncomfortably.
Mateo’s expression remained neutral. “One of the most important rules you need to learn is that until you’ve earned more privileges, you must ask permission to use the toilet. Either Mr. Walton or one of the security staff will always supervise you.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“Very serious,” he replied. “Bathroom privileges are earned through good behavior. For now, you must be supervised at all times.”
I bit my lip, the pressure in my bladder becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. The humiliation of asking was overwhelming, but the alternative—having an accident in my diaper—would be worse in every way.
“I… I need to go,” I finally confessed, my voice barely audible.
Mateo nodded. “You need to ask properly, though.”
“Please, may I use the toilet?” I whispered, my voice trembling with humiliation.
Mateo nodded. “Yes, you may.”
Feeling faint with shame and need, I followed him into the adjoining bathroom. It was small, but well appointed, with the same childish pink décor as the bedroom. Mateo stood directly in front of the toilet, arms crossed, watching me with clinical detachment.
“Go ahead,” he instructed.
My hands shook as I sat down on the toilet. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to pretend I was alone, but the awareness of Mateo’s unwavering gaze made it almost impossible to relax. After what felt like an eternity, my body finally cooperated, and I began to pee. The sound seemed obscenely loud in the small bathroom, and I wanted to die of embarrassment.
When I finished, Mateo handed me a damp washcloth. “Clean yourself thoroughly,” he directed. “Especially between your legs, since your daddy used you this morning. Mr. Walton expects his property to be kept clean at all times.”
I took the cloth with trembling fingers, mortified at having to wipe my well-fucked pussy while this stranger watched. Jax’s semen was still leaking from me, making the task even morehumiliating. Mateo observed with professional detachment as I cleaned myself, his eyes never leaving my most intimate areas.
“Turn around and bend over,” he instructed when I’d finished. “I need to make sure you’re properly clean.”
Swallowing hard, I obeyed, turning to face the wall and bending forward. I felt his clinical gaze on my exposed backside, still red and welted from Jax’s belt.
“Acceptable,” he finally pronounced. “Let’s get you diapered now.”
He led me back to the bedroom and opened the top drawer of the white dresser. I watched in horror as he removed a thick cloth diaper, powder, and plastic pants.
“Lie down on the bed,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I hesitated only briefly before complying, lying back on the childish comforter. Mateo worked efficiently, sliding the thick diaper under my hips and sprinkling powder between my legs. The scent of baby powder filled my nostrils as he brought the material up between my thighs and fastened it with the Velcro tabs. The plastic pants followed, rustling loudly as he pulled them up my legs and settled them over the bulky diaper.
“There,” he said, stepping back to survey his work. “All done.”
I sat up gingerly, the thick padding forcing my thighs apart. The sensation was both infantilizing and a mortifying indication of my new status in this household.
“Can I have my phone?” I asked, hoping for some connection to the outside world, some way to contact help, even.
Mateo shook his head. “Mr. Walton believes phones are for big girls.” He gestured toward a small bookshelf beside the bed. “But there are plenty of books you can read when you’re alone in your room.”
I glanced at the shelf, my heart sinking as I took in the titles.The Bobbsey Twins, The Borrowers, Beezus and Ramona, Georgia Jones—all children’s books, the kind a girl from half a century ago might have read when she was nine or ten years old. Nothing that could possibly interest an adult woman or help me understand my situation better.