“What about TV?” I asked, desperately seeking any distraction from my reality.
“There’s no television in your room,” Mateo replied. “Entertainment privileges are earned through consistent good behavior. For now, reading is your only approved activity when alone.”
He moved to the window and gestured to the view of the city skyline. “The glass is reinforced and can’t be broken. The window only opens three inches for air circulation. The door will be locked when Mr. Walton or security staff is not with you.”
The clinical way he described my imprisonment made it somehow worse—like I was being given the orientation tour for a very bizarre hotel stay rather than being held captive.
“What time is it?” I asked, suddenly aware that I had no idea how long I’d been here or even what day it was.
Mateo glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s 9:07. Mr. Walton takes breakfast at ten. I’ll come for you then to bring you to breakfast with your daddy.”
I nodded numbly, struggling to process everything that had happened since last night. Had it only been hours since I’d walked into Walker’s apartment with Charlie? It felt like years.
“Any questions before I leave you?” Mateo asked, his tone suggesting he was simply completing a checklist rather than speaking to a human being.
I had a thousand questions, but most of them would reveal too much of my thoughts. Instead, I asked the one that seemed safest. “How long will I be here?”
Mateo’s expression remained carefully neutral. “That’s not for me to say. Your stay depends entirely on Mr. Walton’s assessment of your progress.”
With that, he moved toward the door, pausing only to add, “Remember, good behavior is rewarded. Bad behavior is punished swiftly and thoroughly.” He stepped into the hallway, the lock clicking into place behind him with a sound of terrible finality.
Alone at last, I sank back onto the bed, the thick diaper crinkling loudly beneath me. My fingers traced the plastic cover, the sound and sensation sending a thrill of embarrassment up my spine. My bottom still burned from Jax’s belt, and between my legs, I felt tender and used.
I should have been plotting my escape, searching for weaknesses in their security, or at least figuring out how to contact someone for help. Instead, I found myself reaching for one of the books—The Secret Steps, a Georgia Jones mystery—and, once I’d started reading, I was quickly engrossed. Something about the crazy forced regression to childhood Jax had imposed on me seemedto make what I read about Georgia Jones, girl detective, seem strangely, urgently compelling.
It almost seemed like I could experience something new this way, from reading about growing up in a different time—a time that seemed very long ago. As if I could find a better way to grow up through children’s literature. The story seemed very anachronistic in relation to my high-tech dystopian world, and yet I felt like there was something essential that remained from Georgia Jones’s world, a way to be a kind of young woman that I hadn’t even known existed.
Then, to my embarrassment, I found that I had just read the same paragraph three or four times, while letting a fantasy play out in my mind: a different kind of Georgia Jones story, about an eighteen-year-old version of Georgia.
CHAPTER 9
Louisa
I tried to push forward in the book, but I couldn’t help following the terribly naughty story inside my head instead. In my fantasy, Georgia Jones had just become engaged to a powerful man—a wealthy industrialist with dark, penetrating eyes, not unlike Jax’s. On their wedding night, he revealed his true intentions: Georgia would be his little girl as well as his wife.
Georgia’s husband led her to their lavish bedroom, his expression shifting from the gentle smile he’d worn at their reception to something darker and more commanding.
“Georgia, my dear,” he said, closing the door behind them with a soft click. “There’s something we need to discuss about our marriage.”
Georgia stood there in her white negligee, innocent and trusting. “What is it, darling?”
“From tonight forward,” he told her, the mere sound of his voice making her shiver, “you will be my little girl as well as my wife.My sweet, obedient little girl who does everything Daddy tells her.”
Georgia’s eyes widened with shock and confusion. “I don’t understand?—”
“Kneel,” he commanded, pointing to the spot directly in front of him. “Kneel for your daddy.”
To Georgia’s distress—but also to her helpless arousal—she found herself sinking to her knees before him, her body obeying even as her mind rebelled.
Her new husband smiled down at her, then began unbuckling his belt. “Good girl,” he murmured as he unzipped his trousers. “Now Daddy will show you what good little wives do for their husbands.”
Georgia gasped as he pulled out his enormous cock, the thickness and length of it frightening her. She’d never seen a man’s penis before, had saved herself for marriage as a proper girl should.
“Open your mouth,” he instructed, stroking himself. “Daddy wants his little girl to suck his cock like a good wife.”
I felt my hand slip inside the diaper Mateo had put on me, my fingers finding my clit almost instinctively. The plastic pants crinkled as I moved, but I couldn’t stop myself. The fantasy was too compelling, the image of innocent Georgia Jones on her knees too arousing to resist.
In my mind, Georgia shook her head, shrinking back. “I can’t do that,” she whispered. “It’s… it’s not proper.”