Her husband’s expression darkened. Without warning, he grabbed her arm and pulled her across his lap as he sat on theedge of the bed. “Naughty, disobedient little girls get spanked,” he declared, flipping up her negligee to expose her bare bottom.
His hand came down hard, making Georgia cry out in pain and shock. Again and again he spanked her, until her bottom was bright red and hot to the touch. She sobbed, begging him to stop, promising to be good.
“If you’re going to behave like a child,” he said when he finally stopped spanking her, “then I’ll treat you like one.” He pulled a thick white diaper from the bedside drawer—he’d planned this all along—and proceeded to diaper Georgia like a baby, ignoring her mortified protests.
“Now,” he said when he’d finished, “you’re going to do as you’re told.”
On her knees, penitent, Georgia looked up at her older bridegroom with fearful eyes.
“Open wide for Daddy,” he demanded, his hand tangled in her hair as he guided her mouth toward his erection. “Show me what a good little wife you can be.” Georgia’s tears still streaked her face as her lips parted, taking him into her mouth while he praised her obedience.
I had lost track of time, my fingers working frantically between my legs. In my mind, Georgia’s husband was murmuring to her that he would fuck her virgin bottom before morning came when I heard the distinct sound of Mateo unlocking the door.
I yanked my hand guiltily from my diaper, heart pounding as I fumbled to grab the Georgia Jones book. The door swung open just as I managed to arrange myself in what I hoped was a casual reading position, though my flushed cheeks and rapid breathing probably gave me away.
“Time for breakfast with your daddy,” Mateo announced, his expression revealing nothing about whether he’d noticed my activities.
“Okay,” I said, setting the book aside and sliding off the bed. The diaper felt uncomfortably damp against my skin—not from wetting it, but from my own arousal. I prayed Mateo wouldn’t notice anything odd about my behavior.
As I followed him down the hallway, I realized with a strange flutter in my stomach that I actually felt curious about what would happen next. Despite everything—the humiliation, the control, the bizarre infantilization—I found myself wanting to understand more about what Jax had planned for me. The thought probably should have terrified me, but instead it sent an illicit thrill through my body.
“Good morning, young lady,” Jax called from the head of an enormous dining table. He wore a crisp button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular forearms. His gray eyes sparkled with amusement as they took in my diapered form. “Do you like your new room?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I answered automatically, then immediately felt a surge of confusion at how easily the response had come. What was happening to me?
“Come sit by Daddy,” he instructed, patting the chair beside him. A pink booster seat had been placed on it, clearly designed to emphasize my childish status. “We have a busy day ahead, and you’ll need a proper breakfast.”
I hesitated, eyeing the humiliating seat. Mateo’s hand pressed firmly against my lower back, urging me forward. With burningcheeks, I climbed onto the booster seat, the plastic pants crinkling loudly in the quiet dining room.
“What a good girl,” Jax praised, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Now, would you like some pancakes? Rudy makes the best blueberry pancakes around. Do you think you’re grown up enough to cut your own food?”
My face flushed immediately at the childish question. Jax had asked it in a strangely matter-of-fact way, not in a cutesy, infantilizing voice—as if he meant me literally to look inside and to figure out whether I actually was as grown up as I thought I was. The effect disoriented me, rather than provoking resistance: how oldwasI, really?
“I think so… Daddy,” I answered softly, hating how easily the word came to my lips now but apparently unable to stop using it.
Jax smiled, pushing the plate of pancakes closer to me. “Go ahead then, Louisa. Show me how well you can handle your utensils.”
I picked up the knife and fork with slightly trembling hands, acutely aware of his eyes on me as I carefully cut into the pancakes. The task felt ridiculously significant, as if my ability to perform this simple action might determine future privileges.
“Very good,” Jax praised as I took my first bite. “Such neat little bites. You’re behaving yourself very well this morning.”
The praise sent an unwelcome warmth through me. I chewed slowly, avoiding his gaze.
“Would my good girl like a taste of Daddy’s coffee?” he asked, lifting his mug. “Just a sip, since you’ve been so well behaved.”
I nodded eagerly, suddenly desperate for the familiar comfort of caffeine. Jax held the mug to my lips, controlling how much I could drink. The rich, bitter liquid felt like a connection to my former life, to normalcy. I savored it, closing my eyes briefly.
“Thank you,” I whispered when he pulled the mug away.
“You’re welcome, Little Lulu.” His fingers brushed my cheek. “I have some news for you. A special seamstress will be coming this afternoon to take your measurements. I’m going to have some special clothes made for you.”
My stomach tightened. “What kind of clothes?”
“The kind appropriate for you,” he replied cryptically. “Before she arrives, you’ll be working out in the home gym and then showering. I want you presented at your best.”
I nodded, focusing on my pancakes to hide my discomfort.
“And one more thing,” Jax added, his tone becoming more serious. “We’ll be having guests for dinner tonight. Important business associates. I expect you to be on your very best behavior.”
