“These are special panties I’ve had made for you,” Georgia’s husband told her, holding up the white ruffled garment with its telltale pearl button. “They’re designed to remind you who you belong to.”
I could see it so clearly—Georgia’s trembling fingers as she stepped into the panties, the way they hugged her hips, the vulnerable feeling as her husband turned her around to inspect the fit.
“Perfect,” he murmured in my fantasy, his finger touching the pearl button. “Do you know what this is for, my innocent little bride?”
Georgia shook her head, her eyes wide with apprehension.
“It’s so I can access your bottom whenever I choose,” he explained, unfastening the button to demonstrate. “A wife’s body belongs completely to her husband. Including this tight little hole that no one has ever touched.”
My body responded to the fantasy even as Esme continued her measurements, wrapping the tape measure around my waist. I imagined Georgia’s husband applying lubricant to his fingers, pressing one against her virgin entrance while she whimpered in fear and confusion.
“Please,” fantasy Georgia begged, “I don’t think I can?—”
“Shh,” her husband soothed, working his finger deeper. “Your body was made to please me. All of your body.”
In my mind, I watched as Georgia’s husband gradually stretched her, adding a second finger and then a third as she cried outin discomfort. When he finally positioned his cock against her forbidden entrance, tears streamed down her face.
“It will hurt,” he warned, “but you’ll learn to love it. Because it pleases me.”
I felt my face flush violently as the fantasy progressed, Georgia crying out as her husband breached her virgin bottom, claiming her completely. What shocked me most wasn’t the explicit nature of my daydream, but the moment when fantasy Georgia, despite her pain and humiliation, looked back at her husband with eyes full of love and gratitude.
“Thank you for knowing what I need,” she whispered in my imagination.
“Turn around, please,” Esme instructed, snapping me back to my humiliating reality.
I obeyed mechanically, my mind still half-lost in the fantasy. Why was I imagining such things? Why did the idea of complete submission—not just physical, but emotional—affect me so powerfully?
“She’s quite responsive,” Esme noted to Jax, glancing at her tablet again. “Even during the mundane process of being measured.”
“Yes,” Jax agreed, his eyes studying my flushed face. “I suspect our Little Lulu has quite the active imagination. Don’t you, baby girl?”
I lowered my eyes, mortified. “Yes, Daddy,” I said, because there didn’t seem any other way out of the degrading conversation.
“I think that’s everything I need,” Esme finally announced, putting away her measuring tape. “I’ll have the first items readywithin a week. For tonight’s dinner, I’ve brought a selection of ready-made pieces that should suffice temporarily.”
She opened a large garment bag I hadn’t noticed before, removing several items and laying them on the sofa. “This should work well for a first impression with your associates.”
The outfit she held up made my stomach drop. It was a pink pinafore dress with a white Peter Pan collar, the kind a six-year-old might wear to Sunday school. Alongside it lay white knee socks with lace trim and shiny black Mary Jane shoes.
“Perfect,” Jax said, his eyes gleaming. “What do you think, Little Lulu? Isn’t Ms. Leopold thoughtful to bring you such a pretty dress for dinner?”
Again, there seemed no other possible response. “Yes, Daddy,” I murmured.
CHAPTER 11
Louisa
That night I stood in the hallway outside the dining room, my stomach in knots as I tugged at the hem of the childish pink dress Esme had brought. The plastic pants over my diaper made a soft crinkling sound with every movement, and the bulk between my thighs forced my legs slightly apart in a way that felt utterly humiliating.
“Come in, Little Lulu,” Jax called, his voice carrying that dangerous edge of authority I was learning to recognize instantly. “Our guests are eager to meet you.”
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the elegant dining room. The table was set with fine china and crystal, candles casting a warm glow over everything. It looked like a scene from a luxury magazine—except for the armed guards standing around the perimeter and the two dangerous-looking men seated at the table.
“I’d like you to meet Oscar and Viktor, two of my associates,” Jax said.
Oscar wore an expensive suit in deep burgundy, his dark hair slicked back from a face that seemed perpetually amused. Viktor was older, with steel-gray hair and pale blue eyes that assessed me with clinical detachment.
“Gentlemen,” Jax said, standing and extending his hand toward me, “this is my Little Lulu.”
