“Y-you want me to” —he lowers his voice and averts his gaze— “haveaccidents?”
“We haven’t seen how Little you go yet,” I answer honestly. “It’s not so much a matter of want as being prepared. I know you’re not comfortable with diapers, but I’ve been with Middles who have gotten so wrapped up in playing that they’ve forgotten to listen to their bladders.”
He blinks and squirms. “Really?”
“But if you’re not comfortable with that, that’s okay, too. I can give you reminders to go to the potty every couple of hours, or you don’t have to regress so far that you lose all sense of your Big self. It’s whatever makes you happy, baby. That’s what will make me happy, too.”
“O-okay,” he breathes shakily, then licks his lips, his thumb still gliding over the material of the first pair of training pants. “I don’t…I don’t want to do that tonight. But…” he shifts from side to side on his hips, “I don’t hate the idea. I…I’ve never been one for embarrassment or humiliation before, but then, I never thought I would enjoy calling another man Daddy, so…”
“We’ll just see what you feel like when you’re Little. But it’s good to know that it’s not a hard limit. I’ll be prepared either way.” I smile. “I’m so proud of you for being so open to trying new things. And planned —or even unplanned— accidental wetting doesn’t have to be about a humiliation kink. It also shows how deeply relaxed and regressed you are, and how much you trust your Daddyto look after you.Orit’s about being in control of losing control, if that makes sense?”
He nods, then discovers the toys in the bag. His eyes brighten and his blush starts to fade as excitement takes over. “A coloring book!” he declares happily. “And my own crayons! Oh, and a stuffie!” He laughs when, unsurprisingly, it’s a penguin…and it’s wearing the team jersey. Our college sells them online as a fundraising thing for the school.
“What are you going to name him?”
He’s slowly slipping into Little space, and I’m happy to guide him along as he goes.
Tilting his head to the side, he turns the stuffed toy in his hands, with a super cute look of concentration on his face. Then he nods to himself and answers, “Kelvin.”
It’s really difficult to contain my bewildered amusement. “Kelvin?”
“Yeah, like the old refrigerator brand.”
“Ah.” I chuckle. “I get it. Because of the cold.”
“Yes!” Justin cheers. “Exactly!” Then he tucks Kelvin under his arm. “Let’s see what else Daddy got us, hey buddy?”
Not knowing how Little he might go, nor what kind of interests he might have, I got a handful of different kinds of toys. A truck, some Matchbox cars, a wooden train, a small package of wooden blocks…and— “A sippy cup?” he looks up at me with excitement and extends it towards me, waving it from side to side. “Apple juice, please Daddy.”
And so it begins.
“Let’s get you into your comfy new play clothes first,” I suggest. “Then I’ll get you a sippy cup of juice and we can play with some of your new toys.”
“Oh, yay!” he claps his hands, then stops and plucks Kelvin out from his armpit. “Sorry, Kelvy. I squished you.”
My heart feels as squished as the stuffie, and I come to a sudden, startling realization.
This Boy is going to ruin me, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.
In his bedroom, I lay out the selection of short-sleeved/short-legged rompers on his bed. I already have a feeling I know which one he’ll choose, if his tight grip on Kelvin is any indication, but I still give Justin the choice of outfit.
Sure enough, he selects the penguins, and I grab the matching underwear, too.
“Let’s get you out of these uncomfortable big boy clothes,” I say, reaching for the waistband of his jeans. I pause before I pop the button, though. “You remember your safe words?”
Nibbling on his bottom lip he nods. I arch an eyebrow. He releases his lip and dutifully explains, “Red light for stop, yellow for pause to talk about it, green means go.”
“Good boy,” I kiss him on the forehead, feeling him squirm a little. “So, what color is this?”
“Green, Daddy. It’s all green. I’ll tell you if it’s red.”
I understand him not wanting to be brought out of his slow regression by being asked for his traffic light color for every new experience, so I nod. “Okay. I’m the same, baby. Just remember you can always say yellow or red at any time. Any time at all.”
“Yes, Daddy, now hurry.” He wriggles on the spot. “I want juice and playtime.”
I give him a light swat on his still-denim-covered ass in warning, making him gasp. We’ve talked about rules and potentialconsequences, so he knows that a spanking is always on the table if he’s bratty.
“We ask for things nicely, sweetheart.”
