His eyes glint back at me mischievously. “Yes, Daddy. Sorry.” The little smirk on his face tells me that as sweet as he is, he’s going towanta spanking at some point. Clearing his throat, he widens his eyes almost comically. “Can wepleasehurry so I canpleasehave juice and playtime like you promised, Daddy?” His lips twitch. “Please?”
Oh, God, I’ve created a monster.
The sass is adorable, though, and it’s going to take a lot more than that to earn himself a real spanking.
“You’re being cheeky,” I complain without any actual irritation. I pop the button of his jeans and squat so I can tug them and his underwear down. Thankfully, neither of us are wearing shoes, so he’s able to step out of the pants easily.
It takes a lot of willpower to ignore his semi-erection before I push back up and lift his t-shirt over his head.
“Uh-uh,” I waggle my index finger at him when he reaches down to touch himself. “It’s not that kind of playtime. Plus,” I gently grip his wrist and I know my smile is a little devilish when I declare, “little boys shouldn’t play with themselves like that. That’s for Daddy to touch.”
Justin turns pink, but he groans in protest. “That’s not fair.”
“We’ve talked about the rules, haven’t we?”
His lower lip juts out, but he nods slowly. “Sounded more fun than it is.”
I snort and kiss the tip of his nose. “It makes itmuchmore fun when Daddy says youcanplay with it, though.”
The evidence of how much he enjoys my teasing is irrefutable. But this isn’t supposed to be sexy playtime. Not yet. So, to calm us both down, I reach for his underwear and bend to help him step into each leg hole, one at a time.
His cock presses valiantly at the slightly padded, tight fabric once it is safely tucked inside, and Justin swivels his hips, likely trying to get some friction. I find that adorable as well.
“And now the penguin romper,” I tell him, holding the item out. It does up with a zipper, running from the inside of his left leg and up across his belly to finish at the collar under the right side of his neck. It’s a two way zipper, designed to accommodate diaper changes and easier trips to the potty, and I prefer this style to the older ones with the snap clasps.
When I stand back to admire my handiwork, my heart gives another squeeze.
“How do I look?” he asks me, spreading his arms wide, with Kelvin dangling from his right hand. He does a slow spin on the spot.
“Perfect,” I answer, feeling mildly choked up with emotion. I’m not sure why, but seeing him exploring his Little side like this, knowing that I’m the first man to get the privilege, is making me feel fluttery and anxious inside. Not in a bad way, but in a way that I’m not accustomed to.
Thankfully, Justin is regressed enough that he doesn’t seem to notice the strange moment I’m experiencing. He grins. “Yay! It feels good, Daddy.” He swivels his hips again, then bites his lip. “But…I think I shoulda gone potty first.”
“I should have asked,” I acknowledge, feeling like a rookie all over again. What is it about this man that throws me off my gameso easily? “But that’s okay. It means I can show you how to go while you’re wearing your romper.”
I lead him by the hand into the bathroom across the hall, and I show him the zipper and how to undo it from the leg.
“It feels funny,” he giggles when his romper is exposed to his naval. But he steps up to the toilet and turns his back on me, adding, “No peeking. I can do this bit myself.”
After he’s done his business, I help him get the romper zipped up again and then we wash our hands and head back into the living room, making a quick stop in the bedroom to retrieve Kelvin.
“Do you want me to play with you?” I ask as I hand him his requested sippy full of juice. “Or do you want to see what it’s like to play by yourself first?”
Some Littles find that it’s less pressure to just explore their regression on their own, while others need Daddies or other Littles to play with them so they don’t feel as on display or even as self-conscious exploring their kink. I think Justin could go either way.
“Play with me?” The request is sweet and tentative.
“I’d love to.”
So we do. We spend an hour trying out the different toys I bought, and we discover that Justin loves coloring but isn’t a big fan of building blocks. He liked racing the cars along the surface of the coffee table, but was otherwise not really invested in them. And, finally, helovesbuilding forts.
By the time we’re under a blanket fort constructed from his couch and the blanket from his bed, he has completely regressed. Without any inhibitions, he’s giggly and playful and sweet, just like I thought he would be. His speech patterns are simplified but not infantile, and even though he’s a little bit sassy, he’s not bratty.
He’s the perfect Boy for me.
When he yawns big and wide, I look around at the mess we’ve made, feeling a bit disappointed that we’re coming to the end of his first real exploration of Little space. But he’s tired, and I need to be a responsible Daddy.
“Well, tiger, I think we need to start cleaning up so we can wash up for bed.”
