Page 17

I want to pull that lip out from between his teeth and kiss it, but Owen comes barreling between us, wrapping his arms around his dad’s waist. “Can we eat now? I want a hot dog.”

“You have to have veggies with it. Maybe some of the nice salad Gabe brought, too.”

Owen scrunches his nose. “Salad?”

“It’s got lots of the things you like in it,” Justin tries to placate him.

I can see the little guy is not convinced, so I cut in with, “You can always try it and, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.” I lock eyes with Justin, hoping I haven’t overstepped. “If your dad says that’s okay.”

Justin nods. “If you don’t like it, you can just have some extra carrot sticks and cucumber.”

“And I’ll sneak you some of my potato salad,” Marshall tells him in an exaggerated hushed whisper. “It’s my favorite, but I’ll share if you don’t tell anyone.”

Owen giggles and nods. Justin helps him onto his seat and loads up his plate with a hotdog, a tiny bit of the salad I brought, and some of the veggie sticks he cut up especially for Owen.

Marshall makes a show of looking left and right before ‘sneaking’ a small serving of potato salad onto his plate as well .

The little guy eats as we all load up our own plates, and Justin praises him for eating every last bite of his meal when he finishes.

“My tummy’s full,” he declares.

“Too full for pie?” Noah asks. “Izzy brought chocolate pie.”

The kid’s eyes go wide as saucers, and he looks at his dad. “Can I have a little bit?” He holds up his hand, pinching his index finger and thumb together. “Just a teeny, tiny bit? Please?”

There’s a glint in Justin’s eye —something mischievous and adorable— when he smiles and answers, “Just a little bit. Don’t want to sugar you up too much for Grandpa and Grandma.”

***

“Alone at last,” Justin declares, flopping down on the couch beside me.

I try not to take it too personally that he ushered Owen out the front door when the kid’s maternal grandparents pulled into the driveway.

I get the feeling he’s putting off introducing me to them, but I can understand why that would be the case.

We haven’t been dating very long, for one thing, and for another, they might not know that he’s bi.

With everything else going on in his life, I’m not going to push him to complicate it further by introducing me until he’s ready.

Still, as he slumps into his seat at my side, I can feel tension radiating off him, and he looks more exhausted than he did five minutes ago.

“What would you like to do now that we’ve got the place to ourselves?

” I ask, then quickly follow up with, “I know that part of our dynamic involves me making decisions for you, but I can tell you’re on edge right now, so I’ll give you three choices.

One — I can go and get the Little things I bought, and we can give you some real Little time.

No set scenes, just…getting used to letting yourself regress in whatever way makes you the most comfortable.

Two — we can put on a movie, grab a couple of beers and just snuggle here on the couch.

Three — we can go and soak in your tub together and see where that takes us.

” I finish with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle, and it gets me the chuckle I was hoping for.

“I…” Justin swallows and blushes. “Can…can I see what you bought me? Please, Daddy?”

My heart soars.

Less than two minutes later, we’re both sitting cross-legged on the living room carpet as he unpacks the duffel bag I brought in from the car.

“Oh, this is so soft,” he muses, fingering the material of the short-sleeved romper I ordered him. It is pale blue cotton and covered in a motif of cartoon penguins playing sports.

“I can help you get dressed into it later if you’d like.”

I’m addicted to his blushing and the shy smiles he gives me. This time is no exception. “I’d like that.” He looks back inside the bag and the pink of his cheeks darkens as he pulls out the matching training pants. “ Oh .”

“Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh’?” I ask. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

His hand moves to his crotch, and he pushes down with his palm as he answers. “Um, good. It…it’s exciting.” He frowns. “Is that weird?”

“Nope, totally normal.” I grin. “I’m getting excited, too, sweetheart.”

His gaze flickers to the bulge in my jeans and he grins, even though he’s still blushing. Then he pulls out the spare pairs of training pants and the additional rompers, all in various cartoon designs. “Wow, this is a lot.”

I shrug. “Between play time and accidents, little boys can get messy. I like having spares.”

“Y-you want me to” —he lowers his voice and averts his gaze— “have accidents ?”

“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 Daddy to look after you.

Or it’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 potential consequences, so he knows that a spanking is always on the table if he’s bratty.

“We ask for things nicely, sweetheart.”

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 to want a spanking at some point.

Clearing his throat, he widens his eyes almost comically.

“Can we please hurry so I can please have 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 it much more fun when Daddy says you can play 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 game so 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, he loves building 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.”

An expression that matches the disappointment I’m feeling flickers across his face, but he nods. “Okay, Daddy,” he acknowledges. “Can you read me a bedtime story?”

There goes my heart again.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”