Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 33048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
My mind is reeling. I can’t fully process all this.
He pulls me closer and sets his lips on my neck. “Take a chance, Little one.”
I chew on my bottom lip. I’ve never heard a more appealing offer in my life. It’s scary. Am I even awake? Maybe I’m dreaming, and I’m going to wake up and find myself alone, having imagined all of this.
I look around my special room. “What would happen to my apartment?”
“I’ll pay the rent on it for a while until you’re sure you want to stay with me.” His hand slides up to my neck.
“I could take some of my things?”
“Yep. We could pack up whatever is important to you. Keep in mind, you won’t need clothes. We’d keep all your pretty dresses here on the mainland for when we visit.”
My brow furrows. “I won’t need clothes?”
“Nope. Littles on the island only wear diapers, T-shirts, and shoes.”
My eyes widen. “All the time?”
“Always. The most important thing about Littleworld is that every age-play visitor follows the same dress code. It keeps things simple. There is no jealousy, and modesty is equally non-existent.” He tugs on one of my pigtails. “You can have hair bobbles, though. I’ll fix your hair for you and put pretty things in it.”
I chew on my lip again. Apparently there’s a lot about the island and Littleworld I didn’t know. I only had a vague understanding that the island was reserved for deeply regressed age play.
“What do you say, Little one?”
I face him and decide to go for it. “Yes.”
Chapter Five
One week later…
I hope I made the right decision when I turned down the option of spending all or part of my time in a more deeply regressed headspace during my last week on the mainland. The list of things I needed to take care of in seven days was long. I thought it would be confusing to also try to manage my Little space at a deeper level than even I’m used to.
As it is, I feel a bit frazzled as I’m running around my apartment taking care of last-minute details on the morning we’re leaving. Noah will be here any minute to pick me up, and I’m still worrying about bills and whether or not I packed my favorite toys and stuffies.
My boss was a bit shocked last week when I told him I was going to leave town indefinitely, but he likes me, and he said if I ever came back, he would give me a job. That’s a relief. At least I don’t have to worry about returning to the mainland and being unemployed.
I worked a lot of hours this past week to bank up some money, so my account isn’t sitting with a super low balance, for whatever that’s worth.
I’ve packed two large suitcases of toys and books. Several other boxes are stacked against the wall in my playroom. They’re filled with things I would want to have with me if I decided to stay forever.
I’m nervous and fidgeting as I look around, waiting for Noah. It’s early. The sun is barely up. A knock on the door makes me jump in my spot, and I hurry over to open it.
I’ve only seen him twice since we made this decision because two days after he asked me to move with him, he headed for the island to make arrangements to prepare for me to join him. Apparently he has a nursery because all homes have nurseries, but it wasn’t well-stocked, and he wanted it to be perfect for me.
I’m not ordinarily a bashful person—not even my Little—but nerves are making me jumpy and uncertain. I’m biting my lip hard as I open the door.
Noah steps inside, closes the door, and pulls me into his arms. My hair is loose down my back, and he threads his fingers in it and gives a tug so I look up at him. “Are you okay, Baby girl?”
I nod, not releasing my lip. This is the first time he’s called me Baby girl. It’s probably appropriate. Am I ready?
He hasn’t kissed me on the lips yet, but he kisses my forehead. “I missed you.” We chatted on video calls every day at least once. It’s strange because I feel like I suddenly have a boyfriend, but I’m not intimate with him.
I have a question. It won’t change my decision, but his answer will help me pick the right headspace going forward. I blurt it out before I can talk myself out of it. “Are we going to have sex?”
He gives me a slow smile. “I sure hope so, Amelia, eventually. I would never pressure you to do something you’re not ready for, and I know we’re jumping into this totally out of order, but I feel like we have chemistry. I’d love it if we fell in love with each other and added a physical relationship to our dynamic.”