Chapter Eleven: Anson

A fter Daddy washes up our dishes from dinner, he asks me if I want to play a card game. If I were Big it would be poker, but while I’m Little we decide to play Go Fish. I giggle as he pulls out a bag of peanut M&Ms for us to use as gambling chips.

“You’re a total hustler,” he accuses a while later, gesturing to my ever-growing pile of winnings. “You threw those first few hands, didn’t you?”

I shake my head and pop one of the candies in my mouth, crunching down on it as I grin at him. “This game is all luck, Daddy.”

“Don’t think that cute smile of yours is going to get you out of trouble all the time, sunshine.”

All I take from that is that he thinks I’m cute.

My smile grows wider.

Daddy guards his remaining candies with his big hand, casting me an exaggerated worried look. Laughter, loud and impossible to hold back, bursts out of me.

I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this. That I felt so free and light and good.

“You’re so silly, Daddy,” I tell him and reach for another candy, munching on it happily.

I love chocolate.

“I’m not silly. I’m protecting the last of my funds from the card shark sitting across from me.” He leans over the coffee table and tickles me. I squeal and squirm in place.

“Daddy!” I complain through my giggles, “You’re cheating!”

“There’s nothing in the rules that says I can’t tickle you for hustling me.”

Somewhere along the line, the cards are forgotten, and I end up straddling Daddy’s lap while he sits on the couch. Some time after I got up to tackle him, he stopped tickling me, but he’s got his hands on my hips and this feels good, too. A different kind of good to when we cuddled earlier.

A sexy kind of good.

Biting my lip, I rock my hips forward. I can’t feel if Daddy is hard, but my cock is pushing against the insides of my padded protection. I let out a needy little moan when I discover how good the friction feels when I rub against Daddy.

His fingers dig into my sides a little harder. “What are you doing, sunshine?” Daddy asks in a strained, husky voice.

“I wanna play doctor, Daddy,” I answer coyly, rocking forward again and gasping as I feel the wetness from my precum dampening the insides of the diaper.

Daddy chuckles and then groans lowly when I move again. “We didn’t —oh, baby —” I can’t help continuing to rub my padded crotch against his, and I really like how it seems to affect him, too. But he firms his grip and holds me steady as he gathers his thoughts. “We didn’t talk about where we stand on sex during Little time.”

He’s right.

Swallowing anxiously, I apologize, “I’m sorry. I got excited, Daddy. The rubbies feel too good. What’s your traffic light color?”

I relax as he smiles wickedly. “So very green, baby. What’s yours?”

“Green, Daddy. I like this a lot.”

“What about if I carried you to bed and took off your onesie and your diaper?”

My cock dribbles some more in excitement at the thought. “Even greener, Daddy.”

His dark eyes bore into mine. “And what do you say if you change your mind or get uncomfortable?”

“Yellow or red lights, Daddy. I promise.”

At that, Daddy leans forward and brushes his lips over mine. It’s a gentle kiss. The gentlest that I’ve ever had. It’s barely even a touch of his skin on mine, but it makes my heart gallop in my chest.

Our first kiss.

“Was that okay, sunshine?” he asks me softly, and I have the sudden urge to cry.

It’s not because I’m sad, but because I’m so stupidly happy.

This is exactly what everyone at The Grove and The Little Community Center mean when they say they just felt a spark when they worked out who they were inside.

And, yes, I know that sexual interests can evolve over time, but just working out the fundamental basics of my identity has made me feel complete in a way I can’t explain, especially while I’m still mostly in my Little headspace.

I feel carefree, liberated, and cherished.

I have a Daddy, and I just experienced the sweetest, most perfect first kiss in the history of first kisses.

Afraid that if I answer him with words I’ll ruin the mood by sobbing, I slam my mouth back onto his and kiss him as if my life depends on it.

In some ways, I think it might.

I mean, I know that’s dramatic, but I owe this entire revelation to Drake. Without him inviting me here, I might never have given in to my curiosity to wear a diaper and a onesie. I might not have learned that I love being Little. I might not have gotten to kiss the man I had a crush on. The Daddy I had a crush on. I might have been facing a Christmas —and a future, a whole life — of feeling unfulfilled or like I didn’t fit in.

I slide my tongue into his mouth and sigh happily as he takes over and deepens the kiss, one of his hands now cradling the back of my head while we move our mouths against each other.

He tastes like M&Ms and he smells like fire and fading spicy cologne. His biceps are big and firm as I grip them, and his belly is soft where it pushes against my flatter one.

Even though I’m pretty lanky, I feel small against his bulkier body, and I love that. I love the scratch of his beard on my skin, too, even though I know it will give me beard burn if we keep kissing like this.

I’ll wear that with pride.

I start shifting my hips again, moaning as the combined sensations of kissing and frotting shuttle through my body. I whine when Drake draws back from the kiss and he chuckles.

“Let’s get you in bed before I come in my jeans, hmm? You’re far too irresistible and it’s been a long time for me.”

It’s a relief that he’s as close to the edge as I am. Even if it hasn’t been all that long for me, this feels more intense than any of the sexual encounters I’ve had since I started exploring kink. We’re far more compatible than I was with Tanner or Russ, the Kitten I was dating before him.

How did I miss all the signs? I ask myself again, but I shake the question away quickly. I don’t want to end up back down that rabbit hole. Not when I’m about to finally get my crush into bed.

With reluctance, I slide off his lap and rub my crotch, only to have my hand smacked.

Daddy’s dark eyes glitter with equal parts amusement and desire when I yelp and look up at him. “While you’re Little, you can only play with that when Daddy says so,” he tells me in his very sexy Daddy voice. “And Daddy hasn’t said so yet.”

I want to tell him that rule is dumb, but earning myself corner time while I’m achingly hard is not something I want to do today. So I make myself nod and bite back my brattier urges. We can play like that another time.

I feel another rush of pure joy at those words.

Another time.

Because we both agreed that we’re not doing this as a fling. I want a relationship and so does he. I know we still have to discuss it all properly after we’ve spent the holiday exploring this dynamic between us, but if everything keeps going as well as it has so far, I don’t see either of us changing our minds on the long-term thing. And that’s perfect.

I’m tired of feeling lonely. I’m tired of my adult responsibilities and all the stress from my job. I’m tired of looking longingly across the club floor at Drake and thinking my crush is weird and out of place.

Seriously, how did I not realize what my gut was telling me?

“Anson, honey, are you okay with that rule?” Daddy asks, pulling me back out of my spiraling thoughts. I feel my cheeks heat as he gently asks, “Color?”

“Still green. I was just thinkin’.”

Even Little, I don’t miss the relief in his eyes, or the way his shoulders sag. “Want to share those thoughts? Or are they private? If you’re not comfortable—”

“I was thinkin’ about how I missed all the signs about me.” I shake my head and gesture between us. “I had the biggest secret crush on you and I thought my int-inter-in…” I huff, “my inside feelings were broken.”

The big bear of a man visibly melts at that. He gathers me against him for a hug, the warmth of his embrace more than just physical. “You are not broken, sweetheart. There’s nothing wrong with not understanding yourself. I’m still learning new things about myself all the time.” When I wait in dubious silence, he laughs and says, “For example, I’ve learned that maybe I don’t actually hate Christmas. I just hate not having someone to share it with.”

I snuggle into his chest. “I knew it!” I mutter. “Nobody who knows A Muppet Christmas Carol back to front really hates Christmas.”

He laughs at that. The sound is deep and rich and makes me smile. “It just took finding the right person to bring it out of me. And it’s the same with your Little side. You needed to be in the right headspace to discover yourself.”

“And with the right person,” I add, making sure he knows how grateful I am to have him sharing this with me. “I don’t think I would have liked this as much with just anyone else.”

“Not even Vince?” He doesn’t sound jealous or possessive or anything. Just genuinely curious.

Nevertheless, my nose scrunches at the thought. “He’s basically my brother. I don’t think I woulda’ liked him changing my diaper or anythin’. Not like I like you doin’ it.”

Remembering what it felt like to be splayed out on Daddy’s changing mat with him taking care of my most base needs reminds me of how horny I was just a few minutes ago. I squirm as my cock plumps up again at the reminder.

“Can you change me again, Daddy?”

His hand sneaks between us to pat my crotch. I’m dry, but hard again, and I push my growing erection into his touch.

“Oh,” he says, a knowing smile slowly spreading across his face, “I see.”

“Please, Daddy?”

“You don’t feel wet,” he tells me, and I find the playful glint in his eyes to be a challenge.

Reaching between us to hold his wrist to keep his hand in place, I lock my gaze on his as I force myself to relax enough to soften my erection and void my bladder. I can pretty much always pee on cue, what with my opportunities to use the bathroom at work coming few and far between.

Daddy’s eyes widen when he realizes what I’m doing, and I sigh happily at the warm, moist squishiness now surrounding my cock. When he squeezes his hand reflexively, my dick goes straight back to full mast.

Smiling sweetly, I ask, “What about now, Daddy?”

He groans, and the sound is music to my ears.

I bat my lashes. “Please?”