Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Lord Adrian

I watched, via the surveillance camera in the living room of Emily's apartment, as she read the rules I had laid down in the Selecta Arrangements app. I had to confess myself very impressed by the app: it seemed I had the ability to observe everything that happened, throughout the beautiful flat my really rather modest payment to Selecta had rented for my new little girl fuck toy.

Add to that the extreme ease with which I had selected Emily's wardrobe, and the helpful suggestions the app had given for her rules, and Selecta had made of me a very satisfied customer already. I didn't know how much time my schedule would allow me to spend with the girl, and I also felt the need to avoid serious entanglement, of course. Just knowing I had her there at my disposal, though, at least brought a little happiness into the gloom of my usual existence on the fringes of respectability — not to mention the urgent leap of my cock in my trousers that the memory of fucking her generally brought about.

I watched Emily's face closely as she read. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, almost matching the childish dress she wore. I could see the confusion and embarrassment in her eyes as she scrolled through the app, and I felt a dangerous surge of affection — and of pride to have been entrusted, as her stern and demanding Sponsor Daddy, with her rehabilitation.

The rules were simple but strict. When outside the apartment, Emily could live a normal adult life. She would find suitable clothes in her closet and adult underwear in her dresser. Inside the apartment, though, she was to wear only the little-girl garments I had provided, and nothing more. At night, she was restricted to the little-girl nightgown, with nothing underneath.

Other rules included always asking permission through the app to use the bathroom, even when outside. When asked by the app whether I wanted to be notified when Emily asked to go, and whether, if I did, I also wanted to have the choice of saying no , I had decided I would let the app grant her permission automatically. The app told me, helpfully, that I could change my mind whenever I liked.

Emily's rules also laid down that she must eat healthily, that she was allowed two hours of screen time per day if she also read for an hour, and that she had to brush her teeth twice daily. Every other day, she was to shave her pussy. Touching herself otherwise was forbidden, except for keeping herself clean down there.

Any infraction would result in a spanking or, if necessary, a more rigorous form of discipline. As Emily read that final section about "more rigorous discipline," I saw her blush deepen even further.

Part of me was glad I had paid to have her at my disposal. But another part remained wary of becoming too attached. I was a very busy man, after all, and it seemed the paparazzi had finally moved on to tormenting some other poor soul, at least for the moment, so the immediate need for a distraction in the form of a lovely young woman having a fairytale romance with an English earl had abated.

Still, I thought, it would be good to have Emily in reserve. And it would certainly be enjoyable to look in on her from time to time, perhaps indulging in a bit of virtual discipline or even stopping by for some hands-on correction when my schedule allowed.

Just at the moment, however, I had to fly to New York to close a big deal for some black market supercomputers. As much as I would have liked to stay and further explore my new little plaything, duty called.

I closed the app with a sigh, already looking forward to checking in on Emily during my flight. The thought of her alone in that luxurious apartment, struggling to adjust to her new reality, sent a thrill through me. Would she obey the rules I'd set out? Or would she test the boundaries, earning herself a thorough spanking upon my return?

Either way, I mused as I headed for my waiting car, sponsoring Emily was shaping up to be a very satisfying investment indeed.

* * *

Emily

A week went by. The first couple of days were difficult: I expected Lord Adrian to burst in and make some terrible, degrading demand of me at any moment. But as the days passed with no sign of him, I began to settle into a routine of sorts.

I followed the rules laid out in the app meticulously, terrified of earning a punishment. Each morning I woke up in my little girl nightgown, feeling exposed and vulnerable without panties underneath. I would use the app to ask permission to use the bathroom, my cheeks burning with shame every time, wondering whether whoever or whatever was at the other end would, insanely, deny me that basic right. Then I'd shower, brush my teeth, and get dressed in the childish outfits provided.

The clothes were a constant reminder of my new status. Frilly dresses, Mary Jane shoes, and ruffled socks made up most of the wardrobe. Underneath, my panties were of white or pink cotton, with ruffles at the waist and around the legs. Even the "adult" clothes for going out were clearly chosen to emphasize my youth and innocence - pastel sweaters, pleated skirts, and peter pan collars abounded.

I spent my days enjoying the luxurious apartment and exploring the surrounding neighborhood. Through the SA app, Lord Adrian had allowed me a generous monthly allowance for food and essentials. I found myself enjoying the chance to shop for groceries and cook proper meals after months of barely scraping by.

In the evenings, I dutifully read for an hour before indulging in my allotted screen time. I chose classic novels from the well-stocked bookshelf, losing myself in the stories as a welcome distraction from my bizarre circumstances.

Every other day, as instructed, I carefully shaved my pussy in the shower. The first time had been mortifying, but I did grow accustomed to the routine. I definitely got better at it, anyway. The smooth, bare skin between my legs, though, felt like a constant reminder of my bad-girl status. I had done something terribly naughty: the kind of thing only a child would think she could get away with. The luxury in which my Sponsor Daddy kept me only seemed to make the de-aging feel more humiliating and more… well, educational.

At night, as I lay in bed wearing only the thin nightgown, I found my thoughts drifting to Lord Adrian. Despite the humiliation he had put me through, I couldn't deny the intense arousal I had felt when he touched me. My body seemed to crave his firm hands and commanding presence.

Don't , I told myself sternly as I felt my right hand drift under the hem of the nightgown that just happened to have ridden up past my knee. It's forbidden.

I tossed and turned, frustrated and confused by my own desires. I had never felt any temptation to masturbate before this bizarre form of "rehabilitation" had become my reality. In bed, in the shower, even in a dressing room when I tried on a skirt… the urge to touch the smooth, bare place — the tender, shaved cleft that my new Daddy had caressed so possessively and claimed so forcefully… the warmth, the dampness, the need all seemed nearly impossible to control.

Eight days after arriving at the apartment, I was scrolling through my media feed when a headline caught my eye: "Lord Adrian Mallory Embroiled in New Scandal." My heart raced as I tapped the link. There was a grainy photo of Lord Adrian leaving a meeting in New York with, it seemed, a known black market supplier of top-secret technologies. The article speculated about illegal business dealings and questioned whether the aristocrat was fit for polite society.

I quickly turned on the news, my stomach churning. Lord Adrian's face was plastered across every channel, pundits debating his fall from grace. "Unless he shapes up," one commentator declared, "Lord Adrian will be persona non grata in England. Perhaps he should stay in America, where this sort of thing is apparently de rigueur ."

As I watched, transfixed by the unfolding drama, a notification popped up on my SA app. I felt my jaw slacken as I saw that it wasn't the daily reminder from Selecta Arrangements to remember my rules but rather a message from Lord Adrian.

Young lady, you will attend a museum fancy dress gala with me tonight. Your outfit will be delivered within the hour. Be ready by 7pm sharp. Daddy

I stared at the message, a mixture of excitement and dread coursing through me. After a week of no contact, Lord Adrian suddenly wanted me to accompany him to a public event? And in the midst of this new scandal?

Sure enough, less than an hour later, there was a knock at the door. A courier handed me a large garment bag and a shoebox. With trembling hands, I unzipped the bag to reveal the costume inside.

My cheeks flushed hot as I took in the outfit - it was an Alice in Wonderland costume, complete with a blue dress, white pinafore, and striped stockings. But as I examined it more closely, I realized with horror that it was designed for an adult to play a sexualized version of Alice. The skirt was scandalously short, and the neckline dipped low to show cleavage.

Only then did I remember that to the British, fancy dress meant costume . I swallowed hard, but the worst was yet to come.

Worse still, as I dug further into the bag, I found a thick cloth diaper and plastic pants. My stomach dropped as I realized Lord Adrian expected me to wear this humiliating undergarment beneath the already humiliating costume.

I glanced at the clock - only two hours until Lord Adrian would arrive. With shaking hands, I began to get ready, my mind racing.

As I put on the awful costume, I tried to keep myself from looking in the full-length mirror on the closet door. But I found my eyes drawn to my reflection against my will, an unwelcome, almost morbid fascination taking hold.

The blue dress hugged my petite frame, the short skirt barely covering the plastic pants that peeked out from underneath. The white pinafore accentuated my small breasts, pushing them up to create a hint of cleavage. Striped stockings clung to my legs, disappearing under the frilly skirt.

I turned slowly, taking in the full effect. From behind, the diaper created an obvious bulge, making my bottom look round and childish. The juxtaposition of the sexy costume with the infantile undergarments was deeply unsettling.

To my horror, I felt a too-familiar warmth building between my legs as I studied my reflection. There was something undeniably alluring about the naughty schoolgirl look, despite the humiliation of the diaper underneath. The forbidden nature of it all sent an unwelcome thrill through me.

I shook my head sharply, trying to banish such thoughts. This was wrong. I shouldn't be excited by this degradation. And yet… I couldn't deny the way my body was responding.

With trembling fingers, I fastened a black velvet choker around my neck - the final touch to the costume. In the mirror, a conflicted young woman stared back at me.

Just then, my phone buzzed with another notification from the SA app. Lord Adrian's message was brief.

I'm downstairs in my limo. Come down immediately.

My heart raced. With shaking hands, I grabbed a small purse and headed for the elevator. My stomach churned with a mix of dread and shameful excitement as I descended to the lobby.

The doormen's eyes widened as I walked past, my face burning with humiliation. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, unable to meet their stares as I made my way outside.

There on the street stood Lord Adrian, dressed in what I immediately recognized as a pirate costume: a red captain's coat and black breeches, a cocked hat, a saber at his side. His eyes raked over me appreciatively as I approached. He opened his arms in a theatrical gesture that seemed intended for any bystanders — of which I knew there must be many — and enfolded me in a hug.

"You look absolutely delectable, my dear," he murmured into my ear. Then his voice dropped even lower as he added, "You're going to save my arse, you bad girl, and then I'm going to bring you back here, and I'm going to fuck yours ."