Chapter 6
JOSIE
“Daddy’s” words chill me to the bone. “What do you mean, until the end of time?”
A smile curves his lips. It isn’t cruel or even wicked, but it sends a shiver up my spine all the same.
Because what it really is… is smug. As if he knows something I don’t, something he’s rather proud of.
And that is very much something to fear from a man like him.
Rising from his chair with me still in his arms in a move so smooth it sends my heart fluttering despite the punishing treatment I’ve experienced at his hands so far, he lays me out on the couch and tugs my panties completely off.
Exposing every last inch of my most intimate parts to the entire room.
“Daddy!” The word comes out as a low, horrified hiss. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you ready for the ceremony, of course. Arms up, little one.”
Arms up? So he can strip me completely naked?
I think not.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare up at him. “Not until you tell me what’s happening.”
It’s a stalling tactic, and when his lips dip down into a frown, I fully expect it to earn me another spanking.
But his expression clears with a sigh and to my surprise, he nods. “I suppose that’s only fair. You see, our family has started a new tradition. Well, Axel started it, really, and we’ll be the second couple to carry it on.”
Unease crawls up my spine. “What kind of tradition?”
“The kind where we get all dressed up and vow to love each other until death do we part.”
It takes a moment for my scrambled brain to fully process his words. “Are you saying you want to marry me?”
“Is that really so hard to believe? Once upon a time you would have married me in a heartbeat. And I would have done the same.”
“That was twenty years ago. We aren’t the same people we were back then.”
“Maybe not, but…” Trailing off, he shrugs.
“Fate brought us back together. And I’m not about to turn my back on that second chance.
And, as we discussed earlier, you can’t go back to New York now that you know we’re alive.
It’s too dangerous for you and for us. You’re stuck with me, Josie, so we might as well make it official. ”
He says it so calmly, like it’s nothing for him to simply… lay claim to me like this. And perhaps it is that easy, at least for him.
Not so much for me.
“I am not going to marry you.”
Something that almost looks like regret flickers in his eyes. “You don’t really have a choice, bug. But I promise to make you as happy as humanly possible. Eventually you’ll realize this was for the best, all the way around. Gray, can you hand me her diaper, please?”
Again, it’s like my brain short-circuits. “Diaper? I am not wearing a fucking diaper!”
Eyes narrowing, he pins me with a look so stern it’s all I can do not to whimper as my bottom clenches in response, reminding me of how thoroughly I’ve been punished already. “Once you’re dressed, Daddy is going to remind you how good Little girls use their mouths.”
Horror spreads through me, sitting heavy on my chest. I don’t need him to spell that out for me. “No, Daddy, please! I’ll be good, I promise!”
Just like when we were younger, my promises for good behavior don’t seem to sway him. Grabbing my ankles in one hand, he lifts my legs high as he slides something soft and cottony beneath my bottom.
Oh. My. God.
He really is putting me in a diaper.
This has to be a dream. Some incredibly bizarre, hyper-realistic dream. I know you can’t feel pain in a dream, but really, it’s the only explanation that makes any damn sense.
I retreat behind that theory, allowing myself to be moved as if in a trance while he strips my shirt from me, leaving me clad in nothing but a diaper in front of these people I once called family.
Soft, silky rope wraps around my wrists, binding my hands together in some horrific mimicry of the handfasting ceremonies I witnessed some of my friends performing together back in New York.
And then I’m on my knees, a not-so-virgin sacrifice worshiping at the feet of this hedonistic god I’m about to be given over to. Daddy grips my chin, tilting my head back, his thumb brushing over my trembling bottom lip.
“My pretty little Josie. Finally back where she belongs.”
Something in his tone wraps around my heart, squeezing tight. Reminding me of why I was so devastated to lose him all those years ago.
Nobody has ever seen me the way he has. Nobody before or since has ever peered into the darkest parts of my soul and loved me anyway.
Another confirmation this is some fucked-up dream. My subconscious working through my loss. I must have seen someone who looked enough like him to trigger those old memories, and this is what I get.
Since it’s a dream, I don’t bother to fight when he gently pries my mouth open. Or when he unzips his jeans, revealing a cock far larger than I remember.
Perks of sex in the dream world, I guess.
Even in my dreams, I don’t want to miss a second with him. So as I take him deep into my mouth, the salty taste of his cock coating my tongue, I peer up at him through my lashes, determined to watch as I take him like the good fucking girl I am.
Like his good fucking girl.
The tip of his cock bumps against the back of my throat and I choke. Horror wells inside me as I struggle to breathe through my nose. Everyone’s heard that if you die in a dream, you die in the real world, and I’m not really looking to test that hypothesis.
But my hands are bound tight so I can’t push him away. And his hand is in my hair, holding me in place, so I can’t pull back.
I’m stuck.
Right where he wants me.
Fuck.
“Relax, bug. The more you fight me, the more it’s going to hurt.”
There’s a hint of amusement in his tone that tells me he wouldn’t mind at all if it hurts. That it won’t bother him in the least to have me gagging and choking on his cock.
Great. My subconscious is a fucking sadist.
But I still have no desire to test the “die in your dreams, die in real life” theory, so I listen to my inner sadist. I relax my throat as much as I can and I drag in what air I’m able to through my nose as he fucks my mouth with deep, slow thrusts.
“That’s it, baby,” he croons, and even in my dreams I preen at his praise. “You’re so goddamn perfect like this, on your knees with Daddy’s cock down your pretty throat. It’s been torture without you, bug, but now that I have you back I’m never letting you go again.”
Is that a threat or a promise? Maybe both, which makes sense because it feels like both. Perhaps if I wasn’t, you know, on my knees choking on his cock it would feel more like a promise, but all things considered…
Yeah. It definitely feels like both.
The hand in my hair tightens as he lets out a low groan, his hips snapping against my face as I continue to gag around the length of him.
Drool slides down my cheeks—because even in this dream world I’m not to be spared that humiliation, it seems—and tears pool in my eyes with every increasingly forceful thrust.
Until, at long, long last, he stills, and the hot, salty taste of him pours down my throat. When he pulls away with a satisfied hum, he cups my chin once more, this time rubbing my drool and tears into my skin.
“Are you going to use your mouth like a good girl from now on, Josephine? Or is Daddy going to need to remind you every morning what the difference between a good Little girl and a naughty Little girl is?”
“I-I’ll be good, Daddy.” My voice is rough from his abuse, my throat raw and aching, but even as he’s threatening to face-fuck me every day, there’s a tenderness to his words that claws at my heart.
Just a dream. He sounds tender because that’s what you would want from him if he came back.
An approving smile curves his lips. “Sweet little bug. Your Auntie Gray has a couple more accessories for you and then you’ll be ready for our wedding.”
“You boys go get dressed. Auntie Gray can take it from here.”
Daddy shoots Gracie a stern look, but he and his brothers all file from the room. Leaving me alone with the dream version of a woman I once considered a sister and the strange construct my subconscious has created in Lanie.
“Come here, sweet girl,” Gracie croons, guiding me into a sitting position in front of the couch. I wince as my weight comes to rest fully on my well-spanked backside, despite the cushioning of the diaper. She settles behind me and gently tugs my hair free of the messy bun I usually wear it in.
“Lanie, can you hand me the brush, please?”
When I immediately tense at the request, Gracie chuckles. “Don’t worry, Josie. As long as you’re a good girl for me, you don’t have anything to fear from Auntie Gray’s brush right now. I’m just going to do your hair for the ceremony.”
“Do I really have to call you Auntie Gray?”
Dropping onto the ground in front of me, Lanie giggles. “You really do. She gets very cranky if you call her Grayson.”
“I do not get cranky. Cranky is for naughty Little girls who insist on skipping their nap time, Melanie Brynne.” There’s a gentle tugging on my hair and I close my eyes on a sigh as she pulls the brush through my tangled locks.
When Auntie Gray speaks again, her voice has taken on that soft, sweet quality from before.
“I know it probably all feels very odd to you, Josie, but you’ll get used to it in time. ”
“This is such a strange dream,” I murmur, the tugging of the brush lulling me into an almost trance-like state. “What the hell is my subconscious trying to tell me?”
The tugging stops. “Josie…” Auntie Gray’s voice is hesitant, uncertain. “Why do you think this is a dream, honey?”
“What else would it be? My dead boyfriend suddenly comes back to life after twenty years and dresses me up as a baby so he can marry me? Granted, it’s a pretty bizarre freaking dream, but it’s definitely a dream.”
Silence greets my explanation, and I open my eyes to find Lanie watching me worriedly.
A sickening realization settles in my stomach as strong hands come to rest on my shoulders, forcing me to turn around to face Auntie Gray.
And when I find that same worry, tinged with a regret that makes my throat ache, I know the truth before she even speaks.
“Josie, sweetheart… this isn’t a dream. You aren’t going to wake up in the morning, tucked away in your bed. We are all very alive and this is all very, very real.”