Playing a Little (19 page)

“Watch your language,” Erik pinched her bottom. “And personally, I’m glad you do. How are you feeling?”

“Good. No chills or anything. When can I be released from this prison?”

“If you are talking about the house, I will never let you out of my sight again.”

“How about from being sixteen months old?”

“I kind of liked…”

“Please, Erik? Let me be six again. I like that best.”

“Very well. But if you behave like a little one, you are going back in diapers. Got it?”

“Yes, sir, Thank you,” Camille said gratefully, nuzzling under his chin.

“And there might be days that I want you to be that dependent on me. You need to comply without a fit.”

“I can’t promise that!”

“Comply or get a good spanking, and then comply. Your choice,” he shrugged.

“You know that is so not fair.”

“Like I told you before. I’m the daddy and I don’t have to be fair. At least, not when it comes to this part of our relationship.”

“I am still having some problems grasping what the ‘this’ is. How far does it go? Why? Can you tell me?”

“It is called total power exchange. There are really two dynamics in the BDSM community when TPE is practiced. On one end, there are the masters and their slaves. The other, bigs and littles. Some people see it as the dark and light spectrums, so different, but so similar.”

“I’m confused.”

“In the master/slave relationship, the slave exists for one purpose. To please her master in whatever way he desires. It could be by serving him, subjecting herself to pain, humiliation, sexual activities. He controls nearly every aspect of her life and rewards or punishes her as he sees fit.”

“That sounds dangerous, and horribly controlling.”

“The true master loves and values his slave more than a rare artifact. She is his showpiece and this need to serve him is so great that she is miserable if she cannot. It is completely consensual. Although once the slave gives her consent to be his, she loses the ability to give anymore consent. We say that she consents to being non-consenting. It is in absolute trust that she submits herself to his care and direction. In age-play, there really is no difference.”

“You don’t make me do anything but play and mind your stupid house rules, though.”

“It is still a total power exchange. You please me when you lose your power as an adult and subject yourself to my care and guidance. However, in this scenario, the tops are the servers, meeting your every need because we thrive on you trusting us to allow yourself to be dependent. We control by removing your adult responsibilities. And, like a master, we will reward and punish accordingly.”

“So the younger we are, the more power we relinquish?”

“Exactly. I don’t want you to be in the infant stage unless that is where you desire to go. I really don’t require that much control, plus I enjoy the interaction more with a little independence. I do want you to keep exploring the group you are most comfortable in, though, and to be honest with me.”

“Well, I didn’t really like being older because your spankings were more impersonal. And I hate writing lines,” Camille shuddered. “And there were some times in the younger mode that were okay, like the cuddling and reading, but I did not like not being allowed to walk or take care of myself, especially with the bathroom.”

“So you want to stay between four and six?”

“Yeah. I mean, when we aren’t involved in adult activities. That’s creepy to me. Sorry.”

“Oh baby, none of us APers are interested in our littles being in their age when it comes to sex. That is for adults only. I have never known any APer to be a pedophile either, nor would it be tolerated for a second. Many of us actively fight to protect children. I donate to charities and also attend the Young Actor’s Camp every summer to raise money and awareness for child abuse and neglect. It is difficult for people to understand, but our thrill comes from our littles trusting us with their most intimate and vulnerable nature. We want to nurture that childlike innocence and joy, encourage it to be expressed, and be part of the freedom that comes when our girls don’t worry about the ugly world, even for a moment. We are the ultimate protectors.”

“Are there only girls who do this?”

“No, ma’am. As many relationships that can exist between people, there are the same in this world. I just refer to my girls to simplify things when we talk.”

“I see. Does this power exchange become easier as time goes on?”

“Yes. The more it is practiced, the more naturally it occurs for both of us. You and I are at the point that if I give you a certain look, you immediately regress to that role. You are still responding to it as an adult at times, but eventually you will learn how to react without thinking it out too much.”

“But, if I react, that means I can get in trouble.”

“Yes, it does.”

“That is
so
not fair.”

“I really am going to buy you a t-shirt with that on it, Cam. Just you wait!”

“I hear you. So, Mr. Renault… do you think this old body can handle a second round?” Camille mewed, reaching down to grasp his cock in her small hand. She felt his immediate response and smiled.

Erik paced the living room floor, frequently glancing at his watch. He was eager to leave for the winter ball that was being held by a local banker, an old friend of Arthur’s. He and Camille had been together nearly two months and he was eager to show her off to the world. He paced the floor anxiously, wondering what was taking so long for her to get ready. She had been holed up in his room all afternoon being primped and pampered for the event. He supposed the delay was really his doing since he had called in the professionals. A hairdresser, makeup artist, masseuse, and manicurist were in that room readying her for the coming out of the new Camille LeCroix. He also hoped that, if all went well, he could announce his intended engagement. He had only one concern… Jerry. He growled to himself, knowing that the disgusting little bastard would be present and that he would take any opportunity to cause distress to Camille.

Erik had been keeping a careful eye on the tabloids, worried that any negative leak about their relationship would cause Camille to run like the wind. Their visit to the hospital had, of course, drawn media attention and the reporters swarmed for information. Thankfully, the only story they received was that Camille had a touch of hypothermia and was going to fully recover. The doctor was interviewed and commented firmly that he would not violate his relationship with his patients, but assured everyone that she was well and in good, loving hands. Likewise, the nurses emphasized that Erik Renault had taken charge of Camille’s health, and that more men like him should exist in the world. Finally, the media managed to hunt down Kelly who stood, newborn baby in her arms, and shared with the world about Erik’s kindness, thoughtfulness, and generosity.

She held the beautiful little infant to the cameras. “Erik? If you are listening, we just want to say thank you. This is Erika Camille Nolin… Named after the two of you. We are not your fans. We are your friends.”

Erik felt tears well as he watched that scene again. He was humbled, for he had not done any of the actions to be noticed. The sound of a throat clearing made him turn around and stare as Camille entered the room behind her entourage.

She was breathtaking. There were no other words to describe the angel in emerald green velvet that stood before him. Her hair was piled in delicate ringlets on top of her head, making her pale, slender neck appear even more swanlike. Her large eyes appeared green as a cat’s, twinkling with merriment as he approached her in stunned silence. He reached out to touch her delicate jawline before tracing his fingers down to the exposed swells of her breasts, framed in white faux fur.

“You are beautiful,” he finally choked out. “You look like a princess.”

“I feel like a princess. Thank you,” Camille said with a modest blush. “And you are quite dashing yourself with your white tails. I don’t think I have ever seen you wear a suit, let alone such an elegant tuxedo. You even shaved!”

“Hey, I clean up well. Just not very often. I have something for you. Close your eyes,” Erik said, unable to remove his gaze from her. She had transformed into a majestic swan—elegant, refined, confident. Would she still want him?
He picked up a box from the table and opened it. Carefully, he slid a diamond tiara through the top knot of her hair and turned her to face a mirror. “Open your eyes and behold, my lady,” he whispered into the crook of her neck.

Camille’s eyes widened as she lifted her hand to touch the crown he had placed upon her. She gasped as he then secured an emerald pendant surrounded by diamond baguettes about her neck, and then placed matching earrings upon her lobes. Her hand shook as she touched the jewels, in awe of the gift.

“Erik, this… this is too much. I can’t accept it.”

“I wish I could say that these were from me, but the pendant and earrings are a gift from Arthur. Stan got you the tiara. He wanted you to know that you are, and always have been, a princess to him.”

Camille choked back tears at the words, stunned and bewildered by the fairy tale unfolding before her eyes. Erik kissed her forehead and led her to the giant open pane window that overlooked the lake and snow-laden trees. The stars were brilliant in the moonless sky, their lights reflecting off the crystals of ice below. Camille looked around as the fire started to blaze in the hearth and the lights were lowered.

“What…”

Erik slowly lowered himself to one knee and lifted Camille’s hand to his lips. His eyes never once left hers. “Since the day you put a frog in my dressing room and slime in my shoe, and bit my thigh during that scene, I knew you were special. But
how
special was the surprise. You have changed my life. Being with you, watching you blossom into this magnificent creature, has brought more joy to me than anything I could ever imagine. I promise to honor and protect you, and to give you everything a man’s heart has to offer if you, Camille Loren LeCroix, agree to do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

He produced a two-carat emerald-cut solitaire and held it up for her to see. Her hand shook in his, overwhelmed as she silently nodded while mouthing the word
yes
. Erik slipped the ring upon her finger and stood, his hand slipping behind her neck to draw her lips to his. His kiss impacted her like a solid brick wall, fueled by love, passion, and possession. When he released her, he could see the firelight reflected in her happy tears. She was to be his. Forever.

After a glass of champagne and ushering the sobbing hairdresser out of the way, Erik escorted Camille to the front door, huddling her in a long, white fur hooded cape. He grinned as she continued to stare dumbfoundedly at the ring upon her finger, touching it in disbelief.

“Your carriage awaits, my lady,” he said with a bow, gesturing to the large, horse-drawn sleigh. The two white horses were grandly decked in red reins and jingle bells, and giant red sashes added a festive mood to the ornate vehicle. The driver, uniformed in the style of Charles Dickens. bowed and assisted Camille into the sleigh. Erik joined her, pulling the warm blankets over their laps and producing a bottle of champagne for their journey. Camille giggled as he poured himself a glass and then handed her a sippy cup.

“You just couldn’t resist, could you?” she asked, raising it to her lips.

“I don’t want your big girl side to forget her daddy,” Erik whispered, kissing the back of her hand.

“Never. I promise,” Camille swore, touching the cup to his glass in a toast to one another.

The night’s silence was interrupted by the sounds of jingling bells and the clopping of hooves upon the snow-covered path. Erik wrapped his arm around Camille’s shoulders, warming her and letting her know she was in his protection. He could sense her anxiety, as well as her excitement.

“Nervous?” he asked, taking her gloved hand in his and lifting her palm to his lips to kiss.

She cupped his chin and brushed her lips over his. “A bit. I have never been to a ball before. In fact,” she glanced away, “I have never been on a real date. This is a bit awkward for me. I’m sorry.”

“Never apologize for how you feel, Cami. And I will do my best to make this a date that you will never forget.”

“That has already been accomplished. Erik? Do Arthur and Stan know about this?” She held up her left hand.

“Nope, and I suspect that we will have two bawling old geezers on our hands when we make the announcement tonight.”

“You are going public with this? Are you sure you want to?”

“Of course I do. Did you think I was going to change my mind? Cami, you are my future. I want the world to know that the only woman who could tame the rogue Erik Renault has been found.”

Camille said nothing as he kissed her again. She was too happy.

The estate was alight with thousands of twinkling white Christmas lights. Instrumental carols were piped through speakers over all the grounds and the air smelled of crisp pine and cinnamon. The sleigh pulled to the front where Erik exited and held his hand out to assist Camille to the snow-covered ground. A red carpet had been placed on the path, leading them to the front doors which were opened wide as they approached. Erik paused, glancing up at the sprig of mistletoe hanging over the doorframe.

“We are under the mistletoe. You know what that means,” he whispered, winking at her.

“I guess that means you have to kiss me,” Camille answered back, also aware of the cameras that stood ready to flash. Questions flew at them, asking the identity of the mystery woman and Erik’s future plans. He graciously refused the interview, shuffling Camille into the main hall.

“They didn’t even recognize me!” Camille stated, her face flushed with excitement.

“I told you. You have opened up like one of Arthur’s orchids. Speaking of which…”

“Camille? Is that really you?” Stan proclaimed, holding her at arm’s length and studying her. She nodded and he embraced her tightly. “What happened to my scabby-kneed little tomboy with the freckles?”