Page 31 of His Little Cryptolite

But the most unsettling part of all is the thought of Papi piercing so close to my pee-pee hole that I can’t control my urine. I think this is something he wants. I’ve noticed that even though he can obviously scent subtle nuances in me, I’m growing more aligned with him, too. My senses aren’t as sharp, but it’s not just smell that informs me. It’s his expressions, the way he smiles, the lift of his brows, or how he widens his eyes. I’m learning to read these signs.

Papi wants me to be fully dependent on him, and I’m not exactly sure how I feel about that, but I do know that the idea of him forcing me to pee myself is making my pussy clench.

Tears come to my eyes. They aren’t tears of sadness. They’re a combination of emotions. I’m overloaded from all the changes and what I’m learning about myself. Some of my tears are from relief. I no longer have to get up every day and go to a job I hate where a man I’m not interested in stalks me.

It’s not just the job, though. It’s that there was a side of me I only recently discovered. A Little inside me who wanted out and didn’t see a path. A submissive who desperately needed a Dom, or more importantly a Daddy. A Papi.

That woman who prefers to be coddled and doted on is going to get her chance. And the man who’s offering me everything in the universe is so perfect that it takes my breath away every time I look at him. Is this real?

I want to be his Baby girl. I want to obey him and let him take care of me. How will I feel if I lose control of my bladder? I don’t know, but I’m obviously intrigued enough by the idea that I’m trembling with need.

And that pacifier… It’s sitting on the counter. I can see it every time I turn my head that direction. It’s daunting. Scary. If I suckle it, I might not want to let it go. What will that mean for me? Diminished communication. A deeper regression.

It’s overwhelming. It’s too much. My head is spinning.

When Papi clears his throat, I’m yanked out of my musings. I look at him. He’s staring at me, but he turns back to the doctor. “I believe she will benefit from having her urethra numbed.”

And just like that, the decision is made. Not by me. By Papi.

Except that’s not true at all. I made this decision. Me. Alone. What Papi does is suggest things and discuss them out loud so he can gauge my reaction. When my response is to squirm and moan in desperation, he has his answer.

Nevertheless, I’m scared. Freaking out. Realistically, this isn’t that big of a deal. I should be more concerned by how much it will hurt to have him pierce my pussy with his quill. Instead, I’m worried about the results. Needlessly, because numbing my pain and forcing incontinence is temporary. The effects of his serum will wear off. I won’t permanently lose control of my bladder from one prick of the skin.

Papi rounds the exam table and picks up the new pacifier.

My heart races as he returns to stand near my shoulders. He places his free hand on top of my head and smooths my hair back, leaning over. “I won’t often ask your opinion on anything, Baby girl. I’ve told you that. But this is important. I think you should try the new pacifier. I believe you will benefit from the deeper regression. The problem with this decision is that it will be difficult to break the habit if I decide it’s not right for you in the future. However, I will watch you closely in the next few hours and then while you’re in stasis on the transport vessel. If the pacifier seems to frustrate you, I’ll take it away. Most likely, the addictive properties will have done you no permanent harm since you will be asleep for six months. Your body will break free of the addiction by the time we get home.”

I stare at him, endeared even deeper. He’s giving me the opportunity to decline the new pacifier. That fact alone causes me to want to accept his decision. He’s already thought this through and thinks it’s in my best interest.

“Do you want to try the new pacifier, Baby girl?”

“Yes, Papi,” I whisper softly.

He bends slowly and kisses my forehead, lingering a long time before trailing kisses down to my nose and finally my mouth. His lips are soft and warm against mine.

I think I’m in love with him.

When he pulls away, he rubs the nipple against my lips.

I open for him, accepting the pacifier.

The first thing I notice is that it fits better against my lips. The doctor is right. It won’t likely leave a groove around my mouth. The next thing I notice is that the nipple is slightly different. Larger. The shape is more appealing. And holy mother…

The taste of the serum…

It’s not a flavor I’ve ever had before. I can’t describe it. But it’s sweet and tart like the cherries I love so much. I think it’s even better. It’s subtle, too. I wouldn’t immediately realize the flavor is coming from a tiny hole in the nipple if Dankin hadn’t mentioned it. Now it makes sense. And I have to work hard to get what I want. Already after ten seconds, I would whine if Papi took it away from me.

My body flushes as I accept another new reality. I’m going to live my best life as Papi’s Baby girl. I was always destined to be with him. That’s why I didn’t fit in anywhere.

It’s not as though I’ve had a horrible life. I have not. I had a carefree childhood and even a relatively normal experience in college. But as adulthood crept in on me, something in me felt off. Like I was in the wrong skin. I didn’t belong anywhere.

That’s because I belong here. I’m sad that I won’t see my parents again. They will be furious when they find out I’m gone. But this is what’s best for me.

Papi sets a hand on my chest, his long fingers stroking my nipples. “Her heart rate is steadier.”

“Yes,” Dankin agrees. “We’ll monitor her closely in the coming hours before you leave, but I suspect she’s a perfect candidate for this type of deeper regression.”

It’s odd.Deeperis a strange way to describe the state of things. I was already expected to use a diaper and take a bottle. Papi said he would not let me walk on two legs or climb on furniture. He indicated it would be a long time before he allowed me to have solid foods.