Lacey’s Daddy

  LITTLEWORLD, BOOK TWENTY

  PAIGE MICHAELS

  Copyright © 2024 by Paige Michaels

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. And resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Newsletter

  About the Book

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

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  Paige’s Newsletter Sign-up

  About the Book

  Littleworld is an amazing vacation spot on an island reserved strictly for age play. Visitors can indulge in deeper regression without fear of being judged. In fact, it’s mandatory and addictive. Some guests find themselves unwilling to leave the island…

  Lacey’s life sucks. She has lived with her father ever since her mother died when she was a child. Over the years, he’s gotten more and more abusive toward her. Her only escape is her visits to the Dungeon on the nights he is not home.

  Brian is a nurse who lives on the island. He visits the Dungeon on the mainland every chance he gets, mostly hoping for a chance to see Lacey, even though she never meets his gaze. He’s determined to get her to talk to him, and he won’t give up until she does.

  When Brian arrives at the Dungeon to find Lacey injured and scared, all bets are off. She’s going to talk to him whether she wants to or not. And this time, she’s going home with him.

  Warning: The heroine in this story is a victim of child abuse, which could be triggering for some readers.

  The books in this series include strong elements of medical and age play. If this genre is offensive to you, this may not be the book or series for you.

  Littleworld

  Anabel’s Daddy

  Melody’s Daddy

  Haley’s Daddy

  Willow’s Daddy

  Juliana’s Daddy

  Tiffany’s Daddy

  Felicity’s Daddy

  Emma’s Daddy

  Lizzy’s Daddy

  Claire’s Daddy

  Kylie’s Daddy

  Ruby’s Daddy

  Briana’s Daddies

  Jake’s Mommy and Daddy

  Luna’s Daddy

  Petra’s Daddy

  Eloise’s Daddies

  Josie’s Daddy

  Zia’s Daddy

  Lacey’s Daddy

  Amelia’s Daddy

  Layla’s Daddy

  Sophia’s Daddy

  Grace’s Daddy

  Littleworld Box Set One

  Littleworld Box Set Two

  Littleworld Box Set Three

  Littleworld Box Set Four

  Littleworld Box Set Five

  Holidays at Rawhide Ranch

  Felicity’s Little Father’s Day

  A Cheerful Little Coloring Day

  Would you like to see a map of the island?! This link will take you there!

  Map of Regression Island and Littleworld

  Acknowledgments

  Special shoutout to Seraphina Dolls for coming up with the idea for this book and helping me plot!

  Prologue

  “What are you doing?

  At the sound of my father’s booming voice, I jump up from the beanbag chair in the corner of my bedroom and face him.

  Crap. It’s almost dark out. I’m going to get in so much trouble. “I’m sorry. I was reading. I lost track of time.”

  My father fills the entire doorway. The scowl on his face makes me wince. “Reading. Always reading,” he growls as he stomps into the room.

  I back up into the corner as he marches toward me. My heart races. He’s going to hit me. Or whip me. I’m in big trouble.

  I gasp when he bends down and grabs my book from where I dropped it on the beanbag chair. He tucks it under his arm before reaching for the stack of books on my bedside table next. Without a word, he carries the entire pile out of the room.

  Oh, God. This is bad. I run after him. I don’t care what he does to punish me, but I don’t want him to take my books. “Dad, please…”

  He ignores me and continues through the house and out the back door.

  My heart nearly stops when he balances the books in one arm and opens the metal trash can with the other. He dumps the bundle into the can before turning to me.

  “Please,” I beg. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll get dinner ready now.” I stare at the can, hoping it’s not filled with anything wet or gross. Maybe in the middle of the night when he’s sleeping I can sneak out here and get my books back.

  He’s too calm as he drops the lid to the trash can on the cracked concrete. I cover my ears at the very loud clanging crash. This patio used to be a nice slab with pretty furniture and a fancy propane BBQ. In the last few years, the yard has turned into an overgrown weedfest. The patio furniture is long gone. All that’s left is a worn lawn chair and a small charcoal BBQ. Most nights my father sits on that chair and smokes.

  He pulls his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and shakes one onto his palm before lighting it and taking a long draw. “You’re lazy.”

  I swallow. I won’t bother arguing with him. It won’t do any good. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.” I’m kicking myself. I’m supposed to have dinner ready at six, not a minute later. I messed up. I’m going to pay.

  “Sorry. Always sorry. Sorry doesn’t put dinner on the table, Lacey. I’m too soft with you. It’s time for you to grow the fuck up. You’re twelve years old.”

  I try not to cry. Tears gather in my eyes. I hold my breath, willing them not to fall.

  “I work hard to keep a roof over our heads and food in the fridge, Lacey. You’re an ungrateful brat. Your mother was too soft on you.”

  The tears break free at the mention of my mother. I miss her so much. Cancer stole her from me two years ago, and my father has been mean and angry ever since.

  Granted, he was mostly mean and angry even before my mother died, but he’s been worse since then. He takes his wrath out on me.

  The truth is I could have had dinner on the table promptly at six. I could have prepared his favorite meatloaf cooked to perfection and handed him a cold beer when he stepped in the house. Even if I’d done everything right, he still might have lashed out at me.

  It doesn’t take much. It’s not even predictable. The food could have been too hot or cold. The chair could have been sticking out from the table too far and caused him to run into it with his hip. The placemat could have been crooked.

  I’ve learned I cannot please my father, but I still try. Most of the time. Books are my refuge. I get to go to another world when I read them. Escape. Sometimes I get sucked in and lose track of time.

  My father takes several long draws on his cigarette, tipping his head back to blow smoke in the air. It’s gross. It stinks. Mom didn’t let him smoke in the house, but now that she’s gone, he smokes everywhere. I can’t escape it.

  I always have a cough. I know it’s from the smoke, but my father refuses to acknowledge that. It’s just another thing for him to get annoyed with me about, especially when I cough in the night and wake him up.

  I consider backing into the house to start dinner. I don’t like the way he’s standing here staring at me. He’s far too calm. It’s scaring me.

  When I take a step backward, he barks out, “Don’t move.” He takes two more long draws on his gross cigarette and flicks it into the trashcan without putting it out.

  I wince. Please, God. Don’t let it catch my books on fire.

  My father’s gaze is menacing as he unbuckles his belt and tugs it free of his pants.

  I suck in a sharp breath and clench my butt cheeks. This is going to be bad.

  “Pull your dress up and lean over the side of the trashcan, Lacey,” he growls. “You need to learn a lesson.”

  When I hesitate too long, he whips the metal end of his belt against the metal can. It bangs loudly, ringing in the air. “Now!”

  I hurry forward, pull my dress up, and hold it in my hands against the side of the can. Tears fall freely. I don’t care as much about the belt as I do the cigarette that is smoldering against a paper towel.

  “Don’t you dare move, you ungrateful brat. Ten lashes with the belt. If you move, I’ll start over.”

  The first lash takes my breath away. He’s never struck me that hard.

  My father leans over and speaks closer to my face. “Count, Lacey. Show me you’ve at least learned something in that school you go to.”

  When I inhale his scent, I realize he’s drunk. That scares me more. He’s worse when he’s drunk.

  “Count!” he screams.

  I jump. Luckily I don’t drop my dress. “One.”

My voice squeaks.

  He swings the belt back and strikes me again.

  “Two.” My butt burns. I’ve never felt this kind of pain. The temperature outside is cool tonight, and the cold air makes me aware of every stripe he’s putting on me. My panties do nothing to protect me from his wrath.

  I focus on the smoke coming out of the trash can in front of me. It’s getting worse. Tears are running down my face as my father continues to whip me harder with each stroke. I count, but I’m not really inside my body. I’m inside my book. The one I was reading when he interrupted me.

  I’ve read it before. I’ve read all of them before. My books are my prized possessions. They’re all I have that I care about. He didn’t take all of them, just the ones on my nightstand. But those are my favorites. My mother bought them for me.

  I cry harder as the corner of one of my books catches on fire and small flames flicker to life. I want to reach in with my bare hands, rescue my books, and put out the flames, but I don’t dare.

  I barely notice when the last blow lands against my flesh. I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding in a few places, but all I can do is stare in horror at my books. The flames are growing. My fingers are getting hot where I’m gripping the edge of the can.

  Suddenly my father grabs the back of my dress and yanks me so hard the wind is knocked out of me. I stumble backward and fall on my beaten butt.

  I cry out at the pain as I land on the dirty concrete covered with cigarette butts that my father didn’t bother to toss into the trash can. He’s screaming at me, but I can’t hear the words. All I can do is sob as I watch the flames grow higher and higher.

  My books are gone. My heart is broken into a million pieces. I hate him.

  I hate him.

  I hate him.

  Chapter One

  Eight years later…

  “Lacey… Earth to Lacey…”

  I jerk my gaze up to see Amelia staring at me.

  She smiles. “Where were you? I’ve been talking to you, but you didn’t hear me.”

  I wince. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs and points toward my hand. “Are you going to use that crayon? I’ve been waiting for the red one. You’ve been holding it for a while.”

  I glance down at my picture. I sat here with Amelia to color as soon as I got to the playroom at the Dungeon, but I haven’t made a single mark on my paper yet. Oops. I lift my hand and hold the crayon out to Amelia. “You can have it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod and then watch as Amelia colors in the heart on her picture.

  “What happened to your arm?” she asks without looking up.

  I flinch. How does she know there’s anything wrong with my arm? “Nothing.”

  She finishes her heart and hands the crayon back.

  I reach for it and hold it loosely in my fingers.

  “Why don’t you move out of your father’s house? You could stay with me for a bit until you find a job and save up some money.”

  I stare at her. She’s never once spoken to me about my situation. I had no idea she knew anything, and I’m wondering how she does. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She holds my gaze and draws in a slow breath. “I know your father hits you, Lacey. We’ve been friends for a while. I’m observant. I know you don’t like to talk about it, but you need help.”

  I breathe heavier as I stare at her. Tears well up in my eyes. I’m shocked. A part of me wants to tell her how awful my life is and take her up on her offer to stay at her place, but I can’t move. I sit here mutely, scared out of my mind.

  I’ve never told a soul about my home life.

  She reaches across and sets her hand over my good one—the one with the crayon. “You need help,” she repeats.

  My tears are gathering in the corners of my eyes, but I’m a pro at holding them back. When I let them fall, my father beats me harder. But he’s not here now. “How…” The one word trails off. I can’t speak without crying, so I bite my lip and hold my breath.

  She rubs my fingers with her thumb. “Lacey, I’ve seen the bruises on your arms and legs. Plus, you’re lefthanded, and you’ve been holding that crayon in your right hand all evening. I’m not sure how you were going to color with it. I’ve been waiting to see how ambidextrous you are.” She gives me a small smile.

  I sniffle to suck back my tears. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not. Someone needs to look at your arm. You’ve been wincing since you got here.”

  “I just tripped and fell is all. I’m clumsy. I braced myself with my arm. It’s no big deal. It’s probably sprained.”

  Amelia holds my gaze for long seconds as I try not to look away. “You told me you’re twenty years old. Is that true?”

  “Yes.” I flinch. Why would I lie about that?

  “Why do you still live at home?”

  I shrug. “It’s cheaper. Lots of girls still live at home at twenty.”

  “Not ones who are regularly getting beaten.”

  My breath hitches. My ears are ringing. I’m freaking out. If Amelia knows, who else knows? Lie, lie, lie.

  A shadow falls over us just as a male voice fills my ears. “Good evening, Little ones.”

  I pull my hand from Amelia’s and turn to face the Daddy as he plants his hands on the edge of the table and leans over toward the two of us. He’s smiling, but his face falls. “What’s wrong?”

  I want to jump up and run from the room. How will I ever be able to come back here again? I can’t face these questions. I thought I’d done a good job hiding my problems.

  The Dungeon is my refuge. It’s the only place I ever go. I can be myself here and hide from my life. It’s like stepping into one of my Daddy Dom books for real. I come here and pretend I’m one of the heroines in my books.

  To make things worse, the Daddy glancing back and forth between us is Brian. He’s the handsomest Daddy who comes to the club. I don’t see him very often because he doesn’t live here. He visits on weekends sometimes.

  Normally I’m so excited to see him when he comes, but right now, I want to fall through a hole in the floor, and I shoot a glare at Amelia, begging her not to tell Brian about my father.

  “Girls…” Brian warns in a firm voice. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

  I don’t look at him. I keep staring at Amelia.

  Amelia purses her lips for a second but then releases them and turns back to Brian. “Aren’t you a nurse? Lacey fell and hurt her wrist. Maybe you could look at it? I bet she needs an X-ray.”

  Part of me wants to scream at her for tattling about me, but she didn’t tell him what really happened, so I have to thank her for that. Still, she’s meddling, and I should be mad.

  I pull my hands under the table and put them in my lap. “It’s not a big deal. I’m fine. Really.”

  Brian pushes off the table and stands to his full height of almost six feet. He stares down at me with narrowed eyes. “How about you let me take a look at it, Little one? We can go in a private room so no one pays any attention to you.” He holds out a hand.

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. I promise. I should probably get home anyway. It’s getting late.” I push my chair back a few inches.

  “Lacey…” Brian says in a commanding Daddy voice.

  I hesitate. He seems determined. What could it hurt for him to look at my arm? It doesn’t change anything. I’ll still tell him I fell. I’ve perfected the art of looking adults in the eyes and lying about my clumsy behavior. Even though I am an adult now and have been for a while, I still feel like everyone is more adult than me.

  What if he thinks I need an X-ray, though? I can’t do that. I can’t go to a clinic or the hospital. My father would lose his shit. Plus it would cost money. I don’t have money.

  “Come, sweet girl.”

  A tingling sensation goes up my spine when he calls me that. It makes me feel special, like I matter. He has called me that before, and I’ve never heard him call any of the other Littles sweet girl.

  Brian takes a few steps around the end of the table to get closer to me. He squats down so we’re eye to eye. “There’s even a medical room here. It’s meant to be for people to do private scenes in, but we can just pretend we’re playing doctor. How’s that?”

 

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