Page 14 of Daddy Next Door

"What is this?" I murmured, though I already knew.

My eyes landed on a comfortable reading chair in the corner, large enough to hold two people—or one adult holding someone in their lap. A crocheted blanket in a star pattern was folded neatly over one arm. Beside it stood a small table with a night light shaped like a crescent moon.

I moved deeper into the room, my heart hammering against my ribs. A white dresser with pastel knobs stood against the far wall. I shouldn't open it. I'd already gone too far.

My hands trembled as I pulled open the top drawer.

Inside, folded with military precision, lay what appeared to be adult-sized pajamas. Not sexy lingerie or regular sleepwear, but honest-to-god footie pajamas with prints of dinosaurs, stars, and cartoon characters. I lifted one out—soft flannel with a zipper down the front. It would fit someone my size.

I held it against my chest, the material cloud-soft against my skin. A wave of longing washed over me so intense I had to lean against the dresser for support.

The second drawer contained more specialized items—adult-sized onesies with snaps at the crotch for easy changing. They were high quality, clearly expensive, with delicate embroidery and satin ribbons at the cuffs. These weren't joke items or cheap Halloween costumes. These were made to be worn, to be comfortable, to make someone feel small and cared for.

By the time I reached the third drawer, I was no longer surprised to find pacifiers—several of them, in different colors and designs, all clearly made for adult mouths. They rested on a bed of silk scarves, arranged by color. Beside them lay hair accessories—ribbons, barrettes with stars and hearts, soft headbands.

Each item was a revelation, each drawer a deeper glimpse into a world I recognized from my online life but had never seen manifested so completely in physical form.

The room was a little's paradise, designed by someone who understood the need to escape adult responsibilities, who knew how to create a safe space for vulnerability and care.

Designed by Ethan.

My Ethan. My neighbor.

I should get out of here. As I turned to leave, to escape before I discovered anything else I wasn't prepared to process, I noticed something I'd missed.

A seam in the wall, almost invisible unless you were looking for it. Another door, this one hidden even within the hidden room.

My curiosity, already a blazing thing, roared higher. I approached the wall, running my fingers along the seam until I found a recessed handle. It pulled open easily, revealing a space beyond that made my knees weak.

If the first room had been a little's paradise, this was a caregiver's domain.

The centerpiece was unmistakable—an adult-sized crib with high rails, painted white with custom bedding in a star pattern that matched the blanket in the reading chair. The mattress looked thick and comfortable, covered in waterproof material that wouldn't be obvious under sheets.

Beside it stood an adult-sized changing table, the kind used in medical facilities but modified to look less institutional. Padded top, restraints disguised as decorative straps, shelves beneath holding what appeared to be adult diapers and changing supplies arranged in wicker baskets with gingham liners.

Everything was immaculate. Everything was high-quality. Everything showed thought, care, and significant investment.

I stepped into this inner sanctum. This wasn't just a playroom or a kinky sex dungeon. This was a space created with love, designed to meet needs most people didn't even acknowledge existed.

A shelf held adult-sized bottles, some plain, others decorated with stars and hearts. Next to them sat sippy cups with cartoon characters. Beneath them, neatly folded cloth diapers in pastel colors, the fabric looking butter-soft even from a distance.

In the corner stood another piece of furniture I didn't immediately recognize—something like a desk but with restraints at strategic points. A discipline bench, I realized, my cheeks heating. For spankings and other forms of punishment.

Beside it was a cabinet, this one locked. Unlike the hidden door to the room, this lock had a key inserted, as if Ethan never expected anyone to get this far into his sanctuary. The key taunted me, an invitation and a final boundary all at once.

I'd already crossed so many lines. What was one more?

My hand shook as I turned the key. The cabinet doors swung open to reveal implements of discipline arranged with the same meticulous care as everything else in the rooms.

Paddles of various materials—leather, wood, acrylic. Straps. A few canes. Soft floggers in bright colors that somehow made them seem less intimidating. Everything was clean, well-maintained, and arranged by size and purpose.

On the next shelf sat items clearly meant for restraint—leather cuffs lined with soft material, silken ropes in pastel colors, blindfolds that looked like sleep masks. These items were separate from the age-play elements in the outer rooms but clearly part of the same dynamic—the caregiver's tools for establishing boundaries and providing discipline.

The bottom shelf held items more explicitly sexual—dildos and vibrators in non-threatening colors and shapes, small plugs with jeweled ends, bottles of lubricant. These weren't displayed prominently but stored with the same thoughtful organization as everything else.

I closed the cabinet quickly, turning the key. Some boundaries should remain, even in this moment of discovery.

I stood in the center of the nursery, taking it all in. This room represented thousands of dollars in equipment, furniture, and supplies. More than that, it represented a commitment to a lifestyle, a way of caring for someone that went beyond the superficial.

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