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Rainbow Diapers
A space where our Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans members can discuss related issues.
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By SissyBabyMarc88 · Posted
I lowered my skirt back down and over at you as I sniffled. “You sound happy about putting me in these. And..what would your husband think?” I laid back down next to you and stared up to the ceiling. I wiped my eyes and asked “What is for supper?” -
I game on a 55" 4K TV, with keyboard and mouse. I sit on the couch with keyboard in lap. Diaper is a good cushion. -
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By Kitty Angel · Posted
81. My Step Back It wasn’t long before we were waiting for Tess to come home again. It took an hour to drive to the airport, and I’d expected to be sitting alone in a coffee shop for another hour until her flight got in. But as it worked out, Ffrances had the day off and was climbing the walls, eager for a chance to get out of town. She offered to come pick Tess up herself, but I said I needed to see my little. So here we were, waiting for the plane, sipping overpriced latte out of paper cups. I wondered how this was going to work out. I had been expecting I would be the only one here, but things hadn’t quite gone according to plan. I couldn’t say no to my Mistress, but there was a reason I hoped she would be resting at home, maybe listening to her hypnotic recording one more time. I needed to know how Tess’s triggers were working. It was something I’d been thinking about for a while, but had never found a real opportunity to test it. The trigger, as I understood it, conditioned Tess to have an accident when we told her to. But we had originally discussed it as a way to avoid bedwetting, so I didn’t know if she would recognise it as the trigger if I told her to wet herself during the day. I’d thought about trying it several times, but always been too nervous. About the only experiment I’d been able to perform was telling her that she would have an accident in surprise if that little creep Spike kissed her or tried to molest her. Signs were positive there; she’d shown no sign of having heard the instruction; exactly the same as when she wanted help to wet the bed. But I had no way of knowing whether it had just not worked, or if she was so caught up in the image of him being a friend that it didn’t register when he touched her inappropriately. I needed a real test, one that I could be sure of the results of. So in our last conversation on XV the day before, when I’d double-checked the flight times, I had given her a very clear instruction. She was going to have an accident before leaving the airport. I’d said that she would be surprised, so she wouldn’t realise I had used the trigger. And she would still feel like an adult, because I didn’t think it would be appropriate for her to be in a little headspace with so many strangers around. I wanted her to feel vulnerable, in case that could make her more inclined to accept help, but I didn’t want to attract the attention of security. A small child travelling along was suspicious enough already. But I’d told her clearly that she would have an accident, and I really hoped that it would work. She had been dismissive, saying nothing in response. Another positive sign. Today I would finally know the truth about daytime triggering. If she had wet pants when I met her it would be obvious. If she somehow managed to duck away and get changed before I saw her, she would still have to do laundry when she got home, and I was pretty confident I would find out. This was something I needed to know, because it would make a big difference to the celebration we were planning for her. Sure, the trigger might be able to achieve the desired results, but I needed to know for sure. But Ffrances had insisted on coming to the airport with me, so I was hoping that Tess could find somewhere to change before we saw her. If our baby showed up with a wet spot on her pants, I had no idea what I could say. Consent was no defence for using an embarrassing trigger in a public place; Tess should have known better than to ask, and I should have refused without a second thought. How could I justify it? Or should I just hope that Tess was able to hide it? So long as the evidence was still there when I looked, I could learn the truth without my girlfriend finding out. But if she was less mature than I thought, could I convince Ffrances that this was something Tess had decided to do on her own, without my input? Yes, I concluded, and smiled to myself. Yes I could. “She’ll be glad to be home,” I chuckled. “Yeah. I bet she’ll miss her parents though.” “And her sister. I think she mentioned they were both there this year. But when I checked, she seemed really eager to get back. Said she can’t wait to get back to her headspace. Guess she missed it more than we thought.” I paused a moment at that thought. I was pretty confident Tess had a big sister, but I couldn’t find a name in my memory. She must have been too old to need babysitting when I’d been helping out all those years ago, but I was a little embarrassed to know so little about my own extended family. “It can be very refreshing. I’d like to try it more too.” “Right. It appeals to everyone. She’ll be looking forward to another wet night, I bet. She’s had to be a big girl all the time she was away. Now that she’s used to it, I think she might miss feeling little as well. I mean… I know she was saying things about how she could enjoy losing control as a separate thing, and I don’t really understand that, but I know now she’s impatient to be fully little again.” “I’m sure she will,” she answered carefully. “Sooner or later. When she’s ready; she has more self-control than you do.” “I hope so. I remember she took those sleeping pills with her, so I hope while she missed the triggers she didn’t think about…” “She wouldn’t,” Ffrances shook her head, and she seemed so confident. But the idea was in her mind now. I’d planted a seed that would blossom if Tess came through the gate with wet pants; that she hadn’t been able to resist temptation for long enough. Still not the best outcome, because then Ffrances might wind up encouraging Tess to try abstaining longer. But I could kick the can down the road a way, deal with that problem when we came to it, instead of having to process the whole situation now. “Dammit,” Ffrances muttered, a mild expletive that was as close to a curse as she normally allowed herself in public. I started for a second, and then followed her gaze to the big screens on the wall behind me. The flight was delayed. Not by long, but it meant that it would be worth another overpriced, mediocre coffee while we waited for my baby to get home. * * * The airport was huge. I’d been abroad often enough, but never got used to the sheer scale of the place. I’d never really seen it from this side, either, because I had always been the one travelling in the past. So it was no surprise that we managed to get lost when the signs changed to show that Tess’s flight was landing now. We walked across the concourse with our coffees in hand, and I had picked up a bag of hot pastries. I still wasn’t quite sure what the time difference would have been, but I knew that there was a good chance my little girl would be hungry when she arrived. Ten minutes later – after stopping twice to ask people in uniform for directions – we were in a large white room with people rushing past in both directions, looking out through a giant window into a much larger room below. Double doors at one end were opening, and a tide of people spilled through. In front of them were a hundred poles with tape stretched between them, making a labyrinth. There were different queues for foreign tourists, immigrants, returning tourists, and a couple of less common categories. At the far side of the room, they would get to pass through a dozen archways to be interviewed by a customs agent. The bustle of people looked like chaos, but I was sure they all knew where they were going. I couldn’t see which line was which from up here, but perhaps I could guess from the different outfits passing through. I looked over the crowd a dozen times, wondering when I would see a familiar figure, but it was Ffrances who was first to make out Tess in the throng. At this distance, it was hard to be sure that we were looking at the right little girl. But we waved anyway, hoping it wouldn’t be too long before she got through and we could actually say hi. There was no response, of course. We couldn’t hear the hubbub from the other side, and it would have been no surprise if the giant window turned out to be soundproof; plus we would have been little more than dots from down there. But we could see the people scurrying about like ants, impatiently waiting their turn to be quizzed on why they were here. “She’s organised, at least,” Ffrances said, and I had to agree. I’d been watching the swirling maelstrom of people as one flight after another flowed into the customs area, but Ffrances had spotted her already in the right queue. She had a small bag slung over her shoulder, and a clipboard in one hand. Presumably her customs declaration; if I remembered correctly, they would sometimes give you the basic form to fill in on the plane, so that everybody would know what documents they needed to show before they reached the desk. Tess was so organised, sometimes it was like she was an adult already. Those moments scared me; and I couldn’t wait until she really accepted that she was a child. I could just imagine the psychological damage that it was causing her, the pressure to pretend she was older. I knew that it was worse for the people who seemed most mature, because it was harder for them to escape. That was why I knew that Tess was a perfect little; from her youthful appearance to the way she felt obligated to act like an adult, there must be so much tension inside her. As she got closer to the front of the queue, I could see that she was hopping from one foot to the other. A little dance on the spot, like she was really bored with the delay. She couldn’t wait to get all of these adult things out of the way, so she could go home and play. I wished I could help her with that, but it would be a long time before we were free again. A few minutes later, I wondered if she was just bored. It was quite possible that she had another reason to wish the customs desks would hurry up and process the people in front of her. Plane bathrooms were rarely particularly clean, after all, and usually cramped. If she’d known they were landing soon, she might have decided to wait until disembarking; not realising that there would be another half hour or more to wait once her feet were back on the ground. She was still a child, after all, and it would have been silly to assume that she understood all the ins and outs of international travel. This was still a new experience for her, and there were bound to be things that she didn’t think through properly. Now I knew what was happening I could see it clearly in my mind’s eye; a little kid doing the potty dance as she waited for the scary government officials to call her forward; hemmed in by unfamiliar people on every side, the queues snaking back and forth. She must be pretty desperate by now, and I hoped she would be able to hold it until she got through customs. I didn’t want my little girl humiliation to be in front of so many strangers until I could be there to comfort her. I wanted to talk to her; to tell her it was going to be fine. But we were cut off behind the big window, and there was no way to get in touch until she had passed through customs. We kept on watching, and waiting. Still, Tess didn’t notice us. She was shifting position, taking little steps on the spot, and trying to distract herself by staring at her phone. It was only after a few minutes of watching that I realised I could talk to her after all. I’d been focusing so intently that I hadn’t paid it any attention when my phone vibrated in my pocket a few minutes before. I took it out, and saw a message from Tess. “Just landed. Waiting for customs. You here yet?” I considered that for a few moments, and typed out a reply. Telling her that we were here and waiting, and asking if she was okay. There was no response right away; she was standing with her phone down by her side now, so she probably hadn’t seen my message. I remembered that was supposed to be the selling point of XV; that messages could be delayed up to ten minutes, so you would never know whether or not people were making you a priority. But right now it was just frustrating; I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable, not even knowing if we would be there to take her home when she got past the thin grey line of bureaucracy defending our country from invaders. I thought for a second, and tapped out another message. “Can’t wait to see you,” I muttered under my breath as I typed. “Looks like you’re nearly there.” I didn’t vocalise the message I was actually sending: ‘You look desperate. You’re going to surprise yourself by having an accident now.’ Just a couple of lines; she wouldn’t be suffering unnecessarily, and I would know for sure if a posthypnotic suggestion designed for nighttime use would still work in the day. It was the best of both worlds; and Ffrances couldn’t be suspicious, as she’d already noticed that Tess seemed to be squirming more than most of the people in the line. Tess’s phone must have vibrated, because she brought it up to her face almost right away, typed a response with both thumbs, and then lowered it again. My heart sank. Because the little girl was still squirming. If the message she was responding to had been mine, that meant that the trigger only worked the way it had been designed for after all. But I kept on watching, hoping that it could be some kind of delayed response. Less than a minute later, she was at the front of the line and heading through to the customs desk, where security screens meant we couldn’t see any more. We went around to the next room instead, where she would be coming out shortly. Ffrances sat on a bench to wait, while I couldn’t stop pacing. I needed to know whether Tess was okay. It felt like forever, but it could only have been twenty minutes before she emerged, cheerful and with a holdall slung over her shoulder. “Gabby!” she called, and ran closer. “Hi Tess! I missed you guys. Do you want to get something to eat, or should we go home? I’m not quite used to the time zone yet, so you can choose.” “We already ate,” Ffrances answered for me. “But there’s a place local that I heard does a really great blue cheese burger. Got to be better than airline food; or the café we had a sandwich from.” “What about your bags?” I asked; but it turned out I was behind the times again. She’d organised some system to have her luggage delivered to home, so that she wouldn’t have to wait for everything to be unloaded before meeting us. That seemed really convenient to me. The food at Bar Retro was even better than Ffrances’s friend had implied. I was intrigued by the decor of the place as well. Disappointed to see that Tess showed no sign of wetting her pants, so I had to concede that the triggers really didn’t work like that. Her subconscious must not believe it, which meant I would have to think a lot harder about how to show Tess how much she needed to be my baby. But most of all, that afternoon, the strongest feeling in my mind was contentment. All I needed was to know that my little was back; that I was going to see her as a baby soon enough; and that we were a family again. -
My pee pee and poopie urges come and go but my diaper urges remain constant and has become so normal for me that when not diapered, I don't feel properly dressed.
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