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Spanking
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Outside of her awkwardly standing around it does look comfy! -
By Three Rivers · Posted
Growing up in the 60's we were lucky to go to a local burger place, or McDonalds once a month We always begged our father to go, so for us fancy class dining was going to a Chinese restaurant and sit at a nice table with napkins and get waited on by a waitress. 99% of meals were made at home. -
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Part 40 That night, when it was time for Betsy’s nighttime diaper, I didn’t say a word. I simply picked her up and gently laid her down on the changing table. Her eyes widened in surprise—she hadn’t expected that. For a moment, she just stared at me, caught off guard, unsure whether to laugh or say something. But she didn’t resist. There was a quiet tension in the air, not uncomfortable, but charged—like something unspoken had passed between us earlier and was still lingering. As Betsy lay there, the hush of the room wrapped around us like a blanket. I looked down at her, my voice low and steady. “You gave me rules,” I said, brushing my fingers gently along her arm. “Rules about when I’m allowed to diaper you. And you knew I’d follow them—because you understand how much this means to me. How much I care about doing this for you. How much I enjoy seeing you like this.” She didn’t respond right away, but her eyes met mine, steady and open. In that gaze, I saw more than consent—I saw trust. It wasn’t just about the act itself. It was about the quiet intimacy we shared, the comfort of knowing we were both seen and accepted. The connection between us pulsed gently in the silence, like a heartbeat. I held her gaze and continued, my tone calm but deliberate. “So, I have a few rules now—because I know how much you enjoy me diapering you.” She blinked, her expression attentive, listening with the kind of focus that told me she was taking this seriously. “From now on,” I said, “I’ll be the one to pick you up and place you on the changing table. I’ll undress you myself, slowly, to get you ready for your nighttime diaper. If you’re waiting, just stand beside the table until I come in to change you. That’s how we’ll do it. Do you understand these rules?” Betsy looked at me for a long moment. Her face was soft, thoughtful, but there was a quiet seriousness in her eyes. Then she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.” I turned around to gather Betsy’s diapering supplies, my hands moving with practiced ease. Out of habit, I grabbed an extra diaper—just in case. The soft rustle of plastic and the faint scent of powder filled the quiet room. When I turned back, she was already in position—bottom raised, legs lifted slightly, waiting for me to slide the diaper underneath. I paused. There was something quietly beautiful in the way she lay there, trusting me so completely. Her body language spoke volumes—no hesitation, no doubt. Just a quiet surrender, a willingness to be cared for. The moment hung between us, delicate and charged, like the hush before a lullaby. “Put your legs back down,” I said gently, my voice barely above a whisper. She blinked, surprised, but lowered her legs without question. Her eyes met mine, searching—not with fear, but with curiosity. She was listening, waiting, open. “I have one more rule,” I continued, stepping closer, my tone soft but sure. “From now on… I’ll be the one to lift your legs when it’s time. That part’s mine. Let me take care of you.” Her gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened—like she was absorbing the meaning behind the words, not just hearing them. And in that silence, something shifted. A quiet affirmation passed between us, wordless but real. She nodded, slowly. And I reached for her, ready to begin. I unfolded the diaper with practiced care, then reached for another and layered it beneath the first—extra protection, just in case. The soft crinkle of the material echoed faintly in the quiet room. I moved slowly, deliberately, as if each motion carried its own weight. Reaching for her ankles, I lifted her legs just enough to slide the thick padding underneath. Her skin was warm beneath my fingers, her body relaxed, trusting. The ointment came next—cool against my fingertips, smooth as I spread it gently across her skin. Then the powder, its familiar scent rising like a memory, comforting and clean. I lowered her back down onto the layered softness, the padding cradling her with a quiet rustle. It wasn’t just routine. It was a ritual. A moment of connection—simple, quiet, deeply human. The kind of care that speaks louder than words. She looked up at me, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you add an extra diaper?” I gave a small smile, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “I thought you might need it tonight.” There was no teasing in my voice—just quiet concern, the kind that comes from knowing someone well. She nodded, accepting the answer without question, her eyes soft with understanding. I finished applying the ointment, then gently rubbed the powder across her front, careful not to rush. The scent lingered in the air, wrapping around us like a lullaby. I pulled the thick diaper up between her legs, the bulk making it a bit tricky, but I was patient, steady. Reaching for the pins, I secured each side with care, making sure everything was snug but comfortable. Then I reached for the plastic pants—and hesitated. They looked too small now, stretched thin against the added layers. I held them in my hands, weighing the moment. The silence between us was gentle, expectant. With a bit of adjusting, I got them on—snug, secure, and just right. The plastic pants stretched over the thick layers with a soft snap, sealing everything in place. I ran my fingers gently along the waistband, checking the fit, making sure she’d be comfortable. She looked at me, eyes soft, and I could tell she felt safe. In that moment, it wasn’t just about the diaper—it was about trust, and the quiet way we cared for each other. After I was done I pick her up and set her down and as she started walking you tell from the thick diaper was effecting her walking. I told her to follow me out so that we could get some ice cream. So out to the kitchen with her just wearing her diaper and nothing else She looked up at me, her eyes wide and gentle, like the hush before a lullaby. There was a softness there—not just in her gaze, but in the way her shoulders relaxed, the way her breath slowed. I could see it clearly: she felt safe. And in that quiet moment, it wasn’t really about the diaper at all. It was about something deeper—about trust, and the unspoken tenderness that passed between us like a secret only we could understand. She gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, and slipped her hand into mine. Together, we stepped out of the room. She wore nothing but her diaper, its bulk rustling faintly with each step, but there was no shame in her posture. Our moms were already there, seated at the counter, each with a bowl of ice cream in hand. The clink of spoons against ceramic was the only sound. As Betsy padded in beside me, her diaper crinkling softly, her mom looked up. Her eyes flicked briefly to her daughter, then to me. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth—not mocking, not surprised, but curious, as if she were seeing something she hadn’t expected but was beginning to understand. “What’s up with the extra padding?” she asked, her tone light but curious. I shrugged, offering a small smile. “She had a lot to drink today. You can never be too safe when it comes to her diaper.” They both chuckled, the sound soft and easy, and the moment passed without judgment—just quiet understanding. It was one of those exchanges that didn’t need explanation. We all knew what it meant to care in small, deliberate ways. The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains in soft streaks. As I cleaned Betsy, gently wiping her front with practiced care, I noticed something that made me pause. She used to have barely any hair there—just smooth, untouched skin. But now, there was more. A subtle change, but one that marked time passing. It surprised me, not because it was unusual, but because it reminded me how much she’d grown. These small details, the ones you only notice when you’re close, had a way of catching you off guard. About two weeks later, it was time to head home. I changed her out of her morning soggy diaper into a fresh, clean one, then packed her things into the car so we could begin our journey back. -
By Three Rivers · Posted
Diapers for me are always a comfort factor when feeling down, also enjoy going out on long motorcycle rides when possible to clear my head.
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