Trading Post

Too far for me, too. Sounds like fun, though.

“There’s my sleepy girl!” Ethan cooed entering the room. “Are you ready to see your new room? I bet you’re ready for a clean diaper too.” He didn’t wait to be invited, just stuck his hand in her crotch and checked her. ”That’s daddy’s good baby. All wet for me.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her effortlessly into the nursery. ”Here we go,” he purred. “Little Kayla’s new nursery.”

Part 47 While the rest of the girls went into the locker room, Amelia was sent off with Lily, one of the brunette girls from the group. According to Summer, it was the hospitable thing to do, as ‘little Millie’ might otherwise have trouble finding the private bathroom in a timely manner. Amelia suspected the real reason was to keep her from running off again, like how she had made a lengthy detour to the library instead of meeting Summer and her friends outside the dining hall.  Lily linked arms with her with a friendly smile, guiding her off to the right and around the corner. It was impossible to tell whether the attitude was just for show, or if the girl was actually nicer than Summer. Not that it was a particularly high bar.  As they walked together towards a different section of the gym–Amelia suspected that putting a solo changing room so close to the regular locker room would lead to any number of girls trying to abusing it the same way some students at Amelia’s public high school did when her classmates figured out that nothing was stopping them from using the private faculty bathroom during class. Why settle for the bathroom hundreds of people used every day when the other one was both better maintained and had less traffic? She could only imagine how girls at a school like this might act in a similar way if given the opportunity.  “It took guts to stand up to Summer, by the way,” Lily said. She had no doubt waited until they were well out of earshot to risk saying something about her leader, “Believe it or not, this whole ‘bitch’ thing is better than you think. It means you have her attention.” Of course, it had been easy to have ‘guts’ when Amelia was only masquerading as a student. That, and she hadn’t known at the time that Summer was top of the totem pole in her year. At the time, Amelia had just viewed her as a cliché teenage bully/mean girl. Not that any of those elements were mutually exclusive. Then, not even the brief physical assault had intimidated her; in fact, it had done the opposite. But now? Amelia was stuck as a transfer student until she could convince an authority figure at the academy otherwise, or until Ashley finally let up on this prank that had gone way, way too far. Summer had proved multiple times that she could effortlessly get Amelia in trouble, which in turn would only complicate things for the petite blonde who apparently had a file that said she had been difficult at her old school.  Until she could follow through on her plan to borrow a phone or laptop from another student, keeping her head down was the best play. And that meant not making waves with Summer. Actually . . . maybe this moment alone with Lily could be an opportunity. “What do you mean?” Amelia asked. She needed to be careful. Simply blurting out what she wanted wouldn’t work, not when the young brunette in charge of escorting her was one of the more popular girls in her year. Lily would be used to girls having an angle in any given conversation, not to mention that she could always report back to Summer. “You could be one of us,” Lily shrugged.  Such a simple suggestion caused Amelia to start overthinking everything. Was this something Summer and Lily had planned, or was Lily operating on her own at the moment? Despite being popular and effortlessly manipulative off the cuff, Summer was still a thirteen year old girl. At the same time, Amelia hadn’t entertained such games when she was that age, and that was before considering the rich girl factor and what a background like that might add to the equation. “I don’t know about that,” she replied. Keeping things non-committal for now, and letting Lily do the talking. As for the rest, Amelia tried to keep things simple. Whether there was one layer to Summer and her clique or numerous layers, the important thing was to avoid providing them with more ammo to use against her.  It wasn’t lost on her that she was a young adult who was currently walking on eggshells around a group of girls ten years younger than her and constantly affirming that she was Summer’s bitch.  “I mean it,” Lily said, “Think of it like initiation. If you show Summer that you know how to fall in line, and pay your dues for a few days, she might let you on board. A girl with guts is nice to have around. As long as you use that energy for the benefit of the group. Here’s my advice, Millie. The next time someone crosses Summer, make sure you’re on the right side.” Clearly Lily was naive to the double meaning behind Amelia’s response. While her outward hesitation might have sounded like she didn’t believe Lily, most of it had to do with the fact that Amelia was way too old and mature to be interested in being one of the popular girls. As for ‘the right side,’ that was obviously a matter of perspective. “Thanks, Lily,” Amelia said. With the private, gender-neutral bathroom in sight, she made a judgment call to not ask to borrow the brunette’s phone. For the time being. Even if she successfully managed to search for herself, what would she do with that browser? Without any adults within sight, there was no point. However, she tucked that idea away for potential later use; if Lily was indeed trying to be an ally, rather than a conspirator with Summer, maybe Amelia could eventually win her over. “Sure thing. Oh!” Slipping her arm free, Lily stepped aside and dropped her duffel bag to the floor. “I guess you’ll be needing a gym uniform. Mine will be a little big on you, but it should work! Hmm, but for shoes . . . Sorry, Millie. You’re on your own for that! Maybe you can just play in your flats?” “Umm, what are we playing?” Amelia asked. Until now, she had no clue why they were at the gym, and no one had told her anything thus far. Knowing that it would be some form of game, rather than a group workout, wasn’t particularly helpful. That could still mean anything.  Lily just replied with, “It’s a surprise! Don’t worry, you’ll have fun.” She dug through her bag for a minute, eventually pulling out a pair of black gym shorts and a green athletic polo that was similar to the hue of the skirt she was currently wearing. “Oh, do you need a sports bra? Might as well try one of mine, right? If it doesn’t fit, you’ll have to manage without one.” Standing back up, the young brunette offered the stack of clothes, “Here you go!” Amelia didn’t know what to say. She just forced out an awkward, “Thank you.” Taking the clothes and stepping towards the bathroom door, Amelia briefly hesitated to consider telling Lily that she’d rather wear her own gear. Except did she even have the shorts/polo combo Lily was loaning her? Similar to the computer login thing, Amelia wasn’t sure how many things were actually back in her room due to how Ashley had likely been selective about what she had given her ‘cousin.’  The whole thing was moot, anyway. Amelia had already delayed Summer and her friends once. There was no way she would be allowed to make a trip all the way across campus when she was literally holding a spare outfit in her hands that would do just fine.  Deciding that the private bathroom was her best option for the time being, as the whole point of getting there in the first place was to avoid the locker room, Amelia went in and immediately locked the door behind her. The last thing she needed was for Lily to barge in for whatever reason. Although the girl’s friendly attitude was somewhat disarming, Amelia hadn’t known her nearly long enough to trust her. No harm in being overly cautious.  She didn’t love the idea of changing, either. While the schoolgirl outfit was demeaning, considering her real age, at least it was modest. At first glance, the gym shorts didn’t look overly short, but they would clearly be more form fitting and show a little more leg than the plaid skirt she was currently wearing. And compared to the dress shirt and blazer, the polo wasn’t nearly as conservative.  As she reluctantly shrugged off her outermost layer, Amelia realized she only had a small hook on the back of the bathroom door to work with. A hanger would have been preferable. Could she get an infraction for a wrinkled uniform? The academy handbook was quite extensive, and last night’s reading and subsequent quizzing hadn’t been enough for everything to stick.  She had already gotten written up at breakfast; another pink slip wouldn’t be great in terms of proving to Ashley and Claire that she could be a proper student. Because according to them, they weren’t going to treat her like an adult until . . . what was the phrase? Until she grew up physically and intellectually. The former was both rude and impossible. As for the latter, she could see Ashley suggesting that failing to follow the academy’s rules was technically a mark against her on that side of things.  Regardless, Amelia was limited in her options. Draping the blazer over her forearm for the time being, she went about undoing the tie followed by the buttons on the dress shirt. Then, double checking that the door was still locked, she stripped off her skirt. Folding one item at a time until she could neatly stack them on the edge of the sink, Amelia briefly glanced at her nearly bare body in nothing but pain lingerie in the mirror, then started dressing herself in the borrowed items.  The shorts were a little loose on her smaller frame, but there were strings inside that she could use to tighten them enough so that they’d sit on her hips without threatening to slip down. Nothing to do about the athletic polo that was one size too large, however. It was better than being half naked, although the girl looking back at her still looked more like a student than a teacher.  Sighing to herself, Amelia scooped up her proper uniform and stepped out of the bathroom before she lost her nerve.  ----------------------- Check out my website: www.ladyluciastories.com And read more of "The Teaching Assistant" (85+ parts) and other stories on my SubscribeStar: https://subscribestar.adult/lady-lucia

Chapter 69 Betsy’s mom smiled and gestured toward the back door. Why don’t you two head outside and get the steaks on the grill? I tested the potatoes while you were getting Betsy out of that soggy diaper, and they’re done. So are the BBQ baked beans. She gave me a nod of approval. And I’ll tell you this—I think you did a wonderful job on those beans. Her praise made me beam. Compliments on my cooking were rare, and hearing one now felt like a small but meaningful victory. Betsy tugged at my hand, eager to head out, and I followed her toward the grill, feeling proud—and just a little more grown-up. I silently hoped I could do just as well with the steaks as I had with the beans. Outside, the late afternoon sun bathed the yard in a golden glow. The air was warm, tinged with the faint scent of charcoal from earlier prep. The grill stood ready, its metal grates gleaming in the light. Betsy stood beside me, her eyes fixed on the grill as I carefully placed each steak down. The satisfying sizzle reassured me that things were going right. She leaned in close, her voice soft and steady. You’ve got this. I smiled at her encouragement, then gently motioned for her to take a step back. Just to be safe, I said. I don’t want you getting too close to the heat, especially since you’re not wearing anything. She nodded and stepped back without protest, still watching with quiet interest. Her trust in me was palpable, and in that moment, I felt the weight of responsibility—not just for the steaks, but for the quiet, steady rhythm of the day we were building together. The steaks hissed as they hit the hot grill, the scent of searing meat rising into the warm evening air. With each turn of the tongs, my confidence grew—not just in the cooking, but in the quiet satisfaction of getting things right. This wasn’t just about dinner. It was about presence, about showing I could handle the little things that mattered. Hey, can you grab me another plate? I called over my shoulder to Betsy. I’ll need it for the steaks when they’re done. She nodded and dashed off toward the cabin; I just love watching her naked bottom as she runs. I turned back to the grill, letting the rhythm of the sizzle steady me. The fire crackled, the juices hissed, and I focused on the timing, the color, the scent—hoping everything would come together just right. A few minutes later, Betsy came bounding back down the hill, plate in hand, her pubic hair catching the last streaks of sunlight like a halo. I watched her for a moment, knowing that sometime that hair would be gone. We’d talked about it—half-joking, half-serious—but it was going to happen. As she reached me, I gave her a crooked grin. You’d better enjoy that bush while you’ve still got it, I said, teasing but gentle. Because it’s coming off sometime soon.. She laughed, a spark in her eyes, and handed me the plate. The moment hung between us— Betsy gave me a sly smile and asked do you have a razor? As she asked that question, she was running her fingers though her bush. I nodded. I’ve got both—an electric one to buzz most of it off, and a regular razor to finish the job. I’ll get you smooth as a baby’s bottom. She tilted her head, thoughtful. You know, after seeing that sleek look on our moms, I think I might actually like it on me. Then she grinned. Plus, it makes things easier for you when you’re changing one of my stinky diapers. Before I could respond, my mom called down from the cabin, Betsy, come help carry the plates and food! A few minutes later, Betsy returned with both moms behind her, each balancing dishes and bowls like seasoned pros. The table quickly filled with the birthday spread—steaks fresh off the grill, baked beans, roasted potatoes, and a few extras we’d thrown together in the cabin kitchen. As they moved around the patio, laughing and chatting, I still couldn’t quite believe what they’d done at the spa. It was bold, unexpected—but somehow, it suited them. The smooth look gave them a kind of fresh confidence, like they’d shed something old and stepped into something freer. And I had to admit… it looked good on them. Betsy stood nearby, her usual spark lighting up the space. Compared to our moms—fresh from their spa transformation—she looked a little out of place, still untouched by the smooth, polished glow they now carried. But after tonight, she’d join their ranks. As the steaks sizzled on the grill, Betsy glanced over at my mom and smiled. You know, she said, at forty, you’re looking amazing. If I look even half as good as you when I get there, I’ll be a happy camper. My mom laughed, clearly flattered. Well, thank you, sweetheart. That’s very kind of you. But Father Time is starting to catch up with me—there are things on me that are beginning to sag, as you all can probably tell. We all chuckled—not because we agreed, but because she said it with such ease, like aging was just another adventure. Betsy’s mom chimed in with a grin. Yours are holding up a lot better than mine, that’s for sure. Betsy jumped in with a playful smirk. I don’t think I need to worry about my boobs sagging—small perks of being small, I guess. My mom gave her a warm look. For your height, everything’s just right. Don’t overthink it. Betsy smiled, but there was a flicker behind her eyes—a quiet wish, maybe, that things were different. It passed quickly, like a shadow in sunlight, but I saw it. And I felt it. Trying to lift the mood, I glanced over at Betsy’s mom and said with a grin, Honestly, you look just as great as my mom. I don’t think there’s any sagging competition going on here. That earned a round of laughter from the table. Betsy’s mom rolled her eyes playfully. Well, I’ll take that as a compliment—sort of. My mom raised her voice with mock authority. Okay, okay—let’s stop talking about whose boobs are sagging and whose aren’t. It’s time for dinner. Betsy’s mom chuckled. Hey, it wasn’t us who brought up sagging boobs! My mom lifted her eyebrows, smiling. True, true. I walked right into that one. We all laughed again—the kind of laughter that flows easily when everyone feels at home. The teasing was light, affectionate, the kind that only happens when people know each other well enough to joke without crossing lines. Then my mom clapped her hands. Alright, enough about gravity and aging. Let’s eat before these steaks turn into hockey pucks! Everyone gathered around the table, plates in hand, ready to dig in. The evening was shaping up to be one of those simple, perfect nights—no big plans, no fancy setup, just good food and good company. After dinner came dessert: cheesecake, of course. I’ll be honest—it wasn’t much to look at. The top had a few cracks, and the crust leaned a little uneven. But once we took our first bites, everything changed. It was rich, creamy, just the right amount of sweet. The kind of dessert that didn’t need to impress visually—it won hearts by taste alone. This is actually really good, my mom said, surprised as she took another bite. Betsy’s mom nodded in agreement. You two did a great job. Don’t judge a cake by its cover! Once the cheesecake was gone, Betsy’s mom stood up and stretched. I don’t know about you two, she said, but I’m getting cold. I’m heading back in to put on some clothes. My mom glanced at her and smirked. Your headlights are showing pretty clearly. Betsy’s mom turned with a grin. There you go again—always talking about our boobs. And if you think mine are on full beam, have you looked at yours? You and Betsy are both on high beam tonight. Betsy and my mom looked down at their boobs, then at each other, and burst into laughter. My mom held up her hands. Point taken. Betsy giggled. Yeah, we’re all showing our headlights tonight. I shrugged. Speak for yourselves. I’m not having that problem. That sent all three of them into another round of laughter. Alright, my mom said, clapping her hands. Let’s pack everything up and head for the cabin. We cleaned up quickly, stacking plates and folding napkins, the last light of day fading into the trees. Once everything was put away, Betsy’s mom turned to me and said gently, I know it’s early, but could you get Betsy into her nighttime diaper now? It was about two hours earlier than usual, but I nodded without hesitation. I took Betsy’s hand and led her toward the bedroom, the quiet of the cabin wrapping around us like a blanket. As I was getting her diaper ready, she looked up at me and asked softly, Why are we doing this now? I paused for a moment, considering how to answer. Your mom just wants to make sure you’re settled early tonight, I said gently. It’s been a long day, and she thought you might be more comfortable getting ready now. She looked at me with a small, serious expression and said, There’s one thing you need to do before you put that diaper on. I raised an eyebrow, curious. And what’s that?

Short and sweet. Thank you