Baby Talk

Call of Duty

116. House Rules They were only a handful of steps from the front door, but it felt like half a mile. Isadora was acutely aware of the sound of her footsteps on the gravel as Brock's hand rested at the small of her back. Guiding rather than gripping, but the message was clear. Victor and Eli followed a few steps behind. She didn't look back. She didn’t really want to look at any of them, didn’t want to acknowledge that so many people she barely knew were seeing her in this state. Every step left her acutely aware of her heart pounding in her ears. She kept her eyes on the windows of the neighbouring houses. It was a paranoid habit, the kind of thing she’d been trained to do, but right now she was just hoping that nobody was home. That no one was watching the group of four adults making their way inside in a configuration that could tell a fairly obvious story to anyone who gave it too much thought. That no one had seen her come pelting out of the front door with more energy than awareness, like an over-eager child. The moment the door closed behind them, she felt herself breathe again. Which was crazy; given how little she knew about what Brock had in store for her. “Daddy,” she started, putting on the role Victor might expect but a little surprised how natural the word felt coming out of her mouth. She told herself that she didn’t need to be afraid because she trusted Brock, but she wasn’t feeling fear anyway. There was another feeling there, not the resignation that seemed like it would be natural, but something she couldn’t put a name to. “I really am sorry. I should have checked before I–” “I know,” he said, with that particular quality of patience that left no room for negotiation. He steered her into the lounge and stepped back so their visitors could settle. Victor took the armchair nearest the window while Eli settled near the door, seeming somehow even more nervous than Isadora. She wondered about that for a moment, but then she realised that this would be an unknown experience for him. He knew about the Pink Room, he worked there, but nothing he had said gave any indication that he was actually a part of the community. Victor had brought Eli around to suggest that Brock might want to hire him, she thought. He wasn’t rich like their neighbours here, he was a servant who was a part of this kind of idyll without actually being a member. Being invited inside one of these houses must be strange for him. Isadora told herself the story and it seemed to fit perfectly with what she read on the young man’s face. Brock stood near the sofa, and didn't sit down yet. Isadora would normally have perched on the end of the sofa by now, but something told her she didn’t need to move until Brock gave her some other instruction. “Now, sweetie,” he said, keeping his voice low enough that the spectators would only just be able to hear, and which somehow made it even more intimidating. “You know what you’ve done wrong, don’t you? And you know that you need to learn.” Isadora started nodding slowly. It felt strange to have him talking to her like a child, but at the same time she knew that she had made a mistake which could have caused problems for her partner. And when she’d tried to apologise, she’d ended up making the same mistake again. Maybe this weird scenario would help her to remember in future? “You should remind her that she’s just a baby girl,” Victor suggested from the sidelines. “Little ones don’t–” “Good,” Brock said, not acknowledging Victor’s advice this time. “Now, can we deal with it here, or would you like to go to your room?” His eyes darted to the door under the stairs for a fraction of a second, in case his meaning wasn’t completely clear. Isadora’s mind raced as she tried to decode all the messages. When he said ‘your room’ he meant the childish room; the nursery. Because although she slept in the master bedroom, to an outsider that would seem to be a space shared between husband and wife. The nursery… Bernard might be excited to show someone who would understand the effort that had gone into decorating that little space. But Brock would give her the choice because… she froze for a second, sure the answer was almost within reach. And then she understood. She’d mentioned watching a video, so Brock knew she had been in the nursery before rushing outside. He didn’t know if there was anything incriminating on display that needed to be hidden from visitors, so he was asking her if it was okay. Isadora hesitated. She really didn’t know what was the best way to respond. A spanking in the lounge, in front of all Bernard’s friends, seemed kind of extreme. And she knew that everything related to the investigation had been locked away, her computer screen filled with coloured bubbles, before she went outside. But going into the nursery for punishment felt somehow intimate, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that kind of connection yet. “Here’s fine,” she whispered, her voice not big enough to fill the room. Was that something she had intended for the role, a sign of weakness? Or was it just an instinctive reaction to Brock’s dominant persona, which seemed to turn the rest of the world into background. “Okay,” he added. “And do you want to take your punishment like a big girl? It might be easier if you’re not overthinking the reasons.” This time, it seemed Victor was ready to answer for her, but Brock just raised a hand and the other man thought better of it.  “No,” that one came out quicker. She didn’t want that trigger, didn’t want to lose her situational awareness. She was supposed to be breaking its power over her so that she could act like an adult again, and a relapse wouldn’t help with that. If she was going to get a spanking, she wanted to understand why, and she wanted to feel it. Brock gave the smallest nod, as if that had been exactly the answer he expected. “In that case,” he said, and sat down on the sofa. “Come here.” Isadora moved as quickly as she could. She wasn’t sure how much of that was a desire to get this over with as soon as possible, how much came from the role she was playing, and whether there was still some subtle suggestion from the hypnosis lurking in her mind. Maybe it was just because Brock was so commanding. But there was no time to think between instruction and compliance. He patted his knee, and Isadora knew that the blushes were building up again only seconds later. “I know what my little one needs,” Brock said, and the tone was a little different this time. Isadora turned her head, and saw Victor sitting back again. He’d been about to say something, maybe offering advice or suggesting that he shouldn’t ask her about the nature of her punishment. Whatever it was, Brock left no room for debate. Brock's hand was at her wrist now. He wasn’t applying any force, just placed there, and she found herself moving over his knee before she had even thought about making that decision. The sofa cushion pressed against her palms as she put her hands out to support herself. Her feet didn't quite reach the floor. She stared at the upholstery and made herself breathe slowly. She told herself that this was for Victor’s sake. He needed to see something to convince him that Stella was Bernard’s little. Brock was just putting on a show, and in two minutes none of it would have meant anything. She wondered if he knew how to deliver a spanking without actually causing pain; was there some way to simulate the sound without striking so hard? Would she be able to sell it in that case? But in a way, she hoped she didn’t have to find out. It was weird, because even in an entirely fake situation, it felt like taking away that one element would be cheating. The first smack was sharp and businesslike. Isadora had been braced for something more intense, and it took a moment to process what had happened. And she was a little surprised to find that she didn’t register it as pain, not exactly. It was more like a shock of heat through the thin fabric of her skirt. She inhaled and made herself keep still. “Do you know what this is for?” Brock repeated, very quietly. “Because I didn’t check who was there,” she mumbled into the armrest. An answer that fitted with what the spectators thought she needed punishment for, as well as with the truth. “Maybe this will help you learn,” Brock said. There was no anger in his voice. Maybe a thin sliver of disappointment, which almost hurt more. And a patient calmness underpinning everything. She could feel from his voice, and from his body language, that he was doing this because he cared about her and wanted to help her get better. To help Stella she told herself as the next smack landed, stinging a little more firmly. Those feelings were just part of their cover identities, and this punishment now was just for show. She didn’t need to be taught anything; although she found herself wondering if correction like this would actually help her to avoid making the same mistake in future. It would certainly make a moment of carelessness a bigger deal in her memory. The third was harder. She made a small sound without entirely meaning to, and kept her eyes fixed on that patch of upholstery with a concentration she would normally reserve for something considerably more important. She was not going to cry. She was not going to make any more sounds. She was going to stay here and hold still and get through the next ten seconds. There wasn’t much pain from each stroke. Her yelps were elicited more from surprise, because she never knew when that sharp sting was going to land. But the heat beneath her skin seemed to build up over time. And all the time Brock was at the forefront of her mind, powerful and decisive. His voice seemed to have picked up a little extra gravel as he reminded her what she had done wrong. That good girls needed not to interrupt Daddy when he was doing grown up things. And she found her muscles tensing more with each word of criticism. At times, the tension of waiting for his hand to connect seemed more uncomfortable than the slap itself. Would the next one land on her buttocks or her upper thighs? She had given up trying to guess now. It would be where she wasn’t expecting, when she wasn’t expecting. That was the only constant, besides the reassuring monotone of Daddy’s voice. And then there was silence. One moment drew into another, and Isadora found herself starting to squirm, muscles that had been kept tense too long starting to ache. “All done,” Brock whispered. “Good girl. You okay?” Isadora got up carefully. She knew she had to be blushing now, although she’d almost forgotten the presence of the observers as her punishment went on. Was she crying? She couldn’t be sure, and she couldn’t begin to guess at what anyone might gather from her expression. Brock held a tight-lipped smile that could have been satisfaction, could have been excitement, or could just have been an act put on to convince the world that Bernard Klein was real. Was he actually enjoying this? Even after all their time together, she had no idea. She couldn’t shake the memory of his hand on her ass, a feeling that now seemed burned into her memory. And in his eyes she thought that she could detect signs of arousal; though maybe that was just another part of the act, or simple wishful thinking. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now. Should she sit on the other end of the couch, her usual place for watching TV? Or should she keep standing until Brock told her she could move? She tried to focus on simple, practical choices like that so she didn’t have to turn back to the big thoughts. She wasn’t in any state now to work out how much of Brock’s energy in that moment had been from irritation, from excitement, or was purely performative. She didn’t try to think about it, or to understand. She just stood there until Brock's hand caught her elbow, and then his other arm was across her shoulders. He turned her gently towards him, and then pulled her close with a quiet decisiveness that left no room for second thoughts. Isadora didn’t try to fight him, and all strength seemed to leave her body. She fell against him, safe between a hand in her hair and his chest solid and reassuring against her cheek. She was still sobbing, not really sure why, but she knew she didn’t need to think about it now. “Good girl,” he whispered again, low enough this time that the words must have been meant for her alone. “You took that well.” She had intended to say something. She couldn't quite remember what. It didn't seem important now. She could feel his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and unhurried, and she found that she was holding onto the front of his shirt with both hands. She didn't especially want to let go. The warmth from her punishment was still spreading outward across her skin, and against the solid calm of him it felt less like an indignity and more like a weight she had set down. The room was very quiet now. Quiet enough that she could hear his heart, counting off the seconds. She was sure her own must be racing at ten times that speed. She breathed slowly. He didn’t say anything else, just held her, one hand making a single slow pass down the back of her hair before settling at her shoulder. Personal somehow, but never anything she would have considered inappropriate. And somewhere in that quietness, without quite deciding to, she let herself imagine that all those feelings were real. His shirt smelled faintly of cedar and clean cotton. Somehow that was as comforting as his warmth. She pressed her forehead into his shoulder and felt something in her chest loosen that she hadn't known was tight. It was Brock who gently moved first, his hands shifting to her upper arms and easing her back a fraction so he could see her face. His expression was calm, and careful, and she thought she saw something at the back of his eyes that she didn't have a word for. “Better?” he asked. She nodded, and found that she meant it. “Good.” He smoothed her skirt down matter-of-factly, which brought a faint return of the blush but also a fresh small wave of something she still didn't want to examine too closely. Then he turned back slowly to look at their guests, and Isadora realised that he had barely acknowledged them for quite some time. “I think there's something you need to say,” Brock said again, and that moment started to fade away. “After Victor came all this way to help with the pretty flowers in the garden.” “I’m sorry,” she repeated again. “I’m sorry I interrupted your grown-up talk. I won’t do it again.” She watched his expression, wondering if there was something else she needed to add. She couldn’t even try to explain herself when there were other people here. And then she followed his eyes, and realised. She turned around, and Brock stood up so that she could continue leaning on his arm for a little moral support. Victor was watching carefully now, and she could tell he’d seen something that interested him. Eli was attentively studying the floor, perhaps feeling that the punishment scene was too personal for him to see. But they were here; they had come to see Brock, and she had barged in. She needed to apologise to them, as much as to her partner. Isadora had meant to produce something calm and scripted, just enough to satisfy the moment. Instead she heard herself say, in the tone of a child who has decided that if she’s going to apologise she might as well do it properly, “I’m sorry for interrupting. And for not offering you food and drinks. I should learn to be a good girl.” Victor gave a sound that could have been approval, and Brock didn’t need to say anything more. Eli straightened up. When she offered refreshments, their guests were studiously polite; and she returned from the kitchen to find the three men already deep in conversation about flower beds and drainage. The whole situation still felt slightly unreal, and the lingering heat left over from her punishment left her a little reluctant to sit down, at least for a little while. She had simple tasks to complete, and simple rules to follow. There was no freedom here to let her make any more mistakes. And after the chaos of the last few weeks it was a welcome break. She told herself that she could think more about what had happened, and whether Brock actually felt anything, once everyone else was gone. For now, she just wanted to be a good girl.

When I'm at home I generally don't wear my plastic diaper covers, however when I go shopping or just to run errands I do wear a plastic or vinyl diaper cover. I never know how much I'm going to pee, I do know I wet myself every 20 to 30 minutes. That's fine I just don't know how much, so a plastic diaper cover is a must for me when going out.  

((DiaperDragonRy: I think Ry is pooping way too often. Most people poop anywhere from 1 to 3 times a day, to 1 to 3 times a week. That’s normal. Ry is a pooping machine so far! Lol. Too much! Please scale it back a bit so he isn’t pooping only minutes after getting a change. There’s no way someone poops that many times in one morning.))   Lollia looked across the kitchen towards the dining area every so often, keeping watch over all her precious children. She noticed how absorbed Ry was in his colouring and smiled, glad he was enjoying the activity. She couldn’t see behind him so didn’t notice his diaper filling up again but would surely change him once morning tea was over and she realised.  Since he was colouring Spider Man, he was having to use the red and blue crayons a lot. She wondered which version of the hero it was. There seemed to be different characters who became Spider Man in different universes. She decided to ask Ry which ones he liked best when she sat down with the kids during morning tea.  Lollia continued to supervise the three little girls as they helped her put said morning tea together.  “That’s right, just like that, Rei. They’re turning out great, good work.”  Lollia encouraged the white haired girl, praising her efforts as she watched her tiny hands working.  “When we all work together, things are easier and faster. That’s called teamwork and it’s part of being a family. We ARE family. Well done, you three, for helping to make morning tea today. And now you know how to make this snack for next time! Yayy! You're all fantastic chefs!”  She told the three girls with a loving tone and bright smile.  She chuckled at Kara’s cute blush, noticing the way she looked at her puffy lower half.  “I know it feels funny but you’ll get used to wearing diapers soon enough, Kara. Wearing them all the time will start to feel normal and natural. And it is, for my little darlings~! You all look so adorable in them, tee hee!”  Soon, the trays were full of healthy, tasty snacks, ready for little hands to grab and chow down.  “Alright, everyone, we’re done. Off you go to find a highchair or a kiddy seat and I’ll bring the trays of snacks over, along with some drinks. You three were excellent chefs, my lovely ladies. Now you can eat and relax! I’ll come along and lift you into the highchairs as needed. Don't be scared if I use my telekinesis~ It's just Mommy's special powers, okaaay~?” ============================================================== Hearing Ms Angela talking to Kara, Frost’s large fox ears pricked up from behind the puppet theatre, popping up between the two fox puppets he had on his hands. He leaned out from behind the stand and waved at the Latias.  “Yoo hoo, are you looking for me? I’m over here, Ms Angela!”  Frost called out, spotting the completed Alolan Vulpix kigurumi she was carrying.  “Wow, you finished it already! Fast work. Did you use magic or something? Anyway, thank you so much. Here, take this as payment.”  The white arctic fox said, rolling his wheelchair out from behind the puppet stand and over to Angela. He took some cash out of his wallet and held it up to her, his tail wagging faster as he looked at what she made for him.  “This is gonna be great to wear outside, until Spring comes in March. We're gonna have snow for a little while longer, though. Good thing we have a nice conservatory here, which is full of flowers year-round. I know people get sick of the freezing conditions and being out in the cold. But I love it. Actually, in summer, I make the orphanage cooler and can even make igloos, ice castles and sculptures that never melt, for the kids to play in.”  Now he really wanted to play outdoors wearing his new kigu. He was excited. Maybe he and the kids could make a rainbow igloo together with Frost’s winter magic this afternoon.  When he saw the green Treecko come into the room with Dan, he tilted his head curiously.  “Huh, Dan has a new friend! Is that another Pokemon type? Ms Angela, do you know what he is? By the way, you can sit with Miss Kara for morning tea, if you want. Sometimes kids like to be fed...” He said with a kind smile, thinking that Angela might like to chat with Kara while they ate, or else feed her some of the snacks and juice.  Frost heard more footsteps and twisted in his chair to look over at Suzy and Rex, along with Lisa.  “Looks like everyone’s all here. Yay~! Hehe, Suzy seems to enjoy my puppet show. Hold, on Rex, I’m coming back. Look at the new pokemon outfit I got! Isn’t it great?! Ms Angela made it in no time. I love ice and snow pokemon. I can’t wait to wear this outside.” Frost then saw trays of snacks and drinks in sippy cups and bottles floating around the tables, small plastic toddler plates drifting over to set down in front of each child while paper plates and cups sailed over to neatly put themselves in front of the adults. Some of them hovered in the air, waiting for people to pick a seat and sit down before they would plop down in front of them.  Mama Lolly had turned on the kitchen radio and it was playing some upbeat new songs in the background, creating a cheerful and lively atmosphere in the kitchen and dining areas. It wasn't too loud, easy enough to speak over.  ============================================================= Once Sophie was done, she let Mama Lolly remove her apron and wipe it down before hanging it back on the hook in the kitchen. She then giggled as the alien lady's pastel rainbow tentacle stretched out and wrapped around her, lifting the little bunny into the air and reaching across the kitchen to the dining room, placing her down neatly into a pink high chair with butterflies on it.  "Yaay! It's my fabouwite colour!"  She squeaked, clapping her hands then beaming as her beloved plushie, Bun Bun, floated in from wherever she'd left him that morning and sat on the highchair tray with her. She looked down at the toddler plate and baby bottle of apple juice that set themselves down, seeing the bottle had cute images of bright coloured daisies and ladybugs on it and the plate was pink with Disney Princesses in their pretty sparkly dresses.  This all made Sophie happy. She reached across and pulled Mr Bun Bun into her arms, rubbing her cheek against him as she snuggled him.  "Missha, Bun Bun! We gots the good stuffs!" she trilled in glee. She then waved towards Rei, who she thought of as her new friend.  "Wei, sit next to me? Kawa, you wanna join?" she called out to the other kitchen helpers. "We tan eat togethew."  Sophie reached for a couple of 'ants on a log' and two of them floated onto her plate, making her giggle and grin at Mama Lolly, knowing she used her powers to help.  "F...fank you, Mama Lolly!" She said, cheerfully and shy, with a small blush. 

I do mine as soon as I get my W-2. I was pleasantly surprised by my return. Instead of the usual 1200-1500, I ended up with a little over 2000. Got the transmission fluid changed out in my car. That's helping a bit, but I haven't been able to fully test if that did the trick, thanks to gas prices. (I want to see if it can handle making it to another town rather than a random I-25 exit.) Rest of it went to some bills and random shiny things.