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So the way he hid it was wrong, but I would give him the benefit of the doubt for now, I know there are some people that do meet up with other dls and whatnot but most of the time it's not in a sexual capacity, it's usually meeting in a public place or coffee shop and meeting each other, those that are more comfortable with meeting other dls go to events and conventions etc. I myself would love to meet other dl people but I don't have the courage to actually do it. Try talking with him and get him to tell you the whole picture without pressure. He's lucky to have someone that isn't turned off (pushed away) by the diapers and leave. -
By diapered charles · Posted
Diaper discipline is fun! I'm a sub man and my wife and I have role played using diapers. It can add a level of humiliation and control to the power dynamic. -
By Lady Lucia · Posted
Part 28 ‘Because I’m not actually thirteen!’ The exclamation was on the tip of Amelia’s tongue, but she had enough sense to know that getting outwardly emotional would simply prove Ashley’s point. Maybe this was still some elaborate joke at her expense. The two eighteen year olds were clearly power tripping, since it had become clear that Amelia was relying on them to put an end to all this. Instead of going home and having dinner at her apartment, she was going to have to stay even longer and read the handbook. Was that going to be it? Or would they next insist that she needed to study? Amelia could imagine plenty of ways her predicament could be drawn out, especially since she had managed to bomb half the placement test and subsequently somehow got in trouble all afternoon despite just trying to keep her head down and survive the day. No matter what, one thing was certain–she had to act like none of this bothered her. That tended to take the fun out of things for most young women who liked to play games. “You know why I’m different,” Amelia said, as flatly as she was able without sounding like a bitch about it, “And fine, I’ll read the handbook.” Ashley just smiled. “Cover to cover.” It took a conscious effort not to groan. Plenty of authority figures, administrators and prefects alike, had gone over the ‘proper girl’ thing. “Yes, Ashley,” Amelia replied, “I’ll read the handbook cover to cover.” “Good. Claire, you have snacks stashed away in your prefect suite, right? I don’t think little Millie will have time for dinner tonight. And I doubt she even wants to go to the dining hall, anyway. Ashley was correct. “Of course!” Claire hopped up. She turned towards Amelia to explain, “As you’ll read, meals have to be eaten in the dining hall. Certain snacks are permitted, however, for both prefects and students. Ask nicely, and I can go get you something!” Just like so many times before, Amelia chose the path of least resistance. Being dismissive towards Ashley’s friend wasn’t going to get her anywhere, especially since Claire was a prefect who could easily write up an infraction that any of her fellow prefects would believe. “Ms. Claire, can you please get me something to eat?” Amelia asked. She said it with a demure smile and warm tone that simultaneously want to gag and roll her eyes. ‘Happy, brats?’ “Better,” Claire nodded, “We’ll make a proper Westridge girl out of you yet.” She slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Amelia with the dark haired girl who started this whole thing. Similar to the way Claire barely reacted to Amelia’s over the top reaction, Ashley didn’t have much to say about it either. “Hop to it, Millie,” she said. She gestured towards the desk while picking up her binder again, to supervise while simultaneously doing some studying of her own. Once again holding back a sigh, Amelia walked over to the desk and sat down to get started on the demeaning and completely unnecessary task. Even as a teacher at the private school, she assumed she’d only need to know whatever sections were pertinent to the classroom. The rest would be for the prefects and administrators who handled dorm life and other things. And, while she would normally skim through the whole thing, there was a good chance Ashley would quiz her at the end. The first section included a code of conduct followed by some cringeworthy statements about Westridge girls, the very same thing Claire had just called her. “Westridge girls are polite and respectful to their teachers, to their prefects, and to each other.” “Westridge girls strive for academic excellence.” Maybe it’s because she wasn’t actually a student, but the whole thing read so typically ‘teenager.’ Despite how the academy was regarded pretty highly, the format wasn’t so different from some of the stuff Amelia had seen throughout her public school experience growing up. Solid branding, she noted, with the constant repetition of the private school’s name. When she turned the page, her previous thoughts were immediately countered. Amelia’s experience growing up had mostly been ‘dress appropriately.’ As long as girls didn’t show too much thigh and/or cleavage, they could wear whatever they want. That definitely wasn’t the case here. The handbook started out describing the uniform that Amelia was more than familiar with at that point. The green plaid skirt and matching tie, white blouse, and black sock/shoe combination. There was an asterisk for the intermediate grades at the bottom that mentioned the required flats Ashley had her change into earlier. Once she got past the familiar stuff, Amelia found herself more and more surprised at just how many rules there were, especially for the younger girls. No make-up, which she had learned earlier in the form of an infraction. Hair could only be braided in a regular pattern, or held with simple bobby pins or hair ties. Piercings could only be located in the earlobe, and jewelry needed to be both simple and understated. Rings were not permitted, period, though advanced grade girls had a few limited options once they were of appropriate age. The more she read, the more Amelia wished she had a friend around so she could talk about how this book clearly must have been written over a century ago by fucking nuns or something. But the only girl with her at the moment was Ashley, and the devious girl would no doubt jump at any opportunity to get on her case. So Amelia remained quiet and pressed on. It wasn’t a huge surprise that there were specifications when it came to underwear, considering how many other ways Westridge girls had to conform to the boarding school image that seemed to only offer the slightest bit of individuality in terms of accessorizing beyond the matching uniforms. Full cut cotton underwear in white or nude was the only acceptable option, with matching bras being required for said colors. Camisoles were also acceptable. Amelia couldn’t help but wonder how many students broke that particular rule on a daily basis. It’s not like anyone would check. She was actually mostly adhering to the undergarment dress code, as she had worn a matching plain nude set with her professional outfit that morning. However, the thong she had on definitely wasn’t full cut. While no one would see that as long as she sat properly, Amelia was still a rule follower, and didn’t love that she was breaking one despite how said rules shouldn’t actually apply to her. The uniform section transitioned into hygiene, which was about when Amelia started skimming past the obvious stuff. From an authority standpoint, it made sense, as listing everything in the handbook gave prefects excuses to discipline girls who didn’t take this stuff seriously. But as someone who took her morning routine quite seriously, Amelia didn’t need to read too deeply into that. The only part that stood out to her was how students were to avoid excessive perfumes and hairsprays that would bother other girls. There were enough of those out there that teachers and prefects reserved the right to make the final call. Amelia kept reading. There was a whole page detailing politeness and respect, per the statement about Westridge girls at the beginning. There were rules about when and where students were allowed to be places or not be places, as well as a curfew that shifted based on both age and day of the week. There was even a section on acceptable school supplies, as binders and such needed to either be distributed by the school or be approved for comparable ones. So many fucking rules. It was getting difficult not to gloss over each page, as the core principle was the same–uniformity. The school was prestigious for a reason, after all. While the majority of students attended because they were rich and going there would open as many doors for them as Amelia planned on getting for herself, there was a good portion of girls who were sent there to be reformed. In a way, it was good for them. Instead of being left behind, like most systems would do without admitting they were doing it, the girls that were shipped off to Westridge were still taken care of academically. But, of course, at the cost of their rebellious individuality. That was the problem Amelia had been facing all day. Everyone thought she was one of those girls, when in truth she was the total opposite. While the handbook rules were still quite suffocating, she definitely would have preferred attending Westridge as her proper, straight-A self. “Ashley?” Amelia said. Quiet as it was, her own voice surprised her a little bit. The only sounds for quite some time had been the turning of pages as well as the occasional shifting on the bed behind her as the dark haired girl changed positions while she studied. “I’m done.” “Hmm,” Ashley barely glanced up from her binder, “Shouldn’t you be calling me ‘Ms. Ashley?’ That would be more respectful.” So there was going to be a quiz. Either that, or Ashley was just enjoying herself. One way or another, Amelia armed herself with all the knowledge she had just packed into her mind in a single sitting. There was a good chance half of it was going to be gone within a few hours. Cramming was only a viable study tactic in the short term, and something she never did personally. “No, Ashley,” Amelia said. Still following the proper response drilled into her earlier by Ms. Song, she said, “It’s only ‘Ms.’ and ‘Mrs.’ for prefects, teachers, and administrators.” Ashley raised an eyebrow, “But I’m your elder.” “That doesn’t matter. We’re both students.” For a fleeting moment, she almost fell for it. But something like that would have stood out, plus it didn’t make sense. The handbook was absurdly rigid, but it was at least consistent. The hierarchy was students/prefects/teachers/administrators. While there was obviously an unspoken version of that at every school in terms of older girls getting their way, there was nothing official in terms of titles or showing extra respect to girls in the advanced grades. “You’re no fun. Okay, Millie. Can you tell me when your curfew is?” “In my dorm building by 8:30, in my room by 9:30.” “And the exceptions?” “Friday and Saturday, or if I’m getting back late from an extracurricular or a school sponsored event.” “Very good. And what about quiet hours?” Amelia answered question after question. She didn’t have all the answers locked and loaded, but managed to remember what she needed to mostly due to Ashley’s quiz prompting her memory. There was no way Amelia could have listed off all the things that Westridge girls were supposed to be, but she could at least handle the things Ashley was throwing at her. Eventually, Ashley circled back to her earliest question. “So you need to be in your dorm building by 8:30, yes?” “Yes,” Amelia nodded. “Then you’re running out of time,” Ashley smirked, “It’s almost 7:30, and we still have so much to do. At this rate, you might have to spend the night . . . ” ----------------------- Check out my website: www.ladyluciastories.com And read more of "The Teaching Assistant" (55+ parts) and other stories on my SubscribeStar: https://subscribestar.adult/lady-lucia -
That was alot of money down the drain. And he said they don't sell well at markets, maybe because they don't want to be embarrassed buying them out in public like that for people to see..... a private sale and that guy would be making alot of money
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