I am not a little girl! (Really!) (Scene #214 posted 12/6/23)

[YourFNF]

Wow Mary is pushing hard... And yet she knows when to pull back like with the "complicated relationship" bit

[bobindiapers]

I can't wait to see how Daphne reacts to the nursery.  And Mary too!

[Sarah Penguin]

[diaperboymi]

Favorite story of all time ??????

[Alex Bridges]

I wanted to write a follow up chapter much quicker, but my grandpa died this past week. Not really in the mindset and scrambling to support my parents and have a business trip coming up and just … how was it that I used to crank out a chapter a day? What was my secret?

[Disk]

All my well wishes Alex, take the time to grieve however you need too.

[YourFNF]

Take care of yourself, friend *offers hugs*

[WBDaddy]

15 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

how was it that I used to crank out a chapter a day? What was my secret?

Being in the rhythm of writing every day makes it easier to write every day.  

[kerry]

Take care of yourself, Alex. Grieving is hard on the body as well as the soul.

 

[diaperboymi]

No worries.  We love your work and will be here when you are ready and have the time.  Family and self first??????

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #190

 

            

 Know how you’re visiting a relative or friend with little kids and they wanna show you their room, and you go look at it because you can’t say no but really couldn’t give a heccin hoot? Yeah, that.

Despite the ageplay turn our domestic discipline lifestyle took circa a while back, Mary and I actually don’t have many ageplayer friends. We haven’t played with many. There’s Tommy, the otherwise pleasant gentleman who turns into the most annoying pre-teen when he slips into his middle headspace, which he does in my presence and refuses to get it through his thick head that I’m not a little.

And there’s Jane, my bestie who identifies as a little and lives the lifestyle with her wife and mommy, Lisa. I’ve been around Jane a lot when she’s been little, but her play age ranges a lot. She doesn’t really commit to it the way Ann seems to, like she doesn’t dress like a little very often, her house doesn’t look like a kid lives there, she flips in and out of the mindset with ease (so much so I don’t think it’s a mindset all the time, more a behavioral choice), and it’s easy to see where her real personality stops and starts. Maybe that’s because I’ve known her for a long time.

I’d known Ann for an hour, sixty-five whole minutes if you count the five (actually less) during the play event we met at. She wasn’t dressed as a little there. I wouldn’t have ever known she was a little. They cleaned up their living room for our visit, I realize now, or I’m sure we would’ve seen her toys spread on the floor. Turn on the TV, and I’m betting it would tuned to cartoons. Because if her room was any indication … I say ‘room,’ but Jo wasn’t overselling it when she said ‘nursery.’ And I’ve been saying ‘little,’ which Ann is, but Adult Baby would be fittingly more descriptive. 

Mary, among whose cognomens is The One Who Started It, is more familiar with adult baby stuff than I am. I don’t think she looks at ABDL porn … I don’t think. But I know she looks at ABDL stores because she buy things for me to wear. I have steadfastly refused to look at those stores (steadfastness being one of qualities) because I have not wanted to give any hint that I’m supportive of the diaper wearing or the accessories that go with it. All to say that I didn’t know this stuff existed.

“Do you like it,” Ann asked me.

Holy. Heccin. Muffin tops. This is … Really?

First off, a crib. An actual crib. The woman has a crib. Like, with a mobile clipped to the side and what I think is a video baby monitor. It’s on the opposite wall from a changing table. The table had a rainbow-colored padded top, and it ended in two padded legs (I guess is the best way to describe it?) which I quickly deduced made it easier for whoever was changing her to get closer to her, um, diaper area. Diaper Genie. Toy chest. Bookshelves full of board books. Toys spread everywhere across a padded play mat. An activity table with … Gasp! Legos!

“Uh, yeah, I like it.” What was I gonna say? ‘No, it freaks me out a little?’

“Jealous?” Ann, as far as I knew at that point, doesn’t talk in affected little voice.

Did she want me to be jealous? Would it be polite to say yes? Was I supposed to be humoring her like when a little kid shows you their room?

“It’s a very pretty room,” was my response of choice.

She sat, more like flopped, down on the floor and started playing with her stuffies. I did what I do best, stood there awkwardly and wished Mary would appear at my side. She’s good at relating to little kids and Littles. Good thing watching her interact with little girls has never made me jealous or caused any feelings of resentment or envy. I mean, it’s not like Mary’s attention and affection are finite resources or anything … except that they are in the moment. And btw, I married her; I own her affection and attention. Legally binding vows we exchanged: love, honor, and protect (Mary’s) and love, honor, and obey (mine). But I’ve been generous with letting her share her attention with others … Except when she actually does it. Nope, changed my mind. Mary could stay downstairs.

“You don’t like stuffies,” Ann asked. She stood back up. “You wanna color instead?”

Not really. I’m good at drawing and have done my share of adult coloring books, but I didn’t want to color with her.

“C’mon,” she said to my uncertain silence. “It’s fun.” She took my wrist and tugged me to the corner of the room between the changing table and wall. Had it not been for the giant crib, giant changing table, smell of diapers, and stuff all over the floor, I would’ve noticed that the corner was covered in art. I’m guessing Ann’s art, drawn the way a little would. Drawn, scribbled, same thing.

“Are we allowed to do this,” I asked. I remember well the spanking I got for coloring on the wall. Easy to remember cuz it was only two years ago (she was right and did know better, but I was trying to make lockdown more fun for Mary and I succeeded).

“Yeah. When it gets full, Mommy paints it again.”

“Don’t they make paint you can draw on and wash off?”

“I dunno. I’m only thwee.” I can’t even with adults baby talking. Wanna raise the pitch of your voice, fine. Wanna talk nonsense, who doesn’t? But baby talk, ugh. 

Not that I said anything. I wasn’t paying much attention. I was instead looking at her activity table with its selection of legos. I like legos. I used to play with my brother’s cuz he had all the cool legos. I had the pastel legos, the little ten dollar box to build a lego kitchen. I wanted to build castles and ships and planes and things, and Mom, wise as she is, simply declared all legos in the household community property. My brother wasn’t happy about it, but my lego army defeated his lego army in The Battle of The Plastic Soldiers That Don’t Move. My soldiers just stared his down … That’s when Dad started making us play with other children more.

“You’re not drawing,” Ann said impatiently.

“Is this to get me in trouble?”

“Is what?”

“Drawing on the wall. You convince me it’s okay, then we get in trouble and you said it was my idea, and I take all the blame?”

“But there was stuff on the wall already when you got here.”

Fair point. “Aren’t you thwee right now? Don’t be so logical.”

“I wouldn’t get you in trouble on purpose.”

“Other littles do.” Tommy, wherever you are, you suck. And Jane, it’s … complicated.

“I would get us in trouble on purpose, but never just you. But I’ll tattle. I’m a tattle tale.”

“Do you wanna be a narc when you grow up? … I’m a smartass, by the way … And sometimes it’s not easy to tell when I’m being a smartass and when I’m just being awkward. But I’m never mean on purpose. I tried once,  it I chickened out and just cried.” 

Hey, Daphne, don’t tell her so much. You just met her.

Well she just met me, and she flooded her diaper on the floor.

Fair point.

“You keep looking at my legos. You wanna help me build?”

“Sure,” I said like a person who wasn’t excited to play with legos cuz I hadn’t done it in many, many years. I resolved there and then to text my mom and ask her to send me my old legos, but then I remembered I’m a grownup and can buy legos myself … so long as they’re under $100. But also if they’re over, if I have Mary’s permission. Which is a very grownup thing to need. As are legos.

“What are we building?”

“A … house.”

Great thing about legos? They’re perfect for making new friends, by which I mean you can build together without talking, perfect for awkward people who don’t know what to say. The only downside is awkward people are often anxious people who sit quietly, looking outwardly calm, all the while wondering if they’re in a comfortable silence or if the other person is wondering what’s wrong with them and why don’t they say anything and if Miss Awkward is judging them and being rude, which Miss Awkward does not want them to think but also maybe they’re not thinking anything but how is Miss Awkward supposed to know the person’s signs and shouldn’t Miss Awkward say something cuz what if the other person is uncomfortable and it’s Miss Awkward’s responsibility to make people feel comfortable cuz she has this lifelong desire to please others that borders on pathological?

“I’m not judging you,” I said to break the silence. And just to clarify, I’m not Miss Awkward. My last name is Taylor. Mrs. Mary Taylor. That’s how I’m addressed in fancy mail. Do you think Mary told the post office to use her first name, or do junk mailers just sense she’s in charge?

“Um, okay. I didn’t think that.”

“Good. Cuz I don’t.”

“That’s a weird thing to just blurt out.”

“Not if you listen to the words I don’t say. Then it makes perfect sense.”

“Heehee. That’s weird too. I’m thwee so I get to be very direct and it’s cute.”

“Same, but cuz I’m delightfully offbeat.” That’s how Mary explains me to people sometimes and doesn’t know I know that she does.

“Can I ask you something,” Ann asked me.

“Sure.”

“Are you a little or not?”

I wish I had something to drink so I could do a spit take and we could focus on that instead.

“Um,” I said because I’m clever and wasn’t at all embarrassed or uncertain what to say. “I’m … Why?”

“Mommy said you’re a little. And I saw you get a spanking, and you had diapers in your bag.”

“You wear diapers too.” I said not at all defensively.

“Yeah, cuz I’m a little.” She smiled like she was o so proud of that. 

“Well, no. I’m not a little. I’m Mary’s little girl,” which I only agree with cuz Mary says so all the time and she’s in charge of me, “but I’m not a little.”

“So you’re a middle with potty problems?”

“No! I do not have potty problems. Not even for role play.”

“It’s okay to have potty problems. Mommy says so. She keeps trying to potty train me, but I don’t wanna, but don’t tell her or I’ll get in trouble.”

“Well, potty training is tough.”

“I have a training potty if you wanna see. Mommy put it in the closet cuz she said it was maybe too much for you guys.” 

But a diaper isn’t? I’m so confused.

“But it was Mommy who decided I have to wear pull-ups all the time.”

“All the time? Even to work?” I assumed she had a job.

“You mean school? We don’t call it work. Everyday Mommy makes me lunch or gives me lunch money and sends me off to school with extra pull-ups. The worst is she makes me bring them all home so she can see if I had an accident.”

“What do you … What kind of school do you go to?”

“Human Resources school.”

“You don’t attend virtually?” See? See how good I am at picking up on these games?

“Some days, but I like school. I like helping other people get into my school. Do you go to school?”

“No. I used to, but I know everything there is to know.”

“You’re silly.”

“No you.” Ha! Got her.

“So I wanted to wear my big girl underpants to school, but Mommy says I’m not allowed anymore after this one time on the way home. But I don’t mind so much. No one knows at school, and I have a classroom to myself. At home I get to wear them u less I have an accident; then I hafta wear diapers, but I like them. Sometimes I even ask, but ,list of the time I just potty and wait for Mommy to find out.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How come you wear diapers?”

“Okay, so first, I don’t. Second, it started as a punishment. Now Mary just likes me in them.”

“You call your mommy by her name? Isn’t that naughty?”

“She’s not my mommy … It’s not weird to call your wife ‘Mommy?’”

“Why would it be weird?”

“I dunno. Just … feels like it should?”

“Mommy says I hafta call her Miss Mary until we get to know you better. She says I can call you Daphne. Heehee.”

Little smartass. “You don’t get embarrassed sometimes? Like in the living room? Not that I minded.”

“Toddlers wet their diapers. What’s to get embarrassed about? Why, do you?”

“Yeah.”

“But you like it.”

“Maybe sometimes.”

“No, you like it. I saw you get your bottom spanked. You like being embarrassed.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I get spanked sometimes too. We have a room for it.”

“Every room in our house is a room for it.”

“Are you talking about little girls getting their bumbums spanked,” Jo asked as she appeared over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” Ann replied. “Look at my house.”

“It’s a very nice house,” Mary said. “If Daphne being a good helper?”

Is … is Mary baby talking to Ann? Is that … HMMPH!

“Uh-huh. She didn’t wanna play stuffies or color, but she really wanted to play legos. She was too shy to ask, but she did ask lotsa questions about my pull-ups and diapers and being little.”

O yeah, she did say she’s a tattle tale.

“Did she,” Mary asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Uh-huh, and she says you make her wear diapers for punishment and just cuz and that she gets embarrassed by it. I don’t get embarrassed by it cuz I’m baby, but she does, but ya know what? Ya know what? I think she likes to be embarrassed.”

Hard to get mad at her for spilling the beans when she told Mary literally nothing she didn’t know already.

“You two can keep playing,” Jo announced like she’s the boss of me. Mary is the boss of me. And no, I wasn’t just getting grumpy with everyone. I wasn’t grumpy at all. I was … poised for grumpiness if the situation called for it. “What do you think,” Jo asked Mary.

“It’s incredible. You’ve got one lucky baby. I love the changing table.”

“It’s a life saver. My poor back.”

“I can’t even imagine. My back gets sore, and she’s not even diapered full-time. It’d also be nice to have the diapers right there. Hers are in the closet. Actually, I used to out some in her undie drawer.”

Quite a few pairs of my panties are missing and presumed hidden somewhere in the house. Mary steals.

“And I love the crib.”

Shut up your face!

“I can give you the name of the person who made it.”

Shut up your face too!

“O, thank you but no. Daffy and I are committed to co-sleeping.”

“Damn right we are,” I muttered. “We fuck a lot too.”

“Daphne Ann!” 

Aw shit. I need to practice my muttering. Shit shit shit. Six eyeballs looking right at me. Dammit … and stuff.

“Um, doesn’t count cuz none of you were supposed to hear that.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mary apologized on my behalf. “She uses vulgar language as cover when she’s feeling vulnerable. We’re working on it.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’re getting a pass on that, missy, but don’t think I won’t paddle your butt in front of our new friends.”

“Speaking of, I promised to show you the punishment room,” Jo said. Ann’s eye widening caught my eye, the brow of which arched in curiosity. Ann even blushed. I don’t think I’d seen her blush yet.

Jo opened the walk-in closet. Of course I wanted to go in, and no amount of blushing little would stop me. It only made me more curious. Know what was in that closet? Well, I shall tell you.

Little girl clothes, bags of diapers and diapering supplies, and a door.

Narnia. Her punishment room is Narnia, I guessed. Not that I’ve read that. Do they go through a door to get there? Is that even how the story goes? Never mind cuz Jo produced from her pocket a key.

Into the room I followed, and like Howard Carver almost exactly 100 years ago, I saw wonderful things. There’s more to this little than meets the eye.

“We wanted the room to be especially private, so we took out the hallway door and put one in the closet,” Jo explained. Personally, I think they got it backwards. Surely a veritable sex dungeon would spark fewer questions should a guest stumble upon it than an adult baby nursery, but I guess they had their reasons. 

Just like they had their reasons for the many treasures in inner sanctum: furniture treasures; treasures that hang from ceilings; treasures that run on direct current; treasures that make pain happen and treasure that make pain go away. Treasures that would hurt me and not in a good way. I mean, Ann isn’t so much bigger than me, so how she could fit all … I mean, even if I could without doing myself a terrible injury, I just don’t think getting punched in the lung from the inside would feel … anyhoo.

But that aside, “We should all misbehave so badly,” I said unbidden even by me.

“See something you like,” Mary asked me with her eyes a-sparkle with a thousand possibilities, all the hopes and dreams of generation upon generation of sexually frustrated, kinky lesbians flashing before her like the light emitted by the maternal smile of our almighty and benevolent god … and stuff.

“Um … Yes. Yes, I do.” I glanced back at our hosts, Jo watching us with her arm around Ann, who looked mortified. So if you’re looking for difference between us, there’s one: I don’t mind talking sex stuff in front of other people, but I do mind wetting myself in front of other people. Not so Ann. I felt kinda bad for her. But it’s really important that Mary knows what I want for Christmas.

“This is, uh,” I said not bash fully but more of in a made-wordless-by-a-religious-ecstasy kind of way and stuff, “we should consider.”

“We do have a spare room,” Mary said while touching it. “I can just picture you now, lying on your changing table with your legs up, diaper under you to catch anything, strapped down while I’m downstairs turning it up and down … and up.”

“I can never so good … or ever so bad, whichever makes that happen.” I’m flexible like that.

“Quite the set up you got here,” Mary said because one of us needed to before we forgot where we were and with whom and whose toys belong to which lesbian.

“Thought you’d like it.”

“I think we should go before we wear out our welcome,” Mary suggested.

“And it’s time for this one to go down for a nap,” Jo said, kissing Ann on the temple and making her blush again, but with a sort of starry eyed look like she was very happy to have Jo for a mommy, and very happy for us to leave the punishment room, which isn’t entirely an accurate name for it.

As we were about to go back downstairs, Ann whispered something to Jo. Jo replied, “Do you want the big potty or little potty?”

Ann, not blushing anymore, only shook her head.

“Do you wanna get changed before or after nap time?”

“Before.”

I chose and continue to choose to not know what any of that meant. I guess Mom was right and some things are better repressed from our minds.

We said goodbye to Ann in her nursery, hugs all around (and don’t think I didn’t see Mary pat her diaper butt), yet it was a brief goodbye because Ann seemed like she was trying to be very polite and couldn’t remain so genteel much longer. Personally, I chose and continue to choose to not know what I meant by that.

Downstairs, Jo showed us out. “Thank you for coming.”

“It was our pleasure. What do say, Daffy?”

“Thank you. I had a good time.”

“I’m sure Annie had a wonderful time playing with you.”

“I’ll text you about that pool party,” Mary said. I had questions to follow up on about that.

“Can’t wait. Have a safe drive home. I got a poopy diaper to go change.” I chose and continue to choose to not know what the heck that heccin even means! A little help with my denialism, please?!?

Mary chuckled, “Good luck. I know what that’s like.”

“Marrry! No, you heccin don’t!”

And I didn’t pout my way to the car, and I didn’t perk up when Mary called me a good sport.

“I think you and I have some online shopping to do when we get home.”

And no I did not get excited and blurt out, “Legos!?!”

“I meant the fucking machine,” Mary said with this look on her face like she married someone weird, which she didn’t even.

“O. Maybe we can build one out of legos … teehee.”

I got a kiss for being cute (not awkward and cute, just cute). “I will happily buy my little girl some legos.”

“Sweet.”

“And the machine too.”

“Super sweet.”

“You think she’s up on her changing table right now getting her …

“Marrrry!”

[diaperboymi]

OMG.... would love to have a room like that?????  And Yes,  the machine too ??????

[Guilend]

Im sure Mary will know all about poopy diapers before too much longer. Maybe it’ll be because Mary forces her as a punishment or maybe Daffi’s curiosity gets the better of her for just the split second and by the time she realizes she doesn’t want to do it, it’s too late and she got a diaper full of mush. Or maybe Mary is sad or down about something and Daffi decides a poopy diaper might cheer her up not thinking about the long term effects of doing so. Maybe Ann talks her into it. It’s fun coming up with ways she might get embarrassed with a poopy diaper ?

[WBDaddy]

This feels like it might be a turning point in the relationship, one Daphne is not going to especially appreciate. 

[Alex Bridges]

2 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

This feels like it might be a turning point in the relationship, one Daphne is not going to especially appreciate. 

Daphne is pretty good at holding her own ... eventually. We shall see!

[YourFNF]

 

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #191

 

I am Daphne. Hear me squeak.

I roar most of the time. Pretty big roarer. The MGM lion? That’s me doing the voiceover. Really.

It’s just that sometimes I also squeak. It’s Mary, this person I married, who makes me do it. She has a way with me. A gay way (cuz we’re way gay).

Rifling through the cabinet under the bathroom sink is so fun. It’s like a treasure hunt, and the prize is the toiletries you bought when you were running low, forgot you bought, and then bought more of. We have so much toothpaste! No brand loyalty, it turns out, but so much toothpaste. Feminine hygiene products? None of. Which, like, how the heccin hey?

“Mary,” I called out, “do you have a tampon in your purse? … Mary?”

“Coming,” my dear darling wife called back on her way up the stairs.

“Do you have a tampon in your purse or something?”

“Did you start your period?”

Why, golly gee, Mary, nope. I’m just looking for something to plug this wine bottle cuz I swallowed the cork whole by accident. The questions she asks sometimes …

I did my yes-duh shoulder shrug.

“No need to be embarrassed.”

O for fruggin friggin frack. Know when Mary says that? When she’s about to (or has recently, or is in the course of) said or done something to embarrass me. Not a great time for it. True story.

“Is that a no? And if it is, could you please go to the store for me?”

“Sit,” she said, taking me gently by the arm as though that calms me rather than makes me anxious knowing she’s got something up her sleeve (if only it were a tampon). We sat on the edge of the tub, and she held my hand for a moment of silence while she made her this-is-a-meaningful-moment face at me. Well, I’ll tell you right now if she didn’t watch her step it could’ve become very memorable for all the wrong reasons (like my pouring shampoo on her head … While she’s wearing clothes … It washes right out. I’m so bad at being mean. Dammit).

“Big day, huh?”

“Is that a cut about my PMS, because I have been goddam delightful and you know it. Admit it. Admit you know it.” I really was. And I wasn’t anxious. She wasn’t making me anxious! Who even said that’s a thing I – conquress of galaxies, most confident of empresses – even experience? Liar, them.

“Today you are a woman,” Mary pronounced like the mistress of ceremonies at The Worst Ever Rite of Passage Ever.

“O god. Really?”

“Yes, really. I guess it’s time I tell you about how our bodies work.”

“O god! Marrrry!”

“You’ve probably been noticing some changes in your body.”

“You mean like right now? Cuz there’s this bile taste that wasn’t there until you …”

“You’ll soon be ready to graduate out of your training bra.”

“That joke is bitchy every time you say it.” I may as well have been in a different room for all the notice she took of me … Actually, she was taking all the notice, I’m sure, of the blush in my cheeks as it spread all the way to my ears. She thinks that means something, like it’s a signal I’m embarrassed an enjoying it just cuz I have this sexual thing for embarrassment. But guess what? I don’t always. Really. (No, really.)

“You have hair in places you didn’t have hair before.”

“I don’t, actually, which you’re very well aware of.” She’s very well aware. Intimately familiar with my parts and pieces from all the intimacy we do … and stuff.

“You might be having some feelings about boys.” What the gross even with the … My Number One Problem with boys is that they’re not girls. That’s my position, and I’ve been very clear about it for more than fifteen years.

“You are so not reading the room right now.” How hard do I hafta glare before she reads the room? This is my deadliest death stare and it doesn’t friggin work almost all the damn times I need it to. I’ve been cursed with a face that only gets cuter when I get angry, at least right up until I’m really angry and then it’s not cute at all.

“But I think we need to deal with a certain situation first.”

“If you use the M word or start in on any biological descriptions, I will lose my cool. Ya been warned. And yes with the situation. Back to my original question.”

“Come,” she bade me.

Not that I followed because I’m overly biddable but because she told me to and also because if she had a solution to the situation, then yes, please let’s go. Not that time was of the essence yet, but time was approaching a time when the essence of time might be a … thing. Alas, some sentences aren’t meant to be.

“So first thing you need to know is that tampons aren’t appropriate for girls like you, if you get my meaning.”

“No, gee, whatever could you mean,” I deadpanned. She thinks I haven’t noticed that she’s strategic in acknowledging my sarcasm. I’ve been spanked for being too sarcastic (is that even a thing?) one or nineteen times and counting, but when she’s delighting in her little mind games like this, I literally cannot roll my eyes hard enough. I once pulled my extraocular muscles rolling my eyes at such a time, and I got nothing to show for it.

This was one of those times Mary opted to ignore my sarcasm and replied, “What I mean, sweetie, is tampons aren’t for virgins.”

“I am not!”

“I don’t believe such things about my good girl. You have been a good girl, haven’t you?”

It is so toxic to attach ethics to virginity, but, um, “Yes’m.” 

Not my fault! I am blameless. She played a dirty trick asking me if I’ve been a good girl. I am a good girl. Being good is not something I do. It’s what I am. A good girl. One of the best ever. Mary’s good girl. It’s a whole thing. She doesn’t fight fair. I’m a very good girl and always have been. An example, you ask?

I would argue that I’m the goodest girl when I’m trusting Mary that the thing she wants to do to me really is safe and what she wants to do it with really will fit just fine. How’s that for a virgin? Totally undermined her point, but she wasn’t making a real point anyway, so why even bring it up? Not like she was gonna stop anyway. And I was not there for it … May have been on my way tho. Cell location data is unreliable and stuff; no conclusive proof of where I was or for what purpose.

She continued, cuz she loves to continue almost as much as she loves me, “Tampons can really be uncomfortable for girl like you who haven’t explored that part of their bodies before and also because … Well, we’ll have a talk some other time about penetration …”

Just to interject, I will be there for that. With questions prepped for asking. And props to illustrate my questions and offer up as teaching aids.

“… but I’m sure today is already overwhelming for you. Your growing body is just awash in new and exciting hormones.”

Cut out the ‘new and exciting,’ and yes, yes it is.

“Now, I know,” Mary continued to continue, “that you were hoping to outgrow your bedwetting by the time you became a woman.”

“Nurplenunnery cuhnaffer nuffin, Mary!”

“If you say so, sweetie,” the condescending condescender condescended to me with a pat on my head.

“La’noofer foofin!”

“All those hormones,” she tutted at me. At me! Me!

“And …”

How is she still talking after what I just said? Could I have been any clearer?

“… I know you don’t want to hear it, but I want to reassure you that you’re not the only girl – excuse me, woman; it’ll take me a while to get used to that – who wears pull-ups for her period.”

“Name two.” And also, no, I don’t, and since when, and no, I don’t. And also, really? Just really? Did she wait a month to tease me this way, or did the inspiration come the moment I called out her name?

“They wouldn’t sell them if there wasn’t a market.”

“You actually bought pull-ups meant just for …”

“That would just be wasteful, silly goose. You may be growing up, but you’ll always be my silly goose.”

“Geese are super serious! What are you even … urgh!”

“Cramp?”

“Frustration!”

“Hormones.”

“Marrrrryyyyyyy!”

“I didn’t buy you special pull-ups. The ones you wear for long car rides will work just fine. Your Goodnites.”

“I don’t wanna!” And no I don’t wear Goodnites on long car rides! Except for sometimes when she makes me, which is not the same as needing to. I mean, I need to cuz she says and she’s in charge, but I don’t need to need to. And that is, too, a heccin important distinction!

“You don’t wanna wear your Goodnites? Is it cuz you’re worried about leaks because of that time on the way to the lake? I know you’re probably very concerned with it being your first time, but I promise you that you don’t need to wear your sleep time diapers for your period. Unless you want to. I’ll understand if you wanna be cautious and stay in diapers until you’re more comfortable with your womanhood.”

“I’m moving out and taking the dog. You can come too and all.” I wouldn’t leave her behind; I like her very much.

“And you say you’re not a silly goose. Stay right where you are.”

“O gee, o golly. For whatever reason could you be going into the closet.” Like that’s ever a mystery anymore.

“Just because you’re a woman today doesn’t mean I’ll hesitate to spank your bottom like a little girl.

Well, if she thinks that would shut me up, then she knows me well, is what.

“Hormones aren’t an excuse for poor choices in this house,” she reminded me when she emerged from the closet. That is, in fact, an actual rule. PMS is no excuse for being a bitch. We had that written down somewhere at some point, which was redundant cuz Mary did such a good job making my memorize that rule while holding me over her knee.

“Let me get your changing pad down,” she narrated as she laid it on the bed. “I’ll get you all cleaned up and into your pull-up.”

“What? Please no?”

“Diaper instead?”

“I don’t need you to clean me up. I’ll wear the stupid pull-up. Give it here.”

“Not this conversation again,” she sighed as though we had ever had this conversation before. I can assure you, dear diary, we have not ever. 

“I’m not having it; understand, missy? I see everything you have every night at diaper time, and I also see a little remedial homework on wiping wouldn’t exactly be uncalled for despite your age, so if you think I’m going to let you [audio interference].

“I mean, I haven’t wanted to hurt your feelings, and I know your bedwetting and potty habits are a sore subject. But I guess it’s past time for that little brush up course. But until you can show me you can [static] your [white noise], it’s best if I [tinnitus] … Especially since it’s your first [trombone noise like in Charlie Brown] …”

And then I’m not sure what she said next. There was blackness, and then when I came to I was horizontal. I was laying there thinking she did it; Mary finally did it. She pushed all the right buttons and said all the embarrassing things, and it led to a massive stroke. The blood pooled in my face, not enough reached my brain, and I had a stroke. Blam. Stroked out on the floor. Which in itself is so embarrassing … What a spectacle I must’ve been all sprawled out. Especially after my shorts and underthings came off somehow.

But there was no lump from smacking my head on the floor, and the floor felt awfully like a bed, and the carpet felt awfully like the comforter on our bed. So not a stroke. Did she do magic on me? She is a sorceress, after all. Or maybe I’ve repressed the memory. Or maybe my mind – which is the smartest ever – just pre-empted the whole thing. Nope; not hearing it; no memory to repress cuz we’re not making that memory at all; leave it on the cold, windblown steppe to die of exposure.

“Daffy,” Mary said to me, “did you hear a word I said?”

“No cuz I had a stroke I think. Please don’t be mad at me.” 

I’m normal and not pathetic. Admit it! Admit I’m normal and not pathetic, dammit! And then tell Mary, cuz she was making her Daphne-isn’t-quite-normal-and-my-goodness-but-that-was-pathetic-even-for-her-at-her-subbiest face.

“Sweetie, I’m not mad. I was saying that I know this is embarrassing for you, but it’s just one of those things. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Like how I wipe the peepee off your minnie in the morning before you take your shower? And how I wipe your bottom at diaper time just in case you didn’t do a good job that day? And like when you have a stomach bug?”

It would be really childish to start going ‘la la la. La la la la la la. I can’t hear you. La la la la la dee da la la’ out loud, so I just did in my head where it’s totally fine.

“You’re just as pretty to me, and I’ll always help you down there no matter what you need help with. Does that make sense?”

Honestly, not even a little. “Mhmm.” But if it will move the day forward, I’ll say ‘mhmm’ to a lot of stuff.

PS, she really was with the wipe down there and I was just also in the room having an out of body experience, which was fine with me. I didn’t want to be in that body anyway. Too bad I couldn’t have had an out-of-room experience too.

She threaded my feet through the pull-up and got it to my knees when she said, “Stand up for me.”

See, despite not wanting to know anything about pull-ups, I have learned a thing about them, which is that when they’re around your knees, they’re not on and won’t work. But stand up I did anyway.

“Now,” she said with her this-is-meaningful-but-not-really tone, “I know you really wanna feel like all the other girls who don’t wet their beds and started their periods more, ya know, on schedule. I know you know it’s okay to be different, and I also know sometimes it really sucks being different, so I got you something.”

And back into the closet she goes. Actual closet. Way too gay to back into the proverbial one. Not sure which part of the Book of Proverbs that closet was featured in, but not the part I learned about in Wednesday School (Sunday School, but Wednesday evenings cuz Catholic or some other reason). She seemed all excited when she emerged. She was excited. Excited for my reaction, I’m sure, rather than the thing she was pretending to be excited for.

“I know this is redundant, but just so you feel like the other girls, I got you some pads to wear inside your pull-up.”

She … what? “What?”

“Some panty liners. Watch closely. See how I peel this off and then position it here?”

“What?”

“Do you need to show you again? It’s okay if you do.”

“Why the heck didn’t you just say we have pads? What even is happening right now? When even is it?”

“It’s that time of the month, and what’s happening is I’m pulling your pull-up up for you. There,” she said like a crazy person cuz she’s a crazy person. Obviously so cuz she did, as it turns out, plan this at some point over the past month. 

“And now you can run and bounce and play without having to worry about anything,” Crazy Mary said, which is exactly the kind of crazy thing crazy people say. I mean, a month? She’d waited a month for this little scene? Talk about your delayed gratification. I mean, I know Mary is a very Type A person, but no one should be able to pass the marshmallow test that well. It’s just not right. Back to the scene …

“… What?” 

“I just thought you’d feel really weird knowing that you finally got your period but still don’t use feminine hygiene products like the other girls, so …”

“So …”

“Now you do .”

… … “What?”

“Sit back down with me,” she said, putting her arm around my shoulder and sitting down on the bed.

“Why am I wearing a pull-up if we have pads?”

“Cuz you still wet the bed.”

“Even if that were a true thing, it doesn’t even make sense?”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes. It does. Maybe not to women who are still little girls, but you just need to trust me on this. One day when you’re older, you’ll understand. You may be a woman today, but you still have a lot of growing up to do … Who knows? Maybe your pediatrician is right and you’ll outgrow your wetting after all.”

“(Sniffle).”

“Awww. There are those hormones again.” Yep, there they were. And then she kissed me and rubbed my back. Hmmph. And more sniffles.

“Any more questions about the changes and feelings you’re experiencing now.”

I’m gonna hate myself for this later, but only briefly. Fuck. Here goes: “Um, can you, uh, explain, ahem, uh, masturerururfur?”

“What was that sweetie?”

“Could you, um, explain masturbation to me?”

“Right now,” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. 

O my gawd she’s smiling so wide! What even with the dammit and she’s pretty and stuff and clearly so happy she was right about how I’d feel about all this and dammit … and stuff.

“Yes,” I admitted so damn grudgingly I still hold a grudge about it and I don’t even know against who or what.

“That’s okay; right now is okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Stupid hormones and stupid bodies and stupid kinks,” I muttered.

“I love your hormones and your body and your kinks. Lay back.”

Which I did.

“First part of the lesson,” she said as she put her hand on my pull-up (still technically hers), “this is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“That’s just not true.”

“How lucky you are to have a humiliation fetish then,” she chuckled. “So the first thing is if you’re gonna do this during this time a month, you should do it in the bathroom, but it’s okay to do it in the bedroom so long as your pull-up stays on and your hands stay on the outside of it like this. See how I’m moving my hand right now? Feel it pressing against your …”

Which is when I squeaked.

 

[diaperboymi]

OMG...i love this story???????  Please don't let it Ever stop ??????

[YourFNF]

aajsdkjashdjkhadjkhsafk Fuck I should not have read this only a few hours before going into work... ???

[Alex Bridges]

1 hour ago, YourFNF said:

aajsdkjashdjkhadjkhsafk Fuck I should not have read this only a few hours before going into work... ???

I had a feeling you’d like this chapter ?

[kerry]

21 hours ago, diaperboymi said:

OMG...i love this story???????  Please don't let it Ever stop ??????

I wholeheartedly endorse this comment.

I read every chapter with a huge, stupid smile on my face (except when I am laughing out loud).

[BabySerenity]

Is daphne going to start being a little?? Like a baby little, and start calling her wife Mommy??

[Alex Bridges]

 Ya’ll just hafta live with the typos in this one ? cuz I hafta go do a thing after writing this

Scene #192

 

Tinga-linga-ling … Tinga-linga-ling … Tinga-linga-ling.

Based on the latest intelligence reports, nothing in our house makes that sound.

Tinga-linga-ling … Tinga-linga-ling … Tinga-linga-ling.

Off I went to investigate. Suzy’s collar has a little bell, but it’s not such a clean ring. Even if it were, unless she learned how to ring it - which is possible cuz she’s the best dog ever and stuff - it couldn’t be her.

“Rrrr rufff bark!” Tinga-linga-ling.

Or maybe it is. Do you put sounds a dog makes in quotation marks?

Tinga-linga-linga-linga-linga-linga-linga-linga

Wow. This is getting aggressive. You know who’s aggressive? Dominants. Especially the one I live with. She’s a predator, a she-panther devouring innocent little forest creatures like myself, completely feral. And she has a bell now, apparently.

“There you are,” she had the nerve to say to me. Mary is the suavest person ever, but there was nothing suave about her right then: sitting on the couch, bell in her right hand holding it as high as she could while fending off Suzy with her left.

Suzy and I were on the exact same page: we wanted that bell, albeit for different reasons. Why did I want it? If you stop interrupting me with questions, I shall tell you: I wanted it because I knew exactly what Mary was going to say.

“You’re supposed to come the first time I ring it.”

Nope. There was two of us and one of her. Strength in numbers.

“You bought a bell … give it!” Which is when I lunged, and Suzy, so wound up and so simpatico with me, lunged too. 

“No,” Mary said, but she was laughing so it didn’t count. Not that I always listen to her when she tells me no, but I do cuz she’s in charge and I’m perfect, but also I don’t (and yet my perfection remains untainted; maybe I’m miraculous or something?).

“Yes!” And I got that bell. Mary I guess wasn’t so committed to her new toy cuz she didn’t pounce on me like I figured she would.  She loves pouncing on me; it’s what she-panthers do.

“What are you doing with my bell,” she asked.

“Fixing it.” As in, unscrewing the handle and thus breaking it down into its three parts. Mary watched, amused and all conflicted cuz I was being so rebellious and stuff, as I opened the back door, called to Suzy, and threw the ringy bit (about one inch long) into the grass. Suzy went after it, I shut the door, and I reassembled the bell (or whatever it is if it doesn’t ring).

“You can have it back if Suzy finds it, but if you buy another one, I’m taking away your Amazon account,” I told my dominant. Who I, um, am not intimidated by. And why even bring that up, right? Cuz it’s not like once I said that there was any sudden loss of confidence. Really. Not like Mary rose from the couch grinning like she was so glad I did that cuz it gave her a reason to do stuff to me … and things.

“Um,” I started very confidently into a brand new sentence, “did you, uh, need something? … You’re taller today. … Before you do whatever you’re gonna do …”

Like full on attack me. That’s what she did. Full on attack me in the form of wrapping both arms around me, sweeping my feet off the floor, and there we were on the carpet: me, the innocent woodland bunny being viciously hugged by a she-panther. Sometimes when I see one of those videos where a carnivore animal is best buds with a prey animal they would normally feed on, I think, ‘O! Our spirit animals!’

“You’re sassy today,” Mary said to me.

“I’m not answering to a bell.”

“So when I want you I should just call your name?”

“That system has worked very well for a long time. I’m very responsive.” My performance reviews back when I was a worker bee always said ‘Daphne is very responsive.’

“Unless you know you’re in trouble. Then suddenly you make yourself scarce.”

“That’s not even a thing that’s true! I’m just short; you probably overlooked me.” Impossible, though, what with Mary’s she-panther sense of smell.

“Also,” I said cuz I get to say stuff too, “you’re kinda wound up today.”

“Cuz it’s gonna be a fun day.”

“Why? What are we doing?”

“I don’t know yet, but we’re gonna do it together, so it’ll be fun.”

“I kinda am all the fun,” I said modestly. Very modest, quite humble. ‘There goes Daphne,’ people say, ‘Who does she think she is coming from such humble origins?’

“No one says that, actually.”

“What,” Mary asked.

“Huh?”

“No one says what, actually?”

“O. I was responding to myself in my head.”You try holding three conversations at once. Sometimes you’ll say something meant for one conversation partner and another will hear it, and I don’t see why that’s any more unusual just because two of the person I’m talking to are me.

“How many people are in there with you?”

“Just me. I’m very chatty.”

“I remember when I met you, you had a filter and everything.”

“I still have a filter. You don’t even hear ten percent of what goes on in my head. And can I tell you a secret? Most of it’s about you.”

“O really,” she said all smiley and stuff.

“Yeah, and some of it is even nice.” Mary bit her (which is my job, actually) a sure sign she thinks I’m adorably quirky and stuff. So much stuff, so many things, yada, yada, etcetera etcetera … and so on and so forth.

“So about this fun day,” Mary said with a twinkle in her eye, would you rather have fun at home or away from home?”

“What if we have fun at home first and then have fun elsewhere later on?”

“How very sensible of you. Up,” Mary said and stood up, pulling me after her. “I got you dirty,” she said. She brushed dog hair off the back of my shirt. Mary says I’m not allowed to vacuum the dog, but I think I’m gonna try anyway and see what happens. It just seems much more efficient.

“Cuz you’re a big bully who knocked me down.“

“Hmm. Yeah … Be right back.”

“I’ll be here, my love.” I call her that cuz she’s mine and I love her.

What to do with our day, though. The thing with being childless and me not working is that the weekend isn’t taken up with driving junior humans around or chores. That’s great; however, like, we hafta make up ways to entertain ourselves each and every weekend. We don’t have chores or errands or social engagements, and you can only eat out, go shopping, and go on so many walks. I should use some of my free time to make a calendar of things to do. I guess we could start new hobbies, but me starting new hobbies is really just me buying stuff for the hobby but not, ya know, actually putting in the effort to do it.

“Young lady?”

And never mind. Apparently the next phase of our weekend has been decided in my absence.

Cue Mary striding across the living room as though on a mission. She’d tied her hair up. What o what could that portend, and more importantly, would I like it?

“Did you break Mary’s new bell?”

Hold my wine; I got this.

“No, and if she says I did, call her down here and let her accuse me right in front of you. Touché, Mary! If you thought being in two places at once is impossible try being two different people in the same room at once.

I caught her off guard, what with the puzzled expression and the furrowed brow. I fooled her plan!

“You’re getting a spanking.”

For seven-eighths of a second, I foiled her plan.

“But … but I have a right to face my accuser!”

“Up.”

Hey, I’m getting up for some reason.

“Stand in front of me.”

“Not until you admit I outsmarted you!” Hey, I’m standing in front of her. Stop doing that!

“Just because your sister got a new toy is no reason for you to be jealous, and to break it just out of pique - what has gotten into you today?”

“Stop unbuttoning my pants and admit I outsmarted you!” SMACK “OW!”

“You do not try to stop me from taking your pants down, little girl.” Did anyone who’s not me notice I went from ‘young lady’ to ‘little girl’? Cuz heccin nope!

“I can take ‘em down myself.” Not that I deserved a spanking, but there’s more dignity in taking your own pants down than having someone else take them down. Somehow … Not really. 

“You are far, far too little to take your pants down for a spanking, Daphne Ann. Now tell me why you broke her toy?”

“Not until you stop speaking in the third person.”

“Do I need to march you upstairs to get the paddle?”

“Because ‘she,’” I said, verbally italicizing the third-person pronoun which nuh-uh even. Only two of us were there - why were we using third-person pronouns?!? “Because she was teasing me with it. I’m not gonna come when someone rings a bell at me.”

“Over,” Mary ordered me and didn’t even wait for me. She just pulled me over her knee like she was gonna spank me or something, which is just unheard of in general and in specific too. Really.

Hey, she put her leg across my ankles. Almost like she’s gonna do something that makes me kick my feet a bunch?

“You come when your name is called. Why is a bell different?”

“It just is, and you know it is.” Don’t pretend to me like you don’t know it is.

“It is.”

“So why am I getting spanked!?!”

“Because a little teasing doesn’t excuse breaking someone’s toy. You may be a little girl, but I’ll not allow you to be a bratty little girl.”

Heccin hey what?!? Was I bratty? Did she really think I was being bratty? We were laughing a minute ago. But …

Brain, my brain said, do not do this. Do not get conflicted. Do not read anything into this. It’s just a scene.

But what if I was bratty? What if ruined Mary’s fun? What if I hurt her feelings?

You didn’t do any of that. You’re letting buttons be pushed for no good reason.

Says you! 

Enough of you. Seriously.

Eat farts!

You deserve this spanking. You let your emotions get the better if you and broke her toy, and now you’re letting your emotions get the better of you again.

Ha! I do deserve this spanking, and sucks to be you because we share a butt!

Sometimes I think we’re a butt that shares a brain and not the other way around.

What does that even mean?!?

“I’m sorry,” I said to Mary. “I’ll do better (sniffle).”

“… Daffy, look at me.” I looked over my shoulder. “Goodness gracious, what’s with the watery eyes? We haven’t even gotten started.”

“I’m sorry I broke your toy. I didn’t mean to be a brat.”

“You are such a silly goose. I was just teasing.”

“Ha! I know you were just teasing and I was teasing back and ha! Ha, Mary! You’re the one who’s a silly goose!” Sometimes, very occasionally, the logical part of my brain wins out. 

Wow. Did anyone see that blinding white flash besides me? My butt hurts all of a sudden for some reason.

Funny how whether the logical part of me or the emotional part of me prevails, my butt pays the price. And I wasn’t really in the mood to submit to a spanking. I decided to make her earn it.

“I can tell now (spank spank spank spank spank) that there was no way (spankety spankety smack) there was no way you (wackety smackety spank) we’re getting to bedtime without a hot red bottom.“

“Don’t take my panties down!”

“Excuse me, little girl?”

“I’m not a little girl!”

“So I’m not taking Frozen underoos off you right now?”

“Aw, go shush yourself.” How is she so strong? I was legit trying to get away and I made zero forward progress. Lateral progress was good but not intentional, but I’ll take credit for it anyway. She pulled me back to the center of her lap. Hmmph!

“Stop (spank) Your (spank). Wriggling!” SPANKSPANKSPANK and so forth.

“You can’t spank me bare bottom!”

“Olaf didn’t break anyone’s toy. Olaf doesn’t deserve a spanking. Your bare heinie does.”

“Marrrryyyyy! It hurts!”

“It’s a spanking! It’s supposed to hurt.” O yeah … Dammit …

“Eep! Ow! Ow! Owowowowowow! Owie owie owie owie Marrrryyyyy!” What is she even with the started out fun and really toeing the line with the OW!!! DAMMIT!

“Are you gonna break people’s toys anymore?”

“No! I’ll be good! I’ll be good!“

“Good, because I don’t like having to spank your bottom, but I will if you need your bottom spanked. Sit up.”

I only sat up because it was less embarrassing than laying across her lap, not because she told me to. Which is better, somehow. Trust me on it cuz I co clearly make very discerning choices that are always correct. Really.

“I mean, missy. You and I are going out, and I won’t hesitate to spank your bottom in public.” Ooo, that’s an invitation.

“Where are we going?” 

“The mall. Maybe we’ll do some Christmas shopping early. Lay back for me.”

And just for headspace, while Mary was doing whatever she was doing, I was thinking how a spanking is supposed to ruin your day, but I’m such a well spanked girl that with such a strict woman looking after me that they rarely even ruin the hour. I mean, ours is just a spanking household. Totally normal.

“Shoot,” Mary said. “Be right back.”

And no, we’re not nudists in our household. It’s just that I spend so much time bare bottom that no one even notices anymore if I’m not wearing any bottoms to cover my bottom. Don’t get me wrong; it’s still super embarrassing having my red bottom on display. I mean, what if one of my friends just came over. Or what if my brother walked in. Or what if the paparazzi found me. I bet I’d get in trouble for that, which would be such a miscarriage of justice, but I’m a good girl. I’d take my spanking on my already red butt with my brother, my friends, and the tabloid media snapping pictures, probably live streaming it. I’d for sure cry just from the humiliation alone, and as much as I’d need the aftercare from my Mary, it would be so embarrassing sitting on her lap being comforted like an emotionally distraught little girl with my butt apple red and my legs wrapped around her and my princess parts almost on display back there and pressed up against Mary while she cooed and shushed and stroked my hair and kissed me temple and told me how sorry she was that I needed another spanking right after the first but that she’d spank me whenever and wherever and in front of whomever because she knows what’s best for me. Alone, thinking those thoughts…

“Daffy,” Mary said when she returned from wherever she went, “is it polite to play with your princess parts in the living room?”

“Whatever you do, please don’t scold me,” I said very innocently for I am very innocent and didn’t, um, stop my little game cuz sometimes if I play in front of this person named Mary she plays along. Actually, she’s the team captain, now that I think on it. 

But for the record I’m recording, I am not so innocent that I should be in diapers, which is what she went to get. Shoot.

“Gimme your hand … Your other hand.” Dammit. Maybe it was the lust fooling me, but I thought for a moment I might get away with that. And I, um, only needed another moment. Two, at most.

And then, Mary, see, she doesn’t exactly make things easy. Whatever do I mean by that? I mean she knew darn well whose finger that was and where it had been and she just put it in her mouth anyway. I just …

“Please,” I asked ever since politely.

“Sorry, hun.” She opened the package of baby wipes and cleaned off my hand.

“Why do I hafta wear a diaper to the mall,” I asked not petulantly but, well, something. (Note to self: work on portmanteaus of ‘horny’ and ‘petulant’). 

“Because you’re just a little girl.”

“Am not.”

“Lift your bottom up.” Ugh! She got one of the huge pink ones. It might be my size, but it’s still huge. Goes so high up my back. Concealing them requires grandpa pants hiked up to my underarms, and I don’t own any grandpa pants. Guess it’s an undershirt kinda day. At least I can tuck those in.

She spread the diaper under me and I, well, I didn’t open my knees for her. I left my knees open for her cuz they were already, um, ahem.

“We’ll get you all cleaned up.”

Can you blame a girl for trying if she were to, say as a random example, push her hips upward to meet the baby wipe as if to say, “Look how ready it is.” ‘It’ being the girl, of course, who is me.

“I should spank your bottom again for doing that in the living room, but I think you’re already suffering enough.”

“Urrrrgh! Hmmph!” Mary and me are so compatible in all the ways except for some, and one of the some is she has an orgasm denial kink and I do not. I do not. You might even say - syllogism of the year coming up - I get off on getting off. (But hey, don’t we all, literally?)

“No grumps allowed. Just because your sister got a toy and you got a spanking isn’t a reason to be a grumpy goose.” This she says while being awfully careful about where she does and doesn’t spread the diaper cream. “And while we’re out, I don’t wanna hear one word about this diaper. You really acted like a naughty toddler breaking her toy, and if that’s how you’re going to act, that’s how I’ll treat you, diapers and all. Besides, we have a lot of shopping to get done, and we can’t be running to the potty every few minutes. It’s not your fault that you can’t hold it as long as other girls your age, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be practical about it and put you in diapers when it’s convenient.“

“Marrrrrry.”

“Little girl, you are not nearly old enough to be wriggling those hips like that.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose.” True story. “So is this diaper a punishment or because you’re doing that thing where you pretend I have accidents?”

“Hmmm. The diaper is because of your accidents; that it’s big and pink and barely fits under your jeans is a punishment.”

I just had to ask. I gotta stop doing that.

“So if you need to potty, don’t even ask. You have permission to use your diaper. I won’t get mad.”

“(Sound of me Audi lay rolling my eyes.)”

“But you also let that be a reminder to you that when you act like a baby, that’s how you’ll be treated … But understand if you have a true accident, I u derstand you can’t help it. To be totally honest, I don’t really expect you to make it to the potty ever.”

“Stop it! You’re only allowed to tease me from one direction at a time.” Smiling like she’s the queen of stuff and things and teasing and stuff. Hmmph!

She patted the front of it which I barely even felt (urrrrrrrgh!) and told me, “Go find some pants that fit over your pampers, and I’ll get the diaper bag ready.”

“Mary, there’s not way I’ll need a change at the mall. Can we just leave that thing at home?”

“As leaky as my little girl, I don’t think you’ll need a change either, but if I have to bare your bottom and spank it again, it would be just plain mean of me to put your piddle pampers back on you.”

O geez!

“Be downstairs in five minutes. Don’t make me come get you.”

“Fine.”

“And Daphne?”

“MMMM! … Mmmm … huh-ha!” Not that I enjoyed her sticking her tonight so far in my mouth or nothing or her groping me so flagrantly, but, I, uh, did, is the thing. Even knowing that, in addition to liking me and the inside of my mouth and and other parts, she was keeping me aroused cuz it delights her to make me desperate and watch me suffer until she decides the time is right.

Anyway, like I was saying, it gets so dull having to make up things to do on Saturdays. We never have any fun. Really.

[Guilend]

Oh no. What happens if she needs to go poopy? Things could get very interesting and embarrassing at the mall. Good thing she has a humiliation kink?

[Alex Bridges]

5 hours ago, BabySerenity said:

Is daphne going to start being a little?? Like a baby little, and start calling her wife Mommy??

I guess we’ll find out ?