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

[YourFNF]

3 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

O.” I didn’t mind that one way or the other, I think. On the other hand, if I wanted to play with men, I would. I don’t; nothing against men, but as a lesbian I would feel remiss if I didn’t point out that they’re not women. Women are women. Trans women are women. Non-binary femmes can have huge wieners, and all that matters to me is how they identify. Gay men? Not to stereotype, but so much fun (at least the people I’ve known; not fun people don’t need to be a part of my social circle). Cisgender heterosexual men? Like, yeah, I’ve only had a few kink experiences, but not something I seek out.

This is actually pretty much me to a T.... LIke I might be able to have close friendships or possible QPRs with queer men but..

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #132

 

         “Hhh,” I may have gasped when Mary snuck up behind me. Or, as she would put it, walked across the room innocently because she needed to get to the other side of it.

         “Why are you so nervous,” she asked me. I could tell by her why-is-Daphne-being-weird-again face that she had verbalized the more polite version.

         “I’m not. I’m just … jittery. Too much coffee or something.” I could see her face shift into its why-is-Daphne-always-weird look.

         “We don’t drink coffee.”

         “Exactly,” I tried to say funnily, “That sip I had way back when I decided I don’t like coffee is still with me.”

         “C’mere,” she said.

         “No, you come here.” Scoff – she rolled her eyes at me. But she came over and put her hands on my shoulders. I like them there. Big fan.

         “Are you nervous because it’s an adult baby coming over or because it’s a man?”

         “Why would I be nervous because he’s an adult baby? There’s nothing … I’m not. I just wanna … I don’t know.”

         “Do you want to stay upstairs while they’re here? You can.”

         “I might come upstairs. We’ll see.”

         “Everything is fine,” Mary said while smiling her everything-is-just-fine smile at me. It can be very reassuring. “We’re just going to have a visit with Sandy while he plays with his toys. That’s all. Be nervous if you wanna be, but you don’t have to.”

         “Am I dressed okay?”

         “You’re fine. They didn’t want any special outfits.” The doorbell rang. I didn’t jump. Really. So good on me for that.

         If this were a way to introduce me to ABDL, it was overly elaborate. I didn’t suspect that (anymore). I thought it was possible, though, that Mary would try to use this as an opportunity for that. She has a misdemeanor record of hijacking other people’s scenes for her (nefarious) purposes, and I really hoped she wouldn’t do that. It’s very poor kink etiquette. I’m not sure if she always means to, and heck, we haven’t had a chance to do any scenes in almost two years, but I really don’t like doing that. It’s not fair to the people whose scene it is.

         “You coming,” Mary asked me. She was holding my hand. She likes that, and so do I. How is holding hands so darn special? We held hands all the way to our front door, and I glanced over my shoulder into our living room and wished I’d cleaned up a little more for company.

         I about did a double take when I saw Sandy. She tends to be very put together even for casual things. Makeup, stylish clothes, hair done. Not like she’s dressing to the nines all the time (what does that even mean?), but seeing her on our doorstep with zero makeup, hair in a ponytail, and athleisured from head to toe in sneakers, leggings, and a zip-up top was so the very opposite of what she normally looks like. I’d sum it up as she usually looks like a twenty-five-year-old single woman all footloose and fancy free (what does that even mean!?!), but on our doorstep was a twenty-five-year-old toddler mom looking like she was stopping by a friend’s house and had a lot of errands to get done on the way home. The diaper bag over her shoulder completed the look.

         “Hi,” she said with a very big smile on her face like the little tyke runs her ragged and this was her first social visit in a fortnight.

         “Good morning,” Mary said as she stepped out of the way. “Come on in. So good to see you.”

         Sandy pivoted out of the way to reveal her play partner. Hardly taller than me, hardly heavier than me, baby faced, elastic-waist shorts, a striped tee tucked in, pacifier in his mouth, and carrying a plastic briefcase type thing. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-three.

         “Go on Ty-ty,” Sandy said to the oversized toddler. Not saying that derisively; he just really nailed the look. The pair of them both did. He slipped past her and she followed, and Mary closed the door behind them. “Ty-ty, I’d like you to meet my friends Mary and Daphne. Guys, this is Tyler.”

         Mary bent at the waist to look him in the eyes, her hands between her knees the way she does when greeting our nephew. “Hello, Tyler. Do you want me to call you Tyler or Ty-ty?”

         He blushed and turned back toward Sandy, tucking himself under her arm. “He’s shy,” Sandy said. Looking at him and back to Mary, I was sorta struck by how effortless it seemed to be for both of them. Mary just … wasn’t acting. Or if she was, she was doing an Oscar-worthy job of it (Every Oscars season I get overlooked. Every. Damn. Year.) Same for him. Just in his headspace, and Mary in hers and Sandy in hers, and leaving me feeling … something. I don’t know what.

         “Hey,” I said to him, “I’m Daphne. Sandy has told us a lot about you.” She hadn’t actually, but it seemed like something someone in my position would say, so I said it and it made him blush again. I’ve been around a lot of kink through the play parties we go to (or used to, before the pandemic), and I’ve seen some things that squicked me out (more power to ya if you enjoy the things). He didn’t squick me out, but I also didn’t find him tots adorbs (do people still say that?). Yeah, he was cute, but that was all.

         “I brought donuts,” Sandy announced. Finally she said it, I thought because donuts and was getting tired of waiting the whole minute before someone acknowledged them. Not a hard box to recognize and yes, very respectful of her to bring over sugar.

         We all went into the kitchen, Tyler practically standing on Sandy’s feet with his shy routine, and Mary got out plates and cups and paper towels. “What do you want to drink,” she asked.

“I’ll just have water. Do you have any milk?”

“Yeah,” Mary replied. Sandy twisted around in her chair to search through the diaper bag she’d hung over the back and came up with a sippy cup that Mary filled for her.

“I don’t think we need a plate for Ty-ty,” Sandy said and handed it back to Mary along with the cup. “He’s not ready for real plates yet. I don’t want to break anything.” I think I saw Mary smile, and Sandy scooted her chair about as close as she could to Tyler’s without sharing the same seat. She spread a paper towel in front of him and started to tear his donut into big pieces. “Gimme,” she said gently, and he let her take the pacifier from his mouth.

Mary sat down and asked, “So what are you two up to today?”

“We have a big day ahead of us. I need to go to the bank, we’re going to the mall to get some new shoes for him, we’re stopping by the park, we gotta stop at the grocery store to do our weekly shopping, and last but not least, we need to go get him some new diapers. We’re almost out, and that wouldn’t be any good, would it sweetums?” He blushed again and went back to eating his donut as inefficiently as I’ve ever seen someone eat a donut. Not that I was offended by his bad table manners – all part of the scene – but he was wasting chocolate. That does offend me just on principle.

I swallowed my indignation and chimed in, “Long day.”

“Hopefully we can get it all done in time to be home for his nap. He’s a grumpy butt if he misses his nap.”

“I’m glad you could stop by. We hardly see you these days,” Mary said. True story. “And thanks for bringing us breakfast.”

“All done,” Sandy asked her pretend toddler. She twisted back around to fish through the diaper bag and produced a wet wipe which she used to roughly clean his whole face. How does someone get chocolate on their forehead and why would they commit such a sacrilege?

“Do you wanna go play,” Sandy asked. He got a big derpy smile on his face and nodded.

We relocated to the living room where Tyler needed no help seating himself on the carpet and opening that plastic briefcase. It held a trainset that I imagine was meant for ages two to six.

“Is he talking yet,” Mary asked.

“He’ll jabber your ear off,” Sandy said like a proud mom. “I think he probably knows fifty words by now. Only a few sentences, but he’s getting there.” Tyler, if he was paying attention, didn’t show it. He just played with his trainset. “C’mere, Ty-ty.” He didn’t pay attention. “Ty-ty,” Sandy said again. Not sharply. If she were over to play with me and I didn’t listen the first time, the second time would be sharp. With him, it was patient.

He stood up and toddled over. “So what are you guys up to today,” Sandy said while making eye contact with us and tugging his shorts down to mid-thigh to check his diaper. I was very glad Mary never tried that move with me. Not the checking part or even the in-front-of-company part, but the this-is-so-normal-no-one-will-be-offended-and-I-don’t-even-need-to-look-at-what-I’m-doing-I’m-order-to-check-his-diaper way.

As for his diaper, wet and easily seen to be wet. I could tell from the couch, the white plastic yellowed below what I think was a giraffe that looked like it was poking its head up to look at us.

“We’re going to the art museum,” Mary said.

“That’ll be fun,” Sandy said. “Lift your foot, sweetie.” She took off his shoe and then the other one to strip his shorts all the way off, leaving him in just his diaper and shirt. He was looking right at us, his back to Sandy, and even though he’d blushed at the mere mention of his name, he wasn’t blushing when Sandy gave him a swat on the back of his diaper to send him back to playing. It was a boring trainset. It looked like there could only be three configurations. Not that I was thinking very closely about how I’d play with it.

“We’re going to the exhibit that just opened,” Mary said. Which was news to me. If we really were going to the museum, great. I like the museum.

“What time are we going,” I asked.

“As soon as Sandy and Tyler leave.”

“Um, are we really going,” I whispered. She nodded at me. Yay going places! I’m sure the novelty will wear off, but until then, yay going places!

Tyler played, and our conversation turned to anything and everything except the grown man wearing just a diaper and tee shirt playing on our floor. We heard about Sandy’s work, talked about how rude people are being to frontline workers, discussed Thanksgiving plans, and assorted minutia, just the way Sandy said they wanted a normal conversation while he played.

I suppose what we didn’t talk about in advance and probably should’ve was what happened next. I’m not traumatized or even offended or anything, but a warning would’ve been nice. I don’t remember what we were talking about, but Sandy got up and went into the kitchen and Mary and I kept discussing something very normal and very grownup.

When Sandy came back, she beckoned to Tyler, “Lay down for me, Ty-ty. Let’s get you into dry pampers.” Tyler laid down and spread his legs, making enough room for Sandy to kneel between them and get a diaper out of the bag. “Here,” she said and handed him one of his train cars. “You were such a good boy holding still for your last change. I bet you can do it again.”

Turning back to us, she asked, “So when are you two going to start traveling again? You gotta have the itch.”

“We’ve traveled,” Mary said as Sandy tore open the tapes on Tyler’s diaper.

“I meant someplace you have to fly to. You guys used to take a couple trips a year.” She opened the diaper.

Mary and I had just started discussing when we’d start flying again, and we weren’t seeing eye to eye on it, kinda like how at that moment my eyes were on Mary wondering how she’d answer Sandy’s question whereas Mary’s eyes were on Tyler.

Like, what the heck? First of all, no. Second of all, just no. Not that I was jealous, but what exactly was she looking at? I nudged her with my foot like, what the heck. She should’ve been doing what what I was doing – looking literally anywhere else in the room. That would be polite both to him and to me.

“We’re discussing it,” I said in answer to Sandy’s question. “I want to fly home for Christmas.”

“Lift,” Sandy said to him. To us, she said, “Let me guess: you’re worried about a fall surge.”

“Yeah,” Mary answered. “Plus whenever we go back there Daphne’s accent comes back.”

“I don’t have an accent,” I protested. So I did an impression of a Wisconsin accent once. I’ve been suffering jokes for it ever since.

“I’m just teasing.”

Sandy turned on her baby talk voice and said, “She’s just teasing. Yes she is. A-yes she is.” Not sure if it was the baby talk or the tummy tickle, but Tyler giggled behind his paci.

“We’ll see,” Mary said as if she’s in charge and yeah, she is, but it’s really unhealthy for our relationship if I don’t pretend I don’t know that. All that power goes to her head. Also, no playing around, I want to see my family. Really.

“All done,” Sandy said and held out her hands to help Tyler sit up. “Do you mind if we throw this away here,” she asked as she wrapped up the used diaper.

“No,” Mary said and held out her hand.  Ew. Just a little bit, but still. Mary took the diaper from Sandy and went to throw it away in the kitchen.

“Mommy’s gonna go wash her hands, and then we’re gonna pack up your trains and go. Okay?” He nodded.

I heard Mary washing her hands, and Sandy went down the hall to the bathroom to do the same, leaving me with Tyler. He had a pretty empty headed expression. I couldn’t tell if he was blissed out or what. I think he just sunk deeper into his headspace, and I understood what Sandy meant about getting changed while the grownups talk about grownup stuff would feel babyish.  It definitely had that quality, like nothing out of the ordinary was happening because he’s just a big baby and babies get changed on the floor in front of people; they don’t mind getting changed in front of others because they’re babies, and no one else minds them being changed in front of them because they’re babies.

I was surprised when he took his pacifier out and in a little voice not so different from Jane’s asked, “Does a baby live here?”

“Uh, no sweetheart. No babies live here.”

“Who those for,” he said and pointed at the wicker basket under the side table, the one Mary, in her infinite pot stirring, started keeping changing supplies in. And o so wonderful, he asked the question just as Mary reappeared.

“They’re for a big girl,” Mary answered. At least she called me a big girl.

“A big girl in diapers,” he said like this was a major revelation.

“Some big girls need diapers,” Mary explained.

“They do?”

“Mhmm.” Mary looked from his face to the basket and asked him, “Do you wanna take one home with you?”

You’d have thought Santa offered him the world from the look on his face. “Mhmm,” he said, nodding his head in that exaggerated way toddlers sometimes do.

“What do you say,” Sandy asked as she walked back from the hallway.

“Tank ooo.”

“You’re very welcome,” Mary said and patted his head.

“Clean up time, Ty-ty.”

He stood up and toddled over to Sandy, who bent down just enough for him to whisper in her ear.

“Why didn’t you say anything before I got your diaper on?”

“I didn’t haffa go then,” I could hear him say in an exasperated whisper like he’d explained this to her many times before. I get how that’s frustrating for parents, but the kids have a point, and so did Tyler. Fortunately, though we didn’t discuss him getting his diaper changed in the living room in front of us, Sandy just assumed – extremely correctly – that we didn’t want him doing what I was pretty sure he was referring to in our living room.

“Excuse us,” Sandy said and took his hand. They headed back toward our bathroom.

From where Mary was, she could see down the hall. “Did she,” I said a little above a whisper, “did she actually go in with him?”

“Yup,” Mary said.

“He’s … Do you think he’s really, you know?”

“Probably. I don’t think they’d go in there and just do nothing,” Mary said and sat back down on the couch with me.

“And she’s … watching?”

“Knowing Sandy,” Mary chuckled, “she probably went in there to wipe his bottom.”

“Ugh.” I remember the one time Mary did that to me, fortunately after I’d already done it, and the mere thought of it still makes part of my brain flicker on and off for a sec.

“It’s not that big a deal. I’m sure the only reason he didn’t fill his diaper is because he’s in our house.”

“‘Fill his diaper?’ You are so gross sometimes.”

“Really? I thought that was the clean version.”

“If it’s not a big deal, why don’t you go offer to help,” I asked maybe a little snidely.

“Next time they come over, maybe I’ll just tell them it’s fine if he uses his diaper like that. What do you think of that,” she said and might as well have added checkmate to the end of the sentence.

“I think I’d pull my shirt over my nose, throw up in my shirt, and run from the room.” Which is a real thing that happened the one time I babysat a cousin who wasn’t potty trained, except for the running from the room part but only because I was the only person there and couldn’t just leave the little stinker like that. Naturally, because the filter between my brain and mouth is faulty, I just had to tell that to my mom, and she must be who I get that trait because soon after the whole family knew, and they love to remind me of it from time to time. No one more so than that cousin. You’d think they wouldn’t exactly like to talk about that episode since they don’t come out of it smelling like roses (don’t bother laughing at that), but apparently their pride takes a backseat when it’s Tease Daphne Time at family gatherings.

We started talking about traveling for Christmas again, a circular conversation that we could – and will – keep going until we reach an agreement (a/k/a until I get my way), when we heard a flush followed a minute later by the bathroom door opening.

“Sorry about that,” Sandy said as she led Tyler back to our living room.

“Don’t be sorry,” Mary said all chipper like. “Did you use the potty,” she asked Tyler, who blushed again as he stood there in his diaper holding Sandy’s hand.

“He did,” Sandy said in that overly celebratory way you do when a kid is potty training.

“You’re almost a big boy then!”

Tyler got a cross look on his face and said, “Am not!” And yes, I’ll admit that was cute.

“I wouldn’t go that far. He’s still my widdle piddle pants,” Sandy said and poked him in the side making him giggle. “And he’s not quite fifty-fifty on making it to the potty for stinkies. Sometimes I even think he likes having a mush tush, don’tcha Ty-ty?” He blushed again and got that blissed out look in his eyes, like he loved loved loved Sandy talking about his lack of success at fake potty training.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Mary said, doing that same thing she did when she greeted him, getting down on his level. “It’s okay to like how that feels. There’s nothing wrong with staying in diapers forever if it makes you happy.”

I swear if he had a tail he’d have been wagging it. I understand why an ABDL would love hearing that. I told myself that remark was aimed solely at him and not at all at me, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if a little of it was aimed at me.

When his trains were packed away, Sandy thanked us and told Tyler to do the same.

“Thanks for coming to visit me, Tyler,” Mary said by way of farewell.

“Can she have a hug,” Sandy asked him. He gave her one, and I … watched. Not jealous of him or of the way Mary smiled at him or the way. Why would I be? Because I wasn’t. Really.

“Oof! Good hug! You and your mommy can come back and play with your trains any time,” Mary told him.

“It was nice meeting you,” I said. I’m glad I wasn’t offered a hug. We saw them out the door, and I went to do the breakfast dishes. I had my hands in soapy water when Mary hugged me from behind, crossing her arms over me and giving me a peck on the cheek.

“That was fun,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t like that?”

“I did. It was just like a regular visit, really, though. He just played on the floor.”

“Did you want him to do anything else,” Mary asked, sounding surprised. She let me go and leaned against the table.

“No. I just meant for a scene it was … pretty much like normal except for his diaper change.” Also, I have the mental image of Sandy wiping his butt stuck in my head on repeat, and I need to day drink until it goes away. Just sayin’.

“Why do you think he didn’t offer me a hug,” I asked because reasons.

“Did you want one?”

“No.”

“Am I detecting a little sheen of green,” she chuckled.

“As if! I just … C’mere.” I can hug better than him, and I can prove it! I can get Mary to oof and mean it, dammit!

“Oof! Daffy!”

“Who hugs better?”

“You, sweetie pie.” She kissed my hair because damn straight. “Even with wet hands.”

“What time are we going to the museum,” I said as I let her go having made my point.

“As soon as we get dressed in real clothes.”

“What’s wrong with this?” These sweatpants cost nine dollars! I was so chic! Pandemic chic. Maybe it was time to recalibrate my fashion sense as I eased my way back into society.

“Why don’t you finish the dishes, and I’ll go lay out some clothes.”

“No diaper.”

“Pull-ups it is.” She waited a beat. Not sure for what. Um, really. “And Daffy, you need to be on your best behavior. The museum grounds are pretty big. It would be a shame to have to give you a consequence on some secluded park bench where someone might see you getting spanked over your pull-up like a little girl.”

“I’ll be good. I can touch whatever I want, right?”

“Daphne …”

“Those lasers in front of the art – that’s like a game where you try to stick your hand in and pull it back out before the alarm goes off, right?”

“My little handful,” she said and gave me another peck on the cheek.

Ooo! And a swat on the butt.

[kerry]

Really cute chapter. I loved the last exchange. ?

[YourFNF]

I am kinda wondering if she's holding back a Middle side

[Sarah Penguin]

9 hours ago, YourFNF said:

I am kinda wondering if she's holding back a Middle side

Are you  sure that you are not secretly holding back a mid side, YouFNFies?

[Guilend]

It won’t be long and she’ll be fudging her pampers

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

17 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

Are you  sure that you are not secretly holding back a mid side, YouFNFies?

Nothing secret about it everyone knows I'm just an overgrown tween.... ?

...

Still bigger than you though little tyke... *pats head....* Cause I'm basically an adult....

 

[Sarah Penguin]

27 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

Nothing secret about it everyone knows I'm just an overgrown tween.... ?

...

Still bigger than you though little tyke... *pats head....* Cause I'm basically an adult....

29 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

Nothing secret about it everyone knows I'm just an overgrown tween.... ?

...

Still bigger than you though little tyke... *pats head....* Cause I'm basically an adult....

 

Hmm.. Yup

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #133

 

            

“Daffy,” my beautiful bride asked me, “take a look at this.” We were on the couch, her with her tablet at one end, me with my phone at the other with my knees drawn under my blanket, cups of cocoa on the coffee table because it was finally chilly enough to drink hot things again.

I sat up and scooted over to her. “What?”

She tilted her tablet toward me to reveal Twitter. “Why is this funny?”

I looked at the meme. I read some of the comments. “I don’t know.”

“You have to know.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” I said because I’m not a brat. I looked at the meme again. “I don’t get it. Sorry.”

Mary shook her head, and a puff of irritated air flared her nostrils as she exhaled.

“What’s the big deal,” I asked.

“Between the two of us, no cool people live in this house anymore.”

“You seem a little upset, so I’m not going to take that personally.”

“There’s a ton of pop culture we don’t understand. What the heck is ‘yeeting?’” I shrugged; she looked at me like she was sorry to be delivering bad news. “I guess it’s official. Our generation isn’t the trendsetter anymore.”

That wasn’t news to me. When all the new cast members on SNL are younger than you, it means your generation is no longer the cultural cutting edge, even if you personally never were, and that happened to me two or three seasons ago (and Mary is older but don’t tell her I said so). I wasn’t sure why this bothered her. She’s not a pop culture kind of person, and she wasn’t when I met her either. She always had Jagged Little Pill playing in her car, and it was fifteen years old by then (and we both like it, so no judgment). “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is I used to be cool.”

“Well,” I said sheepishly, “you’ve been awesome, but cool? Really?” 

She looked at me through accusing eyes above an I’m-faux-scandalized-by-your-betrayal gaping mouth. “I was too!”

“Before I met you?” Like, seriously, not trying to be mean.

“I was very cool in college,” she said sounding kinda offended. “Ya know what? Over my knee.”

“What!?! Seriously,” I said as I got over her knee. She did tell me to, after all, and she’s in charge. Which come to think of it is kinda the antithesis of being cool. She’s awesome. But cool?

“Yes seriously. You wanna talk about who’s cool and not cool she said …”

“You wanted to talk about it,” I reminded her while she talked right over me.

“ …Who’s getting her jammies taken down to get a spanking over her soggy diaper?”

“That’s so not fair,” I grumbled. “You picked out everything I’m wearing.” In fact, she ordered me to hold still while she got it all on me. THWOCK! THWOCK! THWOCK!

“Learning your lesson yet,” Mary asked me.

“It would help if you told me what lesson you’re trying to impart.” True story. A snarky true story.

“Something about name calling,” she said. THWOCK! “There.”

“Uh, is that all?”

“Yes. It was a very big spanking for such a little girl,” Mary teased me while tickling the backs of my thighs with her fingertips. 

“It’s okay that we’re not cool anymore,” I reassured her. “We’re other stuff.” I personally have no problem being other stuff and things. I don’t think I ever was cool. Witty, urbane, cultured, well read, lots of fun when I wasn’t being not fun – all of these things plus lots of others, I’ve been and still am.

“Maybe we can be cool for our age,” Mary conjectured while absentmindedly running those fingertips of hers up and down the small of my back. That’s one of my happy-please-touch-me-here places. It turns me into a contented little puddle. She knows that. She wasn’t paying attention because she was so concerned with being cool for some reason. I knew the reason (a certain someone is soon to turn thirty-nine), but I decided not to say the reason from my vulnerable position over her lap. She could figure it out on her own. 

“Now that you mention it Mary, I bet you were the coolest girl at your college. You were a lesbian while the other girls on your floor were probably still experimenting. You were a trendsetter.” Not that being gay is trendy … though I think when she was in college it actually kinda was. Was Will and Grace still on?

“There was that,” Mary said, clearly missing my joke. Mine is a very dry humor. Parched sometimes. I’m like a vodka martini with no vermouth at all (also called a ‘glass of vodka’). Those fingertips of hers … I let out my I’m-gonna-be-sexually-frustrated-all-day sigh just in time for the doorbell to ring.

It’s a cardinal sin to get off of Mary’s lap before she tells me I’m allowe, but the rule isn’t strictly enforced, and I managed to spring myself upward, yank up my pajama bottoms, and get under the blanket without my feet ever touching the floor. I can acrobat when I need to. Well, not really and I probably couldn’t execute that maneuver again in a hundred years … at least not on purpose.

“Shit,” I exclaimed.

“Language,” Mary said to me even though she curses just as often as I do. She is a sorceress after all, cursing and vexing and casting spells. She’s been ensorcelling me for years.

“I invited Nana over and totally forgot.” Mary looked at me expectantly, sparking a short-lived staring contest.

“Are we pretending we’re not home,” she asked when neither of us moved toward the door.

“What? No, just go answer the door.”

“She’s your guest,” Mary said with a smirk that wasn’t visible but was so there. A blind cyclops with very little socialization coulda seen it. Mary made her tough-luck-for-you-I’m-having-fun face at me when I made my are-you-serious face at her.

“Fine,” I said and threw the blanket off of me and over her head in what was definitely a deliberate gesture. She was snickering as I walked to our front door, and I felt the unmistakable rising heat of furious blushing as I walked through our little foyer. I opened the door to find a box and Nana on the sidewalk halfway between our houses with a delivery truck in the background driving down the street. Oops.

“Morning, Daffy. Did you see me walking over,” she asked as she waved. I bent down to collect our package, whatever it was. Stuff just arrives now.

“Um, yeah,” I said because that little fib seemed more polite than admitting I had forgotten I’d invited her over and mistaken a m package for her. Mary appeared behind me as Nana got to our door.

“Morning, Mae,” Mary said. “I’ll take that,” and she took the box from me. “We’re moving slow this morning.” For a moment I thought that was directed at Nana, which would’ve been very rude to say to a senior citizen, but she was referring to us, still wearing our pajamas as the clock approached ten.

“Good morning for that,” Nana said as I let her in and pretended not to notice the once over she gave me as she took notice of my outfit. “Kinda nice to have a little chill in the air finally.”

“Can we get you anything,” I asked because I’m polite and because if I pretend everything is normal and just try to be a good hostess then it’s not such a big deal to be wearing the diaper Mary put me to bed in – excuse me, put on me before bed; she doesn’t put me to bed no matter what she likes to call it – in front of our guest.

“I’ll have what you’re having,” she said and sat down on our couch. She looked as if she remembered something all of a sudden. “I saw the strangest man on your doorstep the other day.”

“Hmm. Be right back.” I disappeared into the kitchen while hopefully Mary didn’t tell Nana any more about that person than was necessary. In fact, she didn’t need to say anything at all. Not a big deal. 

I poured cocoa from the pot (yes, we made it from scratch because it’s the simplest recipe ever) into a mug and put it in the microwave. That gave me twenty seconds to yank down my pajama pants, take off the diaper, and throw it away, but I decided to my ultimate annoyance the risk of being caught with my pants down was too great.

“Daffy,” Mary called to me from the living room, “could you add a little Bailey’s to that?” O great, so now Nana knew our true dark secret: we booze up our cocoa. Cocoa drinkers are so cute, coffee drinkers say, to which my answer is yes were are and also there’s little alcohol in it.

“Here,” I said as I handed her the mug. “I completely forgot I invited you over,” I tried to say all breezily, “or we’d have gotten dressed and made you breakfast. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m fine. Mmm, this is good cocoa?”

“Daffy makes it,” Mary said a little too proudly. It makes me sparkly inside that she’s proud of the things I do, but sometimes they’re such basic things that I get blushy, like she’s bragging about how quickly I learned my ABCs. Which is an example I used because my mom was still telling people that when I was almost ten. I had lots of scholarly accomplishments in between, and Mom would rattle those off too, but she liked to start at the beginning.

“I make a mean poptart too if you’re hungry,” I said because apparently I’m a grandma now and just keep offering food to people who’ve already said more than once they don’t want any. Not a very good grandma if all I had to offer on short notice was boozy cocoa and a poptart. Here’s some sugar and some other sugar and some stuff that used to be sugar before someone fermented it, I said in my head. And why is it ‘make a mean’ something? That’s like saying ‘I make a mean pot roast. It’s a total asshole and has no friends.’ Weird language we got here.

“I already had breakfast. How are the two of you? I don’t think I’ve seen you in a bit,” she said to Mary.

“We’ve been good. I’ve been a little head-down with work. We’re hiring like crazy right now.” Yes, about that. Mary made a joke the other day about being a woman trying to work remotely, make ends meet on a single-income, and change diapers between Zoom calls all without any help from a man. I didn’t find that funny at all. Hmmph!

I do hafta admit as our conversation meandered all over the place – how she was, how her family was, how are families were, Halloween plans – even I forgot I was sitting there in a diaper that was not getting any fresher or more comfortable. Sorta kinda definitely the opposite. The plan, as I’ve come to recognize this pattern, was Mary would let me change after breakfast, except we didn’t have breakfast. We were just lounging around, and a shower was sure to happen soon except we had a guest. And it wasn’t commented on, which I guess means it really has gotten normal for me to be wearing one these things … Dammit …

“C’mere,” Mary said to me after I zoned out on our conversation thinking about normalizing the abnormal and how that never seems to work out in my favor. I don’t even know why I got up (actually, I do – a pavlovian subby instinct to do as I’m told, but let’s pretend that’s not true). Nor did I know why Mary wanted me to come to her, at least not until she sat back against the arm of the couch and opened her arms for me. She just wanted me to sit between her legs so she could wrap her arms around me from behind. This may come as a surprise to you, but she likes me. She like likes me. And she loves wrapping her arms around my from behind and pulling me backward to lean against her.

Nana let out this little sigh to accompany a wistful smile. “I like having you two as neighbors. It’s nice seeing two people so in love.”

“Is that what we are,” Mary asked me. I just made bambi eyes at her.

After a few beats, Nana asked, “So who was that young man I saw, if it’s okay for me to ask.”

“A friend of a friend,” Mary answered. Come to think of it, we don’t even know if Tyler is his real name. “They just came over for a breakfast visit.”

“I thought he was a playmate for Daphne.”

“What made you think that,” I asked despite knowing or at least having a darn good idea.

“He had a binky in his mouth. Only other adult I know who has a binky is you.” Okay, blushing again.

“We actually don’t know him. The woman he was with is a good friend of ours.” Mary gave my side a light squeeze as though she wanted to tickle me physically while she tickled me verbally. “Sometimes she comes over to hang out with Daphne while I’m out.”

Nana either didn’t think of whether there was a name for someone who does that or just didn’t think it worth commenting on. “Was it a good visit?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to be seeing people again, and who knows? Maybe we made a new friend. Did you like him, Daffy?”

“I guess. He didn’t talk much. Seemed nice enough.”

“What did you two do,” Nana asked me.

“Me? I didn’t do anything with him.” What would make her think I’d play with him? “He played with himself … BY himself, I mean.”

“He brought some toys over to play with while we just had a regular visit.”

That seemed to perplex Nana, and I can understand why. Though the word goes unsaid when it comes to Mary and me, or at least the word doesn’t escape Nana’s mouth, it’s pretty clear what our motivations are. Him just bringing over toys and playing on the floor? I can see why that would make less sense to her.

“He just likes feeling little,” I explained and then regretted it. I really gotta stop trying to explain this stuff to Nana. If she wants to learn, she can google it. “That’s just how he de-stresses,” I added, hoping to clear it up. Not at all like me, I wanted to say and didn’t. That’s how he de-stresses, while Mary’s introduction of absorbent underpants has added quite a bit of stress to my life. Good thing Mary’s so good at taking stress away from me (most of the time) or she wouldn’t be able to add to it like she did.

“Guess that’s one way,” Nana said like she still didn’t get it but also didn’t mind it. If Tyler wanted a person who treat him like his little side was perfectly normal, he could do a lot worse than Nana, not that even loose-lipped I will ever say that loud. Also, I am cypher; nothing escapes these lips unless I mean for it to. Um, really.

Mary leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “I do not,” I stage whispered back. Not because I was trying to be overheard so much as I’m bad at whispering and also did not like what Mary said to me … even if she wasn’t wrong.

“A little bit,” Mary said back in a feeble attempt to soften what she said, that time not whispering in my ear. “Daffy needs a bath,” Mary announced before Nana could ask what she said.

But first off, that is not what Mary whispered to me, so that just made me look anti-hygiene or something. What Mary whispered was that I was a little bit smelly. 

“I think so too,” Nana said with this almost condescending, head-tilted-to-the-side look like she was gently telling me to listen to Mary who isn’t even the boss of me. I’m the boss of me! It’s just that, like everybody, I also have a boss. Dammit …

“You really shouldn’t keep her in a wet diaper after breakfast,” Nana said to Mary. Gotta say it: not a big fan of that comment. In fact, not a big fan of the way Nana addresses remarks like that to Mary instead of me, like Mary is supposed to take care of me and I’m just supposed to be cared for and not have a day or an opinion. I coulda taken it off! It’s not like Mary woulda stopped me. It’s just that the moment my butt was bare she’d have started hitting it with the flat side of a hairbrush. I am an adult! I have agency! I am an agent with agency who made the decision not to risk a consequence I didn’t want! Really … Dammit …

“I usually don’t, but the morning got away from us.”

“And if I’m a little smelly it’s your fault,” I said instead staying quiet which would’ve been so much smarter.

“How do you figure,” Mary asked me like she was daring me to justify the unjustifiable.

“Because … Because …” Aww, screw it. “Nana, she put this one on me at like eight last night and didn’t change me before bed.”

“Mary,” Nana gasped, directing her ire at Mary where it belongs. All the ire belongs on Mary. And yes! It was Mary’s turn to blush for once.

“She was hardly wet,” Mary tried to defend herself, “and it’s a thick diaper.”

“I can see it’s a thick diaper,” Nana riposted (dammit!) while nodding toward that part of me where it was extremely obvious what I was wearing, “but that doesn’t mean she can stay in it for almost fourteen hours! I thought I smelled old weewee when she let me in.”

Welp, fuck. I guess I hafta move to another state and change my name now. Or I would if Mary wasn’t holding me. She won’t let me go if I tell her moving. I mean, she could come too, but she likes it here.

“Mine were bedwetters, and they never smelled from it. How would you like it,” Nana said to Mary. Good question, and Nana was actually pretty cross. And once again, her what? She never had one of me. Also, I’m not a bedwetter! Really!

“The morning got away from us,” Mary tried again.

“You don’t put someone to bed in a wet diaper. That’s just unclean. And are you using rash ointment in her fanny at night?”

“No one puts me to bed,” I said quietly, but I coulda shouted it and I don’t think it woulda made a difference. Also, could we limit the amount my fanny is discussed to zero?

“I have half a mind to come over here at bedtime and check on her,” Nana said. Threatened, perhaps. And holy moly did I not want that, not that Nana was serious … I think and hope and pray.

“I don’t wear them every night,” I tried to get a word in edgewise.

“She’s fine,” Mary said defensively. I think she was on the verge of getting her dander up. How well she fulfills her role as my domme and protector is not something she’s willing to listen to opposing opinions about for very long. I think Nana caught the hint of a this-isn’t-up-for-debate tone; I did.

“She …” Nana looked down for a second and exhaled hard through her nostrils. “Sorry. I shouldn’t interfere. I just think she should get her diaper changed more often.”

“I don’t wear them very often, is the thing,” I said to apparently nobody.

“She gets changed when she needs it. She’s never gotten a rash. I like that you’re concerned about her though. We’re both very glad to have you in our lives.” This was really starting to sound like a woman and her mother-in-law arguing over how to raise a granddaughter, which no. Just no.

“Can I say something,” I asked because how else was I supposed to be heard? They both looked at me. “I’m fine. No one needs to argue over me, and if they do I can argue on my own behalf.”

“Of course you can,” Nana said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to imply that.”

“I know you didn’t mean to. As much fun as it is watching you chastise Mary Ow! No pinching,” I said to the woman behind me. “I know how to handle her,” I finished my sentence. And there are several effective strategies. Red lights of course, but also asking nicely, begging, pleading, tantruming, throwing a fit, crying, and crying really hard. A sniffly ‘you’re hurting my feelings’ can get Mary to do or stop doing just about anything, not that I’d ever stoop to crocodile tears. O! And the giving and withholding of sex, though the last one is hard because reasons.

“And despite appearances I do take care of myself.”

Nana reached out and patted my knee. I don’t know if that was good-for-you pat or a if-you-say-so pat. “Well, when you’re with me I’ll make sure you get changed a lot more often,” she said with a wink that I didn’t even know what she meant by.

“You’re with her now,” Mary said because she’s chaotic evil. Which is great and all most of the time.

“I would, but you’re right. She needs a bath first, and I guess I should go so you can do that.”

“I don’t need to be given a bath. I’m perfectly capable of showering by myself,” I reminded them.

“Why don’t the two of you come over for dinner,” Nana invited us.

“We’d love to.”

“But I expect her to be dry and clean,” Nana said with a wink toward me again. Sometimes when she thinks she’s being helpful and is on my side she’s really not being helpful and is just embarrassing me and being a little condescending without meaning to.But at least she doesn’t mean to, unlike other women in my life (who I’m married to) who do mean to embarrass me but never condescend unless it’s in a playful teasing way. And she always makes sure I know it’s just teasing and is almost perfect at knowing when to stop.

“C‘mon, stinky,” Mary said when we’d seen Nana out.

“You’re gonna take that back if you know what’s healthy for you.”

“I’m sorry.” She held out her hand to me. “You’re fresh as a daffodil, Daffodil. A daffodil that’s been wearing the same wet diaper for too long.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“I don’t recall you asking for a diaper change this morning.”

“I asked last night before bed.”

“And this morning?”

“I got distracted by my phone.”

“Too distracted playing to think about the state of her diaper. What stage of life does that remind you of,” she asked just so friggin delighted with herself.

“Too distracted worrying about whether she’s cool to change a diaper. Ditzy babysitter stereotype much? That’s sad; how sad for you.” Her mouth formed this silently scoffing O that dissolved into a smile.

“In,” she said at the bathroom door.

“I can take a shower myself.”

“You remember that speech you gave about sticking up for yourself? All I heard was ‘uwu uwu uwu.’” My turn to silently scoff. We’re kinda catty sometimes.

“Enjoy the visit,” she said as she turned on the faucet. Guess she’s giving me a bath after all. There are worse things than being bathed by a beautiful woman. Really.

“Coulda done without the back and forth between you two about … you know,” I said as I stood there wearing the thing. I just don’t like to say it.

“She’s just trying to be helpful. She cares an awful lot about you.”

“And I still don’t know why.”

“Does it make you I comfortable?”

“Just don’t like the way the two of you argue about me like I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Hold on,” she said. “I wanna check something.” She pulled out the collar of my top. “I knew it.”

“What?”

“There’s that little red spot on your collar bone.”

Stupid spot revealing my innermost thoughts and feelings. “That’s beside the point.”

“I think you don’t like us arguing, but you do like being talked about like you’re too little to have an opinion.”

“I’m splashing you when I get in the tub, just FYI.”

“Then I better take off my top,” she said and yowza! “Is it me or is that spot on your collarbone getting redder?”

“You have a tell too.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t see it with your pants on.”

She grinned at me. “Such a dirty little thing. I just may have to climb in this tub with you to get you extra clean, after I’ve washed the weewee away.”

“I am royalty after all. I should be clean enough to eat out of … OFF of.”

“Princess Malaprop,” she chuckled.

“Even if I did like being talked about that way, which I don’t, she doesn’t know that. Totally different vibe like she thinks she needs to do that. I’m gonna talk to her about it. I know she means to be helpful. Sweet that she wants to stick up for me, but there’s a line and she’s right on the edge.” 

And when she does that, she’s basically questioning my judgment, like I can’t set and enforce my own boundaries for my own good. And need I remind everybody that I’m the one who put Mary in charge? She didn’t pick me off a shelf. We picked each other and I asked her to be in charge. 

“And I don’t like her questioning how you take care of me.” Good subs are protective of their dommes too.

“Aww. Such a sweetie pie.” I got a kiss on my cheek and one of her I-am-thankful-for-you smiles. 

“Now, let’s get these down,” she said as she stripped my pajama pants off me, “and let’s get this open.” She ripped the tapes off and pulled the thing out from between my legs. 

“Ugh. I stink.”

“I told you, but you had to go making a fuss.”

“I’ll show you how hard I can heckin fuss one of these days.”

“In in,” as she gestured toward the tub.

“So heckin hard,” I sighed contentedly as I sat down in the hot water and leaned back as Mary got the sponge soapy.

[Guilend]

Yup she’ll be making a stinky while she’s with Nana. 

[Alex Bridges]

21 minutes ago, Guilend said:

Yup she’ll be making a stinky while she’s with Nana. 

You’re so cute when you’re desperate.

[Guilend]

47 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

You’re so cute when you’re desperate.

I’m not desperate just have tons of scenarios that could happen 

And I can’t wait to see yours 

[kerry]

5 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

And why is it ‘make a mean’ something? That’s like saying ‘I make a mean pot roast. It’s a total asshole and has no friends.’ Weird language we got here.

 

I laughed so hard here!

[seanwill25]

Nana should put Mary in diapers to teach her a lesson.  They are Mary's diapers anyway.  

[Bluebird67]

Who needs to be cool when you can be in love with someone who loves you and knows you inside out? And have a great friend for a neighbour?

[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #134

 

I really gotta stop letting Mary make decisions. I mean, they’re not terrible. They’re just not as good as the decisions I make. I’m a great decider. I see the forest and the trees. I see the whole board. I see … other stuff … and things too.

And how amazing that I can see so much from the corner. Bare bottom corner time isn’t my favorite. It’s boring. And it’s kinda cold. There are goosebumps on the back of my front. And the kicker is I don’t even know what I did. Mary just waltzed in like the decision-making belle of the ball – and plebeian that she is, she’s never even been to a ball! – took me by the arm, marched me to the corner, pulled my pants and panties down and left me there. She didn’t even need to tell me to stay; I know that part by heart.

She didn’t answer me when I asked what I did. That means one of two things: I did something so egregious she’s not ready to talk to me about it or she put me timeout just because. To which I say hmmph! on both accounts. I know when I’ve done something that egregious … most of the time. And when it’s just cuz, yeah, I like the arbitrariness of domination, but my butt still gets cold in that corner. There’s a vent!

Also, not fair to me. It’s really unsettling being in a lot of trouble and not even knowing what I did. You may be surprised to learn this, but I don’t do so well with Mary not being happy with me. Like, not that I crave her approval or anything, but it’s sorta super important in a way that doesn’t make me pathetic that she think I’m a good girl. A very good girl. At all the times.

I heard her walking over to me and kept facing the wall, knowing I’m not supposed to turn around. “Hold still,” she said when she was right behind me. “Close your eyes. There,” she said as she slipped a blindfold over my eyes.

“What,” was my clever response.

“Step out,” she said and knelt down to pick up my ankles one at a time and take my jeans off from around my feet.

“What are you doing? Am I in trouble,” I said like the dread had balled up in my tummy and was making be anxious.

She responded by (I’m visualizing this part) tilting her head over my shoulder to kiss my neck and sliding her hand down my back to caress my butt.

“No, sweetheart, you’re not in trouble. You’re my very good girl.”

Ooo, not to jeopardize my reputation as the most humble person ever, but my wife thinks I’m a good girl. Squeeeee!

“And you’re a silly goose.”

“I am not a silly goose! Why did you put me timeout?”

“You’re a silly goose because you have goosebumps on your butt, and I put you in timeout because your Halloween costume came, and I didn’t want you to see it.”

“What? I don’t get to pick it out? And you coulda just told me not to look.”

“You woulda tried to peek.”

“Well, yeah. But I hate being in the corner when I don’t know what I did. It’s like waiting in the hall by the principal’s office.”

“When did you go to the principal’s office?”

“Never, but I read about.”

“Where?”

“ … Spanking stories.”

“I knew you were gonna say that, and I’m sorry, baby,” she said and gave me an apology kiss. “I promise your costume is worth it. Hold my hand.” She took my hand, held me close and led me up the stairs.

“This is tricky. Maybe you could’ve waited for the blindfold until we got upstairs.”

“If I could lift you onto my hip, I would.”

“So your ninja powers have their limits.”

“Ninja powers? We’re at the top.”

“The way you’re always flipping me and snatching me out of the air and stuff.”

“Left turn. The bed is right in front of you; turn around and lay back.”

I did and went, “Grrr.”

“What grrr?”

“There’s a changing pad under me. Already not liking this costume. And you don’t even need a changing pad. You just like using it to make me feel even more childish.” Which, yes, is humiliating and tickles this specific spot in my brain, but also no. Humiliation kink is friggin hard. So many conflicted feelings.

“We’ve had to wash that pad plenty of times,” Mary countered.

“Not for stuff that got on it during changes.” We got other stuff on it … doing other things … like stuff … and things too. Good times …

“Your costume doesn’t involve your binky, but it can if you’re gonna be fussy.”

“So unfair.”

“Lift.” I did and heard a crinkly something being slid underneath me. “Down.” I opened my knees without being told because I’m a good girl, not because I like this. “What’s that,” Mary asked.

“What’s what?”

“I think … I think this is what they call a pussy.”

“Marrrrry! You know I don’t like dirty words.” Especially when they’re applied to me. I get all blushy and embarrassed and just hmmph! “And don’t you roll your eyes at me. I’m complex. I can be kinky as heck and embarrassed by the words at the same time.”

“Heehee. We better get some rash cream on it.”

Ooo … heeheehee! That’s the spot. Still the spot. Keep doing stuff to the spot.

“There. No diaper rash for you.”

Dammit!

“You suck so much sometimes,” I told my beautiful bride.

“Just for that, I should let you get diaper rash one of these days, but if your nana saw it, she’d call uwu protective services on me. And one tape and two tapes and three and four (pat pat). If I didn’t know better, I’d say you looked just like a little girl.”

“Marrry! I’m not a little girl!”

“That’s right. Of course you’re not. You’re a grown woman wearing an adult diaper with princesses on it.” Her fingers started walking around my tummy, poking here and tickling there. “And do you wear them because you want to? No. And do you wear them because you need them? No. You wear them because I make you and you’re too smol to stop me. Aww, such a squirmy thing.”

“I’m ticklish!”

“I know the difference between your tickle wiggles and the way you squirm when your little buttons are getting pushed,” she said like she was so damn proud of herself. I mean, I was proud of her, but I’m proud of her all the time.

“This had better be going somewhere good,” I huffed.

“Sit up.” She reached out a hand and helped me up. “Arms up.” My shirt came off. “O look, nipples.”

“Marrrrry!”

“Heehee! Stay right there.” I heard her walk over to her dresser.

“If you’re dressing me up as a baby, you and I are gonna have some serious words when this blindfold comes off.”

“No we won’t. You’re too little.”

“So heccin serious!”

“Gimme a footsie.”

“Not until you say it right.”

“Gimme a footsie, please.”

“I don’t have footsies. I have feet.” Slap. “Ouch.”

“And a handprint on your thigh and a sassy mouth too.”

“Fine,” I said and stuck a foot out.

“Point your toes for me. Other one.”

“Tights?”

“What a smart girl you are. Some pretty tights to keep your legs warm when we go trick-or-treating.”

“We never go trick-or-treating.” The one time I suggested we go and tell everyone we were collecting for our son who had the flu, I got a super long lecture about honesty and how I don’t need that much sugar. I wasn’t even motivated by the sugar; I can afford all the candy I want. I was motivated by it being free sugar, which just sweetens it somehow. But even more, I thought it would be fun to go out and see all the cute kiddos and decorated houses. I was even going to wear an SFW costume.

“Maybe this year will be different.”

“R-really?”

“I swear your ears just stood to attention.”

“They do that.” True story. My ears really do perk up.

“Like a golden retriever hearing kibble hitting her bowl.”

“I’m not a golden retriever … But if I was, you’d be lucky. They’re very loyal and snuggly.”

“These aren’t the easiest things to get on a person. Gimme your hand and stand up slow.”

“Why slow?”

“So you don’t knee me in the face.” She did that to me once, but being fair, it was an accident during an attempt at unsolicited … stuff.

“O.” I sat up and gave her my hand, which she put on her shoulder so I could balance.

“Up we go,” she said … to the tights, I’m guessing, as she rolled them the rest of the way up. I like the way tights feel. Always have. Used to wear them under jeans back in Wisconsin even inside because I was cold from October 1st through May 15^th. My grandmother, proudly of Scandinavian descent, always used to say I must’ve gotten recessive genes. I didn’t take it personally. The rest of my family is tall, too. I did get the family’s fair skin, perfect for sunburns.

“And that’s your costume,” Mary said as she stood, which I could tell because her voice was in front of me. 

“Har har.” Me in a diaper and tights. I think maybe this was an exhibitionist pervert costume? Not judging.

“Cold?”

“Mhmm.”

“You look it.”

“Marrry! Stop laughing.”

“Awww. I’m sorry. Let’s get your top on you. Put your hand back on my shoulder.”

“Huh?”

“Just trust me.” Her voice disappeared down by my feet again. “Lift; now the other one.”

Something very form fitting was threaded up my legs and seated firmly against the diaper … one might even say much more firmly than it needed to be. My heels came up a little. I don’t know about carrying me up the stairs, but Mary can definitely toss me around a little. Which I don’t hate (sorta kinda definitely love). Nothing is as fun as being submissive to a dominant who can physically make you do stuff. Not that she has to very often. I’m very biddable when I’m not being a brat.

“Give me this arm.” See? She threaded my arm through an opening and laid a strap over my shoulder before doing the same to the other side.

“I know what this is,” I told her. I knew what it was.

“Shush. Don’t guess until you see the whole thing.”

For her, anything. Including not spoiling the moment. I could tell her heck no and to return it as soon as the moment was over. Had that unpleasant feeling like she’d be really disappointed cuz the whole time she’s dressing me she sounded so excited.

“There,” she said as she put something around my waist. “I guess we can leave the shoes for later,” she said, sounding impatient in her excitement. “Ooo, you are so adorable! Come see.”

She led me in front of the mirror and ducked behind me. “One, two, three,” and the blindfold came off (really just a slumber mask but we call it a blindfold for effect).

And there I was: pink leotard, short lavender skirt, and white tights. “What am I,” I asked.

“A ballerina.” I was afraid of that. Also afraid of how happy she looked. I don’t like disappointing her, but I really didn’t want to wear this over to Brenna’s house on Halloween. We have a trove of Halloween costumes in our basement, because we sorta take Halloween too seriously, and the running theme of my collection is sexy. I was conflicted about this outfit. 

On the one hand, not sexy. On the other hand, my one-piece fetish is also a leotard fetish. But that’s sexy to me, whereas my previous costumes were sexy to others. I looked positively wholesome, like I was going to poorly toddle my way through a dance recital. Wholesome, hoo boy, I am not. Could totally nail the uncoordinated-doesn’t-know-the-choreography-anyway bit though.  

 “What do you think,” Mary asked me. I can see her now, checking measurements to make sure the skirt only hid the diaper if I didn’t move.

“Um, thank you for putting a lot of thought into it.”

“You don’t like it.” So much for letting her down easy.

“No, I do, but, um, do you think maybe it sends the wrong message? I mean, isn’t it sorta problematic.” Great word. Too vague to really mean anything, but people are frightened of it. Good on me for thinking that up so fast.

“How?”

Dammit! “Um, the whole girls-wear-pink thing just being so sexist.” How very lame of an excuse. Total fail.

“And who will you be a bad influence on exactly,” she asked me with a skeptical no-really-try-to-think-of-an-answer look on her face. It’s a very smug look. Really telegraphed that she didn’t even buy the premise, let alone whatever answer I might give. That’s called bait, and I took it knowingly. 

“Jane. She’s … just a little … They’re very impressionable at that age … thirty-six.”

Mary stepped right into my personal space with this grin like she had me cornered and ran a finger from my elbow to my shoulder. “I think you’re just embarrassed to be seen in such a cute costume. I think you love this costume and just don’t wanna say cuz you’re embarrassed.”

True story about Mary: she only has two hands. Perhaps it was the lycra, but they seemed to be in six places all at once. She got even closer. I could feel hot breath on my ear. “In fact,” she said breathily, “I remember this woman I dated who was so excited to show me a video of a woman doing lewd things to herself in a leotard. In fact,” she said as those hands of found their way from the small of my back up to my shoulders, “she had a whole playlist like that.”

“I hate hearing about your old girlfriends,” I muttered. THWUMP! her hand went against my butt and stayed there, squeezing. “That would work so much better without the diaper,” I reminded her.

Her hand came back around to my front. “I’ll just hafta press harder.”

Here’s a fun fact, ladies and other ladies, tights on carpet are like a banana peel on oil. She pressed harder and paired it with one of those oxygen-deprivation-this-mouth-isn’t-big-enough-for-two-tongues kisses, and when she let me go, my heel slipped, and I fell flat on my ass. Yep … felt like one of the cool people for sure.

“Are you okay,” she said while chuckling. 

“Yes.” I held out a hand.

She helped me up and said, “You look like a figure skater who fell down.”

“The end of my Olympic dreams aren’t funny.”

“Awww. More like your first lesson with that padded butt. Hope it broke the fall. Wanna me to kiss something and make it better?”

“I like this outfit, but I don’t wanna wear it to Brenna’s. Everyone will ooo and aww and make funna me.”

“Anyone who tries to make fun of you is going to have a very bad time,” Mary said in her reassuring I’m-making-a-promise-to-you-by-threatening-others tone. “Besides, I think you’re wrong. I think that they’ll think you look hot. Aren’t you also the one who practically drools during the Olympics anytime you see someone in a leotard?” With her hands doing the hand thing again. Definitely know one person who apparently shares my leotard fetish. She just never really leaned into it before. There’s something oddly satisfying in getting someone into a new fetish, like you should be proud of corrupting them or something.

“Fine,” I told her. I did like it; little leery of being seen in it, but I did like it hugging in all the right places and its apparent effect on Mary. “What are you going as?”

“This is a couple’s costume.”

“You got one of these too?” I would like to see my Mary in a leotard more often, but I don’t think I could handle seeing my Mary as a pretty pink ballerina. Too much conflict with my image of her as a domme.

“No, silly. I’m your ballet coach, and little girls who don’t practice hard enough get turned over my knee for a spanking they won’t forget.”

Oooo, when did this diaper get wet?

“Um,” I said as I stepped forward and got into Mary’s personal space like she was a Walmart and I was a Black Friday shopper, “you … good. Good idea.”

“Somehow I just knew you’d like that.”

“Do you think, um …” I leaned forward to whisper in Mary’s ear.

“While you’re wearing it,” she chuckled in a sultry, seductive way. “On the bed on all fours.” Heck yes! “And you better be a good girl, because if it gets torn, I’m gonna blister your butt.”

Sigh … She always knows just what to say.

[justforfun]

4 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

like she was a Walmart and I was a Black Friday shopper

Ok, the rest was really good (as always), but that imagery made me laugh.  Really, laugh.  Kudos.  You're such an excellent writer!

 

[kerry]

Another wonderful chapter, Alex. This time, though, unusual for you, there are a bunch of small typos. Maybe another proofing read?

[Bel George]

9 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“Tights?”

“What a smart girl you are. Some pretty tights to keep your legs warm when we go trick-or-treating.”

“We never go trick-or-treating.” ...

“Maybe this year will be different.”

“R-really?”

They will probably end up at Nana's house.  After Nana's recent visit and the conversation they had, visiting Nana will result in a diaper check for sure, and probably a diaper change as well.

[Alex Bridges]

7 hours ago, kerry said:

Another wonderful chapter, Alex. This time, though, unusual for you, there are a bunch of small typos. Maybe another proofing read?

Thank you!

[Alex Bridges]

It’s official: I wanna spend the day with Mary and Daphne. We’ll have so much fun! 

[YourFNF]

16 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“That’s right. Of course you’re not. You’re a grown woman wearing an adult diaper with princesses on it.” Her fingers started walking around my tummy, poking here and tickling there. “And do you wear them because you want to? No. And do you wear them because you need them? No. You wear them because I make you and you’re too smol to stop me. Aww, such a squirmy thing.”

“I’m ticklish!”

Oh gods... OwO

This is hitting all my buttons

Pretending I need them can be hit or miss but saying "You were them cause I say..." *dies*

16 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

es! “And you better be a good girl, because if it gets torn, I’m gonna blister your butt.”

Sigh … She always knows just what to say.

[Alex Bridges]

I had KawaiiOmo draw us a picture of Daffy in her Halloween costume.