For Her Good

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 1: For Her Good

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

 

 

The problem was that she had three roommates.

Yet, Sir always said that never being alone was for her good.

Sir said it just like that, in a text message, in response to her worrying. Sir said that life goes on. Sir said that...

I will not bury the lead. I will not sugarcoat it. Consent culture rightly necessitates that I lay this more bare than anything.

We are trying to change your life.

Remind yourself once again, Mari.

Are we entering this agreement purely for sensation?

It was conversations like these that made Mari blush more than the details of their agreement. Sir's language stripped Mari like she'd brought a bomb through TSA. Sir had so effectively undressed her fantasies and fears, in these months, Sir had so quickly probed and unwound her proclivities, that she still felt like a child going to a parent with something as trivial as a hopelessly knotted shoelace. Except that in the case of Sir, she'd shown up presenting her tangled up psyche. Sir had unraveled her problems just the same.

Sir had found her mental G-spot with the precision and command of an award-winning chiropractor. Sir never had to say things like: You will cum for me now.

Instead Sir would just say: ahhh...that got you there, didn't it? And Sir, as if they were in Mari's head and not in her phone, would always be right.

Big girls would respond with more than just emojis, wouldn't they?

Sir's presence was digital yet encompassing. Texted but seemingly scriptural. No manager, professor, teacher, or other esteemed individual in her life had so thoroughly outclassed her. She was a rowboat bobbing beside a cruise ship, when Sir's messages crowned her phone banner. Never before had she been so blissfully cowed. Nothing crossed her mind that Sir had not thought of first. No mental caverns existed that Sir could not, with just a few whispers, lead her out of.

I understand what you mean. Know this. You are the brave one. You are facing who you are.

Take your sense of unworthiness, Mari. Let us say that you're the fuckup. The dropout, the girl with the dead end job. The under-performer. Let's pretend that your three roommates are indeed smarter, better grown-ups than you. Let us say that you've screwed up every relationship you've been in because you're a needy crybaby.

Let's own that, Mari. Let's ball it up – put it in a diaper.

Change it often enough and it won't leak. If we do this, perhaps none of your faults will leak into your worthiness either.

***

A few days before the beginning of her agreement, the first cardboard box (Sir said that there would be very many), lay unopened beside her bed. The box was tucked between her bedside table and the closet, wedged in the space so that she could not even exit her bed to that side without crushing it. It stood out little among the messiness of her room – another token of fuckupery that even Sir did not know about. Even her roommates called her Monster Mari for the way underwear, socks, and clothes were piled on the floor. At her best, she told herself that it was organized. That there was a method to Monster Mari. At her worst, she knew the panties were going in a shoebox, destined for the mail. For Your Good.

Just days away from the beginning of her agreement. Sir's last question burned on the phone. Is this thing we are about to do purely sensational?

She shot off a message. "No Sir," she said. She knew it was a little girl's answer, and that Sir wouldn't be pleased. Sir was going to coach her through her fears, once again, and in the end Sir would be right.

Mari rolled over and groaned. Sir had owned her orgasms almost since they'd begun messaging. She'd almost begged Sir to take them; without prompting, one night when they were first messaging each other. Before diapers and all that took over their DMs. She'd just asked for permission, Sir ignored it. She'd asked again, hot, her fingers moving fast. The question had prompted another lecture from Sir – one of the hottest things she'd ever experienced. Sir would do no half measures. Sir played no games.

Permission now is meaningless without a totality, Mari. And I won't get into something so serious, so flippantly.

That night, she'd wanted it. "Can I?" she asked. Again and again.

Mari. You can do whatever you like tonight. We can have a serious conversation about it, and I would like to. But we will not have it now.

They'd had that conversation just a few days later. Mari, for all her distractibility, for all her reprimands at work for not being on the phones long enough, for not working as hard as she could be, had never been more focused on a thing in her life. Selling her pussy to Sir was a divine urgency; it was the only thing that could get her heart to stop beating through her ribs. She sat on calls at work, at her desk in her Monster Mari room, one hand constantly between her thighs.

I have a standard for this, Mari. This isn't my first rodeo.

You will only cum with my permission.

When I command you to go to your room to play and cum, you will do so. I will not ask when this would be disruptive. Though it may not be what you want, I will always ask For Your Good.

Honesty is up to you.

You can have sex with any person and any outcome is acceptable, so long as you report it to me afterwards.

The last part always struck her as odd. Almost disappointing. She was hoping at least for something savage. Anal chastity, the purchase of some grotesque implement to rail herself on camera. It took her months to test Sir's nugget of freedom. When she returned to Sir with reports of a cocktail-soaked conquest, she was surprised about how happy Sir was for her.

"Aren't you...I used YOUR pussy like that? You know?"

Use big girl words.

"Aren't you jealous?"

I get to talk to you as much as I do. You don't know who I am. I have no right to feel jealous. And least of all no cause. I'm proud of you.

"But it's YOUR pussy and I just...used it..."

It was a guy, right? And he fucked you?

"Yah. It wasn't, like, amazing. But yeah."

And did he cum inside of you?

This sort of question, with anyone else, would have made her roll her eyes. But with Sir it piqued her. She was once again disrobed with a text and it took great discipline for her to not respond with an emoji. "Well...in a condom. But yeah."

That's what pussies are for, Mari. I am like an underwriter for your car, if you had one. I would not be displeased if you drove your car. I would, however, like to know if you were spinning donuts in a parking lot with it.

Think of it this way. Your pussy doesn't belong to me. Rather, it simply does not belong to you. We do not live in a world where a public pillory to display your entries is safe or acceptable. But know this. The world is a better place when you have been mounted and used. In the same way that the world is better when food is eaten and not left to spoil, just so I hope that those who want to enter you, may. It is the same with your eventual diapering. When the day comes, Mari. You are not giving up your adulthood. You are simply accepting that everyone – everyone – is more adult than you.

She remembered thinking about this for a while, and almost forgetting to ask for permission.

"Will this be the case when I'm in diapers?"

Yes, of course.

"Will I get an exception for my diapers when it comes to...sex?"

Do you want an exception?

"No..."

Then why does a little girl ask this question?

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 2: Brianna

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

 

The day of her diapering was fast approaching. Friday night, six pm. The weather wouldn't matter because she'd do it inside. For the first time, Sir would see her. She would set up her computer and angle her webcam right at the end of the bed. She would remember to clean her room beforehand. She would lay out a diaper from the cardboard box and she would strip everything while the green light from her computer's webcam blared witness. She would not see Sir. She would show the last of the panties put in the For Your Good shoebox, and she would bundle the package and get it ready for the mail. Then she would sit on the diaper on the bed and put it on.

She would never wear undies again.

She would never use a toilet again.

That was the plan at least. The sordid, stupid, absolutely salacious plan – the hottest thing she'd ever let enter her dreams. Sir would be prompt with the diaper deliveries, cardboard boxes full of padded piss catchers.

Yet perhaps it wasn't really real, the cardboard box beside her bed notwithstanding. Sir said that they would never ask for proof – not in pics – not texts.

"What about permission for changes?" She'd asked, months ago, now. It had been a question borne of her bed, of a tangle of hair and a heaving chest. The last message she intended to send before she asked – had to ask – for permission to cum. Her thumb blasted it out in a dead heat.

But the reply chastised her in a way she did not predict. She had been imagining months – years, of sitting around for a text, permitting her to change her diapers...

Mari, I need you to take this seriously.

Flustered, she used both hands to send her reply. "What do you mean?"

You're going in diapers, Mari. For good and For Your Good. Think about the mall, you will wear diapers there. To the beach? Pullups under a swimsuit, swimgear. On trips and on planes. While you work and while you sleep. In fancy dresses at nice restaurants, your bottom will carry the shape of padding. When you go for a run you will wear pullups. To the gym they will be under your shorts. Every picture taken of you, every smile for Instagram, beneath this there will be a diaper. Every date, a diaper. I cannot stop you peeing in the shower, but the toilet is off limits. Flushing will be foreign to you. Your life of worries will end, myopic down to the demands of just two numbers, fixated all on one and two.

I cannot manage that for you. If you are taking this as seriously as you need to be, you'd understand that, Mari. You are not destined for a mindless nursery, you are to be an encumbered adult. You will wear your liability so that you no longer carry your liabilities like ghosts in your mind. You will learn to plan for your day with spares, or you will leak. You will learn that the world will not end when someone hears the sound of your pants, or the rustle in the stall. You will do everything right and still, things will go wrong. You will experience embarrassment and shame in measures you can't yet believe and if it works, and works well, you will learn to really and truly laugh.

It will not work if you put your shame on me.

And then...

We will delay the diaper date for a few months.

Mari, in anguish and stopped dead cold, texted frantically. This was all months before, but even now, she remembered her dismay.

"A few months! But I understand..."

Think about it.

And she did. She was not sure she understood. Of course, she saw Sir's logistical point. Sir had a life, presumably, and Sir would not be there to give endless amounts of yes's and no's to endless amounts of 'is it wet enough?' Whatever else Sir meant, Mari found it inscrutable. She asked Sir what Sir meant by 'really and truly laugh' and Sir, ironically, only said haha. You'll get there.

***

Her agreement would begin on Friday. But as far out as Tuesday, she could compel herself to little else than masturbation. Every humiliating thought took their turn. Every real life accident in her past, drunk and irresponsibly induced. She manufactured tales of embarrassment and exposure and replayed them like a porn video in her mind.

In some, Sir knocked on the door. She would know Sir by sight, as if there would be some dominating aura to take the place of the face she'd never seen. Her throat would catch her breath and she would stammer and have an accident and...

...sometimes she would learn that her whole agreement was being filmed for reality TV.

...other times it was a test, and if she was actually crazy enough to go through with it, she'd be snatched up and put in an adult nursery, drooling with her mind wiped for good.

...still other times, her fantasies became about blackmail. Sir was her boss, her cousin, her landlord. She would have to move and live in a basement crib as a live in sex slave, wetting and messing herself for porn that went around the world.

And still, sometimes, she tried to think of all of that at once. Her fingers were very tired.

But she didn't dare use the wand.

She knew she would not get permission...Sir had been denying her for over a week. She didn't expect for Sir to relent until after the diapering, and she knew her actions now as the self-torture they were. But she also felt she deserved torture, and so she fixated on the feeling of crunchy plastic, so soon to be the only thing she would know.

What a pathetic, loser little girl...about to be locked up in diapers, and so frustrated and whiny!

Mari did it for hours after her shift was over on Tuesday. Eventually, she had to pee. She got up, found some shorts, and padded out of her room. She had three roommates, each wildly different in their patterns. Expecting someone in the hallway bathroom (rightly), she turned towards the living room to use the bathroom by the kitchen.

She heard the voice of Brianna, the youngest of their apartment.

"Heyo," Brianna said, from the living room.

Mari saw her sitting with her hair up taunt in a bun, her back against the armrest of their shared sofa chair. She had a book in her hand, which she began to fold and then slide onto the bare coffee table. She stretched and yawned.

Brianna was a debt-ridden developer, often complaining about her finances despite her good job and her salary. The resounding consensus from her three more experienced roommates was that she would be fine. She had the smallest room, paid the lightest rent, and like Mari, spent her workdays in her room. Because of this, Mari and Brianna would pass each other, headphones in, heading to the kitchen for yogurt while talking in meetings wearing little more than sweatpants. It made them both the closest and the most distant, as they rarely felt compelled to spend time outside of the workday together.

And there was more to it, too. Brianna looked down on Mari. Nominally, they both worked in tech. Yet there was a huge range of expertise in that world, and they were on the opposite ends of the 'value-add'. Brianna built things, Mari just serviced them. Mari was tech support, Brianna coded. Mari worked from a script, Brianna wrote the scripts that Mari's scripts could only imitate. Because the other two roommates both worked in other fields, occasionally Brianna would vent to Mari about work struggles. Very quickly she would wade into topics Mari no longer understood.

"But that's not germane to my company...that's just...Well it goes like."

Mari would know, though. She would sit and nod, her eyes glazing over to Brianna's scratchy, energetic voice.

"I'm not stupid..."

"I didn't say you were stupid..."

"I know...I'm just busy."

Brianna would shrug, and Mari always took that to mean 'if you tried to learn, maybe you wouldn't be a dropout and five years out of college and still a runt.' Brianna would try to hide that this is what she felt, but Mari could read it in her face and the way she would lick her spoon or blow out through her nose.

Sir would always scold her for complaining about Brianna's condescension. A conversation along the following vein had happened multiple times.

You do realize that this is your version of events, you haven't asked her.

"I know it's what she means. Every time she talks to me I feel like a big dumb baby, sucking my thumb."

Sounds like fun.

"Hey!"

No, I'm serious, Mari. Use that. Do you think that I am only a teacher? The best teachers are the forever learners.

"She's six years younger than me! Pretty much. I'm not gonna sit there and take lessons from that snotty brat. Gosh I'd feel like such a dweeb."

And how will that age gap account when your diapers are heavy and full?

"Woah now..."

That's a little girl's answer, Mari.

"I know. I'm sorry Sir. You're right. Hell, she's got me beat in life now, without the diapers. I hate it."

Be happy for her. Just like I'm happy for every cock that has satisfied itself inside of you, be happy that someone is so successful, or bound to be.

"Yes sir."

That doesn't sound like big girl words to me...

"I said, Yes Sir!"

I don't think you've learned your lesson.

Kissing her permission goodbye, Mari would answer. "Brianna is better than me in every way she's bigger and better and smarter, blah blah blah, and moreover she won't shit her pants, like I do, so I'm just a little ant in her great, brilliant light. Googooh gaga, show hole for my queen!"

Are you finished?

"I will never be finished until I learn all of the lessons of the great, twenty-three year old Brianna and her enlightenment has made me her best little tech-thot. Brainless yet so so totally smart, thanks one and only to her."

The phone lay still and Mari's fingers did not.

"I'm guessing I'm not getting permission tonight."

Nope. We'll revisit in a few days.

"Fuck."

We'll revisit next week.

"Sir PLEASE."

***

Such a conversation had played out so many times on her phone that Mari could feel all of her punishments and chidings at the hands of Sir even as Brianna greeted her, ignorant of it all, from the couch. Mari felt a sudden dread, as if she'd been secretly texting a group thread when she meant Sir, or that somehow, the skilled developer she called a roommate was also some kind of hacker, and knew everything about her.

"Heyo," Mari said back, stamping down her worries and fastening her cataclysmic arousal.

"Can I talk to you?"

"Sure." Mari crossed their living room – two couches angled around a coffee table, both arranged in prayer to a television. She sat down on the other couch and pulled her knee into her chest. She remembered then that she had to pee, but she told herself that still for a few days, she was a big girl, and big girls didn't show how bad they had to pee.

Brianna was already facing her. "I was a bitch earlier today. I'm sorry." She made eye contact, and her freckled cheeks did not quiver. After a second she fiddled with her bun, a bushy mess of frizzy brown hair.

Mari didn't know what she referred to. "For what? I'm confused."

"My text."

"What text?"

Brianna laughed. "I guess I wasn't that bad of a bitch, then. The text about the milk."

Mari's eyes went wide. She nodded. She remembered now what Brianna referred to, another embarrassing thought floating beside her irrepressible need to pee.

"I mean that was my bad," Mari said. "I finished off your soy milk and then you had none. I was dumb." She thought of Sir as she spoke. Brianna was apologizing, sure, but this was really a scolding. Her texts had been hours ago, but Mari had failed to reply. Mari had apologized in her head, said oh shit to herself in her room, and then promptly forgot.

In her mind, Sir spoke: That's how a little girl would handle it.

She blushed.

Brianna laughed, not noticing the redness in her face, or worse, perhaps thinking that her deep embarrassment was normal. "I'm not pissed. I was snippy because I was hangry this morning. It's all good."

"I'll buy you some."

She grinned. "I already took care of it, silly." She picked up her book again and let it fall open. It didn't land on her prior page, so she thumbed through it.

Mari then stood up to head to the bathroom. She made quick work, pausing only slightly to regard one of her final trips to a toilet in general. There would be many final potty trips over the next few days, of course. But she wondered to herself. If this was really, really real, more than ninety-nine, plus a lot of nines after the decimal, percent of her trips to a toilet were behind her.

When she came out and shut off the lights, Brianna was still reading. "Oh and if you drink my last milk again I'm gonna kick your butt," she said.

It was an odd comment, and Brianna seemed to know it. She laughed extra hard to make up for it and to cover the indecipherable meaning behind whatever caused her to say it then, and not earlier. Maybe she legitimately thought it was so funny.

"My tush is yours," Mari said, blushing now herself at the awkwardness of her reply. Some interactions can't be saved, she supposed.

And as she walked back into her room, she realized that if Brianna ever did kick her butt in the future, unless it happened in the next two days, she would be kicking a diaper.

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 3: Roseanna

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

 

Roseanna was the sort of woman that could make a woman question her gender. Never before had the color pink so suited someone, never before had Mari met a woman who mantled femininity more effortlessly. Roseanna was Mari's age. She worked as a marketing manager for a small tech firm downtown. Her outfits – sportcoats and dresses and bright nails – rounded out a presence that seemed almost made for the nightly news. A prim professional in the streets, Hello Kitty in the sheets. Mari almost resented the way Roseanna navigated her presentation; abashedly Barbie without performance for the patriarchy. She was never convinced that Roseanna had ever felt any tension between the male gaze and being strong. She could get lost in the Bachelor and fantasize on the couch about the perfect date, but for all of Mari's secret hopes, Roseanna never betrayed an unread proclivity for the bourgeois, never revealed herself to be the secret Whole Foods Karen that Mari projected her to be when they first met.

So Mari, obviously, thought long and hard about what Roseanna was really up to.

She texted Sir her thoughts, one day, months ago.

"I think, if anyone in my life was also an ABDL, it's Roseanna. I bet if I rifled around her room, I'd find a pacifier buried under a blanket or something. There's gotta be something up with her. I mean, all that Hello Kitty?!!"

Mari remembered the day she'd sent that to Sir. It had been a random thought when she'd been holding her bladder tightly through a long, boring call. Sir had banned her from diapers until the arrangement officially began, and that day she had wanted to cheat and buy some herself off Amazon. By then, the cardboard box foreboding her squishy fate had not yet arrived.

Sir took a long time to answer.

Is that your way of trying to knock her down in your mind?

"No way! I wasn't, sir! I was...I mean you should see her room. She's all grown up one way and then it's just the softest, gayest shit. Like so gay in a girly way, you know?"

Two days ago you were complaining because she gave you a fuss about household responsibilities.

"And I took it like a big girl! You even said I did a good job."

Only after you whined about her riding your ass like a horse and how you weren't the only one leaving dishes in the sink.

"But I submitted eventually."

To me you did. And only because she had you dead to rights on laundry, fridge etiquette, cleaning, noise...

"Okay...but what does this have to do with now? I'm honestly just observing. I've found a crack in her armor, long ago. She loves potty humor. And that's part of it. Damn, I had a brother and I've never heard someone 'farty poopy' like that. I've never met a grown woman who actually makes fart noises, in public, when she's displeased. And I've never met a woman (men, yes) who farts, I'm talking literal farts now, so much in private. We literally call her toots and it's the funniest because she's like perfect in every other way. And she LOVES to then say 'I think I shit myself.' With that and the Hello Kitty stuff it's all just. I think that girl is deep."

It's an interesting time to bring it up.

That was one of the times that Mari got actually mad at Sir. She flipped her phone on the pillow and walked away. She stewed through making herself dinner, and grumbled over her rice and chicken. She was so sour that Brianna came by and asked her what was wrong. When Mari returned to her phone, she was still angry. Ignoring everything that Sir had sent, she blitzed Sir with messages. She'd chosen to forget their contents long ago, but she remembered the gist. She remembered lecturing Sir, or at least trying to, about how not everything was a referendum on her sense of inadequacy and self-worth. She said that sometimes she just made observations about things. That she knew very well that Roseanna had her 'shit together' and legitimately admired her for it. That deep down, she wanted someone to be into diapers in her life, someone to share it with, that Sir's distance and anonymity was fine, but there was something missing, and she was worried that her diapering would get old if nobody but Sir knew about it.

The worst part about it was that after she'd cooled off, Sir didn't even punish her.

That was quite the tantrum, little girl. And I totally understand.

But of course, she knew that through it all, no matter how valid her points were, Sir was right.

***

The six months between setting out the bounds of her agreement and the actual start of her agreement were the longest she hadn't worn or used adult diapers since she dropped out of college. She'd fantasized about wearing for years, discovered the terms about the fetish on the internet, and discovered where she could shop for what she truly needed. Her habits came and went. On Fetlife, when she first started, she called herself a baby, aged 0 to 2. She added brat, princess, a slut. She was never pee shy like many claimed to be, and couldn't imagine it. The first time she wore a diaper and had the 'other' urge, she found that she wasn't poop shy either. She did wait to get home from the coffeeshop in which her urges began...almost. She squatted in an alley and pretended to tie her shoes and boom...just like that...she knew she was a pooper. It was a while until she cleaned up. Even that part – the so-called dissuader for many – felt just like another opportunity to bask in her depravity.

She called herself a poopy little baby online, even through all the DMs that came of it.

Still, her fetish came in phases. Life came first, as seemingly it soon would not. She moved in with a boyfriend and quit diapers for years, she binged on her first potty-less week as soon as she moved out. Diapers bounced between nightly ritual, morning ritual, and extra security out and about. She thought about making content, but decided against it, the DMs she got were attention enough. Before moving in with Brianna, Roseanna, and Harriet, her longest stint in diapers had exceeded a month, at least, though she'd cheated for showers and during changes.

She'd been talking to Sir before the move, but more importantly, before the genesis of the agreement. Now, she wished she hadn't moved here, and found a less convenient, shittier place further out of the city. Where she could make it really shitty, where she'd be free to wear diapers as she pleased; the stinky thrall of Sir, her abode a shrine to her babyishness, cleaned only when family visited...

Maybe when the lease was up, she could move. And then, there would be no problem at all.

***

It was a common thread and Sir often asked her about it.

Which of your roommates are you most afraid of finding out? Sir asked one day.

"Brianna for sure. I'm legit terrified. She's around all of the time. And I'm gonna be a doofus and leave diapers out or fucking walk out of my room without pants or idk. She'll know."

Mari, I'm not asking who you're afraid of finding out. I'm asking who don't you want to find out about your diapering?

"Oh. Roseanna, then. Because Brianna already kinda judges me so it'd be like, whatever. I feel like I'd let Roseanna down. Because I'm probably wrong about her being kinky and she's probably just vanilla AF and it'd be a mess. I can see her just asking 'but why' over and over, and then asking about 'the beach,' and all that shit. I think I would let her down. Or at least, I'm worried. I'm sure she'd be understanding and supportive. You're just asking 'the most'. I still don't want either of them to find out.

Absolutely. Well I think Roseanna sounds like a wonderful woman, and I'm sure it'd be fine. It sounds like she's the kind of girl who didn't get her shit together by accident, and therefore knows what you're going through.

"Yeah. At the same time I can see her making me model my diapers for her. She could get a glass of wine and just have a blast with it. Like a TV show. And she'd FOR SURE joke about how every time she farts she'd be blaming me."

You've cum to that thought, haven't you?

And then...

Use big girl words, not emojis.

"I hate you sometimes."

I love you.

"I love you too. But legit it's hot AF to think about her teasing me for it. All dressed up for work and then giving me a kissy face, calling me stinky, and then leaving me to my little loser job while she runs stuff. Fucking hot."

If that were for sure possible, would you prefer it to living alone in your secluded nursery?

She answered that question in mere seconds, but took almost a day to respond. She gave the answer only a fraction of what was emotionally due to it. "Yes," was all she told Sir, typing it in a huff and setting her phone down like fire. She let the time do the talking, and trusted Sir to understand.

And who are you least worried about finding out?

This answer and response took the same amount of time. "Harriet," she said. "For sure."

 

 

 

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 4: Harriet

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

 

If there was anyone in Mari's life that reminded her most of Sir, it was Harriet. Harriet was a no-nonsense public defender, a sub-career with the legal profession that Harriet had chosen out of honor. Harriet claimed it the second most romantic calling after teaching, excluding selfless parenthood. What made it slightly less honorable than giving oneself over to chalkboards and grading homework was that it was much easier to 'go corporate,' and acquire the mula. Theoretically. But she didn't say 'mula' and she didn't plan to switch out of it. Instead, she was taking classes in behavioral therapy and psychology on the side. These enrichments were not to sharpen her rhetorical teeth, of which Mari was sure she had plenty. No, this she did to help her clients, to give them a way out of the judicial bullshit that was more than just what she as a lawyer could provide.

Aww...she's like a mom to her clients.

"She's a fucking mom to me. I've even called her that."

Mari had described to Sir how Harriet always sat her down for weekly chats, how she, in the midst of an overwhelming number of cases and clients who she also advised on a pro-bono basis, found the time to text Mari "I'm free on Monday morning, hun," or to say: "hey hun, Brianna came to me about something, can we chat?" Of how Mari never said no, no matter how much she was dreading getting her soul peeled back by Harriet's exacting analysis. She respected Harriet that much. She needed Harriet that much. She told Sir about how grounding it was to sit across from Harriet's neat, brown bangs, to gaze into her soft smile and watch her sip tea in one of their rooms. As they talked about everything, almost everything, as soon as the door was closed.

What do you talk about together?

"About how Bri was mad I was coming home late drunk and noisy. About my issues at work. About the conflict with Roseanna and me. She's basically like a therapist lol. Except she's my roommate."

Is that all you do?

"No. I mean we're friends. I actually knew her before I moved in. She's why I moved in because I was looking to save money and she'd actually basically picked me up at a coffee shop. She came over to me and introduced herself and then we just kept chatting. And you want to know what's funniest? I was wearing a diaper that day, lmao. I was doing my favorite weekend activity. Going to get coffee and messing myself in the park on the way home."

She remembered she hadn't quite waited until the park to mess herself. But she was sure Harriet hadn't known. Not even Fetlife, and certainly not Sir, knew about that level of her naughtiness.

Oh my. You were a little baby from the very start with her.

"Hey! No legit, I am. Sometimes we'll be doing morning tea and I'll just basically be in love with her and she'll shift and she'll be like. Uh...Mari hun...your stomach is...and I'll realize I have to shit super bad and I'm super embarrassed."

Hahaha. That's hilarious.

"And the thing is, she does the therapy stuff with Roseanna and Brianna too. She just does it with everyone I guess. Harriet, short little twenty-five year old Harriet. Public defender, taking classes on the side, house mom. And what was super hot is that she roasted Roseanna for farting during one of her coffee mornings with her. She was like...this grown ass woman had to POOP. Brianna died laughing. I almost pissed myself, because I know I'm next. Roseanna blushed so hard, like I've never seen her. She recovered and dove into her potty humor but I could tell she was ROCKED haha."

I bet you want that to happen to you too.

"Terrified. It's all I can think about."

Would you be mad at her?

"No. I'm her little minion, lol. If she thought I needed a roasting I'll take it well done. For sure."

Cute.

You can't cum right now, by the way.

"Huh! But why! Please! How did you...grrrrrr....."

***

It took all of Mari's self control to not open her cardboard box of diapers. On Tuesday night, a few days before the start of her agreement, she imagined herself falling asleep in a big, thick, and wet diaper. On Wednesday morning Brianna went into work, into her actual office, leaving her alone in the apartment. She almost tore open the cardboard container to have one with her morning coffee. She used the toilet instead. Later that day she was practically bursting on her call, and thought about begging Sir to move up the start of the agreement. But Sir had already delayed the time of diapering so many times that she was too nervous. On Thursday morning she told herself she'd poop her underwear, but alas, she did not have to go until everyone was home, and she was just so close.

Mari encountered Roseanna in the kitchen on Thursday night. She was still dressed from work. Her hair was stuck in place with a tactful amount of spray and she wore a thin skirt and leggings. She had taken off some of her jewelry to cook, but her neck still glittered in the kitchen's direct light.

"Hey Mari," she said, not looking up from stirring a pot on the stove. She licked her finger, glanced up and smiled before turning her attention back to the contents of the pot, as if it might explode if she did not watch it carefully.

Roseanna was the only non-family member in Mari's life who actually called her Mari. Bri only addressed her (and everyone) with heyo, sup, hi, yo, hola. Harriet called her 'hun'. And Sir, well...Sir did call her Mari. But what mattered far more was how often Sir called her little girl.

Mari slipped past her in the kitchen to get to the freezer. She took out a frozen meal and began to prepare it for the microwave. She had to slip past Roseanna between the stove and the island to get to the microwave. Their butts briefly touched.

A day from now, that'll be my diaper touching her butt.

"Oh hey!" Roseanna said. "You watch it, silly goose!" She turned herself away to make herself skinnier between the island and the stove. She turned her butt away and examined Mari.

"Monster Mari, coming through!"

"You're the one with the big butt." Mari opened the microwave door and shoved her food onto the rotating plate.

Just then, they heard a door open down the hall. Mari turned to see both Bri and Harriet coming towards the kitchen. Bri peeled off and headed to her spot on the couch and scooped up her book. Harriet came towards the two of us, smiling.

"Hi hun," she said to Mari. Then she turned to Roseanna. "Rosie, you said you had something to show me?"

Roseanna stared into her pot and continued to stir. "Yes, but I can wait until after I finish making dinner." Her voice was suddenly higher, and Mari furrowed her brow.

Harriet leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. She crossed her arms. "Yeah, but I have a call later. So if we gotta do it, let's do it. Mari can watch your pot."

Mari noticed Brianna watching intently from the hall. Almost like she was waiting for something dramatic to happen.

Roseanna swallowed. She wanted to run a hand through her sprayed hair, and stopped herself. She turned to Mari. "Just stir it, can you? And if it begins to bubble, just turn the heat off. Don't move it, don't do anything else."

Mari nodded, trying to take Roseanna's simplistic instructions with grace. Roseanna left with Harriet and they walked down the hall. She'd never seen them do that before, and wondered what they were doing. But Roseanna was back even before the pot was bubbling. Harriet wouldn't emerge until much later.

By then, Mari was back in her room, counting down her last twenty-four hours until full time diapers.

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 5: Panty Sendoff

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

------

On Friday, Mari couldn't wait for 6pm to arrive. Months and months of denying herself diapers had boiled down to just a few hours of underwear. After breakfast, she took all of her panties but the pair she was wearing, and put them in the apportioned shoebox. She admired her empty drawer in her dresser. She finally went to the box and opened the diapers that had been beside her bed for a week. She left the box like a wrapper on Christmas and piled the two packages next to each other on the bed.

In total, there were only thirty-two diapers. At two diapers a day, it was two weeks. And she knew she'd need more than that at least. She blushed when she imagined how she could potentially go through as many in a week. What would Sir think? Was there a level of sogginess that could ever call into question their bank account?

As Roseanna and Harriet gathered themselves to head out for work, she snuggled in her bed and played with herself so hard that she almost broke Sir's rule.

Work was a hazy mess. She could barely pay attention as support tickets came in. She prayed that she responded appropriately and wouldn't get a reprimand about how she found only suboptimal solutions for her clients.

When her morning coffee began to work, she held it. She went to the bathroom, but only to pee. She wondered if she could hold it all day, and mess herself as soon as her first diaper was on in the evening. Maybe even when the webcam was on, when Sir was watching. A very stinky impression. But it was a pipe dream, the growing urgency frayed her concentration even more.

Eventually she sucked it up and went to the toilet. For old time's sake, she figured. A send off to the wretched potty.

She pulled down her clothes and sat her bare bottom on the seat. What little pee she had left sprinkled into the toilet below her. Her daily constitutional wanted to come out too. She was indeed potty trained, and the position and context of her body called to her butthole. Twenty-eight years of life, mostly doing it this way. Pavlov's poopytime.

Mari held it in. It took effort to restrain her long-ingrained habit.

She felt so horny. She felt so dumb.

Of all the things on Earth to find sexy, Mari was obsessed with this. She'd been to college and been to raves. She'd been a bridesmaid and been to balls. When she got on the plane the flight attendant said right here ma'am. Her most recent ex-boyfriend loved giving her front-wedgies and slapping her pussy. She loved it because occasionally he would call her a dirty girl. She had dreams of opening a restaurant – no – a tea place. She wanted one with little private booths, where you could kneel or sit cross-legged on cushions with your back up to the wall. She wanted to be the person in the town, or the neighborhood, or maybe just the block, who tried really hard and made the tea place and who everyone loved and they waved to her as she walked to work in the morning and when she left the tea place to the day, they'd be there to say hey come in, have a free drink, we love you.

And at the same time, she hated toilets.

Ever since she'd first messed a diaper in an alley, every trip to the toilet felt like a wasted opportunity. It felt like a trip to get gas, though nowadays she didn't have a car. Sitting there and wiping her butt with toilet paper afterwards – tedious. Unnecessary. Like going to church on Sundays. Of course, in these past years she'd still used the toilet more than she hadn't. Her stints of diapering just islands in a sea of trying to be normal. Her upcoming arrangement, just hours away now, was like the shore, the real shore of the actual continent that she was finally swimming up upon.

Or perhaps it was the shores of incontinence. She liked that.

Why did it have to be this? Poop.

One of the first things she'd ever done on this Earth was poop. It, along with pee, water, and breathing, had been her constants. Her brain had formed from nascent lights and sounds to thoughts, college, and customer service, and still, the poop stayed primary. Her food had changed from mush to sweet to vegetables and meat, and still, just like in the beginning, she wanted the poop to just come out. It was the first step of growing up, the first thing of the past to be banished away. And for her youth and teens she had done an OK job.

Ehhh...she had had some mornings alone growing up too. That didn't matter now. But suffice to say, the urge is ancient.

In the bathroom, just seven hours until her arrangement, with her butthole calling to open up into the waiting water and pee below, Mari stood up. She fetched her panties (pink and white horizontal's stripes – TJ Maxx 3Pack $15.99). She stepped away from the toilet, flushed it, and went to the mirror.

She had a cute butt. Too bad she was burying it in diapers.

She had to stand on her toes to see it fully in the mirror. She made sure she was a few steps away from the counter and the sink. She didn't want collateral cleanup.

Brianna was in the kitchen. Making herself an early lunch. It was sometime past eleven – Mari had held it for a while. Mari told herself that she was doing nothing abnormal. She was pooping in the bathroom, after all.

That was another rule of Sir's. She could wet her diaper while she was brushing her teeth. She could piddle in the shower, like any self-respecting adult. But otherwise she could not, for any reason, go into a bathroom to do her business in her diaper.

Mari told herself that she had to dispel those nerves immediately. Brianna was going to be around. Brianna lived and worked here. And Mari's diapers were staying ON.

Despite her sordid, poopy history, her body's reaction to standing up with such an intense need was not the same. She could hold it much longer, of course, though she would pay for her stoicism with gas. But the same gripping sense of immediacy she'd felt above the toilet had passed.

But she didn't have any sort of shyness.

Her nipples stiffened and her lips winced as she watched the first of it impacting the striped cloth that spanned her cheeks. She'd ruined enough TJ Maxx 3Packs to know already that this was gonna be big. A shame it wasn't in a diaper, and that she couldn't wear it, but a blessing, at least, that she got to watch it. Her diapers, designed for this sort of thing, wouldn't buck and tremble under the same circumstances. It wasn't like porn, most of the time, and it certainly wasn't like what she preferred on DeviantArt. But now, for the last time, her panties gave ground and she shivered in delight.

The panty sendoff.

It was over in seconds. Her poo nestled in her panties, not yet staining the fabric. It wouldn't stay in there long enough to. She admired the sag of the waistband, dipping below where it had been before, revealing a bit of her buttcrack where it hadn't earlier. "Boom," she whispered, surging once again with horniness.

She changed quickly. She found the wipes under the sink that she had pre-planted there for just this occasion. She gingerly lowered her panties and kicked the bath mat out of the way to avoid any collateral. All of her motions were the hard earned rewards of many brown mistakes. She'd sent off many TJ Maxx 3Packs. She dumped the contents of her panties into the toilet – too high – it made a splash. She giggled again.

"Are you having a good time, in there?" Brianna asked from the living room.

She chose not to answer. Her lips were glued shut by embarrassment.

After flushing again, she laid the ruined panties in the trash bin. She cleaned her butt with stashed wet-wipes, hidden behind the bales of TP, and deposited the dirty ones on top. Then she took a ream of TP and lay that on top of both, and then carefully pressed it all downwards so that her roommates wouldn't notice. She told herself to take out the trash later, when Brianna was back at work.

Cleaned, she washed her hands like she'd touched the plague. She wasn't into that type of scat.

And then, her sweatpants covering her pantiless bottom, she sprayed the bathroom with Febreeze and exited to make herself lunch.

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 6: It's Time

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

------

By the time of her ceremonial diapering, the house had become a cacophony. All three of her roommates were home. Roseanna was making dinner again, and Brianna was mad at her for taking over the whole kitchen. That was, of course, until Roseanna offered Brianna some of the stew she was making (as well as offering to Mari, and Harriet). Brianna sang praise to her after that. Harriet came home exhausted from work and flopped on the couch. She crawled to the shower not long after.

Mari retreated to her room to touch herself for a little while.

Through the door, she heard Roseanna's boyfriend arrive. His deeper voice was distinctive in the apartment, and she listened to him have a conversation with Brianna in the living room. She couldn't parse the details, though this might have been because she was face down in her pillow, dreaming about diapers.

The water from Harriet's shower gurgled as she turned the knob. A bit later she heard Harriet close the door to her room. Harriet's vibrator purred through the walls shortly thereafter.

She felt a sudden longing to be that vibrator, and moaned under the power of her fingers. She wasn't close to breaking Sir's rule, yet.

How are you doing, little girl?

Among all of the shaking going on in the apartment. The deep baritone of Roseanna's boyfriend Matthew resonating through the wooden floor. The whirring of a blender in the kitchen. The scrambling of Harriet's pussy. Of all of that, her phone on the bed beside her rattled the loudest.

"Hi Sir!"

"I'm so excited!"

It's less than an hour until you're diapered.

"I can't wait! I'm all nekkie already. Like a baby."

I'm so proud of you.

"Thank you Sir. But I'm scared. Everyone had to pick tonight to be here. Even Roseanna's boyfriend is here."

You will be alright. People judging you for being a baby is little different from people judging you for something else.

"Yeah but...being a baby is embarrassing."

A few minutes later...

Is embarrassment worse than being misjudged?

Mari stopped playing with herself to think about this. All of the other vibrations in the apartment continued. The answer was obvious. It depended. Misjudging could be good if you proved them wrong in a way that suited you. Or it could be disastrous, if you fail to meet their expectations.

Sir did not wait for a reply.

Honesty only carries embarrassment for those too weak to hear it.

"Yeah, but I have to live with them. As a pee-pee-pooper!"

You're already living in fear.

Mari didn't reply immediately to that. She couldn't, both of her hands were occupied. She came close and stopped herself. She whined. Shaking it off, Mari got up and opened the drawer where earlier she'd laid the diapers. She fingered one out from the middle, like a book off some sort of flat shelf. It crinkled and rustled in her hand.

She kept it folded. She smelled the plastic. Unnatural and industrial. There was something hot in that too. 'Made with care by scientists for maximum dignity and security.' Mari's mind translated it into baby speak. 'Your pee pee and poopy is going nowhere!'

She sighed and brought it, still folded as a square, back to her bed.

She found her phone.

"I know where this goes, Sir. You're telling me that I'm still not comfortable with myself. I'm not. I know that. I want to be."

Harriet's magic wand was still on in the room beside hers.

"I want to be your good girl, Sir. You asked me if it was more than sensation. I know it is. We've talked about it a hundred times and you know I haven't solved it because that's why we're doing it in the first place. I wouldn't need this diapering if I was some Zen Buddha."

You are so sweet, you know that?

"I won't smell very sweet going forward."

No. You won't. You'll smell like a baby. Powder and lotion, among other things. But you are such a good girl, and a brave girl. Being yourself is the bravest thing of all. Never second guess that.

She loved that. She loved that she would smell like other things. Buried beneath the obvious, there was the smell of pee. She would be a little piss girl. Stale, suspended, dehydrated. Moist and making her thighs sweat. Like gym shorts, like an unwashed pigstye of clothes in a hamper. That girl who'd been a bridesmaid with a day's worth of makeup and hair product, with a perfectly fitted dress...just a little piss girl. Wets the bed, doesn't make a difference if it's on purpose. Men seeing her in glory, wearing ascots and ties, knowing nothing about how she was just a trickler. That her mattress was stained and there were spots and every time she did her laundry she blushed. Crinkly and laden. Pee weighs a lot.

Now that it is almost time, Mari, I will tell you something that will make you blush. Would you like to hear it?

"Yes. My goodness yes."

You know how I have other little girls who I maintain. How it is my broad experience that allows me to be so good at this? We have spoken about this much.

"Yes and it doesn't make me jealous. I assure you."

Not all of the agreements are the same, Mari.

"What do you mean?"

They all wear protection 24-7. They all wear taped diapers to bed. But some get pullups during the day, and don't even have to use them. Others wear diapers all of the time, but only have to wet them.

It didn't take more than a second for Mari to read between the lines.

"And for the other thing..."

Say what you mean.

"Are any of them...stinkers?"

You mean, are any of them like you?

"Mhm."

Only when they've been bad. Some of them have what we call 'babytime' punishments where they wind up losing all potty privileges until they've behaved. It happens frequently, but it's never total.

"Ohhhhhhhh. So their punishments are my regular reality."

You nailed it, little girl.

"What you're saying is that I'm the littlest..."

For Your Good, yes. And Mari, it's not particularly close.

She responded only in emojis to that. For once, Sir didn't scold her.

All Sir simply said was;

It's time.

***

Up until this point, she had never sent Sir a single image or proof that she even existed. She could be a dude, for all Sir knew. And for all she knew Sir could be the goddamn President. But there was no shame or nervousness about setting up her laptop on the desk, moving the chair out of the way, and making sure the lighting was right. There was some embarrassment as to how long it took her to get the angle right, so that the webcam could see the edge of the bed where her diaper lay – now unfurled, and also show her face. Worried too she was about Roseanna suddenly knocking, or the varied sounds coming through the walls that might leak through into the feed.

It's all fine. You did a good job.

Sir still spoke through the phone. Where her webcam showed her room, still messy, and her naked body, the icon for Sir was still. Nothing more than the default image. She wasn't surprised or disappointed. Sir told her it would be that way.

"I'm sorry about the noise."

Stop apologizing. You are such a good girl.

No amount of nakedness, no realization that her stained undies were still buried in the bathroom trash, could make her blush more than that.

I hope you do not need me to tell you how pretty you are.

"Pretty stinky."

That will come soon.

She bit her lip, knowing her bashfulness was now caught on camera. She was shy for nothing in the moment, but what she'd done earlier. She decided to not tell Sir that she'd pooped her undies (again, and against the rules) unless Sir asked. Then she'd confess and face the music. It was more fun that way.

Roseanna's boyfriend, Matthew, bellowed in laughter from the living room. Brianna said something snarky, and she knew it because of Roseanna's piping reply. Matthew seemed to come down in favor of Brianna over whatever they were talking about. Roseanna protested in mock outrage. She thought of the scene and blushed further. Roseanna, back from another kickass week of work, making impromptu dinner for everyone, a bottle of wine decanting already in a carafe. Then she'd retreat into her room with Matthew (who was esteemable) and rock the damn walls down. Brianna would read, her mind spent on big thoughts and abstract dreams, and then would finish her evening likely coding for herself while swishing the remainder of the wine in a solo cup.

And Harriet? Well, she was the consummate adult. The only question was whether or not she'd still have a clitoris after sanding it to oblivion in the next room.

And Mari? Mari was the crunchy diaper pee pee poo poo baby. Who leaves her shitted underwear in the trash, drinks soy milk completely unaware, leaves laundry, comes home late, gets in trouble...

What are you thinking about?

"Baby thoughts."

Good girl.

"What if I'm just always a baby in every way, not just diapers but in life. What if I never get anywhere?"

Would underwear change that?

"No Sir."

Then it's diaper time.

Holy fuck. It was diaper time. Six pm had passed seven minutes ago, and she was still naked in front of the green light. Paused like a scared deer in front of Sir.

She laid the phone down where she could feel it stir against her sheets for a message, and picked up the diaper.

It was such a mundane thing. She'd worn hundreds of diapers in her adulthood. She preferred to diaper herself standing. The buoyant mattress always seemed to swallow the fit of her diaper, never leaving the tapes as tight as it did when she stood up. She tucked the carriage of the diaper between her legs. She'd worn these before and knew the ratio of front to back. They didn't fit the best on her, not against all of the many fetish products out there. But they were clearly the best choice for what she was going through. They were absorbent and discreet. The perfect diaper to get caught in, if it ever happened. An easy out to the incontinence excuse. More, they never rashed her. She'd told that to Sir long ago, and Sir had, like now, called her a good girl.

And then the diaper was on. Otherwise she was bare naked, nothing but a white diaper to cover her. She was even more naked this way, and she knew it. A covering that made her more nude. Perhaps it was in the manner that lingerie makes a woman sexier. Probably it was because if Sir wanted to blackmail her, if that was ever in Sir's plan, now could be the screenshot that could control her entire life.

But Sir wouldn't do that. Sir was consent with simply this moment controlling her entire life.

How do you feel?

"It's just a diaper."

Good girl. Just one diaper. The joy, and the process, is in the many. The unconnected accident chain. The pile of stinky garbage stewing behind you as you go. The many boxes you will have to carry into your room, unwrap, and stomp on. The hotness here is in the underwear, stored, I presume, right there beside your bed.

"Yes Sir. And also...you never told me where I'm mailing them?"

You're not mailing them.

Mari cocked her head at her phone, and then realized she could make expressions directly at Sir.

"But you said..."

It was to get your mind wrapped around the consequences. But where the underwear is changes little. TJ Maxx 3Packs will be there for you to ruin all the same. Put the box in the closet. It only matters that your panties are out of sight.

She knew nothing other to say other than "Yes Sir." She was a little disappointed. But she did as she was told. She took the shoebox and stuffed it up where she needed to stand on her toes to reach. Behind a box of old W4-forms, in the dust.

She returned to the webcam in just her diaper. Sir had hung up the call.

"Where did you go?"

Where I've always been, my precious little girl. Right in your pocket.

Mari was mid-response when a knock came on her door. It was Brianna, notifying her as if she was a big sister, telling her to come out. Dinner was ready.

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 7: Diaper Days

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

------

Mari's fixation on her outing as a full-time baby was greatly overblown. Leggings and dresses hid them well. She easily plotted out time to exchange her room trash to the dumpster downstairs when nobody was watching. She wasn't worried about her roommates smelling her overnight pee diapers, not even when she stumbled around with compression pants over sweatpants and a sweatshirt to cover her waist. She was worried about the sound and the bulge, but Roseanna never commented on her Monster Mari butt. Poopy time usually came for her second diaper of the day, when, during the week, Harriet and Roseanna were long gone. She only had to dodge Brianna. Mari did it in her room. She closed her work laptop (just to be sure the webcam there wasn't on), and squatted. She tried to change quickly, something she also did in her room, and tried to dispose of the diaper as soon as she could. Once, her phone lit up as she stood up to take in her newly messy diaper. The phone was signaling a work emergency, and it wound up being two hours before she could open her box of wipes.

If Brianna smelled anything, she kept it to herself. Still, she bought candles and extra Febreeze, just in case.

Their apartment was in a large building, the dumpster accessed by a trash chute just down the hall. She made at least two trips a day; one to get rid of her dirty diaper, and one around dinner time, for the Hefty bag holding the rest. The evidence of her babyishness slipped down the metal chute and out of sight. If there was a human trash sifter down there, finding her soiled diapers, he'd earned his prize.

***

Long ago, Sir had helped her prepare for everything else.

Do you have a big bag, or something like that?

"I've never been a big purse girl, but I do."

You'll be served by a big tote, or something like that. I never want to hear that my Mari went out on errands with less than two spare diapers and supplies.

She'd bargained with Sir. If it was a short walk around her neighborhood, to one of the coffeeshops or bodegas, then no, she could go with a smaller bag and just wipes and a single new diaper. If it was really short, maybe she could just go without a spare. So long as she left the apartment as a dry girl.

"I'm good. I'll always leave dry."

Mari wouldn't have made such an arrangement if she was still wobbly on being diapered in public. Nonetheless, there was a new thrill in being out at the groceries. When out, she'd always at least peed herself. In her life she couldn't count a time when she'd pulled her diapers off to pee in a toilet. But the fact that she now had to, that wherever she went, it would go in her pants, made even picking out carrots and cucumbers somehow erotic. She would pass others in the store. Hot men and women who seemed to have their shit together and the mass of suspended pee between her legs would remind her of her days on end of accidents.

"I can see them checking out my butt and all I can think about is how wet I am and how I'll be wet and stinky again and again."

You're probably more intriguing to many than you think.

"I know. But I can't help but feeling like such a baby."

Then I think it's working.

And then.

Big girl words, Mari. Big girl words.

She sent pictures to Sir, even though she didn't have to. She was afraid of the whole world; her, a little stinky mouse dropped into an arena of real adults. At the same time, she wanted the world to know. To be branded. Look at that butt. Here here, on the nightly news, the girl who made the mess in aisle 9!

You are so precious. Sir would reply to her pictures.

You must have never wanted to change.

Pee-Yew! I can smell it through the phone!

She went to the gym more than she ever did. Sir sent her a box of pullups, for that use only. She knew that under her shorts, nobody could tell. Not even when she bent or stretched. But she could feel the dry plastic, and so in her mind, it was a thrill.

Not dry plastic for long.

More boxes came in the mail, addressed to her. She still had plenty left when she unboxed two new packs. She was not hydrating as much as Sir expected, she supposed. Alongside the diapers, though, was a pack of pullups. She told herself to tell Sir that she had enough pullups, she wasn't working out that much.

But there was another thing in the box. She'd been around the fetish long enough to know that the fourth bag in the cardboard shipment was a set of thick boosters.

"What are these for?" she asked.

Even good little girls have their moments.

And sure enough, she did. Of all varieties.

***

In the realm of close calls, it took until just Wednesday to unthinkingly open her door with her recently pooped diaper nestled in a trash bag in her hand.

"Hello there," Brianna said.

Mari, in her fresh diaper under her leggings and dress, froze. Brianna stepped around her, confused why Mari was so surprised. She took a deep breath and headed to the door and trash chute without further incident.

Another time, Roseanna just wanted a hug.

"Come here," she said, holding her arms out.

"What's the..."

Roseanna just blinked. "I just love you."

"Oh..."

And then they hugged, in the living room. Roseanna with her hands around the small of Mari's back, Mari absolutely soaked. She'd been retreating into her room to change it after a heavier-than-expected wetting when Roseanna had approached her.

"You look so cute," Roseanna said. And then that was it.

Weekends were the weirdest. The first one went without incident. Harriet was visiting some friends out of town. Brianna was sick and spent most of it in her room. Roseanna did day trips with her boyfriend. After rocking the bedroom until Brianna became cross, they left in the morning and Roseanna did not return until Sunday. So, when it came to pooping, Mari didn't have to handle anything differently than she did any typical weekday.

The next Saturday, though, now a week into her diapering, Harriet said she wanted to get coffee with her and chat. As usual, Mari found it impossible to say no.

***

She tried to wake up early and get the process started. She set an alarm earlier than she ever did for work, running into Roseanna heading into the gym. She had coffee in advance of her coffee date, and stole it away to her room with a small breakfast in the hope that the motions would get started. All she succeeded in doing was leaking her diaper. She changed it fresh and got dressed, because by that time, Harriet was knocking on her door.

All her efforts backfired. It was only one block into their mile journey to the designated coffee shop that she suddenly felt the urge. It was bad, a need as urgent as she'd hoped. Just about twenty minutes too late.

She let out some gas as they walked but she knew it was going to be a long date.

Harriet reached out her hand and they held hands together.

"How are you?" Harriet asked, looking up to Mari and smiling. Her hair was done in bangs, again. She was wearing a small blue overcoat with gold buttons. Both colors seemed to match her eyes.

"I'm good," Mari said.

They exchanged updates. Work was good. Roseanna was a silly goose. Matthew was a good one, and they both agreed that they hoped it worked out. But they also agreed to let it grow. Don't let Roseanna put too much on it. How was Brianna? Brianna was good. Mari admitted to her the mistake with soy milk (a mistake, regrettably, which she'd been caught repeating). Harriet squeezed her hand.

"She just vents because she's bored. Remember, she's no longer in college. She's just starting the drudgery of working nine-to-five. She doesn't have an office and we're her friends and her world. She's making forays but all of her good and bad begins and ends in that hallway."

Mari was a little focused on farting and not pooping. She aborted the effort and turned her attention back to the conversation. "And I'm the bad."

Harriet laughed. "For the crime of spilt milk, yes. Brianna will learn to chill."

"It's more than that."

Harriet shrugged. They were waiting at the final crosswalk. She had to poop, bad, and the coffee date wasn't even half over. Not even close to halfway over, really. As much as it felt wrong to rush anything with Harriet, her toes were squirming in her shoes.

"Not to me, it isn't," Harriet said, breaking Mari out of her anal fixations.

When they arrived, they ordered cappuccinos. They ordered 'for here'. Their coffee arrived shortly after with a well shaved man in an apron. The mugs steamed atop their plates, the froth bubbling in leaf-like designs. Poopytime. Harriet had insisted on the cafe's long blue sofas, and Mari had been too shy to advocate sitting instead on the hard stools against the window. The raw babyish logic behind her desire turned her on.

Hard wood keep the poo poo in.

That's what her mind was meant for. All of these people. Some reading newspapers, some listening to headphones and scrolling on their phones. Well-shaved apron barista who probably thought they were BOTH hot ladies. Older women pawing, repeating that's what I thought to each other, again and again. A guy jamming at the keyboard of a Mactop so the world knew that whatever he was writing or coding was important. Harriet, sipping her coffee like a dainty lady, holding it with precision probably gained somewhere in her intense schooling, befitting more a time when her, as a woman in a prior age, might have had to attend such a cafe wearing a bonnet and lacy gloves up to her elbows.

And then among that was Mari, dreaming about a stiff firm seat because then even she wouldn't be tempted to push the poo poo in her diaper.

Gurgle.

"So Mari," Harriet said. She set her cup down on the plate. It chimed softly. "It's been six months. Half the lease. What do you think?"

Mari blew on her coffee, dashing the floating leaf. She took a sip. She closed her knees and thought for a moment her diaper was wet. When did she wet? She put it on just before leaving. She thought about grabbing it. She'd been in so many diapers now, it was tough to tell when dry ended and soggy began. Sir had said something about the process. She caught herself. Not wet. It's just the way the diaper is puffing in the sofa chair. Not wet. Just thick.

Even good girls have their moments.

Mari refocused. What were they talking about? Brianna, yes!

"Brianna has her moments," she said. "But I love you and Roseanna. You said Roseanna and you were living together for years, right?"

Harriet nodded. "We do." She shifted in her seat. She seemed uncomfortable for a moment, like there was a tack in the sofa chair. Her expression softened and she relaxed. "Mari. You do realize that Roseanna and I are hooking up, right?"

In Mari's surprise, she farted. It was silent but she could feel the air ballooning her diaper. Stupid sofa!

Stupid baby. Mari almost hit her knee. She had to know better than to toot when she had to go to this badly!

Mari blinked to regain her train of thought. Harriet and... "Huh?"

Harriet giggled. "You really didn't know?"

Mari blinked again. Her fart stunk like hell. She tried to take a deep breath to lower the color of her cheeks to a more appropriate skin-tone. She looked around for someone to blame. She settled on the bro, madly typing.

"I thought you were...I don't know what I thought..." Mari felt even dumber than she had seconds earlier, when she'd trusted a fart. Harriet and Roseanne were hooking up, and she'd watched them go into Harriet's room together, and thought nothing of it?

What a baby! This always happened. Mari, always last to catch on.

"What else would we be doing," Harriet said, disguising a smile with the steam of her coffee.

"Oh."

Harriet lifted her cup the last inch to her lips, drank, and lowered it. "I guess we've been mostly discreet."

Discreet? Funny word, that Harriet. Mari felt herself sweat. Sir would be teaching her a lesson about discretion soon, she knew it. The smell was worse. Mari shifted, trying to feel whether or not there was poop in her diaper. But what else could smell that badly?

Mari, afraid to be caught navel gazing (is wondering what's in your diaper properly called navel gazing, or does English just not have a word for grown adults who aren't sure they've crapped their pants. Finally, Mari blurted something.

"What about Matthew?"

Harriet shrugged. "Oh he knows. He wants in on it, like any guy, pretty much."

"Oh."

Harriet sipped more coffee. "But he's gotta be comfortable with some things before that happens."

This would have piqued her interest if it wasn't for the smell. She found herself unable to find the words to formulate a question. Thankfully, Harriet felt inclined to demonstrate. She took a finger and dangled it in front of her. She flicked something imaginary. "Twang," she said, carrying the end of the word.

It took a moment for Mari to realize that Harriet was gesturing at an imaginary implement, extending from her crotch. What did she mean...

"Oh," she said again, her eyes wide.

"Doesn't matter, men or women. Always the same with me," Harriet giggled. It was the first remotely perverse thing she'd ever done in Mari's presence. "Anyway...I just wanted to tell you because I was beginning to get the sense that you didn't know. We thought you were fine with it, but I just wanted to make sure you were OK and not weirded out...and also..."

Harriet kept talking. Mari could apologize for not listening later...

Mari's thoughts returned to where they belonged. Pee pee, poo poo. The smell must be her. She had passed gas. She couldn't feel it in her diaper, but there was a lot going on. It was probably just a little. She certainly still had to go. But she couldn't bear it any longer. Not with Harriet, who deserved better from the roommate she was trying to be honest with.

"I think I..." she said, interrupting Harriet. Harriet sat up straight, concern spreading across her face.

"Are you okay?"

Mari tried to mouth the words. Harriet just shook her head.

She leaned over so the mad typing guy and the old, fawning ladies couldn't hear. "I think I shit myself."

Harriet leaned back. "Oh." Mari watched her glance around. She watched her nose wrinkle. Yup, she smelled it. She'd probably smelled in minutes ago, and was just being polite. Her pre-poopy girl relationship with Harriet was now over. Her disgusting future, ruined, was now beginning. Mari watched as Harriet turned her head at the other parties nearby, and sniffed. She seemed to concluded that the uh-oh smell was danger-close. Finished with her nasal scan, Harriet leaned forward. "Hun. We got this."

Mari felt like the whole world was about to find out. That, unbeknownst to Sir (for Sir would never betray her), the batch of diapers had been outfitted with pressure alarms and some magical instrument (her mind was dreaming up horrors very fast) called a sniffinator. Both of them combined so that the diaper was intelligent and therefore sure when its wearer had pooped and would make an alarm that sounded like CHANGE ME BABY CHANGE ME YOU BIG DUMB BABY STINKING UP EVERYTHING, and there were only seconds until it went off. The whole world was going to know, the whole world was going to laugh. Barely two weeks into diapering, and Mari's babyness was going on the front page.

Harriet reached forward and grabbed Mari's wrist. Her thumb caressed the soft, vulnerable skin that undulates when the fingers flex. "You're gonna be OK."

The smell seemed to get worse. That seemed impossible.

"Can we go?"

"There's a bathroom here."

"I just wanna go home."

Harriet smiled. She turned and drank her coffee, wincing at the overload of bitterness. "Do you want yours?"

Mari shook her head.

Harriet reached down, picked up Mari's cup, drank a quarter of what remained, and then balanced it on top of her empty one. "Okay. I'll take this to the bin," she said, referring to the auto-bussing protocol of the city cafe. "You wait for me outside."

Mari got up. She ran her hands down her diapered bottom to sense wetness. She almost felt silly. Of course there wouldn't be wetness. She didn't dare, though, be caught in the crowded cafe feeling her butt for a lumpy mass.

Still, she exited the cafe in the route that crossed the fewest people, and also the path that forced her to angle her compromised butt at only the emptier parts of the cafe. Worst of all, she was still bursting, and couldn't wait to be back home.

Harriet held her hand as they walked back home. She shared stories about times she herself had shit her pants. Mostly drunken ones. 'You're not that weird' stories. Tales of long lines somewhere, one vacation on a cruise ship. Montezuma's revenge, even a college dare.

"I lost a lot of drinking games," she said. She turned and squeezed Mari's hand. "How about you? First time?"

She said it like someone might ask if this was their first time hungover.

Mari took far too long to answer 'yes' for it to believe. But Harriet didn't pry.

They made it home considerably faster than they had on their initial journey. They walked side by side up the stairs. Harriet then also stood back for Mari to open the door and dash into the apartment.

She ran into her room, shut the door, and took a breath. Then she ripped her leggings down and patted at her diaper.

There was no squishiness. No cloying sense of presence. She peered the waistband back to see. No. The angle was bad.

Patting the front, she confirmed that she was totally dry.

In a few moments – still bursting to go, she tore the diaper off. So sure was she that she'd pooped it, that she forgot that there was poop still inside of her that totally had to go in a diaper of some kind. She ruined the tapes and then carefully lowered the carriage of the diaper away from her...

...to find it totally dry, powdery, and clean.

"What the fuck?"

Had she released simply the world's worst fart? The smell was gone now, there was no evidence that she even had to go other than the burgeoning presence in her rectum. So the theory that she'd somehow...grotesquely...trapped a fart within her diaper and incubated it didn't make a lot of sense. Unless the walk had squeezed it all out. But...

Vexed, she became irritated when she realized she'd need a brand new diaper and had ruined her coffee date with Harriet (plus outed herself as a pants shitter), all for nothing. Feeling stupid and babyish in a way she'd never calculated, she fetched a new diaper from her drawer, put it on, and then promptly finished the job she'd previously thought had already started.

She crawled into bed and texted Sir about the incident. Sir had to know, if only because Sir would find it presumably very hot. Then she texted Harriet.

"OMG I'm so sorry I ruined it, let's do it again soon I'm so dumb."

Harriet texted back immediately. "Hun. You're SO good. Fucking cute, tbh. I just wanted to give you a big hug. You'll let me hug you when you're all finished. Side note...why did you go into your room and not your bathroom lolol? Also...did you, in fact, poo yer pants?"

Mari slapped her forehead. She laid there, her poop now actually stinking in her new diaper, and tried to think of an excuse. She could tell Harriet that she didn't really poop herself at the cafe. In which case...going to her bedroom still didn't make sense. Nor would it solve the fact that she had just, in fact, pooped herself and her room would stink until she was changed and her candle had done its part. She chose not to reply.

Sir texted just moments later.

Oh my. What an event. And your diaper was totally clean? How interesting. You know, there is a thing about this in epistemology. The study of knowledge. The details and context aren't important but it's about sheeps on a hill.

"Sir, what are you talking about!"

Be good and listen, little girl!

Say you're driving fast, through some meadows, and you see some sheeps. You count them. You say, there are five sheeps on the hill. But you're wrong, you counted two boulders as sheeps, and only three passed your view. But you're also right. Because you just specified that there were five sheeps on the hill, and despite the fact that you only truly saw three, there were, in fact, two more sheeps out of view on the other side of the hill. So, despite your incorrect methods, you have arrived at the correct conclusion: there are five sheeps on the hill.

The whole point of the experiment is to illustrate that simply factual accuracy does not engender truth.

Just so, Harriet now has the knowledge that you poop your pants. Now, she got there because of an incident whereby she did not, in fact, become party to the pooping of your pants. But can you deny that, despite the method, if Harriet now considers you some form of pooper, she is not correct?

"I don't know how you think I'm in the mental state to digest all that, Sir."

Do you really, truly have a problem with Harriet thinking you pooped your pants?

"No."

It'd be For Your Good, wouldn't it?

***

In the end, she lied to Harriet. She told her via text (she couldn't handle it face to face), that yup, she'd shit her pants. A lie that was so much more truthful than the truth. She happened to have a dirty diaper when she sent it, too. She told Harriet that her accident hadn't been bad, but not what you want to be sitting in for coffee. Panties ruined, ego stripped. Harriet told her once again that she was the cutest thing ever, and she had no need to worry.

Mari worried.

She cleaned up in her room and lit her candles. She ferried her diaper down the chute (plus the poor, unsoiled one). She donned a new diaper and never, ever acknowledged Harriet's question about why she'd run into her room and not the bathroom.

Harriet was too busy to press for details. The next time they saw each other, they hugged. Harriet stood on her toes and nuzzled Mari's ear. That was the end of it.

She would not get roasted like Roseanna. Mari realized it was probably because Harriet knew Mari was too sensitive for such a humiliation. And there, somehow, Mari was embarrassed by even the lack of ridicule.

Her diapering continued for another two weeks without incident. She stayed true to her agreements, both for playtime and for pottying. Sir forced some orgasms out of her, and then told her she could only get permission if her diaper was pooped.

"But that means I have to do it during work times!"

Are you balktalking me, little girl?

"Nooooooooooooooooooo."

For that insolence, she had to wear the pads for the first time. It was just for two days, but during that time, her diapers were even bulkier than before. On top of that, Sir said that she HAD to go with Bri and Roseanne to a bar, despite her extra thick diapers. But even in this, Sir's sadism paid off, as she managed to pee multiple times without even a fear of leaking.

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 8: Travels

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

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Mari had nothing but diapers on the brain. Whether she was forced, permitted, or denied, her pussy was always on overdrive. Her diapers were hardly ever dry because Mari was following Sir's orders to stay hydrated. She understood Sir's double purpose. Water down the throat was pee-pee in the diaper. And more pee-pee diapers meant more changes and less time cooped up in her room, not to mention all her waddles out to refill her water bottles. Sir was afraid that their scaredy little baby might become a shriveled hermit, afraid to leave her room in the face of all the ways her agreement could be discovered. And so, although Sir never wanted to approve of sex and never needed to approve of a diaper change, Mari was forced to report whether or long she'd drunk her three liters of water a day.

"You just want to put me in jeopardy."

Of course I do. But you also can't let life pass you by just because you're soggy.

That, funnily enough, became the thrust of her fantasies. Well, specifically, the thrust was the implement that Harriet had referred to back in the coffee shop. Umph! The target was, well, her. Her and her holes and most especially what could have been, had her predicament that day turned against her. Had Harriet actually pressed her as to why she'd resolved her 'accident' in her room and not in the bathroom. Had Harriet 'checked out' her bum to see if there was a mess and noticed the puffy contours of her diaper.

And what could be.

Talk to Harriet. That's all you have to do.

She wondered if she'd discovered Harriet and Roseanne's fling earlier, if she could have taken part in it too. She'd never kissed a woman. She considered herself diapersexual first, heterosexual next.

But Harriet...

She could be Harriet's little minion. Mari was taller, yes, but she could still sit on the lawyer's lap. Need a touch-up down there, Miss lawyerpants? Love, diaperpants. No...she wouldn't tell her about the diapers. She imagined being stuffed down between Harriet's legs. Feeling the pulsing heat of Harriet's body. Feeling her painted nails, combing her hair back and forth. And the coo of Harriet's voice, coaching her about her life while her pussy gagged her into obedient silence. She would feel Harriet's hand stop brushing her hair and wrap around the base of her skull. "Hows my little coffee shop stinker, doing?" and then, before Mari could squirm away, she would hold her by the head into her until her breath came out in snorts on Harriet's clit and she murmured and hummed pathetic whimpers until Harriet was done with her.

She told Sir and Sir was curious.

What's stopping you from asking her?

"Diapers."

There is nothing about that fantasy that you being in a diaper changes.

"She might be grossed out."

When you told her you shit your pants, she held your hand.

"But STILL. There's a difference between kindness and finding it sexy."

Even if that were true, does every part of you need to be sexy for her to find you sexy?

"I guess..."

Mari imagined the next time they went out to coffee. She'd imagined really having an accident. On purpose. She'd even go about it the same way, she'd be shy and embarrassed and she'd want to leave. And then she'd suggest to Harriet that 'maybe she just needed diapers.' Or she wouldn't. Instead, maybe Mari would just complain about shit happening all of the time, literally, so that Harriet suggested diapers herself. Out of the blue. Like that Nolan movie, inception. Mari would poop her pants so much that the idea of diapers took root in Harriet's mind and Harriet would begin to think that diapers were her own idea. Yes. Mari could imagine Harriet saying it. "You'd be so cute, hun. It's OK." Where Harriet had already told her about all the times she herself had had accidents, maybe then she'd bring up all the ways in which diapers were normal. 'They make commercials for adult diapers, and it's not just for old people.' Or, 'I guarantee that if all four of us ladies get prego, one of us is probably gonna want some form of diapers afterwards.' Or, 'I've learned it's pretty common from psychology.' At the end, Harriet would always say that it was OK. And then somehow it would, indeed, be all OK.

No, that would never happen.

She knew it was dumb. But she was horny, and dumb and horny tend to go hand in hand. Together, they don't always know what's For Your Good.

***

A few weeks later she was confronted with the first thing that actually frightened her. It was something that, under normal circumstances (she guess she considered her times not diapered 24/7 the old circumstances) Mari would have found fun. But now, the suggestion took on a logistical challenge that, if approached without thought, could bust her secret for sure.

Roseanna had been planning to take a weekend trip to a nearby city, a few hours drive away, in order to enjoy a prettier and less industrial beach. She was going with her boyfriend Matthew and, initially, Harriet. But at the last minute, one of Harriet's cases took a turn and she confessed to wanting to spend the weekend at home, preparing for a trial. Roseanne was bummed, but immediately began to suggest that Mari should replace her.

"Bri and I have done plenty of things together. You and I just sort of moped around all winter. It should be lovely!"

Mari was slightly wet, sitting with a pillow on her lap on the couch in the living room. "Where will we be staying?" she asked.

She said it in such a way that made Roseanne think Mari was somehow worried she'd be forced to share a bed with the couple. "Oh we have an Airbnb, you'll have a room to yourself."

When Sir found out about the trip, Sir said what Mari expected Sir would say.

You have to go.

And she knew, of course, that Sir was right. It was the perfect activity for the late spring. Though it was still too cold to swim, the breezy sand would be perfect for sandals and a sweatshirt. And, on top of that, she ought to get to know Roseanna better. Roseanna was right, Mari's relationship with the marketing manager was the slimmist between her and her new roommates. Harriet made dates with Mari and Brianna spent much of her time only a few yards away. Roseanna was the reliable commuter and the city girl, the most liable of the four to spend a night on the town. And Mari had been cooped up for so long. Her isolation was imposed part by weather, part by her puffy undergarments, and compounded by her style of work. A trip would probably help her in ways she couldn't imagine.

It's stressful because you're trying to control everything. Don't. Just go with the flow. Bring extra diapers. When you gotta go, go. Change when you need to change. It's simple, Mari.

She wanted to tell Sir that Sir was definitely wrong about how easy it would be. But she also wanted to cum. So she said nothing at all until it was time to ask for permission.

***

In the end she packed two bags for just two nights and a trip only a few hour's drive away from home. One for everything she'd normally bring, and one full of diapers. She packed for three very wet days of diapers, just to be sure. She packed extra padding for the car journey home. She also stuffed opaque black Hefty bags in her bag, so that she could dispose of her diapers discreetly. She made sure she had a whole tub of wipes. Finally, she covered all that she'd stuffed into her rolling luggage of babyness with more clothes, so that if, for any reason, the bag was opened, the first thing anyone would see was a pair of jeans Mari never planned on wearing.

The day they left was a Friday. They waited until after work and after they believed that traffic had died down. It was only a three hour journey. They planned to have dinner together somewhere on the road. Mari had been packed since the morning, so her final step of preparation before Roseanna roused her was to use lots of lotion and powder, as well as a layer of punishment padding. She undid the glue strip from the puffy elongated rectangle and laid it longways down the trough of her next diaper. It wasn't her choice, even if she agreed with it. Sir ordered her to wear boosters for the car rides there and back. As soon as the diaper was around her waist, she put her clothes on. She examined the fit in the mirror.

As soon as the diaper was around her waist, she put her clothes on. She examined the fit in the mirror.

Her butt looked preposterous. Hot, pathetic, and babyish. Stupid and doomed. Pisscatcher 9000, toddlepants goofball.

Still, she was fine and she knew it. The sun was already setting by the time Roseanna hauled her own luggage into Matthew's waiting car, and the fading light meant that the extra shadows her puffed-out butt created were all but lost in the evening gloom. Besides, they were all hurrying to get on the road, and nobody was spending time gazing at her butt.

She sat in the backseat like a child. Of course the couple would sit in the driver and shotgun seats. But still. Matthew driving and picking the tunes, Roseanna in the front, gesticulating and navigating her phone with a long painted fingernail. And Mari, removed, quiet to herself. Living in babyworld, flexing her thighs together just to feel how crinkly she was.

They stopped for dinner. It was nothing special. A burger place that looked local to the small village they were traveling through. It proved the quality of its rusted sign, and Mari feasted on mostly french fries and mozzarella sticks. They ate quickly to get back on the road and talked about plans. A walk on the beach, a trip to a museum. Shopping in an old district, allotted time for lazy brunch. Mari peed as they were getting up to get back on the road. It wasn't a dangerous amount of pee. She got back into her seat in the back and dozed off for the rest of the journey.

Later that night at the Airbnb, she wrapped her diaper in a plastic shopping bag, spun the handle to form what she could tell herself was a seal, and scurried with it out to the large trash bins outside.

Did you get there safe and dry?

"I didn't leak, Sir. And yes."

Remember, whatever happens, you'll still be a good girl.

"I know Sir. Do I have permission?"

Of course.

She fell asleep in her fresh diaper, listening to the sounds of Roseanna's and Matthew's bed talk. Even her dreams were crinkly.

***

Their Airbnb was a short walking distance from the Old District, which was the squat part of town with cobblestone streets, few cars, and old brick colonials with bayed windows and fancy wooden doors. At some point, they planned to go shopping there. But on their first morning, they would settle for a leisurely brunch at a well-regarded restaurant (on Yelp at least) on the edge of the Old District. Afterwards, when their tummies were full, they would set out for the town's history museum, which was a flashy, architecturally curious structure that poked up amongst the low skyline from a patch of land by the town's biggest pier.

Even though it was vacation, Matthew still dressed himself in slacks and an overcoat, expecting the breeze from the seaside town to chill him. He wore loafers without socks, and he kept at least three inches of bare ankle between the tops of his shoes and the hem of his pants. Roseanna was dressed in fatigued jeans and a flowing shirt that flapped and exposed her bra in the wind. She wore a glittering necklace with a pearl in it and her hair was drawn up in a clam-bun. She'd spent the morning doing makeup in the bathroom, and apologized profusely to Mari when she came out.

"Oh Mari, I hope you didn't have to pee really bad."

Mari hid her face to cover her coloring cheeks. She'd peed plenty. "Nah, I just had to brush my teeth."

Roseanna blew her a kiss and returned to her and Matthew's room to chatter about the day's plans.

Mari dressed as usual. Leggings over compression shorts over a big white diaper. To cover it all, Mari selected a dress that went down to her knees. She slung her diaper-filled tote on her shoulders, but knew she'd have to swap it from side to side because of how heavy it turned out to be. She considered removing a diaper or two, but thought better of it.

When she stepped out into the living room of the Airbnb, Roseanna called her cute.

"I haven't seen that dress before!" she told Mari. "You've never done something floral before!"

Mari shrugged. "I just didn't want something short that the windy beach might blow away." She imagined herself in front of a crowd on the sand, having a Marylin Monroe moment...but one with a lot more to hide.

Andrew emerged from their room and slipped behind Roseanna. Massaging his girlfriend's shoulders, he furrowed his brow when he saw Mari.

"What's the big bag for?" he asked.

But before Mari could stammer out an explanation, Roseanna broke away and pawed at him. "Don't ask a girl what her bag is for, you dummy!"

***

Of all things, Roseanna spent the walk to the restaurant farting.

Though she was dressed fashionably, though every man in the town was likely jealous of Matthew with his big-butted girlfriend whose shirt practically begged everyone to stare at her cleavage, she was unabashed in her need to 'let it out.' She blamed the burger place from the night before and the plate of over fried food she'd eaten there. Roseanna hadn't taken either of them by surprise. She had farted in the kitchen of the Airbnb before leaving, and Mari, so used to it, hadn't thought much of it. The bathroom had smelled...less than great...when Mari had finally been allowed to brush her teeth, but Mari had passed that off too.

Yet during their walk through the quiet, sleeping, Saturday morning neighborhood on the way to the old district, Roseanna's inability to stop passing gas surprised even Mari.

After the third or fourth minor toot, Roseanna broke with Matthew's hand to fall back behind them. Leaning forward with her mouth open she audibly farted into her jeans.

Mari looked at Matthew, who was shaking his head.

Roseanna scolded the pair for being surprised. "It's not like I'm going to hold it in. What am I, a weirdo?"

Matthew sighed. "Are you finished?"

Roseanna slapped his butt and grabbed the air, which was a childlike gesture she often did with him that indicated she wanted to resume holding hands. Despite her recent corpulence, she glided across the cobblestones with grace, taking his hand with the daintiness of a princess. Matthew watched her with a mixture of suspicious awe. "Yup!" Roseanna exclaimed. "Onward."

She was far from done. Just a block later, she wriggled free of Andrew's grip and dropped back again. "Oh yeah," she said, lifting one heel off the ground.

Matthew rubbed his temples. "Do I need to take you back to the Airbnb?"

Roseanna looked at Mari and blushed. But Mari was deep in her own mind. She could feel the dynamic of the group, and her secret beneath it. Matthew was treating Roseanna like a child, and for what it was worth, Roseanna was earning it. Matthew seemed almost embarrassed for his girlfriend, as if he was on the verge of apologizing to Mari about her own roommate. Yet Mari could be nothing but embarrassed for herself. No matter how playful and silly Roseanna acted, it would be Mari who would poop her pants today.

They continued walking to the restaurant. Roseanna promised to get it under control. Then she promised that she would get it under control...when they got to the restaurant. Matthew told her that she damn well would, and the first thing she'd do when she got there was sit on the toilet.

"What the heck!" Roseanna pouted. She took her hand away from Matthew. She scurried to the side and found Mari's hand.

"Can you believe him?" she whispered. Mari glanced at Matthew. Feeling impish (and quite lacking an introspection), she told Roseanna that she very much had it coming.

"O! The both of you are meanies!" Roseanna cried. She stomped on the cobblestones.

Then Roseanna took her hand away. She surged ahead. Though the Old District was becoming a bit more crowded, Roseanna didn't care. She stuck her butt out and she turned her head back at Matthew. She winked, and thank goodness there was too much noise to hear what she did. He looked like he was about to pick her up like a sack, drape her over his shoulder, and spank her in front of everyone. Instead, he enveloped her in a great hug and all but towed her into the restaurant.

As promised, he sent her to the bathroom. She pouted, complained, but nonetheless obeyed. Before she parted, though, she farted one last time. This final toot wasn't as audible or forceful as the others, thankfully, as they were now in sight of the hostess. When she was finally gone, the hostess took Matthew and Mari to a table by a big window that overlooked a quaint narrow street, marked with knick-knack shops for tourists that had not yet opened for the day.

Mari could barely read the menu. Roseanna, a senior marketing director, a leader, a hirer and a firer, someone dressed well and positively cute, someone who Mari knew inherently had her shit together, had just been sent to the toilet like a naughty toddler. She thought about pulling out her phone to text Sir about it when Matthew asked if they wanted mimosas.

"Sure. I do, at least."

Matthew nodded. "Rosie will want them too." When the waiter returned, Matthew placed an order for three, as well as some of the appetizer pastries that the menu seemed to be boasting.

"Have you tried popovers?" he asked Mari.

"No."

"Basically, a popover is just an airy biscuit. Not sure if Rosie can handle it. But we'll let her try anyway."

Matthew gave Mari a devilish smirk, and she couldn't help but giggle.

Mari could also not help but wonder what would happen if Matthew or Roseanna knew what she herself was up to. Would she be permitted to try popovers if they knew her diaper secret? What about coffee?

And despite the fact that she was the baby, the pooper, and the diaper girl, when Roseanna returned from her exile on the toilet, number two immediately became the topic of the table.

Matthew slid in to let her sit beside her. But Roseanna scorned him and sat beside Mari. Matthew grinned at his girlfriend. "All good?"

Roseanna, knowing her travel companions were watching her, flicked her hair out of her face and lifted her chin. Her voice was cheery and insolent. "Nope!"

Matthew groaned.

Roseanna continued. "I tried my best. But we're still in the danger zone."

Mari squeezed her diaper under the table. If the conversation continued like this, she'd have to ask Sir for permission in the middle of brunch.

The mimosas and the popovers came. They ordered their own plates of food, and then coffees after. Mari peed. Roseanna behaved herself, mostly. She found ways to snip at Matthew. She stole his food and ordered another mimosa when he wasn't paying attention. Matthew bore it all with quiet grace, though Mari could see that he was mentally recording every action Roseanna was taking.

Mari was peeing a second time (being seated, it was hard to get it all out) when Matthew decided that he would have to go to the bathroom. He excused himself and slid out of his booth to head across the restaurant.

Roseanna placed her fork on the table. She was most of the way through some pancakes. Mari could tell that she had something to say to her, and set down her fork as well.

"Harriet told me she told you," she said. And for a second, Mari heard that as; 'Harriet told me you pooped your pants at a café'. But there were more important things in the world than what was going on in Mari's pants. Such as what was going on in Roseanna's pants, for instance.

"Yeah."

She stared at Mari. Roseanna had many moods. The prim woman, ready to go out and seize the world. The snappy control freak in the kitchen. The playful farter. The scolding roommate who always apologized. This one was a version Mari had seen less often; soft, almost shy. Apologetic, yet in a different way. Not regretful for something, but instead sorry for being something.

"Are you wondering how I manage that with Matt?"

So they were not talking about pee and poop, diapers and farts. They were talking about romance.

As natural adults naturally would.

Mari shrugged. "Poly is a thing."

Roseanna smiled. She reached under the table and grabbed Mari's thigh. Then she flipped her hair and took a deep breath. "I wouldn't be who I was without Harriet. She's like my mentor."

"I'm sure you'd have your shit figured out," Mari told her. "You're amazing."

Roseanna flipped her hair again, this time not over her shoulder but in front of her face. Mari felt like Roseanna was only pretending to be shy, but perhaps the fierce farter could occasionally be bashful. "I know," she said. Then she became serious again. She looked back towards the bathrooms, and then to me. "You don't mind our playfulness, do you? This was originally supposed to be a weekend with me and my two lovers. I don't want to make you feel like a third wheel."

Mari blushed at the implication of what the weekend could have been. For whatever romance or raunchiness they were planning to get up to, they'd supplanted it by accidentally bringing a big baby.

One who was wet and needed to poop soon.

"It's totally OK," Mari said. "I think you two are cute."

Roseanna beamed. Then her face returned to that soft, vulnerable one with arched eyebrows she'd mantled before. "Thank you. Just let us know. We sort of have a dynamic. Is that TMI?"

Mari blinked. She almost grabbed her phone to text Sir. She squirmed in her soggy diaper instead. "TMI? No. Not at all...what do mean by dynamic?"

Roseanna grinned. Behind her, Mari could see the approaching figure of Matthew.

"What I mean, Mari, is that no matter what I do, he's going to take me back to the Airbnb. No chance I'm avoiding that, not that I would ever want to. I've been the monster, Mari. And we're not doing it for drama or anything other than to get some space and be respectful of you. But I also don't want you to be worried. We're not fighting. It's all planned."

Roseanna tapped the screen of her phone, laying inert beside her fork. The homescreen flashed the time. She looked up at Mari and winked. "It's an hour until the museum opens, and we'll meet you there."

 

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 8: Carried Away

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

------

Though Mari felt foolish for not recognizing Harriet and Roseanna's fling, she knew she could have never guessed the nature of Roseanna's relationship with Matthew. There was nothing about the pairing of a well dressed marketing manager and the equally snazzy salesman that suggested the psychological aesthetics commonly associated with kink. Kink was the realm of the tattooed, the pierced, and the pink-haired. Kink was the bedroom vice of the holistically rebellious. Kink was for the counter-cultural, kink was for those who molded suitability from their fundamental exoticism. And it was for the absolutely depraved, like Mari.

But the couple before her, who exchanged furtive glances at each other as they slipped out of their booth, were the types for whom the world was seemingly made for. Rebels don't become salesmen. And no matter what Mari secretly believed about her flatulent barbie of a roommate, deep down she still believed that marketing managers only did it missionary.

As they stood together outside of the restaurant, Mari realized there was more to it. Of course there was more to it. She was a dumb baby for not thinking there was more to it.

After passing the hostess and exiting the restaurant, the trio found that the Old District streets were much more crowded than when Roseanna had last lifted her heels and tooted out loud. Matthew took Roseanna by the small of the back and led her to as private a place as he could find in the awakening bustle. He took Roseanna behind some parked cars, away from the livening shop windows and off the main footpaths. Mari followed for a few yards and then hung back to give them privacy. But she remained close enough to be in earshot, and Mari overheard Matthew give Roseanna a very easy choice.

"Go to the bathroom, or we're going back to the Airbnb."

Mari almost wanted to play with herself in her wet diaper. She wanted to do it right there. In the middle of the street and in front of the world.

Roseanna stood on her toes and gave her answer to Matthew's ear, and his ear alone. Not even Mari could hear her. From her respectful distance, Mari could only hear Matthew's replies.

Matthew's replies...and her own pounding heartbeat.

"You've been bad."

And then...

"Yes you have, Rosie."

Each time Matthew spoke, he glanced over to Mari, hoping that she couldn't hear. She pretended not to. She wet her diaper again. It was getting heavy. Even more embarrassing...while Roseanna was making her decisions, Mari was realizing that it was almost time to face one of her own.

Where to poop?

"Roseanna?" Matthew asked, briefly breaking Mari from her spell. Her roommate whined something in reply that Mari couldn't hear.

Mari told herself to stop listening. Roseanna had, in fact, asked for space. So Mari whistled and wandered about the street. She kept the couple in eyeshot and not in earshot.

She thought about the trouble she was going to get into.

Mari would poop in her diaper of course. She thought of Sir. She'd texted Sir just this morning, to prove that she'd been brave and followed the rules and worn a diaper all night. Sir had called her a good girl, and then she'd been out the door and at breakfast she had been a polite girl too by leaving her phone in her tote with her wipes and diapers. However much of a good girl she'd been, though, most of all she'd been a little girl. Wetting and squirming and being so, so horny. Horny over mimosas, horny over eggs. Horny when the coffee began to do its job.

Already, now weeks into her diapering, her butthole was being retrained. Already it asked: Question. Gotta go? Diaper is on. Ok to go? It was not as demanding as the urge used to be when she used potties. She remembered the last day she wore panties, and how people rarely realize how close to incontinence they come when their tush is hovering over a toilet. Pavlov's poopytime indeed. Her few weeks in diapers hadn't progressed that far, no, but her inhibitions had absolutely been undermined. She remembered how her rectum had immediately strengthened when she'd stood in that bathroom and pulled her panties back up. It was that sense that was fleeting. She wasn't incontinent by any means. Not even a fraction as much as Harriet might suspect she was with that one single non-accident that she'd lied about. But her body had definitely changed, and it recognized that the sodden undercarriage of her present diaper needed to be changed anyway. Why not get a two for one? Far from resisting her because she was no longer sitting over water and because something cradled her skin, her bum was eager. On standby, ma'am. Ready to fill that diaper on your command!

Mari ground a foot into the seashell gravel that occasionally interrupted the cobblestone footpaths of the Old District. She told her butthole no. There were people nearby. Roseanna and Matthew were having a moment and she wanted to watch. Moreover, whenever that moment ended, they were going to come back and talk to her.

She held it.

Eventually, Roseanna broke away from the couple and made her way towards Mari. She was smiling and continued to close the distance until she was very close to Mari. Mari thanked god she hadn't already gone.

Her roommate's eyes were both devilish and twinkling. "Matthew is taking me back to the Airbnb," she said..

Her imagination played a montage of pornographic scenarios featuring Roseanna. She shut it down and blinked. Composing herself (and digging her toes into the gravel again), she tried to look as understanding yet as respectfully disinterested as possible.

After all, if she pried into their sex life, they might pry into hers.

"Okay," she said. There was so much more she wanted to say and so much more she wanted to ask. In her head, she heard Sir reminding her to use her big girl words.

But Mari was a little girl, wasn't she?

"You can come," Roseanna said. Her hand reached out and squeezed Mari's.

She thought about it. Go back and poop there. If she did, she wouldn't have to change her diaper in public somewhere, such as the museum. She would also get to listen through the walls at whatever was about to happen. Mari's mind was racing, though for all its motion, the reality before her was too overwhelming and all she raced into was a brick wall.

"It's OK."

Roseanna searched Mari's eyes. Mari studied her back. Was Roseanna sad? No, she was about to get laid, so that couldn't be it.

"Okay," her roommate said. "We'll meet you at the museum, Ok? We'll text you when we're heading over?"

Mari nodded. Roseanna leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, and then retreated back to Matthew. Matthew grabbed her arm above the elbow and waved to Mari before whisking her roommate away. He whispered in Roseanna's ear until they were out of sight.

She spent a little while imagining Matthew lifting Roseanna on his shoulders like a sack and trotting off with her as if she was some animal trophy. The thoughts carried her away too, until she told herself it was all a coincidence. Rosie had always been a farter, and she hadn't dated Matthew for long. The chances...the chances that they were into what Mari was into...

...to think about something like that would be to get carried away with fantasy.

***

Mari knew that it would be wise to find a bathroom to change in before committing to pooping herself.

She took her time. She sort of liked the fullness in her bottom.

She entered knick-knack shops and candy stores. She perused overpriced clothing that definitely wouldn't cover her diapers. She peeled refrigerator magnets, tourist chaff, off displays and wiggled them in her hand, thinking of the twanging motion Harriet had made when she referred to threesomes with Matthew and Roseanna. She blushed and put the magnet back and left the store.

She sent Sir a breakdown of the morning's events. The read-receipt told her that Sir saw them.

"I knew Roseanna was some sort of kinky!"

Mari entered another store. It had a solo bathroom, which was always ideal, but the store was dead empty at this time of day. It was yet another boutique candy store selling chocolate bars for more than ten dollars. No matter what she felt about the appropriate price for 'African Spiced Dark Chocolate,' it was still fundamentally a store catering to food products, and Mari wasn't going to be in the cramped bathroom, stinking it up. Worse, when she finally left the bathroom, someone would notice, if only the cashier.

So she moved on, a diapergirl in search of a bathroom.

Sounds like someone is potty training.

Despite everything, Mari was so used to being the subject of everything embarrassing that it was difficult for her to understand Sir's meaning.

Think about it, Mari. Roseanna was tooting. Matthew, clearly her dom of some kind, sent her to the bathroom. She went, but she didn't go. He wanted to send her again and is now presumably punishing her because she fought him.

She's probably getting her tushy spanked as we speak.

Mari sat down on a bench because the words were just too exciting. Damn, she was squishy.

"There's no way...It'd be too much of a coincidence."

Why not? You might be very little. But you're not alone.

No. She wasn't. Sir always had a way of being right. The crowds in the Old District were becoming thick. Many had come from the nearby city just like them, hoping to spend their Saturday in the blooming breeze of the ocean's spray. They walked on cobblestones with sandals. They peeked under sunglasses and said look, that's so funny at the garbage knick-knacks offered for sale by the street vendors.

Mari always felt like in a second they would turn to her and say that's so funny too, but this time at her big puffy butt.

It was all a fantasy. Roseanna was the bad girl. Clipped and caught. All but carried away. Maybe she was in diapers. It didn't seem likely...her butt wasn't that big. But maybe she did ruin her underwear. The straight-laced professional might have a weird streak, the tightest knots unwind the most violently. It wouldn't be the first time that Mari had thought so. Not that having 'a dynamic' wasn't a standard deviation in the direction of weird itself. Roseanne was a bad girl and she'd gone down for it. Sir was absolutely right. Everything about their body language screamed BDSM, Brat, and 'ouch'. Roseanna and Matthew wanted the Airbnb to themselves because it was gonna be loud.

And she was the bad girl who was still free. Mari was the little mouse, watching from the wall as Roseanne the rat was caged and scolded. She was next, in some way or another. She was flying as high as her little wings could carry her pee-soaked secret. It wouldn't be long. There were grownups all around. Pretty women who wore dresses that exposed their legs as they stepped their knees forward. No way THEY were in diapers. Men who wore athletic shorts, so tight she could see the tips of their cocks (can you blame her thought process?). Maybe the fabric was just that way. Surely, no diapers. Parents with fanny packs, children shouting. And Mari among them. The bad girl, still on the lam, about to commit her biggest crime yet.

And if none of them got her, Sir would. Sir always did.

She lifted her butt off the bench and pooped. It didn't take long. Pavlov's Poopytime was anytime, nowadays.

The diaper was now the fullest of any she'd worn since starting the agreement. And unlike the time in the coffeeshop with Harriet, this one was actually pooped. Knowing she would hate herself for it not long later, she sat back down on the bench and lowered her weight upon her mess.

Gross. Heavenly. Squish. Immediately terrified, Mari could still only laugh. It was the kind of diaper that even might cause Sir to say:

Little girl. I know you're having fun. But you need to take care of that.

She did and she would. But right now she was having fun.

Mari didn't bounce, wiggle, or suck her thumb. In fact she sat so still someone could be forgiven for coming up and checking on her. Certainly, a real grownup should check on her. She thought of Matthew. She didn't know him well. She thought of him leading her back to the Airbnb like he'd led Roseanna not too long ago. Carried away. In her head, she consented to everything Matthew wished, as if Matthew was secretly Sir. A change on the floor. A spanking. A new diaper. Set out for the museum in nothing but a diaper...for the world to see.

Eventually she couldn't fantasize any more. She stood up. Her diaper tapes were straining. Her leggings fit differently. Her thighs impacted the swollen diaper with every step.

Laden, lumpy, loaded...

Someone waved to her and asked if she could take a picture of them. She'd gotten turned around, and they, a family, were all standing together ready and waiting in a pose outside of the restaurant that Matthew, Roseanna, and Mari had all eaten at earlier.

"Do you mind? Do it landscape. There's a lot of us."

Her response was barely more than a grunt. The person took it, somehow, as an affirmative. He extended his hand forward and handed her his phone with the camera app ready. Then he dashed back to squat in front of the group. He stretched his arms and smiled.

When she'd snapped a photo, she held out the phone as far as she could to reduce the chance of him smelling her. He thanked her and she scurried off, convinced that even through leggings and a dress, the family could see, and smell, her bulge.

She never wanted to change. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to be accosted by a sexy man or a group of giggling women. She felt like a streaker through a campus on a dark night. She felt like some sort of criminal. She knew she was a gross little baby. A disgusting woman. She wanted to be yelled at. Get that stink outta here. It was an old district, on the East Coast of America, the cobbles and shingles had been smoothed since colonial times. Maybe there was a stockade, a public pillory,. Somewhere where she could be hoisted and detained so all could see the mess she made. That is, until a REAL adult came to leash and claim her.

Mari also knew that for ABDLs, this was a taboo. There were people who believed that never ever should you shit your diapers in a way that someone might find out. And now, Mari was surrounded by crowds and crowds that could easily find out. A little mousey among cats. Where's Waldo? Where's the smell coming from? Little Mari, that's who. Everyone wanted to kick her butt, even if they didn't know it yet. She thought about posting about her day to the world, or least to the denizens of Fet. She wanted to be judged, to be ostracized. She wanted people to say ew, HER? She'll just poop the party. Scolded and reprimanded by the very people who might best understand her. The poopy pariah.

Little Mari, Sir had once said. There is no place more lonely than within a crowd.

And it was true. There was not a drop of delusion nor a whiff of self-justification in the assertion that Mari, among the throngs and the seabreeze, among the smells of candy, breakfast scones, steaming coffees, amidst the belch of cars idling at overburdened crosswalks, was caught. She knew she wasn't. She knew until her diaper literally blew up that she was safe.

So she walked towards the museum, confident that they'd have the cleanest, safest bathrooms for her dirty bum. She was both assured of her anonymity and a gust of wind away from cumming.

But as she approached the museum, a big, artistic structure by the pier that was very mismatched against the colonial American structures that had been huddled together since the days of whaling, she realized that there was something much scarier than being ridiculously poopy among the many.

It was being ridiculously poopy among the few.

Her phone buzzed. It wasn't Sir.

It was Roseanna instead.

Mari read Roseanna's message excitedly, as if the message, for some reason, contained details about her roommate's sex life. Her excitement quickly evaporated. She held the phone as she walked, her loaded squishing between her legs.

"Hey! Sorry for forgetting. We were...caught up. We're already at the museum. Where are you?"

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 9: Carried Away



Though Mari felt foolish for not recognizing Harriet and Roseanna's fling, she knew she could have never guessed the nature of Roseanna's relationship with Matthew. There was nothing about the pairing of a well dressed marketing manager and the equally snazzy salesman that suggested the psychological aesthetics commonly associated with kink. Kink was the realm of the tattooed, the pierced, and the pink-haired. Kink was the bedroom vice of the holistically rebellious. Kink was for the counter-cultural, kink was for those who molded suitability from their fundamental exoticism. And it was for the absolutely depraved, like Mari.

But the couple before her, who exchanged furtive glances at each other as they slipped out of their booth, were the types for whom the world was seemingly made for. Rebels don't become salesmen. And no matter what Mari secretly believed about her flatulent Barbie of a roommate, deep down she still believed that marketing managers only did it missionary.

As they stood together outside of the restaurant, Mari realized there was more to it. Of course there was more to it. She was a dumb baby for not thinking there was more to it.

After passing the hostess and exiting the restaurant, the trio found that the Old District streets were much more crowded than when Roseanna had last lifted her heels and tooted out loud. Matthew took Roseanna by the small of the back and led her to as private a place as he could find in the awakening bustle. He took Roseanna behind some parked cars, away from the livening shop windows and off the main footpaths. Mari followed for a few yards and then hung back to give them privacy. But she remained close enough to be in earshot, and Mari overheard Matthew give Roseanna a very easy choice.

"Go to the bathroom, or we're going back to the Airbnb."

Mari almost wanted to play with herself in her wet diaper. She wanted to do it right there. In the middle of the street and in front of the world.

Roseanna stood on her toes and gave her answer to Matthew's ear, and his ear alone. Not even Mari could hear her. From her respectful distance, Mari could only hear Matthew's replies.

Matthew's replies...and her own pounding heartbeat.

"You've been bad."

And then...

"Yes you have, Rosie."

Each time Matthew spoke, he glanced over to Mari, hoping that she couldn't hear. She pretended not to. She wet her diaper again. It was getting heavy. Even more embarrassing...while Roseanna was making her decisions, Mari was realizing that it was almost time to face one of her own.

Where to poop?

"Roseanna?" Matthew asked, briefly breaking Mari from her spell. Her roommate whined something in reply that Mari couldn't hear.

Mari told herself to stop listening. Roseanna had, in fact, asked for space. So Mari whistled and wandered about the street. She kept the couple in eyeshot and not in earshot.

She thought about the trouble she was going to get into.

Mari would poop in her diaper of course. She thought of Sir. She'd texted Sir just this morning, to prove that she'd been brave and followed the rules and worn a diaper all night. Sir had called her a good girl, and then she'd been out the door and at breakfast she had been a polite girl too by leaving her phone in her tote with her wipes and diapers. However much of a good girl she'd been, though, most of all she'd been a little girl. Wetting and squirming and being so, so horny. Horny over mimosas, horny over eggs. Horny when the coffee began to do its job.

Already, now weeks into her diapering, her butthole was being retrained. Already it asked: Question. Gotta go? Diaper is on. Ok to go? It was not as demanding as the urge used to be when she used potties. She remembered the last day she wore panties, and how people rarely realize how close to incontinence they come when their tush is hovering over a toilet. Pavlov's poopytime indeed. Her few weeks in diapers hadn't progressed that far, no, but her inhibitions had absolutely been undermined. She remembered how her rectum had immediately strengthened when she'd stood in that bathroom and pulled her panties back up. It was that sense that was fleeting. She wasn't incontinent by any means. Not even a fraction as much as Harriet might suspect she was with that one single non-accident that she'd lied about. But her body had definitely changed, and it recognized that the sodden undercarriage of her present diaper needed to be changed anyway. Why not get a two for one? Far from resisting her because she was no longer sitting over water and because something cradled her skin, her bum was eager. On standby, ma'am. Ready to fill that diaper on your command!

Mari ground a foot into the seashell gravel that occasionally interrupted the cobblestone footpaths of the Old District. She told her butthole no. There were people nearby. Roseanna and Matthew were having a moment and she wanted to watch. Moreover, whenever that moment ended, they were going to come back and talk to her.

She held it.

Eventually, Roseanna broke away from the couple and made her way towards Mari. She was smiling and continued to close the distance until she was very close to Mari. Mari thanked god she hadn't already gone.

Her roommate's eyes were both devilish and twinkling. "Matthew is taking me back to the Airbnb," she said..

Her imagination played a montage of pornographic scenarios featuring Roseanna. She shut it down and blinked. Composing herself (and digging her toes into the gravel again), she tried to look as understanding yet as respectfully disinterested as possible.

After all, if she pried into their sex life, they might pry into hers.

"Okay," she said. There was so much more she wanted to say and so much more she wanted to ask. In her head, she heard Sir reminding her to use her big girl words.

But Mari was a little girl, wasn't she?

"You can come," Roseanna said. Her hand reached out and squeezed Mari's.

She thought about it. Go back and poop there. If she did, she wouldn't have to change her diaper in public somewhere, such as the museum. She would also get to listen through the walls at whatever was about to happen. Mari's mind was racing, though for all its motion, the reality before her was too overwhelming and all she raced into was a brick wall.

"It's OK."

Roseanna searched Mari's eyes. Mari studied her back. Was Roseanna sad? No, she was about to get laid, so that couldn't be it.

"Okay," her roommate said. "We'll meet you at the museum, Ok? We'll text you when we're heading over?"

Mari nodded. Roseanna leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, and then retreated back to Matthew. Matthew grabbed her arm above the elbow and waved to Mari before whisking her roommate away. He whispered in Roseanna's ear until they were out of sight.

She spent a little while imagining Matthew lifting Roseanna on his shoulders like a sack and trotting off with her as if she was some animal trophy. The thoughts carried her away too, until she told herself it was all a coincidence. Rosie had always been a farter, and she hadn't dated Matthew for long. The chances...the chances that they were into what Mari was into...

...to think about something like that would be to get carried away with fantasy.

***

Mari knew that it would be wise to find a bathroom to change in before committing to pooping herself.

She took her time. She sort of liked the fullness in her bottom.

She entered knick-knack shops and candy stores. She perused overpriced clothing that definitely wouldn't cover her diapers. She peeled refrigerator magnets, tourist chaff, off displays and wiggled them in her hand, thinking of the twanging motion Harriet had made when she referred to threesomes with Matthew and Roseanna. She blushed and put the magnet back and left the store.

She sent Sir a breakdown of the morning's events. The read-receipt told her that Sir saw them.

"I knew Roseanna was some sort of kinky!"

Mari entered another store. It had a solo bathroom, which was always ideal, but the store was dead empty at this time of day. It was yet another boutique candy store selling chocolate bars for more than ten dollars. No matter what she felt about the appropriate price for 'African Spiced Dark Chocolate,' it was still fundamentally a store catering to food products, and Mari wasn't going to be in the cramped bathroom, stinking it up. Worse, when she finally left the bathroom, someone would notice, if only the cashier.

So she moved on, a diapergirl in search of a bathroom.

Sounds like someone is potty training.

Despite everything, Mari was so used to being the subject of everything embarrassing that it was difficult for her to understand Sir's meaning.

Think about it, Mari. Roseanna was tooting. Matthew, clearly her dom of some kind, sent her to the bathroom. She went, but she didn't go. He wanted to send her again and is now presumably punishing her because she fought him.

She's probably getting her tushy spanked as we speak.

Mari sat down on a bench because the words were just too exciting. Damn, she was squishy.

"There's no way...It'd be too much of a coincidence."

Why not? You might be very little. But you're not alone.

No. She wasn't. Sir always had a way of being right. The crowds in the Old District were becoming thick. Many had come from the nearby city just like them, hoping to spend their Saturday in the blooming breeze of the ocean's spray. They walked on cobblestones with sandals. They peeked under sunglasses and said look, that's so funny at the garbage knick-knacks offered for sale by the street vendors.

Mari always felt like in a second they would turn to her and say that's so funny too, but this time at her big puffy butt.

It was all a fantasy. Roseanna was the bad girl. Clipped and caught. All but carried away. Maybe she was in diapers. It didn't seem likely...her butt wasn't that big. But maybe she did ruin her underwear. The straight-laced professional might have a weird streak, the tightest knots unwind the most violently. It wouldn't be the first time that Mari had thought so. Not that having 'a dynamic' wasn't a standard deviation in the direction of weird itself. Roseanne was a bad girl and she'd gone down for it. Sir was absolutely right. Everything about their body language screamed BDSM, Brat, and 'ouch'. Roseanna and Matthew wanted the Airbnb to themselves because it was gonna be loud.

And she was the bad girl who was still free. Mari was the little mouse, watching from the wall as Roseanne the rat was caged and scolded. She was next, in some way or another. She was flying as high as her little wings could carry her pee-soaked secret. It wouldn't be long. There were grownups all around. Pretty women who wore dresses that exposed their legs as they stepped their knees forward. No way THEY were in diapers. Men who wore athletic shorts, so tight she could see the tips of their cocks (can you blame her thought process?). Maybe the fabric was just that way. Surely, no diapers. Parents with fanny packs, children shouting. And Mari among them. The bad girl, still on the lam, about to commit her biggest crime yet.

And if none of them got her, Sir would. Sir always did.

She lifted her butt off the bench and pooped. It didn't take long. Pavlov's Poopytime was anytime, nowadays.

The diaper was now the fullest of any she'd worn since starting the agreement. And unlike the time in the coffeeshop with Harriet, this one was actually pooped. Knowing she would hate herself for it not long later, she sat back down on the bench and lowered her weight upon her mess.

Gross. Heavenly. Squish. Immediately terrified, Mari could still only laugh. It was the kind of diaper that even might cause Sir to say:

Little girl. I know you're having fun. But you need to take care of that.

She did and she would. But right now she was having fun.

Mari didn't bounce, wiggle, or suck her thumb. In fact she sat so still someone could be forgiven for coming up and checking on her. Certainly, a real grownup should check on her. She thought of Matthew. She didn't know him well. She thought of him leading her back to the Airbnb like he'd led Roseanna not too long ago. Carried away. In her head, she consented to everything Matthew wished, as if Matthew was secretly Sir. A change on the floor. A spanking. A new diaper. Set out for the museum in nothing but a diaper...for the world to see.

Eventually she couldn't fantasize any more. She stood up. Her diaper tapes were straining. Her leggings fit differently. Her thighs impacted the swollen diaper with every step.

Laden, lumpy, loaded...

Someone waved to her and asked if she could take a picture of them. She'd gotten turned around, and they, a family, were all standing together ready and waiting in a pose outside of the restaurant that Matthew, Roseanna, and Mari had all eaten at earlier.

"Do you mind? Do it landscape. There's a lot of us."

Her response was barely more than a grunt. The person took it, somehow, as an affirmative. He extended his hand forward and handed her his phone with the camera app ready. Then he dashed back to squat in front of the group. He stretched his arms and smiled.

When she'd snapped a photo, she held out the phone as far as she could to reduce the chance of him smelling her. He thanked her and she scurried off, convinced that even through leggings and a dress, the family could see, and smell, her bulge.

She never wanted to change. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to be accosted by a sexy man or a group of giggling women. She felt like a streaker through a campus on a dark night. She felt like some sort of criminal. She knew she was a gross little baby. A disgusting woman. She wanted to be yelled at. Get that stink outta here. It was an old district, on the East Coast of America, the cobblestones and shingles had been smoothed since colonial times. Maybe there was a stockade, a public pillory,. Somewhere where she could be hoisted and detained so all could see the mess she made. That is, until a REAL adult came to leash and claim her.

Mari also knew that for ABDLs, this was a taboo. There were people who believed that never ever should you shit your diapers in a way that someone might find out. And now, Mari was surrounded by crowds and crowds that could easily find out. A little mousey among cats. Where's Waldo? Where's the smell coming from? Little Mari, that's who. Everyone wanted to kick her butt, even if they didn't know it yet. She thought about posting about her day to the world, or least to the denizens of Fet. She wanted to be judged, to be ostracized. She wanted people to say ew, HER? She'll just poop the party. Scolded and reprimanded by the very people who might best understand her. The poopy pariah.

Little Mari, Sir had once said. There is no place more lonely than within a crowd.

And it was true. There was not a drop of delusion nor a whiff of self-justification in the assertion that Mari, among the throngs and the sea breeze, among the smells of candy, breakfast scones, steaming coffees, amidst the belch of cars idling at overburdened crosswalks, was caught. She knew she wasn't. She knew until her diaper literally blew up that she was safe.

So she walked towards the museum, confident that they'd have the cleanest, safest bathrooms for her dirty bum. She was both assured of her anonymity and a gust of wind away from cumming.

But as she approached the museum, a big, artistic structure by the pier that was very mismatched against the colonial American structures that had been huddled together since the days of whaling, she realized that there was something much scarier than being ridiculously poopy among the many.

It was being ridiculously poopy among the few.

Her phone buzzed. It wasn't Sir.

It was Roseanna instead.

Mari read Roseanna's message excitedly, as if the message, for some reason, contained details about her roommate's sex life. Her excitement quickly evaporated. She held the phone as she walked, her loaded squishing between her legs.

"Hey! Sorry for forgetting. We were...caught up. We're already at the museum. Where are you?"

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 10: Confession

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

------

 

Her heart racing, Mari stood in the street and texted the only person who could help.

Do you regret going in your diaper?

"No. Not at all. It feels great."

Then what do you regret?

"I regret being a dumb baby and squishing around in my mess. Bouncing on a bench, squishing around thinking that eventually I didn't have to be a grownup. I should have worked harder to find a bathroom to change in. I should have just changed my wet one because you, Sir, made me pack two extra diapers and I could have messed a dry one when it was more convenient. But I just wanted to go potty (in my pants), and that was a little girl choice. Now I'm gonna pay for it. Now I'm doomed."

You're not doomed.

"I so, so am."

"This diaper is such a liability, Sir. If they don't sniff me in line to get tickets, they'll sniff me across the damn lobby. And if by some chance they don't catch me by then, then they'll worry I fell in the toilet, based on how long it's going to take me to change. Roseanna will come in and ask me what's up and then I'll be standing there with the world's poopiest diaper in a hefty bag and she'll soooo know what happened."

That's not being doomed.

"It is to me! I'm the one who is going to have to live down this for ages. Forever. I...I'm just gonna be the girl who always shits herself!"

I mean. That's pretty deserved.

And then...

...use your words.

Roseanna's name spread across Mari's phone banner. "Boop boop where are you silly billy?"

Mari stayed in the message thread with Sir. Sir messaged again too.

If it were Harriet down there, and just Harriet, what would you do?

"Hmmm..."

Would you admit it?

"Yah."

You would?

"Mhm."

Then call her.

Mari had to read the phone a few times until Sir's words sank in. Call...Harriet? On this Saturday morning...the anniversary of her 'shitting' her pants at the café? When Harriet was hard at work, being a real grownup?

"Why would I do that? Roseanna and Matthew are going to find out, and then I'd willingly just expose my grossness to Harriet?"

Because maybe she can help.

"How would she help?"

You said she's pretty smart. Just call her. Call your mommy. You're the one who called her that. It's For Your Good. And if Roseanna finds out...well...according to you, you have nothing to lose. Because apparently Roseanna is gonna tell the world. Once again, according to you. So, if anything, you're telling your side of the story.

Mari took a deep breath. She had been walking, slowly, like some sort of condemned person to their doom. They say that you shit your pants when you die and Mari felt like they got it out of order. Or maybe she was a big dumb baby and had no business in adult places where people did naughty things.

She took a deep breath.

She tried to imagine what Harriet might say. "Hi hun," it would start, if she picked up. She probably wouldn't. She had lawyer stuff to do. She imagined her picking up anyway and putting her big lawyer coworkers on mute just to talk to her helpless little roommate. Everyone in suits, spiffed up. Briefcases and buttons. The smell of office coffee and laminate folders. Big green hardcovers in volumes that went up to the twenties of books. Old fashioned desk lights made of brass and pen holders for pens that were far too fancy to ever write anything. And amongst all of that, Harriet would say hold on a second so she could take a call from her friend who was freaking-out because the most important thing to her was that she did a poopy.

Roseanna texted again. She was getting worried.

Mari, frantic, finally called Harriet. The phone rang twice. "Hi hun."

"Hi."

Harriet laughed. "Well hi? Did you mean to call me, babe?"

"It's uhhh."

"Are you OK?"

"I umm. I'm..."

"Are you with Roseanna and Matthew?"

"Uh huh."

Fuck, she felt like such a baby. And Harriet had called her...babe? Did she know something? Was this the consequence of her accident before? Was she knocked down from hun to babe? Or did she just sound like a scared little baby?

Fuck fuck fuck.

Roseanna called. She held the line with Harriet.

"Well, what's up? Are you in the middle of the town?" Harriet asked. "I hear wind and people talking."

"Yeah. I'm...fine. I just..."

Mari took a deep breath and told Harriet the situation. She didn't tell her about the diapers, but she told her how she was in sight of the museum, with panties full of shit.

"And you know for sure that poo is in there this time?"

Mari blushed. "Oh yeah I did it."

Harriet giggled. She said 'oh hun' and 'oh babe' a few times. She told Mari it was going to be OK, and that no, she wasn't that busy. There was nothing in the world that she wanted to do more than help her through this. She said that Roseanna was going to be fine, that she could promise Mari, for sure, that Roseanna wouldn't do more than giggle and then would want to kiss her on the cheek no matter how smelly she was.

"I'm really smelly."

Harriet snorted. "Well then maybe she'll kiss you after you're clean. OK? Are you calling me because you need a plan?"

"Uh huh."

Harriet barely hesitated. Perhaps, like a real adult, Harriet had been using a different part of her brain to come up with a plan while she had been calming Mari down. "Go to the Airbnb, I'll call Roseanna. They'll go to the museum and you can meet them there."
"You'll...call them?"

"Yup! And don't worry. Your secret is safe with me, babe."

Babe again. Deserved this time, and probably how she'd be called for good. Mari bit her lip. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, hun." Harriet's voice hung for a second. "But you need to promise me something. Can you do that for me, Mari?"

"I won't have an accident again."

Harriet laughed. "I won't ask you to make promises that you can't keep, hun."

Mari was already walking back to the Airbnb. She had to stop to breathe when she heard that.

"But you need to promise that we'll have another meeting and we're gonna talk about this."

"Ok."

"Can you do that for me?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

Harriet seemed to find this efficient. She made a noise, and then she made it again, but more clearly. "Muah."

"Thank you, Harriet."

There was a long, excruciating pause. Harriet sighed, but through the phone Mari could still tell that she was smiling. "Get cleaned up, hun. Let me know when you're back with Roseanna."

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 11: Soggy Mousey

I will add the story here as I can. Full story already available here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AFictionalPhile and https://www.deviantart.com/afictionalphile/gallery/91841094/for-her-good-15-chapters

 

------

The rest of the day went by almost without incident. Mari's change in the Airbnb made her wish that Sir would materialize out of her phone like a genie so that she could wish for an entire shopping cart of wet wipes. Walking and squishing had taken her number two and added a few. Maybe she would wish for a hose too. Thankfully, there was no evidence that her diaper gathers had failed to hold it in. She did not think that she stained her leggings, but she put on a new pair anyway.

When she was clean, she slid her ruined diaper into a dark plastic bag. She walked around the Airbnb in just her diaper as she placed the steaming trash bag by the door. She forgot that the Airbnb had plenty of windows until she pulled on new leggings later. She realized then that this was the first time since living alone last year that she'd been able to be so freely diapered. Mari found her aloneness calming and she snuggled up with her phone on her couch for ten minutes, still wearing a diaper and still forgetting about the windows. Only her sense of appearances finally made her climb out of her stinky cocoon.

To tie up loose ends, she cracked a few windows before she left to rejoin Roseanna and Matthew.

The museum primarily covered the maritime history of the local community. In New England, that meant whaling, the Atlantic slave trade, and the nautical habits and seaside customs of the first nations that inhabited the regions. There were old threads of rope coiled under glass and chipped yet glossy anchors. There were dried fish hung up on wires and a small indoor movie theater that portrayed the grave cost of hunting the most beautiful creatures of the sea.

That's where Mari finally caught up with her fellow travelers. They were sitting arm in arm in the theater, which was little more than an oversized screen projector occupying a solemn inlet among the other exhibits. Mari slipped in beside them and was glad for her diaper, as the bench they were sitting on had no back and was made of tough wood.

Roseanna didn't turn. The reflection of the museum movie played in her eyes. "I love whales," Roseanna said. The grim topic of the film had depressed her and she leaned away from Matthew to bury her head in Mari's shoulder. "Also hi."

"Hi."
The couple never acknowledged the time Mari had spent away from them. They talked about whales and whaling and the exhibits of the museum and all remarked that though brunch was good, they were all already getting hungry. She thought about texting Harriet to ask her what excuse she'd given for Mari's absence, but she didn't want to bother the busy lawyer again. If they pressed her on her story, she was worried she'd crack like a criminal in a dilemma.

Roseanna and Matthew pretended that Mari had never left them at the museum.

They walked through the museum building, which was too expensive and ornate for how big it really was. They took a stroll down one of the piers and had seafood at a restaurant that had already unfurled its summer banners to boast an epic Fourth of July, which was still months away. Mari had been just a little wet when she sat down, yet when her glass of white wine and water had gone through her, she needed another change by the end of the meal. She was a big girl, she told herself, and she saw herself into the restaurant's solo bathrooms and took care of it. As she stuffed her wet diaper into the trash and buried it under some paper towels, she realized that this was her first legitimate public diaper change since starting her agreement with Sir.

She would need another one in a little over an hour.

They returned to the Old District and walked around the shops in which Mari had looked earlier for a place to change her diaper. They sampled candy and settled on ice cream. She wet herself trying sun hats in a store, and she wet again eating ice cream, and she wet again picking out refrigerator stickers with Roseanna. She changed in a shop that sold bathing suits and sunglasses.

After they finished shopping in the Old District, the trio returned to the Airbnb to nap before dinner and more drinks. She wasn't dry when she arrived, but she wasn't wet enough to do anything but snuggle into her bed and think about her day thus far.

"Sir, can I have permission?"

Let's hold off on that.

Knowing better than to ask when she could bring herself to orgasm, Mari pouted. Her own worst enemy, her hand, wandered as she succumbed to a fitful nap.

Before heading out, she changed once again and restocked her tote with two new diapers.

For dinner they had Italian. For drinks afterward, they went to an open cabana bar, which had thatch awnings and luau music and dreams of being somewhere much more tropical than it really was. The weather wasn't quite warm enough to keep everyone comfortable after the sun fell, so Matthew, Roseanna, and Mari huddled around a gas fire with strangers and sipped unbalanced cocktails.

She laughed and she peed. Roseanna sat next to her for a while and gossiped about Brianna. They complained that she was quite bossy, and how they wished sometimes Bri would realize that she wasn't perfect either. Matthew took Roseanna's spot later, and asked Mari about work. She found that it was much more pleasant to talk to Matthew about her job than Brianna. He seemed genuinely interested in how she actually helped customers. She submitted to his gentle interrogation under the approving gaze of Roseanna, who herself was chatting with a pair of overly drunk women on the other side of the gas fire. Matthew listened to her and said things like oh that's neat and we should do that, referring to his company, as if Mari herself had invented the concept of prioritizing customer responses by the size and economic value of the customer.

Mari just figured he was only being nice to her because she was his girlfriend's roommate. Eventually, her mind decided he was only nice to her because he secretly knew she had pooped her pants earlier, and wanted to show her it was OK.

If that was the case, though, it definitely wouldn't be. It would never be the same.

A few drinks later, she leaked.

Nobody had been talking to her at that particular moment. Roseanna was still in conversation with the drunk girls. Matthew had gotten up to go to the bathroom, like a big boy. Another man with a side-bob had sat in his place and tried to hit on Mari. Detecting her terror and ascribing the cause of that terror to himself, the man soon leaned away and turned his attention to the drunk women. But they could not, with consistency, find their way around the floating umbrellas in their drinks. After a few minutes of navigating their disproportionate laughter, the side-bob man gave up his seat and sought other company around the bar.

Mari texted while still seated by the fire.

"Sir, I just made a big leak."

Roseanna, losing interest now that the two random women had retreated into their own energetic and loopy conversation, stared at Mari. "Who are you texting?"

"Uhhh..." Mari said. She left it at that and soon Roseanna became disinterested in that too.

What happened, little girl?

"I peed on the chair! I was scared to go change in the big crowded bathrooms here. It's so nosey."

"Noisy*"

Are you drinky?

"Super dirnky"

It's gonna be OK.

"I know its gonna be k cause just I wanted to confess. It's dark nobody knowssssssss."

Well that's good.

"I'm bad."

Yeah you are bad.

"Am I in trouble."

Hahaha oh you definitely are.

"Whats the trouble tell me I tried to be good oh daddy!"

I'm Sir. Not daddy.

"YES SIR."

Do you want to be in trouble?

Mari blushed and hiccupped. She felt a cool breeze cloy through the fabric of her dress. As discreetly as she could (her sober self was mortified the next morning when she remembered it), Mari tried to peck at the wetness on her buttcheek. Yup, still wet. She knew she was drunk. She was so drunk that she spooked herself that she was actually texting someone else, not Sir, until she looked at the top of the messages a few times and confirmed that, indeed, it was Sir, and she had nothing to worry about. Except of course the leak. And the fact that half the world was going to find out that a few hours ago she'd pooped a diaper in the middle of the Old District. That was bad. So bad. How would they find out? She wasn't sure. Harriet had helped her out. Oh she loved Harriet so much. She deserved kisses and probably infinite sexual submission. Roseanna was lucky and Mari was jealous but she shouldn't scowl at Roseanna because Roseanna was right there and she hadn't done anything wrong. Nothing involving Harriet could ever be wrong. Harriet had done everything she could to cover for Mari's big poopy diaper, but babies always got found out, right? Everyone would find out. d.

Use big girl worlds.

"Yes punish me."

Hahaha. Pads. You're in the boosters now. When you get home from your trip the first diaper you put on will have a booster on.

"Oh no! Sirrrrr......."

Leaky girls need more protection.

"It'll be thiccccccccc."

We'll call you mile thick Mari.

"Heehhehehe."

"Until when, Sir?"

Until you meet with Harriet.

Drunk and in the dark, Mari sat in her wet diaper for the rest of the evening. When she finally stood, the mark her overloaded diaper had made on the bench she'd been on was still there. Her wet spot was darker than the seat cushions around it and still wet to the touch. She pitied whoever sat there after her. Hopefully they would just think it was spilled alcohol. It was, in a way, wasn't it? She made sure to be the last to get up to ensure the poor fool to get their pants wet too didn't wind up being Matthew or Roseanna. On their way back they all flopped together through the streets of the unfamiliar town. They ended up lost in the neighborhood near the restaurant they'd gone to for lunch before stumbling, almost by accident, into their Airbnb. Mari's diaper was scratchy and cold by the time she returned to her room and she toweled off in the bathroom to get the excess pee off of her bottom.

In her room, in a fresh diaper, she snuggled in bed and sucked her thumb. It was a thing that she did rarely. Sir didn't answer her requests to cum. Her experiences washed over her. She'd pooped her diaper, confessed to Harriet, she'd wet hard and had to change in public (twice) and then leaked at a bar. It had been the most babyish day of her conscious life.

Matthew and Roseanna, drunk enough to forget their manners, fucked loudly in their bedroom. Mari lay with her hand down her diaper and listened to the real grownups get it on like adults. Pleasuring herself, but staying within Sir's orders, she listened to Matthew spend himself in Roseanna, and then for Roseanna to purr and gasp a few minutes later. She peed margherita into her diaper and massaged the swollen mass of it. Her hand smelled like powder and pee but she didn't want to wash it. And it was a good thing she hadn't bothered, because Mari just plunged it back down when the bed of the grownups rocked the floorboards once again.

***

The next morning, Matthew was too hungover to get up for breakfast, so Roseanna and Mari left together. They ordered scones and coffee at a café overlooking the sea, not far from where Mari had called Harriet in desperation the day before. There was no plan for the day save to walk on the beach and check out of the Airbnb and begin the journey home. Roseanna, able to get out of bed but seemingly far away from feeling well, slumped over her wicker chair. She wore sunglasses even though it was cloudy, and her hair was tied back in a messy bun.

She farted.

"Sorry if we were loud last night. We got carried away."

Mari giggled. Roseanna eyed her. Mari could tell that she hadn't been sure that Mari had heard, but Mari's response had confirmed it. "He's awesome. I like him alot," Mari told her. She remembered how sweet he'd been when asking her about her job.

Roseanna grinned. Then a wave of nausea passed over her and she grimaced. She took a sip of water like it was the only thing that could keep her alive. "You're not going to ask me about last night?"

Mari shrugged. "I'm not going to pry," she said. Even though Mari was groggy, she understood the stakes of the conversation clearly. Any talk about yesterday might lead to why she was late to the museum. She would bury any gem to hide that secret.

"Do you not want to know, or do you not want to pry? Those are different things," Roseanna asked.

Mari shrugged. "Of course I'm curious."

Roseanna smiled. She took coffee, water, a bite from her scone, and more water in that order. She was far from her put-together self, and the crumbles from the scone bouldered into her bra. She fuddled with it for a bit and then just waved it all off. "A snack for Matt later, I guess."

They both giggled and lamented their condition. Earlier they'd teased Matthew for his deathly lethargy, now his decision to stay under the covers and eat crackers one by one seemed prescient.

"Do you know about BDSM?" Roseanna said, checking the distance of other outdoor patrons before deciding the coast was clear for more intimate conversation.

Mari nodded. She realized she didn't know how dumb she ought to pretend to be during this conversation.

Roseanna steepled her fingers together. "I'm talking, more than just your partner takes a few pops when you're getting frisky."

"No, I get it."

Roseanna waved her off. "And I'm not talking like, whips and handcuffs."

A couple walked by them. The woman's sweater almost knocked Roseanna's scone off the table. Roseanna eyed them with scorn before picking it up and taking a large bite. She washed it down with water. Mari adjusted herself to help the pee trickle out into her dry diaper.

"I'm not even talking about bedroom stuff," Roseanna said. She farted. As if nothing happened, she turned to Mari. "Do you know what I mean?"

Mari knew far too well what she meant, but she was afraid to let on.

And she was afraid of so much else. She thought...maybe Harriet betrayed her? Maybe she told Roseanna about her accident, her accidents? No, Roseanna was letting on yesterday, at breakfast, about their kinks, when Matthew was in the bathroom and Mari's poo was still up her butt. But no, her non-mess at the café with Harriet was before that, a week ago already, and maybe Harriet had told Roseanna about Mari's grossness then.

Maybe Brianna, Roseanna, and Harriet were all just giggling about her big pee-smelling butt all the time. Maybe they were taking bets as to whether she shit herself too. She wondered, which one would have made that bet, and which one would have won?

So that was it. Roseanna was aware of Mari's secrets to some extent, and now she was trying to bridge the gap. Roseanna was trying to soften the blow when the circus hit Mari in the tush. Roseanna was trying to say: 'you're not the only weird one. The weirdest one. By a long shot. But not alone.' And maybe straight-laced Roseanna wasn't kinky at all. Maybe Harriet pulled out so that Roseanna and Matthew could make a show and get Mari out of her shell. She could see them, huddled late at night, when she was already sleeping wet and cummy like a baby after Sir gave her permission. Mari imagined her roommates whispering to each other about her. We gotta get this conversation started. She's really a mess. It was all a conspiracy. They were the real grownups, talking strategy about how to get through to the problem child. Roseanna wasn't kinky, she was as vanilla as a Barbie, she was milquetoast between the sheets in the truest, most resounding resonance of her being totally fucking normal.

God, Mari wanted to disappear! She wanted to crawl into Sir's arms and snuggle into their belly and just tell Sir to take her to a permanent nursery where she never had to face a real adult again. She wanted to quit her agreement and just delve endlessly into erotica, where the worlds she would find were so much more embarrassing than her own, and she could forget the real joke that she really was.

"You know?" Roseanna said, snapping Mari out of her mind's descent. "It's really..." and then she stopped. She fidgeted, hearing a noise. She realized it was her phone which was facedown on the table, covered in the crumbs that her hungover self could not bother to keep contained. She picked it up and with her deepest voice, answered with a husky; "huh?"

It was Matthew. He was in a bad way and Roseanna tried not to giggle. She told him that yes, the two of them could stop at CVS for some Gatorade, but she was picking the color.

"I'm going to be in so much trouble if I don't bring him purple or blue," she said. She slid the phone back on the table and stretched. Mari saw her midriff and the piercing in her belly button. Rosie yawned and rubbed her tummy.

Mari knew she was supposed to smile, even though she was still thinking about the big conspiracy to get the baby out of her shell. Even though it had just dawned on her and she had totally, totally made it up, her hungover brain told her that each and every one of her fears, so long as they were her fears, were all definitely true.

Roseanna grunted. "But he's a big oaf. I can take him. But he's not who I'm worried about."

Mari looked up at her. Roseanna's grin was wide and devilish, and Mari knew, for sure, that they were getting him anything other than blue or purple Gatorade.

Mari did not pause to think about who Roseanna was really worried about.

***

The rest of the day was uneventful. Roseanna got spanked while Mari was in the shower. She could tell they thought she might not hear it, but if anything, she heard it all the better. Possibly through the piping, or through some mechanic of the bathroom's ventilation. She spent the shower more nervous, though, that the acoustics worked in reverse, and that her diaper tapes seemed as loud to them as a garbage truck backing up outside.

Spanking didn't really count as kinky though. Yes, it was BDSM. But it was still straight-laced compared to Mari.

After checkout, they packed the car and then walked to and then on the beach until lunch. Mari alternated between walking with the couple and lagging behind. She picked up seashells, holding down her dress so that it didn't get lifted by the wind to reveal her puffy bottom. She slipped her sandals off and found that the water was cold. She carried her sandals until she got the chance to rinse them, and spent lunch with a wet diaper and gritty feet. She dealt with both in the lunch restaurant bathroom with a wet wipe, before laying a booster in the carriage of her diaper for the trip home.

She slept in the car like a baby. Roseanna farted like one.

Awake because a traffic jam had interrupted the gradual hum of the car, she found herself horny again, and texted Sir.

"I wish you were there, this weekend. I would have felt so safe. Even safer. I love you so much. Thank you for always being my brave phone friend."

I wish I was there. And I love you so much too. But it is very good that I wasn't there.

"Huh? Why?" Mari asked Sir, a little hurt. Sir had never given her the expectation that they would ever meet. But the wistful dream of it was still something she liked to entertain.

The only way to guarantee you'd never open up to me about this, Mari, would be to be in your life.

If you knew who I was, you'd never share any of this.

 

 

[afictionalphile]

Chapter 12: Accident Prone

----

 

 

Of course Mari had fantasies about incontinence. It's simply natural for someone so into diapers to also wish they subjected her like a force of nature. Then, she thought, it would be really hopeless. Then, her agency would be gone. Then it would be medical, she told herself. Induced, perhaps. Yes, some diseases and conditions could be caused by behavior, even benign behavior, so yes, even in the case that outright incontinence developed out of her arrangement with Sir, her full diapers would still be her fault. Yet in that case, Mari told herself she could explain to people that her self-inflicted incontinence, while regrettable, was still real. Mari believed that there was a world where she could pee and poop without conscience. She could be the stinker, and everyone would love her and shower her in sympathy.

This is what she told herself.

Sir told her something else.

You tell yourself you'd be free of guilt. But where might you have pooped that morning with Harriet in the café? You were holding it the whole car ride home from the beach too. You probably would have been stinky in traffic.

In the days after the beach trip, Mari pondered both her embarrassing memories and Sir's wisdoms. She touched herself through her diaper, which still sported boosters according to Sir's punishment.

"Yeah."

Do you think those situations would have been any easier to fess up to just because you couldn't help it?

"No."

Thankfully, Mari's inner masochist was about to discover that there are far more ways to have accidents than being incontinent.

The following week went by with plenty of incidents. None with any consequence greater than perception, but all of them embarrassing enough that she noodled over hidden ramifications until, by only Wednesday, she had chewed the end off of the pen she used to take notes while working.

On Monday, she leaked on the couch. She'd forgotten her morning booster and had been wetting heavily on account of excess coffee. She thanked god that Roseanna was in the shower at the time. She reported her mistake to Sir as soon as she'd daubed the stain sufficiently with wipes.

That's not how you clean up a pee stain, little girl. You should know this.

Sir then instructed her to get dish soap and vinegar. Still in her wet diaper (with new sweatpants) she mixed up a solution frantically in the kitchen and followed Sir's orders. The stain was still obvious, and smelled striking, but she managed to dry it off and get everything stored back in the kitchen before Roseanna emerged with a towel around her head and chest. Why Brianna and Harriet hadn't emerged from their rooms yet, Mari could only thank god again. After changing her diaper in her room, she awaited her punishment from Sir.

No more leggings. You can wear sweatpants over your diaper. Or shorts. Not compression shorts either. It must be a bare diaper under your dress.

"!!!! But Sir! It's gonna be so crinkly!"

It will be. But you've leaked twice in two days. So it's better we learn this lesson soon, isn't it?

"Yes Sir."

Until you meet with Harriet, this punishment is active.

Her leaks were contained and cowed after that. Yet her accidents were far from done.

On Tuesday, she pooped in her room as usual. She did it carelessly, lifting her butt off the chair while her microphone was muted. She squeezed her diaper and mewed until it was all out. When it was her turn to speak in the meeting later, it took her a while to find the unmute button (normally an easy one to press) because she was too flustered. When she was finally released from her meeting she began to gather her supplies to change, but she realized that her stashed bag of opaque trash bags in her room had been depleted. The only ones left were those in her tote bag, which she'd left in the shoe-closet by the front door of their apartment.

She thought about just untaping her diaper on the wood floor and piling her used wipes on top of it. But no. She preferred to have a trash bag ready to deposit everything in there. It was her system, and it worked. In her few weeks of full time diapering, she'd had no spills and she aimed to keep it that way.

Mari made this consideration in a frantic minute of fast breathing, which only made her realize just how long the poopy meeting had gone on. Her room stunk. She lit a candle and then paced, crinkling and squishy, in front of the door. No, she wouldn't change. Then she'd have to waste wipes on the eventual mess she'd make all over. Mari made her decision. She pulled the knob of her door to the hallway, knowing that it would be no more than ten seconds until she was safe in her room with a way to deal with her dirty diaper.

When she opened the door, a man was standing there, in the hallway. And it wasn't Matthew.

"Hi," she said, startled.

The man, who was younger than her and had toused, messy hair, almost jumped. "Oh hey!" he said. He regarded her and Mari could tell that his mind was racing. "Sorry. You must be Mari." He held out a hand. "I'm Carl, Bri's boyfriend. We haven't met. It's nice to meet you!"

She met his gesture with the limpest handshake she had ever given. "Sorry! I'm not feeling well!"

She barricaded herself in her room and tried to listen for any evidence that the truth had gotten to Carl, and to Brianna. But their words, and romance, across the hall, only came through to her as garbled and sporadic. Later that day, her Hefty bags restored and her poopy diaper safely down the chute, she ran into Brianna.

"Oh yeah. I've been dating him for a few weeks now. Nice guy. Smart."

"Oh cool."

Brianna shrugged and licked a spoon covered in yogurt. "Yeah, he said he met you in the hall."

There was a pause when all Mari could do was bite her lip.

"What did you think?" Brianna asked.

Mari nodded, unable to meet Bri's gaze. "I think he was cute, yeah!" And then she made an excuse to eat dinner in her room, which Sir later scolded her for.

Confiscating your leggings won't work if you're more shy because of it.

She told Sir about her screwup in the hallway.

Well, OK. You get a pass this time. But all your meals should be eaten outside of your room. This agreement won't work if it turns you into a hermit, Mari.

"I know Sir. I'll be a good girl."

On Wednesday, she ran into Brianna while taking out her diaper trash. She'd had a wet day, though she hadn't messed. So wet, in fact, that the added absorbency of the boosters hadn't reduced the number of changes she needed that day. Normally, she could wait until late in the evening after everyone was settled in bed to remove the trash from her room and waddle with the engorged bag out of the apartment and down the hall to the chute. But by dinner time that day, it already smelled too much like pee in her room for her to tolerate. Brianna happened to be in the kitchen, counter to her expectations, and stared at her lumpy black trash bag in your hand.

"What's that full of?" her youngest roommate asked.

Mari froze. She realized that she couldn't reasonably argue that all of this was trash she'd generated naturally in her room. "Oh. Just some old clothes."

Brianna shrugged. "Good idea." Then she reached into the trash in the kitchen and scooped out the bag there. She tied it off and Mari realized she was coming with her to the trash chute.

"Are you sure you want to throw out all the clothes? Could I see them, maybe?"

"Oh no, they're super old."

"Alright."

She let Brianna walk ahead of her, conscious that she no longer had the security of leggings, and was wearing a booster to boot. Brianna slipped the kitchen trash down the chute and then held open the lid for Mari to send her bulging bag of diapers down after it.

"I've had to take the trash out a few times," Brianna said, on the way back to their apartment. Mari realized she was getting another scolding from the twenty-three year old.

"I know."

"Can we..."

"I got it, I'm sorry."

Brianna gave her a sharp chin nod that Mari interpreted as you damn well better, bitch, and then she indicated that she could get started by replacing the trash bag that Brianna had removed from the kitchen's trash bin.

Was her criticism warranted?

"Dead to rights, yes. But she didn't have to be so snippy!"

Is it the first time she's asked you?

"No..."

Is it the second time she's asked you?

"No..."

Are you happy she put you in your place?

"Maybe."

Are you gonna use the excuse that you're throwing out clothes every time someone sees you with dip trash? That's a lot of clothes...

And then later...

Use your words, Mari.

***

Carl was over again on Thursday. Apparently, Brianna had no trouble balancing her sex life with work. "I don't have that many meetings," she said. "And I'm ahead on all my projects."

"Wow," Mari said. And then to herself..."Must be nice."

Worse, Carl wanted to meet her, for real, and asked if Mari wanted to go along with him and Bri to get takeout Poke for lunch at a new shop that had opened a few blocks down the street.

Do you have work to do, little girl?

"No Sir."

Then you're going.

"But I have to pooooop sooooo badddddd."

You're going to be polite to your roommate and her new partner. You should be happy and want to meet him.

"Ugh. Yes Sir."

And if I get any more attitude from you, you're in big trouble, do you understand?

Mari almost asked what exactly 'big' trouble entailed. But she knew that asking such a question would be viewed by Sir as her trying to hedge her bets, and would result in her earning the punishment AND being forced to go. She knew Sir's habits, and had already been in all sorts of trouble in their six-month relationship.

She went along with Carl and Brianna. Her only goal was to not shit herself. She changed her diaper before leaving even though it wasn't full, just for comfort. Brianna spent the walk with both her arms wrapped around one of Carls, as if she was clutching a pole in a stiff wind. She seemed deeply in love, like anyone so young might, and the sight almost sickened her with sappiness. Now and then Brianna would speak to Carl, but only in whispers, as if Mari herself was the stranger and the new boyfriend wasn't.

Meanwhile, Carl all but interrogated her. His questions betrayed him as a fresh-faced graduate too. He wanted to know where she went to school, what she had studied, and what she thought about her work. Travel, career and goals. If she thought her major had been worth it. If she had any advice.

That was one of the times Brianna pulled on his arm to whisper something. Probably to tell him that I have no advice worth giving.

As if knowing the moment for what it was, her stomach gurgled, reminding her that there were so many levels to her babyish inadequacy.

Carl still wanted to know what she had to say. She gave what she knew, watching how Carl received her haphazard anecdotes and perspectives about what it was to work in tech in the city. She saw Carl's eyes flick between hers. His short haircut and white teeth bobbing with um-hums. Brianna just kept fixated on the sidewalk ahead of her, as if she was lost in her thoughts.

She cut herself off, embarrassed. What did she know? Carl and Brianna were probably smarter than her. More mature. They certainly didn't poop their diapers. Because that's all she wanted to do, right now. She wanted to run back into her room and hide from these two real grownups, years younger than her, and load her diaper with her knuckle covered in her saliva.

"I dunno. Brianna always says it best," she said, giving up and disengaging with a wave. She felt herself blush deeply. Only at this did Brianna look up and smile, and Mari hated herself for being so helpless and spineless.

Worst of all, Carl told her that he valued her ideas, thought her perspectives were great, and was glad that she could share.

Later, back in her apartment with her tummy full of rice and fish, she texted Sir.

"He talked to me like I was just a dumb little girl showing him my idiotic art project."

You mean, that's what you felt like...

"No it's what I know! You shoulda seen Brianna smile. She knows that I'm just a loser."

Mari, you stop it. You did great. You gave your perspective, then commended your roommate in front of her brand new partner, in front of whom she, like anyone, is probably deeply sensitive around. You did so well. I love you so much.

Feeling none of what Sir said, but knowing Sir was right, she told Sir that she loved Sir too.

Did you poop your diaper?

"Yes sir. Well now it's dirty. I kept it clean for lunch."

How's work?

"No tickets. Nothing going on."

Then it's playtime.

It was just then that she heard Carl and Brianna, giggling from across the hall. And soon enough, she heard the bedframe there, shaking too.

"Now? Sir?"

The shaking briefly stopped. Mari suddenly wondered if her diaper smelled so bad that they could smell it down the hall.

Yes. Now. And you'll play and squish until work calls you back.

And so, while her roommate got laid just yards away, Mari humped a pillow in her dirty diaper until her phone lit up, almost an hour later, telling her that her poopy butt had emails to write.

***

On Friday, Brianna caught her again. Brianna had checked the mail. Mari learned this because she heard Brianna call out her name from the foyer of the apartment. Her tone almost sounded like a mother calling to a dog who'd broken a vase by jumping on the coffee table. Mari emerged, horrified, to discover that Brianna had lugged Mari's next diaper shipment from Sir up from the mailroom.

Thankfully, Mari had been fresh and dry. Knowing that Brianna was afoot, she'd worn a dress in her room, which still crinkled loudly without leggings but hid her diaper fairly well. When she saw the box addressed to her on the floor, she calmed her nerves. The box didn't have any markings on it. There was no way for Brianna to tell that it contained diapers unless she had x-ray vision.

"Oh, thank you," she told Brianna. "You didn't have to take it all the way up."

Brianna was busy in the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder at Mari as she filled up her water bottle from the spigot on the fridge. "There's another box down there for you too," she said, referring to the mail room on the first floor of their building.

"Really?"

Brianna just furrowed her brow. "You don't know what you ordered?"

"Oh I..." Mari stammered, knowing that a real grown up would have already thought of an answer to that question.

Brianna slid past her in the kitchen. She paused to step her foot on the pedal of the trash. "Take that out too, please," she said, pointing to the lump of cartons and paper towels laying jagged in the bin. Then she sucked from her water bottle so that air squeezed out in a whine. Mari, terrified that Brianna would interrogate her further about the box she'd just carried for her, held her breath. But Brianna just padded her way back up the hallway and disappeared into her room.

Mari mocked her silently after she'd passed, knowing that if Sir ever saw her do anything like that, Sir would send her into a new level of 'bad girl mode' that would never end. Her current punishment of no leggings and big boosters would seem like a vacation compared to that kind of discipline.

She didn't take out the trash.

She put her first box away and then went down to fetch the second. She almost thought it was a prank. She wasn't going through her diapers fast enough to need another box. She ought to tell Sir. Her boosters were generally saving her a diaper a day, though not always. But there was, indeed, a second delivery, and she carried it up the stairs wondering if her dress was truly long enough to conceal the diaper she was currently wearing.

When both boxes were in her room and her door was locked, she opened them. The first one was normal. More of her medical diapers, more boosters, more wipes, more Hefty bags. She filed them away in a safe place.

The second was only half full of diaper supplies.

First, she pulled out the diapers. She recognized the brand of diapers from porn and from her own online shopping, which she hadn't done herself since Sir told her to abstain from diapers before their agreement began. She bit her lip as she handled the package in her hand. The diapers within were big, pink, and had princesses on them. They were thicker even than the medical ones. Long before Sir bought all of her diapers, she'd bought them and worn them herself.

"What are these for?" she asked Sir. Sir did not reply immediately, but the answer was what she expected.

For when I say so.

She didn't expect anything of what she found next in the box.

There were two onesies. One had a snap crotch and the other wasn't much more than a very ruffly pair of overalls. The snap crotch onesie was all black with white trims. The ruffly pair was as pink as the diapers, with white wings arranged in rows on the butt and in wavy, floppy patterns down the straps. It was patterned with flowers and bees.

Mari trembled as she texted Sir.

"You didn't have to...how did you know my size?"

You told me ages ago, silly.

And yes. I had to. You deserve to be as cute outside as you are on the inside.

You can save the ruffly one for whenever you feel brave, and cute. The black one, of which you will receive more of its like, is for when I decide you need to wear it. Always For Your Good. It goes with a skirt, which you haven't mentioned.

Feeling silly, Mari returned to the box. She'd laid the pink diapers back down inside it, having no more drawers left to put them in. She blushed when she saw, packaged there, a black skirt. She took it out and found that it had white trims too, which matched the onesie. She sized it against her waist and saw that it fell a few inches below her bottom, but not much more.

"Thank you so much, Sir!"

You deserve that and even more. But as always, the best thanks is being the brave little girl I know you can be. Can you keep trying for me, my littlest of all?

Mari's diaper was soaked through the booster by the time she read this. She wet it just a little bit more.