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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?


Then why does a little girl ask this question?


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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.


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.


We'll revisit next week.



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.


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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."





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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."


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.

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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.


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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?


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.


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