âPlease, Daddy, please! I canât hold it much longer!â My gut is cramping, tightening, grumbling worse than anything Iâve ever felt. Here on my knees in my cozy crib, my two wrists securely cuffed to the bars, Iâm clearly helpless - the victim of the war currently raging between my own laxative-fueled bodily functions and my desperate will to preserve at least a tiny shred of dignity. I need to hold on. I must. I simply canât soil myself, degrade myself in such fashionâŚ
But Daddy smiles complacently, seemingly unperturbed by my plaintive wails.Â âOh, honey,â he sighs, ruffling my hair and patting my cheek paternally.Â âWhy are you so upset? Iâm sure a big girl like you should be able to hold it for more than two little hours, donât you think? Or is there something I donât know about my cutie pieâŚ?â He leans down conspiratorially and looks me knowingly in the eye.Â âIs there something you want to tell me, honey? Have you been lying to me about being such a big girl? Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, my great big girl who told me just yesterday that she doesnât diapers, might just want them after all?â
Crap. He wants me to actually say it. He wants me to ask him for a diaper. He wants to see me cave in, to admit that right now I need oneâŚÂ âNo, Daddy,â I squeak out as another cramp almost doubles me over.Â âI just- need- the potty! SoâŚbad!â That clearly amuses Daddy.Â âOh, sweetie!â he chuckles softly, tugging at my cuffed hands.Â âThatâs really not possible, now, is it? You know that youâre being punished for not doing your chores like I asked you toâŚand as your Daddy, Iâve decided that you need four hours of corner time in your crib.â I wince at his words, keenly aware that heâs right - that heâs completely within his rights to punish me like this. âBut-â I begin, but he shushes me with one finger.
âSweetie,â he kindly tells me, tipping my chin up to gaze into his eyes.Â âWe both know I canât let you out of your corner time. That wouldnât be fair. But, if you can give me threeâ - here he held up three fingers as if to remind me that girls my age might not remember their numbers -Â âthree good reasons why I should put you in a diaper, then your Daddy promises to do just that. And remember, if you end up needing to use it, honey, thenâŚâ he winks at me.Â âThen your Daddy is going to be the one to decide if and when you get to go back to big girl pantiesâŚnot you. Got it?â
Oh, yes, I got it. My embarrassed gaze descends to my ruffled pink tutu - one of my all-time littlespace favorites - and I begin furiously racking my brain for good reasons to be put back in a diaper. God, this is so devious - making me logically invested in bringing about my own humiliating infantilizationâŚ But what choice do I have? My belly feels virtually ready to explode - and as much as I hate the idea of wearing a diaper like a real babyâŚwell, I loathe the idea of splattering diarrhea all over my crib and clothes even moreâŚ
Aha!Â âUm, because I donâ wanna make my pretty tutu all dirty!â I plead, hoping a little childish lisp will please Daddy. He grins and holds up one finger.Â âGood, baby, but tell me in a full sentence. What exactly do you want?â I gulp and squirm impatiently, forcing myself to spit out the embarrassing words.Â âDaddy, I would like you to put me in, in a diaper - because I donâ wanna mess up my pretty pink tutu!â He pats my head patronizingly.Â âExcellent reason, baby! Iâm very proud of you. Now, can you come up with two more reasons?â
Another cramp sweeps over me, and I whimper involuntarily, in a sudden panic that my clenched muscles might not be able to stand the strain. Please, no! I can do this! As it passes IÂ straighten up resolutely, the chains of my cuffs clinking softly.Â âDaddy, can you please put me in a diaper becauseâŚ because I really need to go potty?â My heart sinks as I see Daddyâs smile turn to an apologetic frown.Â âBaby, thatâs not nearly good enough a reason, is it? After all, big girls can always hold it until theyâre at a potty - and they certainly never need to ask for a diaper. Try again, okay?â I grimace with the urgent need to expel the roiling contents of my bowels, and decide to try again - this time with an answer I know heâll love.
âDaddy, can you please, please put me in a diaper, because Iâm, um, Iâm just a dirty little girl who makes messes and canât control herselfâŚâ Oh, thatâs better! My cheeks are flaming with humiliation, but at last Daddy is smiling again.Â âOh, sweetie, thatâs a super good reason! I canât deny a diaper to my girl if she really is such a dirty, messy little thingâŚâ Yes! Now, just one more. One more, moreâŚ What ifâŚ? No, reallyâŚ? But my need to relieve my bowels is so great now that Iâm ready to do and say virtually anything that might grant me reliefâŚand so I do.
âDaddy, I love my diapers so much. They feel so nice anâ soft anâ thick anâ they make me waddle for you anâ look super cute, anâ, anâ I love to wet andâŚ mess them for you.â I gulp nervously, my mouth strangely dry with humiliation - and much as I might hate to admit it, arousal. âSo can you please, please put me in a diaper? Please, Daddy? I want it so muchâŚâ
Oh, the smile on Daddyâs face is wonderful to see as he finally holds up that third finger - the finger that simultaneously signals my deliverance from this private hell and my consignment to one of the most explicitly babyish garments imaginable. Yet at this point I scarcely care, racked as I am with the urgency of relieving my gurgling intestines. And as he gently undoes the crotch snaps of my tutu, slips off my Hello Kitty panties, and draws up the crinkling thickness of my new diaper, I breathe a shaky sigh of relief. So close, so closeâŚ Just tape it up, please, please, please! Finally, Daddy straightens up and beams at me.Â âThere! Donât you look pretty now? Just like a beautiful little baby againâŚâ He leans closer and tugs my chin up once more.Â âWhat do you tell your Daddy, hmm?â
I stare up into his eyes, quivering with a heady mixture of revulsion, humiliation, gratitude, relief, and arousal. âThank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!â I whisper, as I finally surrender, as my aching muscles relax into helplessness. And as the muffled explosions sound through my quiet nursery, as the gooey rush of my warm poo erupts into my rapidly expanding diaper, Daddy smiles and plants a tender kiss on my perspiring forehead.
âNow thatâs my good girl.â