baby-girl-bee: paddedlittleparadise: “Please, Daddy, please! I can’t hold it much longer
baby-girl-bee: paddedlittleparadise: “Please, Daddy, please! I can’t hold it much longer!” My gut is cramping, tightening, grumbling worse than anything I’ve ever felt. Here on my knees in my cozy crib, my two wrists securely cuffed to the bars, I’m 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 can’t soil myself, degrade myself in such fashion…But Daddy smiles complacently, seemingly unperturbed by my plaintive wails. “Oh, honey,” he sighs, ruffling my hair and patting my cheek paternally. “Why are you so upset? I’m sure a big girl like you should be able to hold it for more than two little hours, don’t you think? Or is there something I don’t know about my cutie pie…?” He leans down conspiratorially and looks me knowingly in the eye. “Is 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 doesn’t diapers, might just want them after all?”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 one… “No, Daddy,” I squeak out as another cramp almost doubles me over. “I just- need- the potty! So…bad!” That clearly amuses Daddy. “Oh, sweetie!” he chuckles softly, tugging at my cuffed hands. “That’s really not possible, now, is it? You know that you’re being punished for not doing your chores like I asked you to…and as your Daddy, I’ve decided that you need four hours of corner time in your crib.” I wince at his words, keenly aware that he’s right - that he’s completely within his rights to punish me like this. “But-” I begin, but he shushes me with one finger.“Sweetie,” he kindly tells me, tipping my chin up to gaze into his eyes. “We both know I can’t let you out of your corner time. That wouldn’t be fair. But, if you can give me three” - here he held up three fingers as if to remind me that girls my age might not remember their numbers - “three 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, then…” he winks at me. “Then your Daddy is going to be the one to decide if and when you get to go back to big girl panties…not you. Got it?”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 infantilization… 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 baby…well, I loathe the idea of splattering diarrhea all over my crib and clothes even more…Aha! “Um, because I don’ wanna make my pretty tutu all dirty!” I plead, hoping a little childish lisp will please Daddy. He grins and holds up one finger. “Good, baby, but tell me in a full sentence. What exactly do you want?” I gulp and squirm impatiently, forcing myself to spit out the embarrassing words. “Daddy, I would like you to put me in, in a diaper - because I don’ wanna mess up my pretty pink tutu!” He pats my head patronizingly. “Excellent reason, baby! I’m very proud of you. Now, can you come up with two more reasons?”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 I straighten up resolutely, the chains of my cuffs clinking softly. “Daddy, can you please put me in a diaper because… because I really need to go potty?” My heart sinks as I see Daddy’s smile turn to an apologetic frown. “Baby, that’s not nearly good enough a reason, is it? After all, big girls can always hold it until they’re at a potty - and they certainly never need to ask for a diaper. Try again, okay?” 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 he’ll love.“Daddy, can you please, please put me in a diaper, because I’m, um, I’m just a dirty little girl who makes messes and can’t control herself…” Oh, that’s better! My cheeks are flaming with humiliation, but at last Daddy is smiling again. “Oh, sweetie, that’s a super good reason! I can’t deny a diaper to my girl if she really is such a dirty, messy little thing…” Yes! Now, just one more. One more, more… What if…? No, really…? But my need to relieve my bowels is so great now that I’m ready to do and say virtually anything that might grant me relief…and so I do.“Daddy, I love my diapers so much. They feel so nice an’ soft an’ thick an’ they make me waddle for you an’ look super cute, an’, an’ I love to wet and… mess them for you.” I gulp nervously, my mouth strangely dry with humiliation - and much as I might hate to admit it, arousal. “So can you please, please put me in a diaper? Please, Daddy? I want it so much…”Oh, the smile on Daddy’s 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 close… Just tape it up, please, please, please! Finally, Daddy straightens up and beams at me. “There! Don’t you look pretty now? Just like a beautiful little baby again…” He leans closer and tugs my chin up once more. “What do you tell your Daddy, hmm?”I stare up into his eyes, quivering with a heady mixture of revulsion, humiliation, gratitude, relief, and arousal. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!” 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.“Now that’s my good girl.” -- source link