The second Tuesday of Gretchen's "semester" was ushered in not by an annoying alarm clock, but by the vibrating pulse of the burner iPhone Jesse had given her. It lay on her nightstand, its screen glowing in the half-light of her dorm room, pulling her out of the groggy haze of morning sleep.
Gretchen corralled the rogue strands of hair away from her line of vision and swiped the notification open as her pupils fought to adjust to the heavy contrast of the backlight. It was the text she'd both dreaded and longed for: the text that ushered in her first-ever pop quiz.
The list was simple and absolute, a set of instructions that commanded her wardrobe with surgical precision:
Light pink zip-up hoodie (unzipped)
Pink and white tennis shoes
Hair in a ponytail with a scrunchie
A wave of initial panic rushed over her as she thought, “What did I get myself into?”
The uniform allowed for some “adult camouflage,” at least more than she had at the diner, but something about this first outfit made her stomach turn over while reading it.
She had signed the syllabus in good faith, but being forced to remember the rigid demands of the contract this morning brought a rush of cold doubt. The consequences of an 'F' felt suddenly very real.
However, the fears quickly gave way to a wave of heat, fueled by the memory of last Friday night. Her mind rewound, snapping her back to Jesse’s apartment in an instant. Jesse hadn’t said a word after the initial mention of changing Gretchen’s diaper. He simply extended his hand as he stood up from the booth, and Gretchen, not requiring an invitation like that, openly accepted it. Her tiny right hand was engulfed by his, and she could feel the gentle pull coming from it as it guided her to her feet. The entire crinkly, two-block walk to his apartment, she was hand in hand with him. To a random passer-by, they were just two people on a late-night date. To her, and subsequently Jesse, they were a daddy and a little, walking hand-in-hand for security and safety above all else. The simple act of his touch, firm and proprietorial, was intoxicating to her.
Every step she took let out a plastic bag-adjacent shuffling sound in her immediate vicinity, and each step caused the wet and thick diaper compressed by the tight shortalls to send a fricative shockwave through her core. That shame of being seen in her outfit was completely erased in these moments as they were replaced by the giddy thrill that he was the only audience that mattered and that she was in his care.
Back in his living room, the air was warm and echoed that clean laundry and sandalwood smell he came by naturally. A flatscreen television perched on a modern wood panel entertainment stand. Two Elephant Ear plants framed the room in opposition to the television, nestled in the far corners. A leather couch, a similar modern wood panel coffee table and end table, as well as a single leather chair nestled under a large area rug with an indistinguishable pattern. Light seeped through the archway behind the single chair, its origin from a stove hood light, no doubt.
As he locked the door behind them, he turned back around to face her. She stood at attention, hands at her sides, biting her lower lip in anticipation of his next move. She felt a throbbing strobe in her head that she attributed to her heartbeat echoing and extending towards every inch of her body. The butterflies continued to buzz heavier and heavier as she experienced her first moment of Daddy/little intimacy that wasn’t brought on by her imagination: his large hands moving to the metal clasps of her shortalls.
The sounds of buckles coming unmarried to their buttons, paired with the loose shoulder straps falling and clinking off each other, were disproportionately loud in this quiet room. She felt the shorts loosen, with the bottom portion of it hanging on to her hips. With his thumbs tucked inside the shortall’s waistband, he gave a quick pulling motion as the shortalls became liberated from her hips and sat in a heap around her ankles.
She felt her heart climb up into her throat in a way she’d never experienced before. She instinctively looked away, blushing profusely as she went to cross her legs slightly, pulling back at the instinct and remaining at attention for him, but coming to grips with the fact that she was standing in front of her long-time crush in a diaper and a onesie that was containing a radiation and pulsing warmth unlike anything she had ever experienced.
His eyes, focused on her, dark and intense, dropped to her lower body now. He didn’t rush. He simply reached out his right hand, stabilized her by placing his left hand on her right thigh, causing goosebumps to explode throughout her, and with a quick twist of his pointer finger and thumb, unsnapped the onesie’s crotch buttons. He pulled the onesie bottom up so that it rested on her diaper’s waistband and stayed out of the way.
She bit her lip hard, trying to fight a nervous laugh that was inching to get out as Jesse had a full view of her yellow-tinged and obviously saturated diaper. What happened after though sent Gretchen into what felt like a fit of seeing stars as Jesse’s large hand found its way between her thick thighs and was now cupping the gusset of her diaper with his palm pressing against her padded cunny. Her breathing quickened and became slightly labored as the palm pressed up into her crotch slightly with an audible squish, causing her legs to instinctively close slightly against Jesse’s hand. But his hand remained all the same. She felt the heat radiation from her already damp crotch like it was on fire now.
A deep and primal breath hitched in Gretchen’s throat. It was barely audible, but to both her and Jesse, it was total recognition of her physical need paired with the shame she was feeling.
“That’s such a good girl, kiddo... You did such a good job using your diapers today.”
Jesse looked into her eyes as he slowly said the affirmation. The low, gravelly vibration of his voice resonated directly in her to the point that she felt on the verge of blissful collapse. Her eyes tracing the bucking of his Adam's apple with each word. She hadn’t known or guessed that such a simple, invasive, beautifully humiliating touch could be so devastatingly intimate.
Before she could register his egress, Gretchen stood alone in the living room for a brief moment, soaking in the external stimuli she’d been subjected to. When Jesse returned, he produced a sleek, blue plastic changing mat that he unfurled and placed flat on the living room floor. The other contents of his trip, a thick diaper, wet wipes, and baby powder, were placed next to the mat. Guiding her so that she faced away from the mat, Jesse held on to both of her hands so she wouldn’t trip over the still tangled mess of denim shortalls around her ankles. Her legs felt weak and clumsy in this moment as she still slightly stumbled around her shortalls even with his guiding hands. Something about her shoes still being tightly secured to her feet made this feeling of helplessness even more heightened. She felt his grip tighten as he nodded her towards leaning backwards and lying down, guiding her softly as her knees angled until her large, padded bottom made contact with the mat with an audible squelch. The soaked padding pressing against her bottom as it made contact, paired with the tension the movement had caused against her crotch, made her head float slightly.
She hadn’t even noticed that she fully accepted the stuffed penguin thrust into her hands in this stupor, petting the soft fur and holding it close to her chest. As she held the stuffie close, she saw the rubber nipple of a pink and white pacifier inching closer and closer to her mouth. She tried to let out a protest, but her body betrayed her, opening her mouth and accepting the rubber nipple. As it settled against her tongue, the nervous, chattering sounds she didn’t even realize she was making became apparent in their now absence. The instinctive urge to protest and whine was physically silenced, leaving only the internal rush of compliance. She began sucking on it as a slight tear escaped her left eye and rushed down her cheek that was prompted by the overwhelming, safe feeling of being in his care. Jesse took his thumb and wiped it away.
Jesse’s attention returned to her midsection.
Gretchen lay utterly still, pinned not by force, but by the sweet, suffocating weight of Jesse’s expectations and gaze. To Jesse, she was a display, a prize waiting for the curtain to be drawn and exposed. Her breathing was shallow as she forced her gaze through the fur of the stuffed penguin down between her angled and spread legs. She watched his hands as best as she could through the obscured scene. The knowledge that she was about to be completely laid bare for the first time in front of anyone, and in this context, that her body’s most sensitive and intimate area was about to be revealed to her lifelong infatuation, made every nerve ending scream in thrilling harmony of fear and anticipation.
His fingers found the topmost right tab first.
She felt his left hand pressing against her midsection on the diaper’s landing strip and heard the sound of the first taping ripping open. A sharp echoing R-I-P was disproportionately loud as it filled the somewhat empty living room and screamed what was happening to the walls, the plants, and the space. It didn’t just break the tautness of the diaper; it felt like the seal on her adult composure had officially begun severing. "Only three tapes left until Jesse sees all of you," a voice deep inside her whispered, the effect of which was both horrifying and intoxicating. A sudden burning flush of blood rushing to her cheeks paired with an insatiable heat hitting her chest and slight tummy felt scalding against the invasive coolness of the changing mat. It was the color of total uninhibited shame, but the shame was melting into a giddy, reckless thrill.
He moved to the matching upper tape on the left side, his thumb pressing down briefly before the pull.
R-I-P. The second tear mirrored a gasp of hot air leaving her lungs in a warbled state as it filtered around her pacifier and through her nose. This time, the physical loosening was more pronounced; the diaper shifted perceptibly on her hips. With two tapes gone, the veil between her modesty and Jesse was already clinging loosely and precariously. This rip, more so than the first, felt like the moment of no return. Part of her wished that she would have opted for one of her hook-and-loop diapers to satiate this feeling; the other part of her loved how one-way the tape ripping was. Her internal butterflies, which had been previously buzzing in a low hum, now erupted into a thousand wings, making her stomach feel weightless. She felt a profound, beautiful dizziness, the dizzying loss of control as her adulthood was being dismantled piece by piece. He’s peeling me open.
Now, the lower tapes, the anchors of the tight, wet padding against her thick thighs, were next. Jesse’s proximity intensified; his arm brushed her thigh, and the brush-like sensation his arm hair caused on her smooth skin ushered in more goosebumps. The scent of his sandalwood mixing with the humid warmth radiating from her crotch was intoxicating.
R-I-P. The third tear was slower, almost a cosmically and deliberately drawn-out protest from the plastic against the adhesive. The tape is echoing; you’ll suffer me just yet. The bottom of the diaper sagged heavily, the saturated padding threatening to shift under its own weight and seeming agency. Her cunny pulsed now with the added room that was made from the lack of tightness, helplessly dripping into the soaked material. She wanted to squeeze her legs together, to hide, to protest, but the pacifier in her mouth physically stymied that urge, as well as the want to see the ending; thus, her body remained rigidly available to Jesse’s wants.
He finished with the final lower tape on the left.
R-I-P. The sound was slightly muffled due to the lack of tension and the weight of the saturation. Four tears. The process was complete. The diaper, a heavy, swollen monument of her obedience, was completely undone and resting untethered on her midsection.
With his right hand grabbing the front of the loosened diaper, Jesse gently unfolded the front panel, and the world narrowed to a terrifyingly perfect point.
He did not yank but slowly began the exodus of laying it back against the changing mat between her legs. This was not a quick motion of necessity but a languid, deliberate revelation. The material, saturated and warm, peeled away from her skin like a second, protective layer being carefully removed.
As the wet padding shifted, Gretchen felt the instantaneous, shocking breath of cool, room-temperature air strike her most private, sensitive skin. The sudden relative drop in temperature against her freshly moistened sensitive bits was a profound, bodily shock. Her entire being recoiled and screamed to attempt an intervention of the action, but she remained utterly still, held captive by the fluttering sensation that risked an explosion, with the only movement she dared risking being the pulling of the penguin against her face.
The unfolding continued in what felt like an agonizingly slow procession. The thick, wet padding bowed open, creating an uninhibited channel for the scent, the heavy, cloying, sweet-acidic odor. It rose up to meet her, the undeniable proof of what she had done, a smell that was simultaneously humiliating and powerfully arousing.
Her mind fractured, lifting her out-of-body. She saw the scene unfolding and saw herself: a woman with a child’s toy penguin hiding her face, a plastic pacifier underneath sealing her lips, lying utterly bare from the waist down, while her feet remained absurdly encased in bright, chunky athletic shoes with denim shortalls draped around them.
A memory surged through her head. The imagined scenes of her first time, soft lighting, her hands shyly covering herself, and his earnest looks of reverence shattered like glass. This was the brutal, glorious opposite: exposure via command, vulnerability enforced by her longing. She remembered her mother’s voice years ago, telling her to always be a proper young lady, never to let a boy see her when she wasn’t “perfect.” Now, she was revealed as anything but proper and perfect, and Jesse’s gaze was darker, hungrier, and more wanting for it.
The movement finally finished. The front panel, thick and heavy, rested between her legs. This movement finally revealed everything: the sticky residue on her skin, the wet interior of the padding, and the deep creases where her thighs met her midsection. For the first time, all of her sensitive and vulnerable bits were entirely on display for Jesse.
The sight was terrifyingly perfect. Her hips, her tummy, and the thick, heavy padding were laid out. But the true, stunning violation was the juxtaposition, a bizarre, almost violent contrast that shattered every feminine fantasy she had ever constructed.
The reality was a far cry from the soft, candlelight scenarios of her teenage fantasies. This was harsh and unflinching, where her sexuality was reduced to a childlike function. Even feeling this naked for the first time with the sensation of her shoes tightly secured to her feet felt so beautifully wrong. This knowledge sent a fresh, overwhelming flood of heat to her core, causing a new bead of want to drip into the open padding.
She felt the very heart of her wet diaper grow warm, just remembering that heart-dropping moment of total undeniable exposure. His gaze was slow and deliberate, drinking in the entire tableau. It was the look of a judge, but of a Daddy appreciating his little. The butterflies did not settle; they simply changed their flight pattern, spiraling in a joyous ascent of shame and absolute joy.
Then came the touch she had been subconsciously craving since she was a teenager. He reached down and grabbed a wet wipe, and without being able to see the full extent of the wet wipe's trajectory, she felt its cool embrace against the folds of her exposed cunny. It was efficient, yet his large hand moved with a dizzying intimacy, paying close attention to every newly exposed crease and curve. He didn’t rush, ensuring every area was meticulously accounted for. It wasn’t sexual in a “big girl” sense, as there was no hurried friction or penetration of any kind, but a primal sensory satisfaction of being cleaned and touched down there did enough heavy lifting to make the feelings she associated with her magic wand seem pedestrian at best.
This cleaning unfortunately felt like it went lightning quick as she felt the wipe’s movements ebb. Throwing the wet wipe into the gusset of the used diaper, Jesse reached down, his large hand finding the bulk of the padding, and with a swift, decisive motion, he folded the soaked padding inward, lifting it away from her body, and used what remaining adhesive was left on the tapes to fold it tightly in on itself, placing it neatly to the side of the mat.
Jesse grabbed the diaper he had brought that was adorned with a picture of Blue from Blue’s Clues and laid it flat beneath her legs. He grabbed her shortall-restrained feet and held them together, lifting her bottom and sliding the diaper underneath it. Next thing Gretchen felt that quelled the sensation of the wipes further was the instant-drying and cooling sensation of copious amounts of baby powder making contact with her bits. The powder soothed and cooled her delicate, warm skin left slightly raw by the hours of wet padding. The powder drifted, catching the low light of the room in a soft cloud, smelling intensely pure and innocent.
In quick succession, the front of the new diaper was folded over her midsection. His taping job was immaculate and far better than what she had been able to produce in the past year. He pulled the diaper taut against her cunny, leaving little room for movement. He then started with the lower thigh tapes and angled them upwards, securing the lower half of the diaper tightly to her midsection. Next, he took the top tapes and spread them across the Blue’s Clues landing strip. When the diaper was firmly secured, it rested high on her hips, so much so that her belly button barely peeked out over the top waistband. It felt better than any diapering she had ever been able to do herself, like a homemade meal.
Her legs were then guided into the air as she had a full view of the shortalls around her ankles. His hands reached down toward the inner seam and fluffed the padding out to create a better seal, and her heart almost went through her throat at how close to her cunny he had gotten. Then, the rhythmic patting of a large, hairy hand caused the excess baby powder to puff out in tiny clouds where the diaper seam and her thighs met. She saw the tattoo and the tops of her thighs; the dream had come true.
He ran a thumb along the new landing strip to smooth out the tape edges that were fighting to come dislodged, his eyes locked on hers, smiling that cornered, upturned, closed-mouthed smile.
The memory was more than that in this moment; it was fuel. She grabbed the phone, sent a yellow heart emoji, and began procuring her outfit of the day.
