“Go on, Lisa. You know what to do, don’t you? Haven’t you heard what Daddy said?”
Oh, she has definitely heard me. I can see the internal struggle in her eyes, the clash between her groveling desire to obey and the unwillingness to be so humiliated. No - if anyone’s around they’ll see me! But- but little girls don’t get a choice… Not when Daddy commands. She looks at me, the anxiety and longing mingled into one delicious pleading glance…
The glance of a baby girl teetering on the edge of disobedience.
“Pull up your skirt. Now.” I mince no words. She needs to obey, for her sake as much as mine. She craves obedience as much as I demand it; we both know that. And sure enough, with a furtive glance over her shoulder to ensure that no strangers have happened by, she lowers her blushing face… and obediently raises her skirt.
Of course I know what’s underneath. As does she. But it still never gets old, the sight of that luscious curve, the smooth, satisfying bulk of her thick diaper and waterproof pants.
“Good girl,” I purr, feeling my voice deepen and my jeans tighten. “Such a good girl, showing off her special panties to Daddy…” Her cheeks are flaming, her breath hitching visibly as I gaze across at her, letting her feel the weight of her Daddy’s approving stare. “Go on - don’t let Daddy keep you from finishing your lunch, baby! An apple a day, you know…”
I think she’s grateful for the half-eaten apple, for it works well to conceal those trembling lips of hers.
But I’m not done yet. She hesitated just now, and for that she needs to be reminded of her place. Baby girl isn’t expected to think, you see. She isn’t to protest, or whine, or talk back. She needs to learn that when Daddy says to do something, she simply does it… no matter what.
“Artaxerxes.”
As the trigger word leaves my lips, I see her stiffen. Her free hand darts to her padded crotch, impotent to do anything more than to sense the sudden glow of warmth that is blossoming there. Her eyes squeeze shut, her face awash in mingled panic and pleasure at the sensation of having lost all control over her most basic ability. She is pissing herself - uncontrollably - just like I’ve taught her a good baby girl should.
“Good baby,” I whisper now, my words of praise low and soft in her ear. “Good girl. Now listen: next time I tell you to pull up your skirt, I don’t want any more hesitation. Got it? Or Daddy will have to use another one of his special words to remind you of your place…”
Image Credit: Babydoll.com
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