Originally by ABDL Story Forum user Satyr
“Here are the rules,” she said. “There will be no sex. No unnecessary touching of privates. You may undress me as part of your… play, and feel free to admire my body, but look with your eyes, not your hands or, god forbid, your dick. Got it?”
Jonathan nodded. “Of course.”
“Good. Everything will happen in private. If you want to do public play, we will renegotiate. If at any point I say the word ‘roses,’ you will immediately stop whatever you’re doing. Oh, and I take payment in advance.”
He nodded again. “Absolutely. I won’t hurt you. Quite the opposite. I want to take care of you. That’s kind of my thing.” Jonathan handed her the cash, and she put it away in her purse.
“Okay, then the formal shit is taken care of. I’m yours until tomorrow morning, unless you break our contract. Starting now.”
Jonathan beamed a wide smile at her. “Now, now. Little girls don’t use dirty words, do they?”
Eliza blushed. It was a genuine blush, too. Fuck. I’m screwing up already. “Sorry,” she said, casting her glance downward to the floor. “I’ve never catered to this particular kink before. It’ll probably take me a little while to properly get into the role.”
Eliza had been a sex worker for the past two years, after she finished college. She’d done porn for some minor producers, and a few times, she’d straight up sold sex. Eliza loved the idea of it: she was the kind of woman who in earlier times might have been referred to a psychiatrist for nymphomania, and today would be known as a slut. But why shouldn’t she have lots of sex if she wanted to? The idea of selling herself, not because anyone forced her to, but because she could and wanted to, was both liberating and, in a naughty taboo kind of way, incredibly sexy. That was the idea of it, though. In practice, having to deal with her customers so intimately—the fat and ugly and smelly ones, as well as the ones who looked like they might be carrying super-AIDS—was far from sexy. Just when she’d thought it might be best to give up the whole prostitute thing as an expression of youthful experimentation, she’d lucked into meeting a couple clients who had more particular desires. Ones that didn’t even want to fuck her. They were content to fondle her feet or tie her up and mock her, or force her to strip naked and do household chores while they watched. She was still selling herself, but it had been eight months since she’d actually sold sex.
What do you really want? She thought, looking over at Jonathan. All her clients wanted things they couldn’t or wouldn’t express, and if she did those things, they were on the hook as regulars. The man sitting across from her on the couch was her newest client, and definitely the wealthiest. Jonathan was in his early thirties, mop of brown hair and nerdy glasses, but he wore a businessman’s suit. He was the founder of a tech startup that had been bought up by Google for an undisclosed, enormous sum, and now he lived an early retirement in a swanky suburban mansion.
“That’s okay,” Jonathan said. He was sweating, she noticed. Eliza moved to sit beside him.
“First time paying for this kind of thing?” She asked.
He squirmed on the couch, as if he were a schoolboy who hadn’t done his homework. Eliza laughed. “It’s okay. Everyone is nervous the first time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. What I’ll usually do is, I make us a drink, and then we just get to know each other a little before the roleplaying begins in earnest. Would you like a drink?”
Jonathan blushed, then he nodded. As Eliza rose, about to ask him where he stored his liquor, she heard a cough behind her. “I…” He began. Oh, spit it out! She thought. Is he going to be one of those guys who loses the faculty of speech once he has a girl over? She’d had some clients who panicked once their biggest fantasy was about to become real. Guys who clearly had very little experience with real women, and when faced with one, one whom they’d paid to be theirs for the night, it was all too much to them. Some of them she’d ended up simply talking to all night. Fortunately, Jonathan only needed two tries before he spoke. He grabbed her hand and held her back, gently but firmly. “I have a few rules of my own, young lady.”
Eliza turned around to face him. “Yes?” She said, trying her best to sound as innocent as she believed he wanted her to be.
“First of all, only grown-ups are allowed in the liquor cabinet.” He was trying very hard to sound authoritative, and it was working about halfway into rule number one, but then his voice faltered. Eliza found it endearing. She didn’t know much about his kink, so he would have to teach her, but on the other hand, he clearly didn’t know much about being a Dom in practice, so maybe they’d have to learn together. “But, uh… I could use a drink. Wait here a minute.”
She glanced around the room while he was gone. On the walls hung posters of old 1960s rock artists, neatly framed; there was a large wall-mounted TV; on the living room table lay a couple of coffee table type art books. Jonathan appeared to be a bit of a neat freak, if the order and cleanliness of his house was any indication. He reappeared with a glass of what appeared to be whiskey in one hand, and a juice box in the other. “I thought it was more appropriate for someone your age,” he said, handing her the juice box. Eliza smiled. She was a little embarrassed, but that feeling was also turning her on a little. If this is your fix, I’ll gladly take your money and do it again some other time. She inserted the straw and began sucking on it, looking him in the eyes as she did so.
“Are you thinking dirty thoughts, little one?” He asked.
Eliza nodded. Seductively, she hoped. Jonathan appeared to be getting into the role, and this was a crucial period. If he just warmed up to the feeling of authority, and she didn’t mess up and challenge that authority until he was confident enough to put her in her place, this was going to work out very well.
“When you grow up, maybe you can do something about that, but until then, you just enjoy your juice box, sweetie,” he said.
Eliza moved closer to him, then she whispered in his ear: “May I sit on your lap?”
He pulled her in. Eliza was rather short, which no doubt played into his fantasy. There were certainly call girls out there with bigger boobs, but she had a feeling that would have been inappropriate for his particular kink.
“Now, kitten, for rule two. You are only allowed in the bathroom under the supervision of an adult. I’m very strict on that. Are we clear?”
Eliza nodded, and couldn’t help but notice a twinge in her bladder. She’d suspected something like this, but the reality of it, what it might entail, had remained a little abstract to her. “When we finish our drinks, why don’t we get you changed into something a little more appropriate?”
Shit. Fuck. “I… I didn’t bring anything,” she said.
He began stroking her hair. “Don’t worry, I’m well prepared.” She closed her eyes and allowed herself to be stroked, trying to find the calm within herself. Trying to become what he wanted her to be. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me! It’s not bedtime yet. If you fall asleep now, I’m gonna have a hell of a time getting you to go to sleep tonight, aren’t I?”
Eliza blushed. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just so calming when you stroke my hair.”
“Why don’t we go change right now,” Jonathan suggested. Eliza got up from his lap and offered him her hand. He took it and led her upstairs to his bedroom. On the king sized bed lay a denim romper with snaps in the crotch. And was that…? “Oh, that,” Jonathan said, following her gaze. “That’s not a problem for you, is it?” It was, indeed, a diaper. Or, rather, one of those pull-on absorbent training pants for older kids. She shook her head. It was covered in her fee, if that’s what got him going.
“That’s just in case,” Jonathan said. “Let’s leave it be for now. I know that some little girls have potty problems, but some are properly potty trained. Are you, kitten?” Eliza blushed and nodded. Of course she was. Well, fuck me. On second thought, maybe he wanted me to say no?
“Well, then. I’ll give you a chance in panties, then. Don’t disappoint me now. I don’t want to be cleaning up any puddles on the floor. Okay. Let’s get you out of those clothes, they look silly on a little girl.” He indicated for Eliza to raise her arms, and she did. Swiftly, he hoisted her Metallica t-shirt off. Then came her jeans, which she allowed him to undo, one button at a time, and then she pulled them down and stepped out of them. Eliza felt a chill in her bones. The room was a little cold, but also, this was the moment of truth. Soon she’d be naked in front of a near-total stranger who had engaged her to fulfill his sexual fantasies. Eliza had no shame about showing off her body, but there was always the possibility that—despite what they’d agreed on—Jonathan might get handsy once she stood naked in front of him. He didn’t seem like the type, though. Jonathan seemed like he genuinely wanted to care for her as if she were a child, and she didn’t think child molestation was part of the fantasy.
Jonathan walked behind her and unclasped her bra. “Little girls don’t need bras. You barely have any breasts to be holding up!” He laughed.
“Say what?” She couldn’t help it. She may be small, but those were still some premium grade boobs, mister.
“Good, good,” Jonathan said. He was in front of her now, admiring her naked chest. “I’m sorry, I’m just getting into character. And I want you to be a bit spunky, to resist me a little, you know? Little girls aren’t always well behaved.”
Eliza took the hint. She stamped a foot on the floor. “I do not have a flat chest. You’re just a big meanie.” She stuck her tongue out, to emphasize that her little outburst was part of the act.
“Watch your tongue,” Jonathan said. He sized her up. “No, those panties won’t do.” They were black silk, bikini style. “Don’t worry, I have something a little more appropriate for you.” He rummaged in a closet and found a pair of pink panties with a teddy bear print on them, and a t-shirt with the same motif. “Do you need any help, or can you put them on yourself, sweetie?”
“I… Maybe a little bit of help?” Eliza allowed him to lower her panties, giving him a glance of her pussy, but he only took a quick peek before sliding up her new panties. She shifted a little. The coffee with breakfast, then water on the way down, and then juice were all making their way to her bladder. After the panties came the t-shirt over her otherwise bare chest, and then the romper. Jonathan made sure everything fit snugly—and it did, surprisingly—but his hands didn’t linger too long in any sensitive areas. Eliza did a little pirouette to show off her new costume, which had shaved off at least six years of her apparent age, if not eight or ten. Although she was still clearly a young woman in immature clothing, she looked closer to sixteen than to twenty-four.
“Uh, about the bathroom,” Eliza said. “Could you show me the way? I kind of have to pee.”
“But you have to see all the fun stuff I’ve prepared for you!” Jonathan exclaimed. He took her hand and led her downstairs, and she offered no further protest. Perhaps he wants me to pee my pants. Perhaps he really wants an excuse to put me in diapers. Jonathan hadn’t been quite clear on what age he wanted her to be. A little girl, he’d said. A little girl to take care of. But did that mean six or two? Was she supposed to be a first grader or a babbling baby? Hopefully not the latter, because she’d be bored out of her mind if she wasn’t at least allowed to talk. And she didn’t think she could do baby convincingly, either. First grader was more like it. But was she a first grader with “potty problems?” Eliza tried to cross her legs, but Jonathan dragged her along to a room adjacent to the living room. It was more of a lounge, with bean bags and a few reclining chairs, and on one of the walls hung a canvas that looked like it might be part of a home cinema setup. There was a little table in a corner, and Jonathan led her to it. “I’ve got some coloring books, stickers, glue, and glitter. Why don’t you have some fun with that? I’ll be right here, reading a book.” He indicated one of the chairs.
“But I need to pee!” She protested. Her bladder was rather uncomfortable, and the desperation could be heard in her voice. It was a child’s whine. Inwardly, she smiled. He must be loving this.
“I was really looking forward to some quiet reading. The bathroom is upstairs. Why didn’t you say something before?”
“Hmm,” Jonathan said. “I must have missed it. Well, if it’s an emergency, I’ll take you. If it can wait, we’ll do it after.”
Does he want me to say I can hold it? And if I do, does he want me to actually hold it, or does he want me to have an accident? She was a little concerned about ruining the clothes he’d clearly bought just for this occasion. Surely he didn’t have more than one “little girl” uniform laying around, and if she peed in this one, well, she’d have to use her regular clothes, which might break the spell. She’d have to find a way to broach it in character.
“I’m a big girl!” She said, and pointed to herself. “I can hold it all day.” Then she crossed her legs, both because she really did need to pee, and for show. “But… Just in case I can’t, maybe I should go. I don’t want to ruin my new clothes.”
Jonathan hugged her. “Don’t you worry about that, dear,” he said. “Clothes can be washed. And there’s more where those came from.”
Eliza considered her options. In her occupation, intuition was king. She needed to be both a sex object and a mind-reader, sussing out what her clients really wanted, deep down. Going out of character unless absolutely necessary would kill the fantasy. Considering Jonathan had gone to the trouble of buying diapers for her, it would be a shame if he didn’t get to put her in them. Eliza had never done any pee play; hardcore watersports, like drinking pee or having someone pee in your face, rather disgusted her. But the idea of peeing her pants, while not something she’d ever done before, seemed rather harmless. She could maybe let out a tiny bit, just enough for it to show on her clothes, and then Jonathan would get to punish her for it. Eliza spread her legs a little and tried to think of dripping water, Niagara falls, but nothing came out. Guess I’m just too well trained, she thought.
“Okay, you can read your book,” she said. “But promise to take me soon?”
“All right, kitten,” Jonathan said.
Eliza sat down and looked over the supplies he’d given her. Frankly, coloring books and glitter and stickers looked boring as fuck. She tried to look for her inner child, but apparently it had gone into hiding. There was nothing redeeming about coloring books. But considering the pay, she’d bloody well put up with it. I could be getting fucked in the ass by a 300 pound cave dweller, she thought. Instead, I’m getting paid three times as much to have someone attend to my needs, look after me like a daughter, and all I need to do is play with glitter and try not to look bored. Eliza picked up a crayon and began coloring. She debated whether she should color outside the lines like a child, but settled on meticulously coloring within them. That way, she could at least devote a little bit of brain power to the task at hand. Maybe Jonathan would hang it on his fridge. The page she was working on had a castle with turrets, a drawbridge, a fairy and an adventurer carrying a sword. It reminded her of Ocarina of Time, so the swordsman had to be green.
She crossed and uncrossed her legs under the table. Maybe if she pushed a little on her bladder, that would be enough to squirt out a little bit, and then she could ask Jonathan to take her to the bathroom. She spread her legs and pushed on her abdomen. For a moment, her muscles resisted, but then Eliza felt her new panties warm to a trickle of pee. It was a strange feeling. She couldn’t remember the last time she peed herself. Probably when she was around the age she was playing at now. Eliza had a rather small bladder, but she’d learned early on to compensate with frequent trips to the toilet. She put a hand in her lap; it touched wet fabric. Satisfied that her little “accident” would be visible to Jonathan, she clamped shut. That is, she tried to clamp shut. But she had left the floodgates open too long, and now she couldn’t stop. Eliza let out a little yelp of despair as her ass began to get soaked. She twisted her legs and pushed on her crotch with both hands, but the pee kept coming, pooling between her legs and running up her lap and down her thighs.
Jonathan was there in a flash. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asked. There was genuine alarm in his voice, like he couldn’t tell if this was still pretend, or perhaps he was so deep in character that it didn’t matter.
“I…” The hiss as she peed herself was so loud in her ears, she was sure he must hear it. Perhaps he was simply too polite to say anything, or perhaps she was simply hyperaware. She waited until she was done, and then she hung her head. “I peed.”
“You peed?” Jonathan looked confused.
“It was an accident.” Eliza stood up to show him. When she did, some urine spilled over the chair and splashed on the floor. She was soaked down to her knees, and her ass was sopping wet. It was uncomfortable, perhaps mostly due to embarrassment. She had meant to pee, yes, but then she couldn’t stop and it turned into a real accident. Eliza was sure she was red as a stoplight. The embarrassment did, however, allow her to more easily slip deeper into the role. It felt natural to ask, “Can you please not be mad?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Of course I’m not mad. But I thought you said you could hold it?”
“I totally can. It was just an accident.” She looked down at the puddle she’d made. Eliza was amazed she’d managed to hold that much in the first place. “But can you please help me clean up? It’s yucky.”
Jonathan was easily a foot taller than her. Before she knew it, he’d swept her off her feet and began carrying her upstairs. “Eliza, sweetie, you should have said it was an emergency.”
“I was having too much fun playing,” she lied. Eliza buried her head in his shoulder. This was supposed to make her feel safe. Little Eliza would feel safe in Jonathan’s arms, in his shoulder. He smelled of aftershave. She closed her eyes, and again she felt the lack of proper sleep the night before catching up with her. Before she knew it, Jonathan was gently putting her down on the floor. It was a large bathroom, all in marble, with a big tub in one corner and a shower in the other. Each could fit at least two, if not three adults. Besides that there was room for a washer, drier, and toilet. She felt like she were standing in a cathedral of glass and marble. Although the downstairs rooms looked middle class, this bathroom screamed rich.
“Let’s get those icky clothes off,” Jonathan said, and began undoing her romper. His gaze lingered for a moment on her wet ass. She wiggled her bum, and he gave it a slap. “Don’t show off,” he said, although his continued staring at her told her he didn’t really mean it. “Are you proud to be going potty in your pants?”
“No, Jonathan,” she said. Is that how he wants to be addressed? Some clients preferred Sir or Master. Others had bizarre alter egos they liked to roleplay. Who was Little Eliza to him? His daughter, his niece, his student in first grade? She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Is that what you want me to call you? Or is there something else?”
He thought for a moment. “Ideally, I’d like to be called Daddy. But I think that’s something I need to earn first. In the meantime, you can call me John or Jonathan.”
“Okay, John. Please get these icky clothes off me.” He did as asked.
“I was going to do this before bed, but I think I’m going to run you a bath. With bubbles. How does that sound?” He asked.
“I’d like that.” She was now naked, the wet clothes in a pile on the floor. Jonathan opened the faucet and began running a bath. The tub looked inviting, and she was a bit cold, so she climbed in.
“I’ll go get some dry and clean clothes. You just stay right here, pumpkin.”
Eliza leaned back and closed her eyes. Jonathan had to be the sweetest client she’d ever had, and his fantasies the most innocent. She was short, slim and just the right amount of curvy, yet her wet panties seemed to interest him more than her pussy. He clearly enjoyed looking at her, but he could be doing so much more. The roleplay seemed to be doing it for him. His comment about wanting to earn the name “Daddy” gave her a pang of guilt. Am I exploiting him? It seemed like his brand of kink required an intimate connection with another person. Although all kinky play requires a big degree of trust from both parties, many people enjoy a casual spanking. John, on the other hand, didn’t seem like the type who’d go to a BDSM party and tie someone up for the evening, then never see them again. He really just wanted a girlfriend he could cuddle at night.
Jonathan sidled up by the tub and poured something into the water, and soon enough, she was covered up by a layer of foam. “Stop me if I’m going too far,” Eliza said. “But your kink strikes me as the kind best practiced in a committed relationship.” Her eyes were still closed, and she found herself enjoying his tender touch as he began rubbing shampoo into her hair.
Jonathan sighed. “You could say that,” he said. “But there aren’t many girls out there as lovely as you.”
“That’s sweet of you to say,” she said. “But I’m sure there’s someone out there for you. Successful businessman, and probably the sweetest client I’ve had to boot.”
“I imagine you run into some brutes in your profession.”
She thought it over. No, no one had ever disrespected her boundaries. “It depends,” she said. “I’ve been careful. Maybe a little lucky. No one ever laid their hands on me—except in the ways we’d discussed beforehand. I’m not a street walker. I mean, no disrespect to those girls. I’m just saying, what they do is a lot more dangerous than what I do.” In the beginning, she relied on internet ads. Now, all her new clients were referrals. People who were recommended by someone she trusted. Jonathan had been vouched for by a business contact of hers, Jane, although she wasn’t quite clear on how they knew each other. She trusted her acquaintance, though.
“Come to think of it, how do you know Jane?” Eliza asked.
“Oh,” Jonathan said. “She’s my ex.”
“She’s your ex?” Eliza hadn’t expected that. Jane worked in the porn industry.
“Yeah. She said you might be able to, uh, fulfill the fantasies she couldn’t. I told her about my fetish. It didn’t go so well.”
“I’m sorry,” Eliza said. “Is that why you guys broke up?”
“Yes and no. It put more strain on a strained relationship. After a while we both decided it was for the best to call it quits. Well, she decided. I acquiesced.”
Eliza opened her eyes, reached over the edge of the tub and gave him a hug. Foamy water splashed all over his shirt. He didn’t seem to mind. Eliza held the hug, and then she began rubbing his back, leaving wet fingerprints on his button-down. Finally, he separated himself. His eyes were watery. He rose and attempted to straightened himself up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m getting a little emotional. I suppose emotional isn’t in the job description.”
“No, no,” Eliza said. “It was my mistake. I pushed too far.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, little one,” he said, in an apparent attempt to regain his authority. He was really such a sweetheart. “Let’s get you dried and into some clean clothes.” He offered her a hand as she stepped out of the bathtub. Then he began rubbing her dry with a huge towel. She felt very small, like she was disappearing into the towel. He rubbed her all over to get her dry, and she felt herself getting a little aroused as he worked on her breasts and between her legs. Jonathan was just drying her off—he showed no signs of being aroused himself. But she found herself wishing he’d give a little special attention to her special areas.
Satisfied that she was dry, Jonathan turned around to pick up her new clothes. A dress, with a childish floral print in yellow. He must have gone on quite a shopping spree in preparation, she mused. “Now, pumpkin, I told you I wanted to give you a bath before bed. Remind me, why did we have to do it early?”
Eliza blushed. He wants to hear me say it. He wants to humiliate me. Humiliation, as it happened, was one of her own kinks. She loved to hate it. “Because I had an accident,” she said.
“Oh?” He looked at her expectantly. What is it he wants me to say? “What kind of accident? Did you fall and scrub your knee?”
Eliza hid her face behind the towel. She was deliciously embarrassed. “Noooo,” she said. “Not that kinda accident.”
“What kind of accident did you have, then, sweetpea?”
“In my pants.” She pointed to the wet romper and panties, still on the floor. “I peed in my pants.”
“That’s right,” Jonathan said. “You said you were a big girl, but then you couldn’t make it to the bathroom. I gave you a chance at panties, but I don’t think you’re quite big enough for them. I can’t trust that you’ll be able to keep them dry.”
“I AM a big girl!” Eliza said, stomping her foot on the ground. That was a mistake. The tiles were wet, and she slipped and lost her footing. For a terrifying moment, she saw the tiles rush up toward her head, but then Jonathan was there and grabbed her before she faceplanted into the floor.
“Careful, honey, the floor is wet,” Jonathan said. “One day you’ll be a big girl. But until then…” He held up the pull-up diaper she’d seen in his bedroom earlier.
“No fair,” Eliza said. “It was only one accident.”
“Well, just in case,” Jonathan said.
There it was. She knew what she’d signed up for, but the reality of it still hit her like a brick. Eliza had let herself be degraded for money before, but she had never imagined herself ever having to wear a diaper. And not just because she was paid to do it. No, she had actually peed her pants and earned it. She blushed again at the thought. The humiliation was getting her wet in a different way. When she began peeing, it had been on purpose. But then it wasn’t on purpose anymore. She’d really tried to stop, and found she couldn’t. In a way, she did really have an accident, just like a little girl. Does he want me to protest? He did say earlier that he wanted her to disobey. “NO,” she said. “I’m a BIG GIRL and BIG GIRLS don’t wear diapers.”
Jonathan looked at her sternly. “Do you want to earn yourself a spanking, little missy?” He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone said that he wasn’t kidding.
“FINE,” Eliza said, in her best petulant child voice. “But only this once. And I’m going to prove to you that I don’t need it.”
“Very well,” Jonathan said. He looked down at his watch. “It’s only 3 PM. If you can keep this one dry until seven, you can have panties for the rest of the night.” Four hours? She could do that. He helped her step into the diaper and slid it up her hips. The feeling of padding between her legs was odd, but the shape of it was more like a pair of extra-thick panties than a diaper. She gingerly took a few steps. There was a soft rustle as she walked, but it was barely audible. She could feel the fabric absorbing some moisture from between her legs.
“Now, this one isn’t very thick. It’s made for little girls who are potty training. So you need to tell me when you need to go potty, because this diaper can’t take a flood like the one you unleashed in your pants.” Touché. “And it’s very important that you tell me if you need to go number two, because this one is only designed for pee.”
Number two? Good god. The thought of it had her reeling. Peeing was one thing, she could do that. But under no circumstances would she have anything to do with poop. She had a strong anti-scat policy. “Yes, John,” she said. “I’m going to tell you when I need to go.” It occurred to her that the toilet was off limits without “adult supervision.” Did he expect her to poop while he watched? Open as she was about her body, she didn’t think she could do that. She’d just have to hold it if it came to that.
Jonathan helped her into the dress, and she twirled around, giving him a peek upskirt. He nodded. “You look stunning,” he said.
“Thank you.” He led her hand in hand downstairs. “Are you hungry yet?” He asked. “I could go for some food right about now.” Her stomach grumbled in sympathy. She hadn’t eaten since early that morning.
“I was thinking steak and pepper sauce,” said John. “It’s a little early for such a heavy meal, so maybe we should stretch it an hour, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so I’d like to eat soon. You know, I would take you to a nice restaurant, but we agreed not to go out in public.”
Eliza nodded. “Maybe some other time.” Seeding another appointment, she thought. It was somewhat cynical of her, but she felt it was entirely natural. She was only being honest. “You’re welcome to take me out, but we’d have to suspend the roleplay. But I don’t mind a nice home-cooked meal.”
Jonathan smiled. “I’m an excellent cook.”
“Maybe we could just cuddle and watch some TV to kill time,” Eliza suggested. “I love it when you stroke my hair.”
Jonathan seated himself on the coach and switched on some mindless reality show. The kind where there is no real goal, except for the contestants to back-stab each other as much as possible—when they’re not having sex, and solemnly swearing they never imagined they would be doing it on television, it just happened, because he or she’s the one. Eliza curled up beside him, and he obediently began stroking her hair. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that he was her boyfriend, a trick she used whenever a client wanted romance rather than straight sex. It wasn’t hard to see this kind, caring and wealthy bachelor as a partner in another life. Eliza had a strict policy of separating business and pleasure—it wasn’t like she were actually falling for him. But with closed eyes, she could pretend. When she lay still, she hardly even noticed the difference in her underwear, but whenever she moved, the padding pushed into her and reminded her of what a little girl she was supposed to be.
Before she knew it, she was dreaming. The imagery faded as soon as Jonathan nudged her awake, but it had been a pleasant dream. “Hey, I didn’t say you could nap,” John said.
Eliza rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t sleep much last night. I’ll be a good girl and go to sleep for bedtime, that’s a promise.”
“I think it’s time for dinner,” John said. “Would you like to continue coloring for me, or would you like to help me cook?”
She told him she wanted to cook. Eliza had had enough coloring for one day. She needed some kind of stimulation. Pleasant though it was, life as a little girl was rather boring. One downside of her more romantic appointments was that they didn’t provide the same level of excitement as a sexual session. Her clients rarely knew how to inject excitement into a date. But as soon as she’d finished that train of thought, John was over her, pinning her down on the coach, and then he was tickling her. “Eeee!” She squeaked. It was unexpected, but she didn’t protest. She tried to contort her body so he couldn’t get to her most ticklish spots, but he was devious. One fake maneuver toward her armpits, and then he was lifting up the front of her dress, and for a moment she thought he was going to stick a hand down her diaper—but then he was blowing raspberries on her stomach, and Eliza couldn’t help but laugh. When she did, she let down her defenses up top, and he started on her armpits, the most ticklish spot on her body.
“Aaaah!” She said, laughing all the while. “Stop! Stop! I’m gonna pee!” She struggled to close her legs, but then he was tickling her under her feet, and she had to open them, and almost kicked him in the nose, barely missing his glasses. “I mean it! I’m ahhhahaaa—I’m gonna pee myself!”
He let up. “Let’s get you to the bathroom before it’s too late, then,” he said.
Eliza was red-faced and panting, exhausted from the assault of tickles. Her breath was heavy, and her chest was hurting from all the laughing, but her smile was genuine. None of her clients ever got into tickle fights with her. Hell, it was even a little bit hot. She’d experimented with forced orgasms using a vibrator and a willing, non-paid partner, and tickling was similarly painful and pleasant at the same time. But she didn’t want to pee herself. Eliza wanted to prove to John that she could last until seven. A little silly, she realized. She was an adult and had never peed her pants by accident, not since she was a toddler. Big Eliza, the sex worker, had nothing to prove. But Little Eliza certainly did, after her embarrassing accident earlier.
“I don’t really need to go,” she managed, after she regained her breath. “It’s just when you tickle me, I can’t control it.”
“Well, let’s try anyway. I can’t leave the kitchen once the plates are hot and things are cooking to take you to the bathroom, now can I? Here is a potty training lesson. When you know you won’t be able to go to the potty for a while, it’s smart to go before, just in case.” He offered a hand and led her upstairs. She followed, a light rustling of her underwear probably only audible to herself.
“Okay, down she goes,” John said, lowering her pull-up, “and up she goes!” Eliza allowed herself to be hoisted up on the toilet. “See if you can make a little tinkle for me.”
She tried, but nothing came out. Eliza wasn’t normally pee shy, but something about the situation made her clam up. “I can’t,” she said.
“Maybe if I turn on the tap?” John offered. Eliza closed her eyes and listened to the stream of water splashing into the sink. Finally, a slight tinkle began. “Good girl!” John said. “Now, do you know how to wipe, Eliza?”
Of course she did. And they had agreed on no touching in that area. Eliza found herself aching for some touch down there. The whole evening had been a long series of humiliations, and that was the sort of stuff that got her going. She’d never imagined herself being into this stuff, and to be honest, she couldn’t ever see herself roleplaying a little girl for her own pleasure. But the roleplay did facilitate humiliation, and that had her loins all wet and slippery. No. It might set a bad precedent. We’ll have to renegotiate. On the other hand… She did say no unnecessary touching of privates, did she not? What if it were necessary? She did allow him to clean her in the bath and dry her off, all over her body.
“Uh… Maybe you could show me?” She bit her lip and looked him in the eye. For a brief moment, he blushed, a little flustered, but then he was back in control.
“Of course, baby,” John said. “It’s very important that you keep clean down there, so you don’t get any nasty infections. You don’t want that, do you, Eliza?”
John ceremoniously grabbed a piece of toilet paper. It was four-ply, premium quality, soft as silk. Eliza considered expensive toilet paper to be literally throwing money down the toilet, so she always went for the cheap stuff. Apparently, she didn’t know what she was missing. When John wiped her down, it was like being wrapped in a blanket of good emotions. “Teehee, it tickles,” she said.
“Oh,” said John. “I don’t think little girls need to think about that.”
Eliza was a little disappointed. “There, all done,” John said, and helped her slide the diaper up her hips. “Now let’s go cook some dinner.”
They entered a kitchen decked out with all the newest in stainless steel and Swedish design. It looked like something out of an unusually upscale IKEA catalog. There was a double-door refrigerator, two hypermodern stoves with electronic displays and more dials and buttons than Eliza’s laptop. “I’m afraid little girls and hot stoves don’t go well together,” John said. “But you can ready the table. Plates are over there,” he indicated the top of a tall cabinet, “and cutlery over there.”
Eliza tried to reach the shelf, but even on the tips of her toes, she wasn’t tall enough. The kitchen was clearly designed for someone John’s size. “I can’t reach up there,” she said.
“Silly me,” John said. He grabbed some plates and glasses, and she decked out the table. Then he kept her busy grabbing ingredients and explaining every step of the cooking process, just as if she were in grade school. It wasn’t the world’s most complicated meal, and Eliza was sure she could’ve managed it on her own. But she allowed him to teach her.
The meal was delicious. Medium rare steak, pepper sauce and cooked potatoes. Anything would have been good at this stage; it was close to five and she hadn’t eaten since around nine in the morning. But John wasn’t lying when he said he was a good cook.
Eliza tried to imagine herself as a young child. She deliberately missed with her fork, allowing some sauce to spill onto her face. Once she was done eating, John playfully scolded her for being a messy eater, and wiped it all away. “We’ll have to teach you some table manner,” he said, and laughed.
With the weight of a full belly, her tiredness returned. She wasn’t sure if she could keep her promise of staying awake until bedtime. When was that, anyway?
John led them back into the living room. She curled up on the coach, and he handed her a blanket. Eliza yawned. “I’m gonna stay awake, promise,” she said, by way of apology. He sat down beside her.
“It wasn’t easy,” John said. “Telling my ex about this fetish.” He stroked her hair. It was auburn, flowing down to her chest in curlicues. “I always knew, kind of. I always enjoyed caring for my baby brother, but not in a sexual way, of course. And then when I hit my teens, I would see these cute girls, and the guys would be like, ‘Damn, I’d like to fuck her.’ Behind her back, of course. And I’d go, ‘Yeah, man, you got it.’ But inwardly I’d be thinking, ‘I’d love to take her home, kiss her forehead and tuck her in.’”
“So it isn’t sexual at all for you?” Eliza said.
“Don’t think I haven’t caught you looking at me that way,” Eliza said. “It’s no big deal. I’m hiring out my body, after all. Feel free to think any dirty thoughts you want, as long as you don’t act out anything we didn’t agree on.”
He resumed stroking her hair. “Oh, Eliza. I have to admit, you’re stunning. And I could see myself in bed with you, having some adult fun. But I’m perfectly happy caring for you without touching you inappropriately. The truth is, when I look at you right now, I see a child and a woman at the same time. I’m attracted to the woman as a woman to do man-and-woman stuff with, and to the child as a child to care for.”
Eliza sat up. She didn’t want to pry into his evidently difficult feelings toward his ex, but he was the one to bring it up. She was curious. “So I take it your ex didn’t take the news very well?”
“I was a stuttering mess. I think if I’d proudly stated my preferences like they were no big deal, maybe things would have gone over differently. But I acted like I was ashamed of it, and so she assumed it was shameful.”
Eliza nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her sleepiness somewhat slurring her words and dragging them out. “I find that people almost always adopt the attitude that you project to the world. Act confident, they will see you as confident. Act ashamed, they will assume you have good reason for it and pile on with the shaming.”
“Jane told me maybe she could help me get over it,” John said. “Maybe there was some other fantasy we could act out that would make me forget all about little girls and diapers and all that. She offered anal. She even hinted that a threesome might be on the horizon, she had some open-minded friends—Jane is in the porn biz, after all. But once it became clear that it wasn’t a phase and it wasn’t something that would ever go away, it became a constant source of conflict. She just couldn’t deal with the fact that I was fantasizing about her as a little girl—I mean, as an adult acting like one, not that I was jerking off to her childhood portraits or something.”
“But she led me to you,” Jonathan said. “Jane told me you might be open to something like this.”
“I’m all yours, until tomorrow morning.”
Suddenly, his hand was under her skirt. He pushed against the dry padding of her crotch, but then he withdrew his hand as quickly as he put it up there. “Just checking,” he said. “Don’t want you leaking on the couch.”
Eliza wiggled free of him. “I’m a big girl and I don’t need this thing,” she said, lifting her skirt to indicate the diaper. The bottom of her breasts peaked out, giving him a nice little underboob look. “I told you, I’m gonna keep dry until seven.”
“We’re almost there, kitten. Just tell me if you need to go potty.”
They sat in silence for a while on the coach. Again, Eliza’s eyes drooped, and she had to fight for them to stay open. “Hey, could you make some coffee or something? I’m almost falling asleep here,” Eliza said.
“I would, but not so close to bedtime. I don’t want my baby all hyper when she’s supposed to go to sleep.”
Eliza sank back into the couch.
“I can tell you’re bored. We’re supposed to have fun! Don’t you forget that. Little girls are allowed to be fussy if they’re understimulated. Not too fussy, of course, or I’ll have to take them over the knee,” John added. “Look, it’s almost seven o’clock. Come with me to the bathroom. If your pull-up is still dry, we can forget about your accident earlier”—a blush, at that—“and go back to panties. Come with me.”
Eliza stayed where she was. She felt as if she’d eaten a pot brownie, and now she was couchlocked. If only she had some sleep the night before. She’d been worried about finances. Her landlord had hiked up the rent, and if John had decided to cancel on her for some reason, she’d have been shit out of luck. She saw now that she needn’t have worried. His fee alone would cover a month’s rent and more, but she couldn’t have known that he wouldn’t back out. A few of her clients had done that. The idea of hiring a prostitute sounded appealing, but when it came to it, they didn’t have it in them. Society at large still frowns upon the practice, no matter how consensual it is. What she did was technically illegal, although her operation was luxurious and professional enough that, in practice, she was largely safe from law enforcement. But some of her clients, like John, were upper class with a reputation to protect. Some were so worried about being blackmailed, they demanded video footage of her conducting the transaction, themselves conveniently off screen, in order to have some dirt on her. Eliza refused such requests, of course. But no matter the validity of her concerns, they’d kept her up at night, and now she didn’t want to do anything but close her eyes and drift into sleep.
John picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. He was surprisingly strong for his lanky build. Then again, she was petite. John set her down in front of the toilet. “Okay, Eliza. Moment of truth. Did you have an accident, or are you still dry?”
“Still dry,” Eliza said, although her gaze was on the floor.
“Then you wouldn’t mind if I check?” He asked.
Eliza lifted her dress in response. John slipped a finger into the side of her diaper, although his fingers never strayed toward her pussy. “Almost completely dry,” He said.
“I was turned on for a bit,” Eliza said. “That doesn’t count.”
“I suppose not,” John said. “Okay. Do you want panties for the rest of the night?”
Eliza nodded. John disappeared for a moment, although he stopped in the doorway to assure her he wasn’t leaving her alone for more than a minute, as if she were a child with separation anxiety.
Once he was back, he made her try to pee in the toilet again. This time, she managed a little trickle without the aid of a running tap. Then he slipped on her panties, and a little bit of her adulthood was restored. The used diaper went in a separate trash can, she noted. John really was prepared for everything.
Eliza’s eyes were drooping. “John, please, I really need that coffee if I’m going to stay awake,” she said. “Pretty please? Just a little cup.”
“No,” he said plainly. “And I don’t want to hear any more about it. Stop nagging.”
Eliza stopped and resisted his attempt to lead her onwards. “Please,” she said again. “I’m so tired. Don’t you want me to stay awake and play with you?”
She tried one last time. “Please?”
John turned around. His demeanor had changed. His size advantage had made him feel like a big, strong protector, but now it felt like a threat. Eliza took a step back. His face was red, his mouth contorted into a frown. “Enough is enough. You will go stand in the corner for twenty minutes, and if I hear as much as a peep from you, you’re going over the knee. Is that clear?”
Eliza gave an uncertain nod. She had awakened the beast. Eliza hadn’t seen this side of John before. One part of her was terrified; the other, secretly excited. He was finally warming up to the role of the Dominant in their scene. “But what if I need to go to the bathroom?” Eliza asked. “May I speak then?”
“You just went,” he said curtly. “You can hold it for twenty minutes. You were so eager to prove that you belong in panties, so here’s your chance. Come to think of it, I don’t want you to get dehydrated. I’ll bring you a bottle of water, and I expect you to finish it by the time your timeout’s up.”
Time passed glacially in the corner. She stared at the off-white wall and tried to distract herself with happy thoughts, occasionally taking a sip of water. It was no use. Her punishment was boredom, and she deserved it. Little Eliza had pushed it too far. Although her eyes drooped, standing up kept her awake. She attempted to sit down, thinking perhaps she could sneak in a powernap while John wasn’t watching, but he told her to stand up immediately.
Eliza was frustrated, tired, and now her stomach was starting to hurt, too. What do babies do when they’re sick and tired and want to get their will? They cry. Eliza wasn’t much of an actor—well, that wasn’t true. She was very good at inhabiting the roles her clients wanted her to play, but that was the extent of her abilities. Eliza couldn’t cry on command. But right now, she felt very much the fussy baby, and focusing on her tired and frustrated state made her all the more upset. Once she added in the mental image of her true love dumping her—that was long ago, before she stopped believing there was one and only one person out there for her—she managed a little sniffle, and soon tears were rolling down her cheeks. Quickly, John was beside her.
“Baby, don’t cry. What is it?” He said. His tone had changed from stern to paternal concern.
“I’m tired. My tummy hurts. I don’t want to stand in this stupid corner anymore,” she said, between sniffles. All of which was true. That part wasn’t an act.
John looked her over. She was standing there in a juvenile summer dress, the one he had put her in after she peed in her first outfit of the day (second, really, since he had removed the one she came in). She had puffy eyes and drying tears down her cheeks. The sight of her so miserable seemed to break through his defenses. John squatted down beside her and gave her a hug. “Now, now, don’t cry, sweet child. I think you’ve learned your lesson about disobeying me. Haven’t you, kitten?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Eliza said.
Eliza didn’t know why she said it, but it seemed natural. John wanted to earn the title “daddy,” and in her eyes, he’d done so. His punishment and his compassion tipped the scales. John had shown all the qualities of a good Dom, and he’d picked them up quickly and naturally. Although she had never called a partner “daddy,” before—her preferred nomenclature in a BDSM scene being Sir or Master—if that was what, to him, represented the same as those names represented to her previous partners, then Daddy it was.
John separated himself from her for a moment. “Oh, baby,” he said. “Come on out of the corner. I think we can call an early bedtime soon, since you’re already tired and fussy. But there’s one more thing I want to do before bed. I’d like to read you a bedtime story. How does that sound?”
“I’d love that,” she said, and added, “Daddy.”
He led her upstairs to the bedroom. Then he bent down and rummaged under the bed. When he emerged, he held a large adult diaper, with a yellow stripe going up the crotch. “Now, you’ve been very good at going potty today, but you did have an accident earlier,” John said. “I know some little girls have trouble at night, so I think it’s best if we take our precautions. Do you know what the word ‘precautions’ means, sweetie?”
Eliza shook her head. “No, daddy.”
“It means we think about what might happen in the future, and then we do something to mitigate—to limit the damage if that thing were to happen. You’re so tired, I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep while I read you a story. Will you be a good girl and let me put it on you for bed?”
Eliza nodded. He laid out a towel on the bed, and she laid down. John slipped off her panties, and then he set to work on the diaper. He’d procured a white powder from somewhere, and proceeded to put some over her crotch, “to prevent rashes,” he said. Then he carefully taped her up and slipped off her dress. “This one’s designed to take anything you can throw at it and more. I have a washable mattress pad, too, so don’t worry about having an accident. You won’t ruin anything.”
Now she was sitting naked apart from a bulging adult diaper between her legs, in front of a man she met less than twenty-four hours ago. “I have some pajamas for you,” John said.
“I prefer to sleep in the nude,” Eliza said.
Eliza looked down at the padding between her legs. This diaper was bulkier than the previous one, and its size made it impossible for her to ignore. Every movement, even lying completely still, it was there to remind her of how little Eliza was. “This one is boring,” Eliza said, pointing to the diaper. “Can we put stickers on it?”
“Excellent idea,” John said. “Let me just—”
But before he could do anything, Eliza had slipped off the bed and began running downstairs to grab the glittery stickers she’d been so reluctant to play with earlier. The diaper gave her a slight waddle, but she managed all right. On the way up, she met John in the stairwell.
“I don’t like it when you run off like that,” he said.
“I brought the stickers!” Eliza shoved them in his face. John grabbed them, then her, and carried both back into the bedroom. Eliza nuzzled into his neck and allowed her mind to drift, her consciousness to whittle down, and she was all but sleeping when he put her back into bed. John nudged her, and she woke up enough to grab a handful of stickers, placing them haphazardly on her diaper. It looked ridiculous. Very appropriate for Little Eliza.
John began reading her a fairy tale. Little Red Riding hood, with sound effects when the terrible wolf showed up. He rubbed her tummy as he read, and soon her eyes were closed, and then she was asleep.
It must be early morning when she woke. Jonathan was sleeping by her side. The room was too dark to see anything but rough outlines. Her crotch was hot and sweaty. But what woke her up was her stomach. The pain was back in force. There was no denying it. Eliza needed to poop.
She had a dilemma. Jonathan had laid down the rules: she wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom without his supervision. But she couldn’t see herself pooping in front of him. She just couldn’t. Eliza’s mind was locked and set. It was a mental block, but those are often harder than the physical ones. She didn’t think she could bear him looking at her, hearing her, smelling her go number two. On the other hand, she was hired to obey the rules. Bathroom control was within the limits of their agreement. Eliza was a professional. She had yet to break a contract and disobey the rules she’d agreed to obey, unless the other party broke their end of the deal first. This was a special case. Maybe she could sneak off and go while Jonathan was asleep. But then there was the issue of the diaper. She would have to remove it, of course. Eliza knew nothing about how adult diapers work, but as a general rule, tapes don’t stick as well once you untape them, if they stick at all. Maybe she could snag another diaper from the pack—surely there was a pack with more where this one came from—and hide the used one deep in a trashcan somewhere. He’d never notice.
Her stomach rumbled. She felt a pressure down there, had to squirm a bit to contain it. Eliza wasn’t sure if she could last until morning. The contract was twenty-four hours, do whatever you want to me and make me do anything you want, as long as it’s within the rules we agreed to. She’d arrived at eleven. Although there was a clock in the room, Eliza estimated that it couldn’t be much more than five in the morning, if that. Six more hours of this? It hurt, it was uncomfortable, it made her squirm. Eliza had to do something.
Silently, she slipped out of bed. Only a slight rustle between her legs betrayed her, but a snore from John confirmed that he didn’t notice a thing. Eliza got on her knees and rummaged around under the bed until she found her prize: a big pack of adult diapers. She snagged one out of the pack and pushed it back under the bed. Then there were the stickers. She must not forget them. John would be sure to check her in the morning. He seemed very fond of the checks. They afforded a legitimate reason to touch her between the legs, and even if he never strayed too far, she could tell he enjoyed it.
Silent as a mouse—a diaper-rustling mouse—Eliza tip-toed out of the bedroom, heading for the bathroom. When she reached the right door, a cramp hit her, and she had to bend down, diapered rump in the air, and clutch her abdomen. The cramp subsided, and she was able to stand up again.Why, oh why didn’t I add a “no poop” clause? The truth was, she hadn’t given the idea of actually using the diapers much thought beforehand, and it hadn’t occurred to her that she might need to go number two.
Eliza reached for the door. Locked. Fucking cock-sucking ass-licking satanic bullshit fuck fuck fuck. Her train of thought descended into a series of profanities and violent images. She banged on the door, knowing, of course, that no one was there. If anything, it would wake John up and her plan would fall to pieces. Defeated, she slid down onto the floor, clutching her stomach. Although she was in pain, she was also sleep deprived, still. Her eyes began to droop, and soon she was floating in and out of terrible dreams. Monsters were out to get her. Even worse, there were rows of toilet stalls, but every single one of them was empty. Not even a sign of plumbing, just empty toilet stalls, mocking her.
“Baby, what are you doing out here?”
Eliza was confused. It took her a minute to reorient herself. She was flat out on her stomach, on the carpet in front of the locked bathroom. Her padded butt was sticking up, and her joints hurt from lying in such an uncomfortable position. Her tummy hurt. Through sleepy eyes, she resolved the image of John, a shadowy figure that became clearer as he hoisted her to her feet. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He repeated.
Eliza didn’t even realize it, but she must have been crying. John held her in his arms, and she leaned in. Then another cramp hit, and she pushed away from him, arching her back and clenching with all her might. “My tummy hurts,” she said.
“Oh, sweetie, do you need to go to the toilet? Why didn’t you say so?”
“I don’t,” Eliza said. Her posture and potty dance belied her statement.
“Then why is your hand on your butt?” He said.
She had no answer to that.
“Come on, I’ll unlock the toilet and then you can go. I don’t want you to be in pain.”
“Nonsense! It’s no trouble.”
Eliza shook her head. “It was just a bad dream. I sleepwalked. The tummy pain went away.” She was so close to relief, yet so far.
“What’s this, then?” John picked up the fresh diaper from the floor.
“I sleepwalked,” Eliza whispered again.
“Okay.” John had a look of gentle concern. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to go to the bathroom?”
“All right, baby. It’s only six, and a Sunday. I want to sleep in, at least until half past seven. That hardly qualifies as sleeping in, I guess, but you’re already awake. If you can manage it, I’d like to go back and slumber in bed for a while. I promise, I’ll protect you from bad dreams.” But will you protect me from pooping my pants? Five hours. Just five hours.
When she nodded in assent, he scooped her from the floor and carried her back to bed. Eliza tried to close her eyes and sleep, but the pressure in her abdomen and further down was too much. John seemed to be a deep sleeper, quick to fall asleep and sleep well. Before she knew it, he was snoring again. Eliza rubbed her stomach and wiggled around. No position was any good. No matter what she did, it hurt. She could only think of the toilet. The money. Yes. She could think about that instead. Her rent paid, with some extra spending money on top. All she had to do was not fuck up on the home stretch. Money. Toilet. Poop. Roses. No. Rent. Rules. Professional. Obey. Roses. Poop. Toilet. Obey. OBEY!
Eliza didn’t know how long she’d been lying there, fighting a desperate fight against her body and its natural needs. She wiggled, grabbed herself, clenched and fought. Her eyes were droopy, but every time she was about to slip into sleep, another cramp woke her up. The cramps were getting more frequent, and harder to fight. Then there was an enormous pressure, starting in her tummy, a painful push that stung like a bee, then fastened around her midsection as if there were a fist squeezing her from the inside. Tears were forming in her eyes, and the pain continued. Eliza arched her back and lifted her butt to alleviate the pressure, and now it was spreading, downwards, pushing towards her colon. The pressure was now localized, and the pain was unbearable. Her poor muscles. Roses. No. OBEY!
Eliza lost the fight. With her diapered ass raised, her body pushed, whether she wanted it to or not. The mess began slipping out her back, pushing against the padding and spreading outward, then drooping down. The pain lessened with each push, and she was so tired of it, so out of it, she willed herself to push harder, anything to make the pain stop. As she continued emptying herself out back, her bladder gave out as well, and a warmth spread in her front, further lessening the pressure. The pee spread up her crack, soaking into the thirsty material, and pushed back to meet up with the mess in the back. Utterly devastated and defeated, Eliza sank down and felt the mush squish further out into her back. Then the smell hit her. An awful stink, impossibly to ignore. A hundred farts in one. Eliza almost gagged. The pain was gone, but now it was replaced by shame.
What she’d just done was on the top three list of her hard NO’s. There was no way in hell she was ever incorporating poop into anything sexual. Two of her clients had asked, and she’d taken to handing out a sheet with a list of what she would very much like to do, what she was open to, and at the bottom, the things she would under no circumstances do, whether the price was a penny or the Tower of London. Never. It was her own stupid fault, too. Her stupid block about pooping in front of someone—even in public bathrooms, alone in a stall, she couldn’t do it, she’d rather be in pain until she was home—and her stupid professional pride. ROSES. That was all she’d have to say, and Jonathan would suspend the play and allow her to go do her business in peace. There was no doubt in Eliza’s mind that he’d comply instantly. Everything she’d seen from him indicated that he was one of the good guys. Eliza lay there, silent, not wanting to deal with what she’d inevitably have to deal with. Maybe if she ignored it, it would all go away.No. That’s Little Eliza talking. Your problems don’t disappear if you hide your face behind a stuffed animal.
Eliza didn’t know if it was the smell or her whimpers, but John woke up, and instantly, he knew.
“Oh no,” was the first thing he said. “Oh, Eliza, sweetie.”
He took her in his arms and held her, for a long time. Eliza attempted to mumble “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so stupid,” into his chest, but he shushed her and pacified her with little whispers and strokes of her hair. She didn’t have to think of anything sad to bring tears to her eyes. John wiped her tears away, and then he got out of bed. The smell filled the room like a cloud of shame.
“Let’s get you cleaned up right away,” John said. Quickly, he had his supplies ready, and then her butt was on a towel. He set about removing the tapes. The front was soaked, a blue stripe pointing to her belly button where a yellow one had been. John had her lift her butt into the air, and then he carefully slid the soiled diaper out from under her. Eliza didn’t dare to look at the mess. She closed her eyes as he used the front of the diaper to wipe away some of the dirtiness smeared all over her butt, and then he set about cleaning her with a bunch of wet wipes. The cold wipes gave her goosebumps. But the way he was cleaning her, the careful motions around her holes… Stupid brain. It was turning her on. Behind the shame was a layer of excitement. Eliza loved to be humiliated, but only on her own terms. Now that the acute phase of the shame was fading, she could see how this was the ultimate humiliation. An adult woman, pooping and peeing in her diaper and helplessly crying for Daddy to clean her up. No. This is stupid. It’s shameful. It’s no fun. It’s a hard limit, for fuck’s sake. And yet his motions were making her wet. It’s just mechanical stimulation. That’s it. Just like forced orgasms with a vibrator. Just like some rape victims get wet, and yet they hate it. Not that this is anything like rape—John isn’t doing anything he isn’t allowed to. He could be doing so much more to me right now. No. That was crazy talk. Bad precedent. Fucked up.
“I’m so sorry it came to this,” John said. “This isn’t acting, is it? You’re genuinely upset.”
Eliza nodded. His tone was soothing, like a real father talking to his infant daughter, although the words coming out of his mouth were those of one adult talking to another. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“No, it’s my stupid fault,” she said. “I could have said the safeword. I could have, but I didn’t. It’s just… I can’t do that in front of others. But then I ended up…” Her voice broke and she trailed off.
“I’m so sorry.” He was still cleaning her. Was she really that dirty? Eliza didn’t dare look. If she looked down and saw the mess with her own eyes, she might break down and cry again. Her back was arching a little more than it needed to. Willing or not, the stimulation was working.
“In the future, we’ll have to make a clause about situations like this.”
“In the future?” Eliza was surprised. She’d have thought he’d be too disgusted—that he was just being kind because he felt guilty, hiding his true feelings.
“I’m having the time of my life—I mean, I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt like this. I just mean, yesterday in general. You and me. I’d love to meet up again in the future. Hell, I’ll double the price, if that’s what it takes.”
Eliza opened her eyes. A peek downstairs: she was clean, and the dirty diaper was gone, hidden somewhere she wouldn’t see it. She certainly wasn’t about to go looking. He was still cleaning her, still tickling her in all the right places, but it seemed like he was doing it absentmindedly. John wasn’t turning her on on purpose, not for her pleasure or his. He was simply moving the wet wipe around as he was talking to her. Eliza thought for a moment. “Let’s say a 50 percent price hike,” she said. “That is, if you’re really not disgusted and just saying that to make me feel better. I can tell you’re a good guy.” A little moan escaped, and she reflexively covered her mouth. John didn’t seem to notice.
“Disgusted? Little one, how could I ever be disgusted by you? You’re the cutest girl in the universe.” Eliza blushed. Am I really lying here, enjoying this? Some of her clients were handsome businessmen—workouts five days a week, muscular chests, abs, pecs, biceps—probably too busy with their sixty hour work weeks to go out on the town and pick up a hot chick, although they certainly would be able to. She wasn’t foreign to the idea that paid sex could be good sex, for her too. Eliza had gotten into the business because she was a sexual creature, constantly craving stimulation. But to be so utterly degraded and yet to feel so good at the same time…
“You’re adorable,” John said. He was finally finished wiping, and taped her up in a new diaper as a matter of course. Eliza didn’t protest. Of course she should be diapered. She’d just emptied her bowels and bladder in her underwear. “You know what, I think we deserve breakfast in bed. How about some bacon and eggs?”
Eliza didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. “Daddy,” she said. “Daddy, please don’t leave me.”
“Oh, sweetie.” He climbed into bed beside her. As he did, she noticed for the first time that he was hard. It was impossible to hide in his tight-fitting boxers. Oh, well. What did she expect? Wasn’t she here to turn him on and fulfill his fantasies? “I think you should sleep a little more, kitten. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep, and then I’ll make breakfast and wake you up when it’s ready. Okay?”
She nodded. He put her head on his chest and she closed her eyes. Soon, she was drifting into sleep. She didn’t wake up when he slid out of bed, and he had to shake her gently to return her to the world of the waking. John had set two wooden trays on the covers, and on them, plates with bacon and eggs and white bread, and a glass of orange juice on the side. Eliza dug in. The smell of her mess was gone, replaced with a mix of something flowery—she suspected John had sprayed something in the air—and the delicious smell of warm, crispy bacon. Eliza wasn’t a vegetarian, exactly, but she mostly ate vegetables and fruit, rice and whole-grain bread. It helped her figure. Now she’d have two big meaty meals in one night and morning. Perhaps the steak was what had upset her stomach; or perhaps it was just the natural need to void after a certain time had passed. The bacon and the steak the night before reminded Eliza of how delicious meat could be.
“So,” said John. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? I can’t believe you’ve taken to the role so well. I was afraid, well… I’ll admit, I’ve tried to get other partners to get into it. Never admitted the full extent of my fetish until, well, until Jane. But I’ve done, like, schoolgirl roleplay with previous exes. None of them managed to get really into it. You could always tell they were a bit uncomfortable with it. But you…” He stroked her hair. It felt so, so good when he did it. Almost better than some orgasms she’d had. Warm affection trumped cold hedonism, sometimes. “You,” John continued, “despite the unfortunate mishap earlier, you’ve almost convinced me you’re really my little girl.”
“That’s what you pay for,” Eliza said, munching on a strip of bacon.
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth. It’s rude.”
Instantly, she was back to Little Eliza. “Sorry, Daddy.” She felt as if she’d swam to the surface, up to herself, her real self, only for someone to yank her back underwater.
“As I was saying,” John continued, brushing some strands of hair from her face, “you really know what you’re doing.”
Yes, she did. She also knew her limits well, and not to push too far past them. Certainly not with a client. A regular partner, perhaps, but to a client, she must always be in control. This was no time to expand your horizons.
“Roses,” Eliza said, bacon and eggs clear of her mouth. There was no panic in her voice: she said it as if she were chatting about the weather.
John recoiled. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, no,” Eliza said. “It’s just, I’m exhausted. I think the humiliation earlier was a little much. It wasn’t supposed to be part of the scene. I’m a little…” She sunk down into the pillows, almost toppling the glass of juice in the process. “Have you heard of sub drop?”
“When a submissive has a particularly overwhelming emotional or physical experience during a scene, the release is like getting high. Like shooting heroin, almost. Not that I’ve ever done that, I just mean, it’s a feeling of infinite pleasure. But then there’s the comedown. You’re exhausted, spent, and suddenly all the negative thinking, all the prejudice and condemnation of society hits you like a brick. The terrible things you’ve been made to do or had done to you are just terrible, and no fun anymore. The submissive may get depressed, scared, anxious. That’s when you need to stop the scene and move on to aftercare. I think the breakfast in bed was a nice touch, it helps normalize things. You’re a natural.” Her throat was getting dry. She was used to delivering monologues—she had a whole spiel about safe, sane and consensual that she presented to most clients, unless her intuition told her it was unnecessary. She hadn’t delivered it to John. But now she was tired, and it was hard to focus. Usually, the words flowed out of her, but this time, she had to struggle to find them and arrange them in the correct order. “But it’s time to drop the roleplay. Let’s just be adults for the rest of our morning together, okay? I’m really sorry I couldn’t keep it up for the whole twenty-four hours. If not for my… my… the accident, it would have been no problem.”
Jonathan nodded. “Of course. Of course. Don’t think I’m gonna dock you in pay or anything. Let’s get you out of that diaper. I mean, sorry. You’re a grown woman, Eliza. Of course you can change out of your own diaper.”
She blushed. Eliza had almost forgotten about the bulk between her legs. At first, the dry and clean padding had felt heavenly, but then she’d gotten caught up in bacon and eggs. “I’m not quite done,” she said. Eliza imagined a waterfall and pushed. A little warm trickle seeped out into her diaper. It wasn’t much, but she could feel the wetness. Jonathan watched intently, although the diaper was hidden under the covers. “I’m wet,” Eliza announced. “I’d appreciate it if you’d clean me up before I change back into panties.”
It wasn’t a hard ask. He was quickly back with the wipes. Away went the damp diaper, and back came the good, warm feelings. “We’re renegotiating right now,” Eliza announced. “You’re allowed to rub a little extra down there. In fact, I must insist.”
“I thought you were spent?” Jonathan said.
“Not quite.” She had endured too much and been too worked up not to get the climax—and she was sure Jonathan would enjoy it.
He began to rub rhythmically. Soon, all the delicious humiliation found its release. Eliza shuddered as the pleasure began between her legs and traveled upwards. Now she was really spent.
They whiled away the last few hours in bed. Eliza, back in the panties she arrived in, taught Jonathan to praise her and tell her the things she needed to hear. Tell her how good she was, how much he appreciated her performance and presence, how well she had handled the challenges thrown at her, and to stroke her hair all the while. He was a quick learner. The dark clouds which had begun to form in her mind were preemptively dispersed. She asked him questions about his company, what it was like to make it big; he countered with questions of his own, about what she’d studied in college and why, and what it was like to be your own boss. She found the last bit amusing, coming from a multimillionaire entrepreneur, but she answered him truthfully, if at times a little generally (always cautious, never too personal). It was past 11:30 when she finally rose from bed. By now, Little Eliza was a distant memory. She was back in control. The professional.
Jonathan escorted her to the door. “I’d love to see you again same time next week,” he said. “And then we could renegotiate the thing about going out in public, if you don’t mind. It’s probably my ultimate fantasy. It would be totally discreet. No one but you and me would know.”
Eliza smiled. “I’m sure we can work something out,” she said. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then she was out the door. Jonathan watched the Metallica shirt walk down the porch to her car.
Eliza waved, and then she was off. Back to the real world. Back to roses.
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