Marcelinha

Alyssia jumping at the opportunity. Not to run an errand but there was something she wanted to see. In truth, Dave probably did it on purpose to add a bit more humiliation for his wife.

The squeak of the door handle, and the creak. The smell of Alyssia’s perfume flowing through the room. Then she saw her. Tara, the wife, the mother, 37 years old and stood in the corner. Tara did not want the 20 something babysitter, Alyssia to see her like this.

Smirking and laughing at Tara in the process, taking her time to look at her. She’d heard her get it but to see her bare red ass in all it’s glory. Her knickers all twisted up in a sad half mast state with her jeans. It was fantastic. She wanted to lock this memory in.

She couldn’t help herself picking up the wallet and going over.

“Looks like you got your bot-bot smacked hard Tara. You should not withhold my pay in the future. I’m glad Dave saw sense and now he’s making it up to me and taking all of us out for crazy golf and food.”

One day she just pushed that little bit too far. Naturally assuming it was an empty threat, she was flabbergasted when she found herself over his knee, with her dress hiked up and her thong pulled right down. Before being smacked like a misbehaving girl in the car park, with the door wide open. "Hunny, I'm sorry, stop. People will see"

When he first told her about Regression School, she rolled her eyes and laughed. A daycare for adults who wear diapers? A playhouse for “littles” to color, nap, and play pretend? It sounded like something pulled from one of their more elaborate roleplays, not something real. She had only ever played his babygirl at home, in the quiet safety of their shared space. Pacis and onesies were part of their private world, never meant to leave the bedroom or, at most, the living room.

Even when he handed her the sign-up forms, she thought he was just deepening the fantasy. She filled them out with a giggle, half-expecting him to break character and laugh with her. But he didn’t. He only smiled warmly and kissed her on the forehead, telling her how proud he was of his brave little girl. She figured he was just committing to the bit, nothing more.

Now, she stood in the hallway of their apartment, wearing a short-sleeved dress that barely reached the top of her thighs, the edge of her thick, crinkly diaper peeking out with every tiny movement. Her hair was pulled into neat pigtails. She shifted uncomfortably, the bulk between her legs unmistakable. Daddy was packing her bag with all the essentials—juice box, stuffie, extra diapers, her nap blankie. He hummed to himself, calm and focused, like this was a normal morning routine. She watched, waiting for the moment he'd break the illusion.

But he never did.

It wasn’t until the door opened and she saw it, that van parked by the curb, powder-blue with cartoon characters painted along the side, that her smile faltered. A uniformed woman was stepping out with a clipboard. A car seat waited inside. Her heartbeat slammed against her chest. She turned to Daddy, suddenly unsure, hoping to catch a flicker of mischief in his eyes, a hint of the old joke they were both in on. But there was none. He looked down at her with all the seriousness and warmth of a real parent sending their babygirl off for her first day.

A) Someone called mommy or daddy, probably facetime knowing my luck, and they decided to pause my change to talk to them. Even worse still when I hear them say "oh yes she's fine, would you like to see her, she was just getting her little butt wiped"

B) They didn't get a phone call, but they did decide to pause my change for more devious reasons. Maybe they decided I need a good figging with my change, or maybe I made the mistake of coughing one too many times and they need to take my temperature while my legs are up and my butt available. Or finally...