Mother Sappho

At this, Regina’s eyes fixed and appraised, then she came back quickly; kissed the top of Emma’s blonde hair, slipped her hand around the back of Emma’s knee and tugged her thigh further across her hips, holding her closer; though she said nothing, offered no reassurances, just allowed the tears to fall natural and uninterrupted, perfectly understanding that they needed to leave Emma on their own terms; otherwise she would simply bottle them away and hold them for longer than one should.

“I’ll just…” Emma cleared her throat, shook her head slightly, startled by the croaking rasp all the crying today had done to her. She sighed, swiping the back of her hand beneath her nose. “I’ll work from home, some people are still doing that. Maybe just go into the office for client meetings. That would only need to be once a week—“

“Do you think locking yourself away at home will benefit you in the long run?” Regina’s voice was not accusatory, simply soft and exploring all the options. “Would it be possible to take some discrete things to work, just for a little while, just until we better understand what we’re dealing with?” Emma felt manicured nails trail through her hair. Regina sighed softly, then pecked Emma’s temple. “I don’t want to push… I just worry that being at home, alone, all day, might not be the best thing for your mental health while we’re figuring all of this out?”

For some reason — maybe Regina’s acceptance and complacency with all of it — Emma snapped in a very un-Emma Swan like way.

“Nothing is being figured out!” Emma suddenly barked, sloshing the water and rearing her head around furiously. “I had it figured out — for years, for a decade! — can you imagine what that’s like? No, because you don’t care, because you said what you said this morning and you made today happen—“ Emma’s words halted and forgot themselves on her tongue, instantly guilty, terrified…

Oh-so terrified.

Of course, Regina was going to break up with her now.

And of course, Regina was going to punish her, do something horrible and disproportionate because that’s what authority figures do—Ah. Emma blinked, swallowed, quickly reminded herself that Regina was not an authority figure; yet somehow she felt that way in context, in meaning, in the security she lent and provided, and all of these things were swirling, bumping together in Emma’s head, too much at once to make sense of.

Emma blinked and swallowed again, steadying her thoughts, at a loss, just about pulling herself from asunder these big questions to which she had arrived at no meaningful answers.

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered, wide-eyed, horror in her voice. “Regina, I didn’t mean that you made this happen. I don’t know why I said that.” Her brow furrowed and knitted.

Emma expected a big heartbreak, or some symptom of hurt, but Regina seemed to be above it and unfazed. She looked… displeased, but not hurt, and the way Emma differentiated it all was that Regina had not got up and left her in the bath, all alone, drowning with her thoughts. Regina stayed perfectly there, her chin tilting ever so slightly higher, lips tugging into the faintest of downturned expressions.

“I didn’t make this happen, and I also care very much — by the way, I’m quite aware of both those facts.” Regina leaned forward, cutting through the bubbles until they were inches from one another’s face. Her expression was tense, but her voice was so slow and sure of itself, almost reassuring to Emma’s ear in it’s dulcet tone. “You are so consumed with your shame and embarrassment that you would imprison and hide yourself away from the world — beholden to your trauma-responses in a manner you claim you don’t wish to be — than find ways to live and enjoy your life around it. That’s what makes you silly, Emma, not the wetting, not the tough spot you’re in, not even the diapers, though they do certainly help soften my disposition. Now, you did apologise, I would like for that to be the end of our disagreement for now. Would you like to come and snuggle again, or do you want to get in bed and have some quiet time to yourself?”

There was not an ounce of emotional-leaning in Regina’s expression, but the softest touch of her pointer finger swiping droplets of water from Emma’s cheek reassured that they would be just fine in the morning — if not sooner.

“I’m sorry.” Emma could not unwrap herself from the guilt. “I keep worrying you’re going to open your eyes, some day soon, look around, see how things actually are compared to what we dreamed they would look like when you moved in. I feel like I lied to you. I feel like I sold you this dream of… a successful woman, consistent, put-together.” Emma began to choke on her words, overcome. “A woman who would take care of you, provide, make you happy. But here we are, and you…” She shook her head, inhaled hard and tried to find the words. “You’re too pretty — and still too young — to deal with caring for someone you love.”

That was it.

That was the statement from Emma’s well-meaning tongue that earned Regina’s flared nostrils and acute stare.

“You think I chose to be with you, and begin to build a meaningful life with you, because what exactly?” Regina smiled — though it was abundantly clear this was not a happy smile — oh no, this was an infuriated scowl. “I thought you were my meal ticket? I thought you would provide financially and make me a kept woman?”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Emma straightened.

“It sounds like that.” Regina pushed forward again, her tone dropping quiet once more, but it was not dulcet; it was on the verge of an anger so quiet that it could be felt rather than heard, like embers catching on the wind of her offence. “You sold me nothing. There was no dream. There was no fantasy of a life with you beyond what is, what will be, and some small hope that we might always find ways to grow around and above the things that come our way.”

“I love you,” Emma murmured. “I feel like… I feel like I just fucked everything up, like I opened my mouth and kept ruining things even though I didn’t—“

“Stop. Just, stop.” Regina lifted her palms. “Emma, there are never punishments — there are never screaming matches — there has never and there will never be slammed doors and bad moods the morning after. So you can either believe what I’m telling you, that I love you, and I am here because I want to be here, and I am aroused by you regardless of whether I am Mommy or just… the version of me that tries somewhat harder to disguise the distinct pleasure I feel when you let me care for you and hold all of your problems safe in my hands.” Her lips curled into a warmer expression, cheeks blushing pink. “Or you can keep punishing yourself, upsetting yourself, convincing yourself of things that are not true. You are not a fuck up, you do not ruin things. Do what you must to make sense of me, of us — of the problems we’re figuring out together — but leave me out of your self-loathing, I want no part in it, little one.” Regina’s fingers found the nape of Emma’s neck, grazing the sweet spot expertly.

Emma closed her eyes and…

There was calmness.

Inside of herself, lavender, coconut, steady and warm, just like the water.

It felt as though she were somehow small and big all at once; small for her need to be so close to Regina that she was beneath her nose and melting into her skin. Big too, for the other feelings in her body, between her legs, in the core of her stomach, in her wandering mind that wanted Regina’s steady palm cupping a different part of her body and protecting it with that calm, stern way.

No, not quite Regina.

Not in this moment.

Emma opened her eyes again, biting her bottom lip, ready to give something she did not yet have words for, freely and of her own volition. “Mommy,” she exhaled that word, looking straight into Regina’s dark eyes, unfrightened and wanting. “We can go to bed now?”

“There she is.” Regina smiled at this, as though she saw some kind of distinct change behind Emma’s baby blues. “It’s been a tough day, princess. Can I take the reigns now? Take good care of my little babe? I bought you new pyjamas today.” She seemed so proud of the fact, eyes twinkling. “I may, on this seldom occasion despite not wearing pyjamas, have bought myself the matching pair. We could put them on, have some quiet time?”

“Mommy that sounds nice.” Emma nodded, pressing forward and hooking her chin over the flat of Mommy’s shoulder. She paused, pecking, nibbling, then pressed a kiss to Mommy’s ear and lingered there for just a moment. “Can we do other stuff too?” she whispered.

Something snapped like hydrogen catching alight, like the pulse of the moment had skipped a beat; Regina barely catching up to her sudden arousal, Emma clinging to it for dear life. They kissed, really kissed, and it was different this time, it was delicious, Mommy’s palms tight around Emma’s damp cheeks, half-forcing it, more aggressive than Regina ever normally was. Emma slipped her forearms around her shoulders, behind her neck, clinging so tight and parting her lips into Mommy’s wrathful taking. Regina nibbled her bottom lip, pushed her tongue, as though teaching Emma, as though guiding her how to kiss a woman.

Emma giggled when they got out of the bath, because it was impossible not to. Regina was half-dragging her, giggling too, until she found steady footing on the rug, grabbing Emma and picking her up all of a sudden, as though she weighed nothing and was simply too precious not to carry.

“I like you like this.” Emma blinked in wonderment, taken by surprise. “I…” She paused and felt her brain stall with how simple it had all instantly became. “Mommy, I like me like this too.”

“Little babe,” Mommy crooned, her voice all raspy and soft. “Not half as much as I like you. Oh, the things I’m going to do to you, pretty little thing. You want Mommy to be extra gentle tonight?”

“Extra gentle someways, Mommy.” Emma whispered with a smile.

“And…” Regina grinned, figuring it out all for herself. “Rough with you in others?” She tilted her face, juggling the blonde in her arms.

Emma said nothing, just nodded giddily, little and big, all at once.

“Love you Mommy.”

Fourteen. Emma had been caught too many times taking her pull-ups down, letting her fingers wander in ways they shouldn’t, placing her diaper back on in the morning, dry as a bone; while the bed sheets were damp with a little puddle of her relaxed bladder. She was promptly given a check between her legs, ankles held back while she cried, kicked, her anger becoming sobbing croaks of concession, because the nurse finally backed off trying to insert the appropriately sized catheter. Three attempts, the smallest one still found itself too wide to fit in the little pin-prick hole.

It meant having spot checks in the hours of the night; as though the humiliation and shame of being handled in such a way was not enough. She awoke often to sheets being pulled back, her nightie lifted a few inches to make sure the diaper was still on, that the anti-tampering tape that sealed the top of the waist over her pull tabs — lest she wriggle out of pull-ups — remained unbroken.

Her sixteenth birthday, she was allowed to start asking for an hour extension at night before her bedtime diaper went on. In case she wanted to “study before bed.” Emma never asked, because she never entertained the idea of seeking permission to rub her clit before bedtime, her slick little lips open and ripe with new young exploration, her tiny sensitive button swollen and still twitching from her fiddling, for her to be then spread out, spread open, subject to cream, powder patted down on her vagina — that had clenched with explorative pleasure like a girl on the brink of young womanhood just a few moments before — then reduced back into nothing more than a little incontinent girl’s problem area.

Regina had listened to her every word, without a single trace of repulsion, judgement, or impatience. Regina just listened, stroked her head, then her back, saying nothing and yet saying everything with her calm, unhurried quiet way.

“I had it-” Emma’s voice strained at first, tight, stretched and thin, then it broke like a little girl. “I had it under control for so long,” her voice drew soreness from her throat.

“I know, sweetheart, but just for now…” Regina’s hand returned, the lightest touch of her palm caressing around the crinkling, padded material hiding Emma’s belly button. “This helps you stay in control, and I think you look so cute, so pretty too. It makes me feel…very protective, a little more dominant than usual actually.”

Throat tighter than a pin-prick, Emma struggled to control her breathing, lest she start to cry with her oldest and deepest wounds on show. She felt too silly, too dumb, sobbing would only exacerbate her shame. Emma inhaled, exhaled, for some time, did nothing but breathe and shake her head a little, letting the words come in their own good time.

Regina was patient, her nose pressing into the nape of her blonde baby hairs, but Emma shirked away, and Regina respected the non-verbal cue.

“I was good, for ten years, I didn’t have a single accident, not one,” Emma managed, warbly and tearful.

“Good girls can still have accidents, sweetheart, it doesn’t make you any less of a good girl.”

“Don’t…don’t say it like that. I’m not, you know, a baby.” Emma’s eyes darted around, humiliated and arms folded tight.

Regina tugged the smallest of smiles; in her calm, unbothered way. Emma barely saw it; her stare remained focused to the floor, her feet, her clean pruned toes. Then, Emma focused on the way the bathroom tile felt beneath her soles; a little damp, cool, smooth like shale, with texture that branched through the marble, a little rougher, a little like fine-milled grain…

Emma’s breathing became steadier, the distress calming considerably. To anyone else, it would seem like progress, or perhaps as though Emma were grounding in her environment. But Regina wasn’t anyone. Emma’s grey eyes had almost glazed over; she stared at the bathroom tile like a woman tunnelling out of her own body; she was on the cusp of slipping into a long, empty daydream of nothingness. Half willing the disassociation to just hurry up and take over.

Regina sighed, lips pursed, apparently aware that Emma’s complex thought processes were stalling to a halt.

Emma felt Regina’s palm lay flat on her spine, not rubbing, just pressing, just tethering Emma back to something tangible and real. Emma was on the brink of detaching, much like a balloon getting ready to float away.

Regina…

Regina was a good tether.

“I wish I could go back in time, protect you, when you were a little girl, I hope you know that.” Regina kept her voice low and quick. “You were too young. You deserved good, happy, safe formative years. You had to grow up too fast, too quick. And these…?” Red manicured nails clutched and held Emma’s tummy, below her belly button, crinkling the dry material with her long nails, petting it, hushing Emma’s shy whiffling tears. “This is just one less thing for you to worry about now. I want you to sleep better, I want you to fall asleep on my chest like you always do, and not wake up in tears every night because you wet your panties—“

“Please don’t say it.” Emma’s lips trembled.

“Okay.”

Emma wept hard, thick rolling drips down cheeks redder than pomegranate, her bottom lip wobbling like a little girl despite her current situation and the emotional inner-conflicts it presented. She was twenty-nine, smart, really smart, she was not supposed to need a bedtime diaper.

“You look so cute, really cute,” Regina husked, her lips quirking into a slight pout. “First night’s the hardest. Do it for me? In fact, I know you’re going do it for me.” Regina dropped her tone, lips curling into a thin smile that showed her pearly teeth. “You’re going to come and get in bed, and let me hold you close, and wipe your tears, kiss your sweet nose, and take very good care of my baby girl. No more shame, no more embarrassment, just come and cuddle with me and have one less problem to worry about?”

Surprised by the uptake, out of her brain that it was actually mockery, Emma began to panic. “I’m taking it off-“

“Take it off,” Regina warned with a soft rasp, eyes flying wide, her hands capturing and stilling Emma’s as she tried to find and tug on the pull-tabs, “And you will force my hand, sweetheart, and I would like to keep you as comfortable and happy as possible.”

“Force your hand?” Emma went quiet like a scolded child, her forehead dropping, but her eyes peering up as though she were looking through her brow, sulking, told-off for doing something she shouldn’t.

Regina fixed a severe look, not angry, not accusatory, simply…

Severe.

Serious this time, Emma realised.

“Emma, we have tried no drinks before bedtime. We tried the bed protector. We even tried it your way, ignoring it, not talking about it, but it didn’t get us very far-“

“It’s not an easy thing to talk about,” Emma interrupted defensively, voice warbly and upset because she knew where this conversation was heading, and her thighs squeezed and clenched together like a nervous little girl at the thought. “I can’t help it, the accidents. I don’t…I don’t know why it started happening again. I have never been in a relationship like this, where I feel safe, and loved, and protected.” Emma still didn’t understand, but something imperceptible changed behind Regina’s eyes, as though she indeed understood.

There was a pause, Regina softened. She sighed, tucking her long dark hair behind her ears, the severity melting off her expression like February snow. All that remained were the tightly-knitted lips, fidgeting, holding back words that Regina was still mulling over, double-checking with herself.

“Emma, there’s a big piece of this conversation we’re not talking about,” Regina said it with the gentlest, honey-sweet tone possible. “It’s becoming the elephant in the room. I don’t care that your body copes with post-traumatic stress the way it does, not one bit. I care that you attach so much shame and anxiety to it all. I care that I woke up five times this week to find you in sobbing tears trying to cover up a bedwetting accident. And you know what happens after, it happens almost every time, but you never mention it in the morning.” Regina pushed a somewhat fond smile, as though maybe they had been making love, doing something intimate, sharing space with one another and still…

Emma had no recollection.

“Wait,” Regina’s eyes shifted. “You remember, right?”

It wasn’t a rhetorical question, Emma knew that, but she did not have an answer.

From her murky recollections, there was always the moment where she woke and snapped up out of bed in a sweat, gasping, uncomfortable; soaked in hot sweat dripping down her whole body, rarely from a nightmare these days, because she was safe with Regina, so usually she awoke from ink black soulless sleep instead.

But, then, in the silence, with Regina asleep beside her, Emma would realise.

The blankets were peeled back, dripping wet too.

And it wasn’t sweat pooling between her legs.

That was when her memory became unreliable. Snapshots at best, usually vague, as though trying to recall someone else’s dream. Emma remembered crying, scatterbrained, frightened, humiliated and desperate to fix it. But there were never reliable recollections of what happened after Regina awoke to the incident.

Emma surmised that Regina would help her shower, put her in clean clothes, take care of her. It was never discussed, Emma just knew she woke up the next morning in different bed sheets, her skin clean and moisturised, wearing one of Regina’s smart button-up shirts as a nightie, that was when she would burn herself alive with shame.

The dress shirts made sense, in an absurd and silly kind of way. Regina only really wore smart button-ups or expensive dresses, all kinds of dark colours, but she dressed smart, never casual, and she didn’t wear pyjamas. So, Emma figured that Regina put her back to bed, depleted and emotionally exhausted, then slipped her arms inside button-up sleeves because it was easier than wrangling a t-shirt over her body. Mystery solved, no questions asked, or so Emma believed.

Regina craned forward, continuing the line of questioning. “Baby, you can’t remember what’s been happening?” She became concerned.

Emma shook her head, eyes darting around, convinced of what she thought might be the case, but without evidence to confirm her hypothesis.

“If…If I say mean things to you, or I’m aggressive, I am so sorry. It’s…it’s just fight or flight response, it used to happen when I was a teenager. If I seem like I’m scared of you, I promise, I’m not-“

“You call me Mommy, Emma, every time.”

Regina didn’t seem displeased let alone repulsed. For Emma it felt as though she had just been slapped in the face, eyes snatched wide and completely shocked to morose silence.

“You do get very tearful and upset, Emma, that’s what wakes me. But you’re not aggressive, far from it, you’re so innocent, and fragile, and frightened, and you call me Mommy and won’t let me leave you alone by yourself for a second. The only way I can get you to stay in bed after you’re clean is if I put you back in one of my shirts, fuss you, hold you, reassure you that everything is okay, that you’re safe with me. If you tell me you don’t remember any of that stuff then…I believe you. But, I think you know I’m telling you the truth too?” Regina’s eyebrows knitted together.

Heartbroken, Emma didn’t know how to cope with this much humiliation at once.

“It’s not…” Emma inhaled and held her breath, then exhaled and closed her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t believe you it’s just that you’re telling me I’m…I’m some kind of…” Emma didn’t have words, she didn’t know if words existed for whatever it was she had been doing to her girlfriend all hours of the night.

“Emma,” Regina’s voice tilted low with sternness, she was aware Emma was looking for yet another way to self-loathe and punish herself. “I understand you’re figuring your way through what I’ve explained to you, that to you it is very new and scary, but I love being Mommy to you.” Regina’s dark eyes shone with sincerity. “I love you, I love being your protector, your safety, your Mommy when you’re scared. I love the way you don’t want to be out of my sight, you just cling, you just hold on like a little babe in the wood, because you know I will always make it better when you need someone to make it better. I get to guide you and take care of you, in a way you won’t let me any other time. Do you…understand how that might make me feel protective, and in this instance—“ Regina glanced down at the thick, dry diaper that Emma was still trying to hide with clasped hands in front of her hips. “Why I have to insist we try this and see if it helps things?”

“Otherwise…I’ll force your hand?”

“Very good, you were listening.”

“Force your hand where?” Emma felt herself grow hopeful, optimistic, because for some unknown reason…

Emma was growing wet and needy.

“Emma, we’re going to try it my way this time, otherwise I will have to call and make the appointment… well, multiple appointments; with the doctor to run checks, with your psychiatrist so they know you’re wetting nearly every night again, with all the relevant people who could possibly help us, if you refuse to help yourself, then I will have to be cruel to be kind.”

Emma felt her eyes pearl, and again, it didn’t make sense. She was smart after all, really smart, and of course Regina was making sense—if not a little tersely—that at some point, if they stopped trying to find solutions, someone would have to call the game. But Emma’s bottom lip wobbled regardless, and her eyes shone with shame, maybe fear, perhaps a little of both. She hated doctors, she also hated the idea of people knowing she was bedwetting again.

She had worked so hard, to leave her hometown, to climb the corporate ladder, to have the nice home and nice things; to have this beautiful dark woman she wanted to spend her life with…

And yet she felt like a little girl again.

Though not half as frightened as she once felt.

“Emma, we’re going to try it my way now, because you asked me not to tell anyone what has been happening, you said it was very important to you that nobody knows. But if you won’t try? I will have to call and make the appointments.” It took one lift of Regina’s eyebrow to convey how serious she was.

“How long do we try?” Emma looked to her feet, conceding and unsure of how to feel about it. “I still don’t understand how the…” She glanced down at the diaper, then instantly back up, embarrassed and nervous to say the word aloud. “How will it stop me from bedwetting?”

“Stop you from bedwetting?” Regina blinked, as though she didn’t understand Emma’s question. “Oh. Oh, baby.” Her eyes went wide, empathetic and a little sad in the crows feet. “Oh princess. C’mere, baby girl, I’m not trying to stop you wetting. I know that’s important to you that it stops, but it’s just not all that important to me. I don’t care how your body copes with things. I care about your mental health. I care about you feeling safe, sleeping for longer, not feeling like you have to hide things from me. I just want you to feel better about yourself. When your body is ready to stop, it will stop, and you can just be Mommy’s little girl and lean on me until then, if you want to do that.” Regina trailed her fingers through Emma’s hair, holding her, so tight, so protective, her other hand grazing over her crinkling, dry bottom.

“I…”

“You’re not comfortable?” Regina pulled back slightly, double-checking.

“No, no, I…” Emma blinked, growing red-faced and stalled. “I think Mommy might have a ring to it, maybe, once… I get used to the idea that I wasn’t just having dirty dreams, it actually happened.” Emma still couldn’t make sense of it.

“Dirty dreams?” Regina’s lips curled upwards at that. “How dirty?”

I have five more chapters of this story, captions, MDLG centric erotica, and a safe little bird’s nest filled with content and stories for diaper girls and little ones in particular!

”I don’t want to wear diapers to bed like a… a…” Her expression knitted, and her voice tightened and wobbled. “Like an incontinent little girl again!” Emma wouldn’t meet her eyes.

”I know.” Regina nodded, aware it was the understatement of the century.

The truth of the matter was that Emma had sobbed, starkly unlike her usually even-keeled and matter of fact self, much like a traumatised little girl trying to make sense of things. It had taken some coaxing, romancing, her cunt lips petted and stroked in the bath while Regina hushed her like an inconsolable child, taking care of things so that Emma did not have to. The duality was… unusual. Regina didn’t mind, Emma needed this help, and that was that.

Emma had cried, softly at first, breaths almost suckling on themselves quietly, stifled and embarrassed, until they broke into clenched, embarrassed and helpless sobs when the buzzing of the trimmer forewarned that this was real, and this was indeed happening. Her pretty blonde pubic hair was shaved. It left her smooth, puffy, babyish between her legs; which hearkened her mind, and the memory of her muscle system too, back to a time when she was too small, yet simultaneously just a little too big, to have grown-ups parting her privates to check there were no diaper rash sores.

And so Emma cried, her hands wandering down to impede Regina’s gentle work with the razor, to which Regina would periodically stop, squeezing the trembling fingers, guiding them back to the side of Emma’s hips in the bathwater so they weren’t in her way. Around this went, prolonging everything, though Regina did not mind how long it took; only that she handled and saw to things on the gentlest terms she could.

For a long time Emma had never really spoken about her life in a broad context, no concrete facts about her childhood, her adolescence, the distinct political dynamics of her high school. She was vague, non-descript, and though Regina never pried, the request always came quickly for them to talk about something else. So, yes, Regina had always had her suspicions, but they were not confirmed for at least…

They had already moved in, Regina remembered. The April time, just as spring settled, and they had already been dating for months. Emma talked more and more about her life, her traumas, her humiliation, and though Regina felt she could never have been prepared for such an extent of hardships, she felt called towards helping Emma find a better way of existing with it all than pretending it had never happened.

So, Emma cried, Regina comforted, moving the razor through the lather of foam, over her skin in the gentlest strokes that revealed pinkish, smooth and puffy flesh anew — only as and when Regina felt the sensations would not push the blonde over the edge. It was slow and difficult work, though it was good work, and Regina took her time until the job was completed properly, no irritating little stubbly hairs to be found that might prove to be uncomfortable during the night.

As though to reassure Emma that was she still beautiful, still lovely, still whole and feminine and cause for tightness in one’s belly — because indeed, to Regina, Emma was still all of those things and more — Regina kissed her clitoris to soothe, again and again, gently, slowly at first, comforting her, but not performing cunnilingus; Regina kissed her tiny sensitive little button as though to remind Emma she wasn’t a child anymore; but a woman, loved by another woman, and her beautiful cunt would still be there tomorrow morning, all hers.

Regina kissed her some more between her tiny smooth lips; if only because Emma had this new, different, gorgeously exposed cunt that had otherwise been hiding beneath a thatch of golden curls for as long as they had been together, now denuded, now smooth and rubbery almost. Emma’s clitoris was so tiny, hiding under its little hood as though it were shy, but her vulva had parted ever so slightly with her arousal, like petals in bloom, and Regina could see every tiny detail there was to be seen.

Privately, Regina knew she would diaper Emma so tight, perhaps a little too tight, emollient smeared through her tiny inside lips, circled around her sensitive puckering backside, pressed into the opening of her bottom. Emma would react, perhaps whimper and cry, but she would enjoy it, and Regina knew that Emma would enjoy it, because she would show her how pleasurable it could be to have someone love all the parts of her that needed protecting.

Things had long since calmed when Regina’s kisses slowed but Emma…

She was still sensitive.

Delicate.

Fragile, innocent and almost…

Regressed, Regina had realised.

Poor baby.

Bath drained, it was time for the inevitable. Regina had handled things, start to finish, and she laid out what she had purchased online days prior; a lemon coloured adult diaper, too babyish to be dignified, but it had little graphics of strawberries embossed all over it. And, while these diapers would certainly make Emma blush, Regina thought they were pretty. Adorable, even. And when she had seen them on the website, pull tabs and all, she imagined snuggling her baby girl from behind, feeling her padded bottom, touching her belly, whispering certain sentiments that one may not expect to be said.

Undignified or not, Emma would have to get used to it quickly. If this was going to work, and it had to work, then the diapers needed to be fit for purpose, something they did not attach any shame or discomfort to lest it interfere with their intimacy, and therein, Regina felt it was important that she had a say so in the kind of things Emma would wear to bed.

Intimacy, after all, was important.

As Regina laid things out on the tiles, Emma noticed, became upset again, and she cried so hard that her jaw chattered in the bath. She told Regina the extent of her adolescence like the flood gates had been opened. Not like how she had told her girlfriend before. No, this was not restrained. Emma blurted it frantically, remembering too much of it at once, so hurt and upset and embarrassed, and ultimately scared, so frightened, as though Regina were the only safe person in her world to say such scary things too.

Regina did not hurry Emma out of the bath, she perched her chin on the edge of it, eyes full of warmth and empathy. Her knuckles found Emma’s head gently in strokes, as though she were a sweet little thing to be petted and comforted, but she did not interrupt Emma’s blurting and tearful blabbering, simply nodded and stroked her head, listened to every traumatic detail as though it were something she could fix.

Of course, Regina could not fix what had been, but she could give Emma space to heal.

Perhaps, that could be enough.

She hoped so, because Emma’s stories were heartbreaking.

I have more MDLG content, erotic captions, stories, personal accounts of my experiences as a Mommy domme, and six more chapters of poor baby Emma and her Mommy Regina, via Mother’s little bird nest right here.