A reply I got today:

"You not that submissive if you ask a Dom to read your profile or question something he asks you"

lol

Best divorce letter ever

Dear Wife,
I’m writing you this letter to tell you that I’m leaving you forever. I’ve been a good man to you for 7 years & I have nothing to show for it. These last 2 weeks have been hell. ... Your boss called to tell me that you quit your job today & that was the last straw. Last week, you came home & didn’t even notice I had a new haircut, had cooked your favorite meal & even wore a brand new pair of silk boxers. You ate in 2 minutes, & went straight to sleep after watching all of your soaps. You don’t tell me you love me anymore; you don’t want sex or anything that connects us as husband & wife. Either you’re cheating on me or you don’t love me anymore; whatever the case, I’m gone. Your EX-Husband
P.S. don’t try to find me. Your SISTER & I are moving away to West Virginia together! Have a great life!

Dear Ex-Husband,
Nothing has made my day more than receiving your letter. It’s true you & I have been married for 7 years, although a good man is a far cry from what you’ve been. I watch my soaps so much because they drown out your constant whining & griping Too bad that doesn’t work. I DID notice when you got a hair cut last week, but the 1st thing that came to mind was ‘You look just like a girl!’ Since my mother raised me not to say anything if you can’t say something nice, I didn’t comment. And when you cooked my favorite meal, you must have gotten me confused with MY SISTER, because I stopped eating pork 7 years ago. About those new silk boxers: I turned away from you because the $49.99 price tag was still on them, & I prayed it was a coincidence that my sister had just borrowed $50 from me that morning. After all of this, I still loved you & felt we could work it out. So when I hit the lotto for 10 million dollars, I quit my job & bought us 2 tickets to Jamaica But when I got home you were gone.. Everything happens for a reason, I guess. I hope you have the fulfilling life you always wanted. My lawyer said that the letter you wrote ensures you won’t get a dime from me. So take care.
Signed, Your Ex-Wife, Rich As Hell & Free! P.S. I don’t know if I ever told you this, but my sister Carla was born Carl. I hope that’s not a problem.

Xxxxx

"Send me a photo", he said.  So I did.

"You are beautiful, I wish we could have had sex" (when we spoke a year ago).

"I'm attracted to men who can value me for more than just the ability to open my legs" I said.

"You need to see a shrink" he said, "You clearly have problems in dealing with people".

lol, yeah right, because, "You look beautiful I wish we had had sex" shows you are a real intellectual heavyweight when it comes to people!!

"Wow you are beautiful, I can't help thinking I'd love to meet you for mutual pleasure".  I really don't know how I manage to stay single with offers like these.

Satan

The profile of a man on here called "Satan".  He puts a journal entry about someone else and refers to her as "triple dipped in psycho", and you have to read his profile to get what is so funny about him referring to someone else like that!

Dark Dream Maker

It's a profile name but I just thought, what a beautiful thing to seek, a dark dream maker.

Someone please explain to me... 

Why do people watch people on television playing poker!!!

All men secretly want this

I have been talking to a man on here, I'd love to tell you his name but the big dom has sent me five messages begging me to keep it secret, anyway...

One morning he wrote me his secret fetish.  It seemed quite plausible at first, even erotic in places.  He said he hoped to meet me one day and do this.  Towards the end the fetish involved putting me into bed with a babies bottle full of his own piss and I would drink this hungrily and willingly until I had finished it.

It made me feel quite sick and after reading it I said I didn't think there would be any chance of us meeting in the future since I had no wish to drink a babies bottle full of his piss.

He replied that he couldn't believe I was so unreasonable, I should "Get over myself" and then added:

"All men secretly want this, all men want a girl to drink their piss from a bottle."  When I said I had been dating for 35 years and never been asked this before he added: "That is because most men are liars".

Are you sure this is true, that just because you want it, ALL MEN want it and if they say they don't they are lying? 

The replies I've had to date seem to be like this:

By the way, I read your journal enties on drinking pee from a babys bottle, and assure you you're right. No-one I ve ever encountered would suggest it, and I 've been around BDSM 38 years.

Even hardened med - sadists doing force feeds would never use a baby bottle as its virtually inpossible to maintain adequate sterility.

There are soo many much better uses for the mouth, especially communication.

I have a date tomorrow!

We'll see how it goes.

I wasn't expecting to meet anybody again actually, not since the prospect of such major surgery reared its ugly head.

It must be the first time in my life someone saying they would be gentle with me turned me on!

I feel quite excited.

I am going to bed now, 2.00am, come on, that's way better than 4.00am.

Advice from stranger:

Bed by 23:30, lights off, and laptop stays in another room. That other people stay up past your bedtime does not mean you do.

Thank you

Most of the men on here are married, or attached or in vanilla relationships saying, "It's complicated".  (Is the 'cake and eat it syndrome really that complicated?).  There is also the fair sprinkling of married and attached men pretending to be single and not realising that it is just so obvious they are not single and then they look a twat for pretending.  I hear that for men they also have timewasters, men pretending to be women, honestly, what is the point, can you not just stay at home and make yourself miserable instead of dragging all of us into it?

And then... then there is a minority on here who for whatever reason are genuine, maybe really single, maybe life has dealt them a bad hand.  Some of the people I stay up and talk to who have nothing to offer me but offer me wise words of wisdom or just keep me company when the night is long.  Some who say nice things and some who just offer conversation a little higher than the rest.

There are also the ones who check when I logged of.  Who ask me how my MRI scan went and who, in an online way, show a bit of tenderness to a fellow person, just because they can.  It is unusual to find such caring, lots of psychological studies would estimate people who care at around 10% of the population.  I would say, from being on here, that figure is about right.

There are the few people who check when I logged of and write and say, "You know you are not looking after yourself staying up so late" and I cannot argue with them because they are right, but it helps my day and makes me feel a little better that they bothered to check or even in a latent paternal way bothered to write and tell me that I need to sleep earlier and take better care of myself.

For the few of you who took time out of your day to say that to me, thank you, something about knowing someone else knows you exist just makes the sun shine a little brighter for me. 

Today the ‘B’ word was used inappropriately

Part One

Emily reached out and turned the alarm off.  8.00am.  Saturday morning.  She was tired and she wanted to sleep in.  The problem with him making arrangements which had to be carried out so early on a Saturday morning was that in theory she should not stay out late Friday night with her friends.  Come home at a reasonably early hour so that she could be up early Saturday morning to abide by his wishes.

She needed to speak to him about that today.  She needed to make him realise that if his plans started later in the day, ideally the early afternoon, she could stay out late with her friends on Friday nights and not worry.

To carry out his wishes now she had to get up.  She had had 3 hours sleep.  She told her friends she had to leave at 11pm and they asked what was wrong, she never used to leave the party so early.  They were right, and so she stayed and stayed and left when the birds were singing and daylight fast approaching.  Knackered.

She needed to get up now to follow his instructions.

She turned the alarm off and rolled over, getting comfy to go back to sleep.

She should get up...

(He’ll never know).

Turned back, set the alarm for 10.30am and went back to sleep.

How was he going to know anyway.

At 10.30am she was still tired but at least she had had a bit more sleep.  Her eyes looked a little less puffy.  He didn’t like her with puffy eyes and he didn’t like that it represented she’d been out on the town all night, with girls he didn’t approve of.  If he had his way she’d have been sat at home watching television with a tapestry to do.  If you didn’t believe her, open the top drawer, there was the tapestry, thankfully still in its plastic wrapping.

She no longer had to reach under the bed to get nappies out of the plastic box slid there out of the way and out of sight for safe keeping.  He had reorganised the room.  She now had a chest of drawers with different sized nappies and various plastic and rubber pants in different drawers and the things which were in the chest of the drawers were now under the bed.  She worried at the time what would someone else say if they came in and opened the chest of drawers.  He asked her, “Who else would be in your bedroom opening your chest of drawers?”  She lowered her head and didn’t continue with the debate.

She fastened the nappy on, complete with thick pad inside, as tight as she could and plastic pants which she hated but he insisted on, tight round her leg, pinching into her skin to prevent any leakage.  She dressed herself and went to the bathroom.  Hurridly washing herself and back to the bedroom for make-up.  She had just about finished when the door rang, on time, as he always was, at 11.30am.  She had made it, phew, and just as she had thought when she changed the alarm clock, he would never know.

His orders had been that she get up at 8.00am and put her nappy on.  Then she was to drink three cups of water immediately before she got ready and then she could take her time getting ready.  If she wanted to drink coffee or eat anything after the water, she was allowed, but she had to drink the three cups of water first at 8.00am.  He would call for her at 11.30am, he would take her shopping.  After shopping he would bring her home to unpack and then he had promised to take her to the cinema that afternoon and she was looking forward to it.

He enjoyed taking Emily out with a full rounded bladder, nice and heavy, pushing against her tight little nappy as they walked.  She was better behaved in the supermarket, better behaved everywhere with the dull ache in her stomach and the wish to be taken by hand to the toilets and changed.  Actually she wished she could go alone, but she had long since given up that dream, she had been with him for too long and his insistence that she stay by his side at all times, also extended to the bathroom.  If she was a good girl, polite, respectful, cheerful and happy in her disposition then he would take her, if she asked nicely, to the disabled toilets and change her.  It was up to her.  In the early days shopping with a nicely rounded and full bladder she used to get moody and sulky.  He let her get moody and sulky until she filled her nappy there and then along the supermarket aisles and when they got home she was punished for wetting herself and embarrassing him in public.

She had learnt a lot since then.  He had taught her that to be polite and show respect was far more likely to get her what she wanted and a changed nappy while they were out, more likely to result in her coming home dry, which in turn was more likely to be both more comfortable for her and lead to less friction between them.

This morning she was meant to have got up at 8am and drunk three cups of water ready for the supermarket trip at 11.30am.  She thought she had not made it clear enough to him that early starts on Saturday morning were difficult after a night out with the girls.  She had made it perfectly clear.  He wasn’t interested.  Her priority was making sure she was up and following his instructions at 8am Saturday morning, not “the girls”.  Just as he had retrained her to being helpful and respectful whilst out shopping, he would also, in time, retrain her to realise that “the girls” were not a priority, ensuring she was home early and rested for Saturdays shopping days was.  She would learn. 

As he approached the drive he hoped that if she had stayed out with her friends that she had had a good time.  If she had, she would doubtless have forgotten her real priorities which later on would lead to some heavy chastisement, some poorly crying and a wet pillow for her tears.  If she was going to be going down that path then he hoped the night before was really good to make up for it.

He knocked on the door, she fluffed up her hair and opened it, flung her arms around him and snogged him.  She adored him.  He was 6ft tall, the perfect height for her.  She loved how his body felt, firm and lean.  He was covered in soft hair which she loved to lay her face in and run her hands through.  When he held her hand it was the way a man holds a womans hand.

He noticed how bubbly and carefree she was.  Unusual he thought, for a girl who should have drunk three glasses of water over three hours ago and been strapped in her nappy.  Three cups of water three hours ago would normally have her struggling to maintain a normal exterior.  She’d be trying to hold her nappy and being reminded not to, or trying to stop herself.  She’d be a bit timid and a bit quiet.  He liked taking her out in a firmly tied nappy and a well rounded stomach from a full bladder she was struggling to maintain in order to keep her nappy dry.

Like this she was always more compliant.  She held his hand like she was scared to let go, as opposed to other times when she held it out of duty.  She clung to his side not wanting to leave as opposed to other times when he would have to insist she stayed by his side. 

This morning she didn’t appear to be giving off any of those vibes.  She seemed carefree and didn’t appear to want to hold the front of her nappy.  Her cuddled her running his hands over her body in a gesture of affection.  Usually when he rubbed the front of her stomach, when her bladder was nicely full, she would wince and try to move away, this morning she just leaned further into him, and he was sure her bladder and stomach felt quite flat as well, not nicely subtly rounded when she was full and straining to keep it in.

This was not how he wanted to take her shopping.  He could not directly assume she had not followed his instructions, just in case, but he would need to find out, and he was pretty sure his intuition was right.

“Shall I get my coat” she whispered in his ear, arms clinging around his neck, excited to see him.

“Wait a bit.  I thought maybe you would like to go to the toilet, have a wee before we go out?”

She was shocked. He NEVER suggested this, not ever.  He took her out straining herself no matter how uncomfortable she was.  He sometimes let her bring a bag with a spare nappy in and promises of changing her if she was a good girl.  He had never suggested her relieving herself before they went out.

She was thrown a bit, a bit unsteady also as there would be nothing to relieve herself with as she had gone to the toilet before putting her nappy on and that was less than an hour ago.  She hadn’t drunk since because she didn’t want to be uncomfortable when they were out.

“No, let’s just go out now, I’ll show you what a good girl I am in not making a fuss”.

“I know you’re a good girl, in fact, you are such a good girl, my princess, I am going to make today really nice for you and let you use the bathroom before we go out”.

Dam.. If she had known he was going to suggest that she might have been tempted to put her nappy on and drink the water.  Her hands felt a bit sweaty, she wasn’t sure  how to get out of going to the bathroom.  He in turn became more and more sure of his gut instincts because Emily would NEVER be standing, offering a debate over whether she should go to the toilet after he had suggested it.  She would always be running of thankful of the chance to stay dry or appreciating his kindness.

He took her hand and walked her to the bathroom.  Lifting her skirt he pulled down her nappy, as he always did when he was looking after her.  He leaned against the bathroom wall to watch and listen as she sat on the toilet bowl.

No sound.

“Unusual for you Emily?”

“It’s you watching me, I can’t go if I am watched.  If you leave the bathroom I’ll be able to go” she insisted.  Desperate for him to leave the bathroom.  If he left she could turn on the sink taps and he would think it was her.

He didn’t buy it, they had long since got over the hurdle of her not being able to go to the toilet in front of him.  In the beginning it had always been an issue, sometimes painfully so when it was clear she was desperate to go and still, self consciously could not if he was watching her.

After a few weeks he decided he needed to train her differently.  Together they went to the local pet shop where she excitedly thought he was buying her a pet.  Silly girl, didn’t she realise she was the pet.

He brought a cat litter tray and a large supply of litter.  In the bathroom he set the cat litter tray up with litter and told her in future, till she got over her self consciousness, she would have to stand legs apart over the litter tray and do her business in there.  Afterwards she would clean it out and then he would add fresh litter for the next time.

She hated it.  She hated being asked if she wanted to use the litter tray.  Her self consciousness had sky rocketed as he stood there watching her crouch over the litter tray, both of them waiting for her to go.  She looked so uncomfortable but yet, to him, she had a certain charm.  She pleaded after the first day not to be made to use the litter tray anymore, but he made her use it for three weeks, until she was absolutely sure that she would be able to go to the toilet with him standing in the bathroom watching, and sure enough, after that, she forced herself to get over the issue of him watching her.

“Surely not Emily, do we need to go back to the litter tray again?”.

Emily shock her head and there was silence.

She didn’t know what to do, she couldn’t go, she couldn’t make an excuse, she couldn’t get him to leave.  Her palms were sweaty and she could feel her heart beat faster as worry set in.

There were always three rules in their relationship although she was never sure if they applied equally to him.  To follow his instructions, To always tell the truth, To never look at another man.

“I think you better get up now Emily”.

There was a coldness in his voice, she stood up and waited for him to pull her nappy up which he did without the usual show of affection and with hands which felt ice cold.

He led her out of the bathroom.

“Fetch me the book Emily”.

“But...”

“Fetch me the book, do not make me ask twice”.

‘The book’ was a detailed diary of Emily’s day to day activities.  He had put her on a diet, and he wanted her to lose a certain amount of weight.  It was not up for discussion.  Emily had tried all the usual emotional blackmail of “You don’t really love me or you would love me like this” but it had fallen on deaf ears.  She was his princess, he controlled her, and if he wanted her to lose weight, that is what she would do.

The diary was thick, leather bound, a page to a day, even with times written down the side.  She could be sure to write in exactly what she ate at what time of day.  She could write in excuses for eating too much, although it would be up to him to decide whether he accepted them.  He had said if she asked for permission she could have days off, but permission had to be asked for in advance and then he would write it in on the days in his handwriting that was a day off.  Without advance permission being written in, there was no permission.

She was always embarrassed by the handing over of the book, but there was no alternative.  The book stayed on the table open at that days page, every single day.  Even if he turned up unexpectedly, the book would be open and diligently being filled in by her.

Once a week, usually shopping day, he would turn up and ask for the book.  He would send her to the wall where she had to stand nose touching the wall, still, while he marked the book.  If he stuck a gold star next to something in it, that was equivalent to her being allowed out of her nappy for 2 hours.  Gold stars were something she loved to see in the book, she could never wait to have time out of her nappy.  She did not even get time out of her nappy at bedtime anymore, tethered to the bed in her nappy.  Sometimes although sleeping he would feel her ‘spoon’ him, pushing her body behind him, close to him for a cuddle.  He would feel his bottom suddenly warm up.  He knew then she had filled her nappy.  The hot wee came out and filled her nappy and he could feel the warmth for a few minutes before it went cold.  Often once it had gone cold and the nappy hardened she would wriggle about and start squirming to get comfortable.  Usually he took her hand and held her still to quieten her down and stop her moving, or he would say “Emily stop fidgeting” and she would.  She always stopped moving around when she was told to in case she woke him up properly and was punished.

So bedtimes weren’t times out of her nappy anymore.  She used to get time out of her nappy at playtime, sometimes she still did but she couldn’t guarantee it.  Sometimes he would take her plastic pants off but just move the nappy to one side and enter her, fuck her, even fuck her hard still with her nappy on.  It saved him the trouble of having to put her back in it, and he said he didn’t mind feeling the nappy around her while he fucked her.  She minded, but that didn’t seem to count for much.

She had her nappy of to go to the toilet but if she had wet it then there was always the chance it would be followed by discipline.  She had the nappy of to shower, but sometimes that was also followed by discipline.

Sometimes in the morning when she was wet he would change her before breakfast, but sometimes he wouldn’t.  Sometimes he would get her up and make her have breakfast in the wet nappy she had wet in bed.  Usually to test her, to see if she would complain.  He didn’t like listening to complaints over the breakfast table.

So... time out of her nappy was limited.  However... a gold star, each gold star for eating properly, or behaving in some other way recorded, was two hours out of her nappy and she was so happy, so she really tried.

Of course she could lie about the food she ate or sticking to her diet, but two factors made that pretty impossible.  Firstly he took her shopping so she could hardly load up her trolly with chocolate easter eggs.  Secondly, she was weighed once a week on a machine and the receipt stuck in the book.  If she claimed to eat nothing but slim fast and lettuce all week and yet didn’t lose weight or worse still, put on weight, then it was obviously going to be a lie.  A lie meant the punishment would be worse than being punished for just not being good, so she had nothing to gain from that.

Black marks were different.  Just as the book could be marked for gold stars, it could also have ‘Black marks’, scribbled in black felt tip.  Each black mark was equivalent to three smacks on each cheek.  This didn’t sound much except he did not hit her for effect, when he smacked her she squealed like a piggy.  Added to that, an accumulation of black marks meant repeated ... and she got sore, and it got painful.

He could have asked for the book just to mark it as usual, but he didn’t send her to face the wall, which meant there was nothing “As usual” about this today.

The last entry in the book, made by him was :

 “Today the ‘B’ word was used inappropriately”.

 It was at the top of a page and written in before he had to leave.  It also reminded him that the book needed to be marked from that space.

He turned the pages over to that day, without reading the other pages.  She was confused, he wasn’t marking the other pages.

He looked up at her, “Don’t worry, I’ll be coming back to those later.  Later when everything is normal again, Later when YOU HAVE LEARNT NOT TO LIE TO ME, you’ll be standing facing the wall and I shall mark the rest of the book”.

He took the top of the black felt tip.  He put three large crosses in thick black, “One for each cup of water that you did not drink”.  He then put three large crosses underneath them, “One for each hour that passed that you were empty”.  He then put three large crosses underneath them, “One for not carrying out my instructions, One for lying to me, One for trying to deceive me in the bathroom”.

3 x 3, thick black crosses, an ugly sight to see on that days page.  To anybody else it just looked like a grid written in the book.  To Emily it signified so much more than that.  54 strokes, 27 of each cheek.  He drew a line around the 3 x 3 black marks to enclose them in a square, as though it was something different from the rest of the book.  In a way it was, he would deal with the square before he looked at the rest of the book, and before they went out and came back.

“I hope I never have to do this again”, he commented as the last line joined the box up.

Her eyes watered and she nervously stroked her hair.  She tried to say sorry but was interrupted by him telling her not to bother.

Another change.  Usually she would stand against the wall and he would mark the book.  Then he would close it and put it on the table and they would go shopping.  Only when they came back from shopping would she learn what had been written in the book.  She had no idea while she was out with him, holding his hand, cheering him up, no idea what he might or might not have written about her.  Only when she came back and the shopping was unpacked did he got through the book with her, and take her to the bedroom where she would receive her rewards or her punishment.

“Go to the bedroom Emily, we shall deal with this mornings black marks before we go out, the circumstances are slightly different this morning”.

“But we.....”

“NOW”.

Emily wished she had come home earlier the night before.  She wished she had not stayed out with her friends.  She would have gone to bed early and woken up early with the alarm clock.  She would have carried out his instructions.  She wouldn’t be in this predicament now.  She wished he had realised she was out with her friends and suggested coming later, to give her time to sleep in.  She wondered if he would realise it or whether it would be easier in future not to go out with her friends on a Friday night, stay in, go to bed early, rise early and do as he asked.

Her clothes fell to the floor.  He pulled the strip of her nappy, her dry nappy, and that fell down to.  She stood there naked while he was fully clothed.  He wasn’t there to get into bed with her afterwards and cuddle her.

He pointed to the bed where she climbed on and lay on her stomach.  He affixed the leg spreaders to hold her in position.

Emily wasn’t like other girls he had known who would do as they were told, stay still and take their punishments.  She would wriggle and squirm, she’d even try to get of the bed when it got too much.  Emily always had to be restrained.  After tying her ankles to the spreader bar he tied the middle of the spreader bar to the end of the bed to stop her being able to lift it up in any way.

He placed a pillow under her stomach which raised her bottom higher and told her to make herself comfortable.

He asked her if she remembered how many black marks she had and how many strokes she would be getting.  She said she did.  He asked the number and she told him. He asked her if she knew why she was getting them and she said she did.  He said, “Good... there will be questions after”.

They would still go shopping today, but she would not only be in a nappy, and a nappy with a heavy bladder creating a well rounded stomach, but also with a bottom red, hot and stripped, a sore bottom rubbing against the material in the nappy and probably giving her a rash.

He walked around the bed checking everything was ready to begin and she felt the pillow under her face wet as the tears ran down from her cheek before he had even started.  His coolness and control creating panic and fear even before the pain had started.

Squealing after the first stroke he pushed a dummy in her mouth and told her to bite.

Squealing after the second stroke he told her to relax, they had not even worked out the plan for the ‘B’ word being used inappropriately.

Watching her desperately trying to wriggle and move her legs, strapped and held firmly in the legs spreaders he told her to calm down.  That was just the warm up.

When she received the third stroke she knew she would not be going out with her friends on a Friday night again...

And she still had another 51 to go...

Part Two

“Open wide... Good girl”.  He pushed Emily’s pink glittery dummy with her name on into her mouth and closed her lips around it with his fingers.

“Suck nicely.... Suck.... Good girl... Keep going... It’ll help you calm down”.

Sitting on the side of the bed fully clothed he gently pushed her dummy into her mouth each time her crying involuntarily pushed it out.

Her cheeks were wet, the pillow was wet from her tears running down and her trying to bury her face into the pillow to cope with the pain.  He had offered her a dummy to suck during the punishment but she hadn’t been able to keep it in and he couldn’t keep putting it back as he was applying the discipline she needed.

The last stroke, even though it came after 53 others was the hardest, it always was, he always saved the hardest for last and telling her to relax before he gave it to her, didn’t help.  After when she screamed her hardest and choked on the scream he told her she was a good girl and sat by her side stroking her hair.

He wasn’t ready to untie the leg spreaders yet, not until she had calmed down a bit.  Until she had had time to think about what she had done.

Her breathing was eratic and fast, combining with her tears to make a hysterical mess.  Cuddling her now would do nothing except feed her exaggerated attention needs.  First she had to calm herself down, stop crying, control her breathing, lie quietly.  Once she was quiet and had regained control of herself, then he would untie her, then they could talk, she could apologise and tell him what she had learnt from the experience and he would hold her and keep her safe because she was his princess.

There was a reason dummies were useful.  If you suck on a dummy you automatically take oxygen in through your nose, it’s a slower control of oxygen to the brain, it calms down anxiety.  It was the reason during meditation people were trained to breath in through their nose, to calm them down and achieve a higher state of peace.

Pushing her dummy gently but firmly into her mouth, encouraging her to suck nicely on it, close her mouth and breathe through her nose had the same effect.  It changed the flow of oxygen to the brain in a way which would calm her down. 

When she breathed too deeply, fed into her hysterical state, cried out for attention, she could not keep the dummy in her mouth, but he was a patient man.  He sat there ensuring each time it fell out he fed it back to her and closed her mouth, spoke to her quietly and gently and told her to take it, encouraging her to suck nicely on it and calm down.  Each time it was put back she held it for longer, and gradually, as he knew would happen, her breathing became calmer and her sobbing less and although she still shock a little from the beating she became calmer.  He pulled the duvet over her legs, her bottom and her back.  Although still restrained by the leg spreaders it prevented her from getting cold as she was coming down, sucking the dummy and learning to control herself again.

He knew when she was calm and her breathing had returned to normal because she no longer spat the dummy out and kept it in her mouth, sucking for comfort.  Once he knew she could comfort herself on the dummy was warm, (though still immobile) he went off to make himself a coffee.

The “Emily” dummy was new.  Her last daddy had shortened her name to Lily and brought her a dummy with Lily on.  It wasn’t appropriate now, not now that she belonged to him.  One of the first things he had done was made sure they got a dummy with “Emily” on.  Two actually, one to be kept at home and one he could take out in his pocket, just in case he ever needed it.  Knowing he had the pink glittery Emily dummy in his pocket when they were out was sanction enough to force Emily to behave.  She also now had a green dummy with “Nathan” written on, just in case she needed a change.  She no longer needed the old Lily dummies, they were for a time that was no more.  Open the top drawer of the bedside cabinet and the only dummies in had either Emily or Nathan written on.

He returned with a coffee and a bottle.

Pulling the duvet back he untied her legs and gently with her help rolled her over onto her back.  He covered her back up.  She carried on sucking on her pink glitter dummy with “Emily” on, watching him and daring not to either spit it out or talk.   Sore she could feel the tenderness of the skin on her bottom rubbing against the Eqyptian cotton sheets.  She tried to move as little as she could as each movement reminded her how raw her bottom was.  She was subdued and sweet.  She would not have looked out of place with a halo around her head at this moment.  She was not a bad girl, she simply needed someone who cared about her enough to focus her in the right direction.

“Good girl” he said, taking the dummy out of her mouth and feeding the large silicone nipple like teet in her mouth.  The bottle was full.  “Take your bottle nicely Emily”.  She wanted to push it out but did not dare.  He would not get into bed and cuddle her until her stomach contained the three glasses of water that she had been instructed to take at 8am that morning.

As she sucked he discussed this with her.  Well, maybe discussed wasn’t the right word as she could not speak and each time she finished a bottle he brought a new one out.   He did reminded her firmly but fairly that these were the three cups of water she was meant to have drunk herself, but... if she could not drink them, he would feed them to her.

Her legs involuntarily began twitching and rising up when her bladder was full enough.  Her hands reaching down to her stomach to hold it with the constant drip drip filling minute by minute as she sucked.  He didn’t notice her discomfort.

At the end the three empty bottles lined up he said, “When you get up later, you can wash them before we go out”.

He walked over to the chest of drawers for a nice clean nappy, a thick pad and some crunchy plastic pants.  He wiped her bottom which was hot and uncomfortable with a flannel.  She liked that.  She told him it was nice. He replied that he always looked after his babygirl.

The air was silent as he put her in a nappy.  She was obedient and followed his instructions.  He said very little concentrating on strapping her in firmly and securely.  She did not dare upset him, and, as he had hoped, thought over and over about the events which had led her to this position so early on a Saturday afternoon.

Once he had filled her bladder and wrapped her tightly in a nappy he undressed and got into bed with her.  She was exhausted from being disciplined and emotional.

He asked her if she had anything to say to him and she said she was sorry.  She asked him if he could come later on a Saturday so that she could get up later to drink three glasses of water.  He replied that he couldn’t.  He missed her, he wanted to see her as early as possible and 11.30am was quite late enough.  She rolled into him to be held and still quiet tears ran down her face, which he felt on his chest and stroked her hair to comfort her. 

In her mind she knew in future she had to be up early on a Saturday morning and going out with the girls on a Friday night was really something she would have to cancel in future, at least it was her decision.  ‘The girls’ always complained that she let herself be influenced by him too much, but this time they couldn’t say that, it was her decision that Friday nights out with them wasn’t something she would be doing in future.

From time to time her breathing rose and fell sharply, from time to time thinking of the day so far she sobbed.  He pulled her close to him and was gentle with her.  He cuddled her, he swamped her in his strong arms.  He held her safe.

The sunlight dipped through the widow, casting a shadow of warm bright golden light around the bedroom. The trees outside rustled and little glints of light like diamonds on the leaves of the trees poked through.

Everything was sweet and calm.  He was reassuring and kind.  He stroked her hair and he stroked her body.  He rubbed her nipples and he pulled her close to him by her nipples.  He sucked her nipples and she stoked his hair, pulling him closer to her breast, seeing the outline of him on her nipple.  Her nipples were acutely sensitive, in the past she had tried to pull away when he put them in his mouth, but then the act of trying to defy him somehow made them more sensitive and more painful.  The pain was still there but it was easier to bear if she didn’t fight it, if she stroked his hair and tried to bear it without making a fuss, the more she resisted the more it hurt, she consciously now try to accept it.

In the past he had asked if she had nursed her child and she had replied that of course she had not, she would not have considered it.  Nipples as sensitive as hers, she would have been crying all the time.  She was lucky, he said, she was lucky the baby was not with him.  She would have nursed the baby, on demand, big round organ stop nipples in his mouth the minute he wanted to suckle.  She replied that she would never have done that. How, he asked, would she have changed it.  She had no access to money with him, he controlled the money, he brought everything, he wouldn’t have brought formula and a steriliser.  No, she would have breast fed.  She would have had her tits out every time his baby cried.  If she was in the street she would have sat on a bench, but his baby would have had her nipple in his mouth whenever he needed it.  She couldn’t have done that, she replied, she would have just been crying all the time.  Then crying all the time is what you would have done, he replied... You would have sat there with my baby on your tit suckling on your nipple as hard as he wanted, when he wanted, and you would have cried each time, and I would have watched you cry.

She tried not to relive that conversation in her head.  The more distressed she got, the more she tried to calm down, stroke his hair, imagine that he was on her nipple because he cared for her and not because he knew it hurt.

He pulled her into him and her head rested on his chest and the warm hairs on his chest.  She felt sleepy but surely they needed to get up and go shopping so that they could go to the cinema later.

They would not be going to cinema today he told her.  She asked why.  He said because she had been naughty.  Because of what she had done they would be late going out shopping and too late to go to the cinema.  He didn’t like getting home to late because then the evening got late, and then her bedtime was late.  She was better kept in routine, and that included bedtime.  After all, all this, was because she had been left one night on her own, his case was proven.

“But I want to go to the cinema”, she said, almost stamping her foot if she hadn’t been in bed.

“And I want a good girl who does as she is told...  We can’t all have what we want can we Emily?”.

“We could get up now and go out instead of lying in bed?”

“Now Emily, we shall lie here for three hours.  In three hours the three bottles of water I gave you will have worked through your system and your bladder will be nicely full, your stomach a little rounded and heavy and you’ll be grateful for the security of your tightly wrapped nappy around you when we go out.  JUST AS IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN WHEN I ARRIVED AT 11.30 THIS MORNING”.

Emily stopped talking.

He took her in his arms and wrapped her close to him and shut his eyes. 

Emily wriggled.

He smacked the inside of her thighs and told her to stop squirming.

Emily stopped.

She lay in his arms and they slept.  No issues left to deal with, they would get up in three hours time.

Start the day again.

Part Three

It was mid afternoon when the alarm went off again.  It was almost like groundhog day starting again.  Emily moved quickly to turn it off, forgetting fast movements scrapped her nappy across the bottom of her bed which in turn reminded her how sore her bottom was.  She let out an instant “Ouch”.

“Careful babygirl”.

They got up and he dressed her.  He talked about what it would be like when she could fit into her little kilts again and her very very tiny skirts that he had seen hanging up.

Sometimes she got moody about his instance on her losing weight, and moreover, the way he put his plan into action.  Due to the “Book” she had no option but to do exactly as he said, the results otherwise would be too painful.

He said one day she would weight 9 stone, he would dress her how he liked and he would take her out and watch her and think, “I made that”.

Before she left the house she asked to be taken to the bathroom.  This time she insisted that she would be able to go in front of him, but he already knew that.  He took her hand and said it was time they got going.

It was nice taking her out in her nappy when the water had worked its way through her system.  It wasn’t actually full, she was managing to hold it, but there was something rounder about her.  He would occasionally tease her and stop to cuddle her pressing his hand at the front of her skirt over the bladder area.  He liked the pitiful little squeal she gave out when he did it.  He would pull her close just as she involuntarily pulled away and whisper in her ear.

“Stay dry babygirl... unless you have permission”.

Sometimes if she was good, she could ask him to take her to the public disabled toilets and he would change her.  Sometimes he wouldn’t and he’d tell her to make sure she was dry when she got home.

She had nothing on her when they left the house, as was usual.  He had the car keys, he had the house keys.  She had no purse and no money.  She couldn’t run off anywhere and she couldn’t get home if she did.  She had to hold his hand and obey his instructions.  If she wanted anything she had to ask him.  Sometimes she got it, sometimes she didn’t, the never knowing was as bad as being told no.

She did have a bag with her.  He checked it before they left the house.  She was only allowed certain items in the bag on certain days.  Today she was allowed a clean nappy and clean nappy pad.  This meant he probably would change her if she asked nicely, although nothing was ever a forgone conclusion.  It wouldn’t have been the first time he had taken out with a clean nappy in her bag and still refused to change her in the toilets, watching her squirm and wriggle as they walked down the isle, reminding her to be dry when they got home.

Today they walked down the baby isle.  He wanted to get a change mat and a baby beaker.  She died a million deaths. 

“What if someone sees us?”

“Well what if they do Emily, what will they do, call the manager of the store and tell him I am buying a baby beaker?”

“But...”

“Do you think we might see CCTV footage of ourselves on crime watch with me putting a changing mat in the trolly?

She was such a silly girl sometimes.

Emily was dying with embarrassment though.  He seemed to forget that she was out in a nappy, a nappy she wanted to wet, a full bladder.  A nappy which if you stood to close to you could hear the plastic pants rustling over.  On top of that he wants to buy a baby beaker and changing mat, what if someone around him guess, what if someone around realised how she was dressed?  What if someone around knew that all she had in her bag was a clean nappy?  What about how all this was making her feel.

“What about how this is making me feel?”

“How is it making you feel Emily?”

“Uncomfortable”.

“Uncomfortable?  Do you need to fill your nappy, do you want Daddy to take you and change your nappy?”

“Yes”

“Just yes?”

“Yes please Daddy”.

“Right, then we will go and do that.  Leave the trolley here.  We will go to the toilet, you can fill your nappy and then Daddy will change it.  Afterwards we will come back to the trolley and continue our shopping, we’ll leave it in this aisle”.

“No.”

“No?  You just said you wanted....”

“Yes I do, I do want to be changed, but I also don’t want to be in this aisle, I want to be changed finish the shopping, leave this aisle and go home”.

“Do you want Father Christmas to magically appear or the Easter Bunny as well Emily?  You seem to have an endless list of wants”.

“I just want...”

“You just want everything I know, push the trolley, we’re not taking you to get changed and make sure when we get home you’re dry or my belt is going to come off”.

With that an exasperated Nathan continued shopping in the aisle she didn’t want to be in, he brought the baby cup, he brought the change mat, he brought a few other things and asked her if she liked them and didn’t wait for her reply before loading them in.  He brought her a colouring book, a small but thick one that would fit in her bag.  He brought her a pencil case, babygirl pink with coloured pencils in.  He took her to the cashpoint.  He didn’t know if she was wriggling because she wanted to fill her nappy or because she was embarrassed about what was in the trolley.  Whichever it was, he didn’t care.  He told her to stand still while they waited.  He took her hand and she stood still.

They missed the cinema that day, they missed it due to Emily.  Now... driving home in the car from shopping Emily had a chance to salvage the weekend.  Not that day, that day they wouldn’t be going out, but the following day, if she was good, if she unpacked, if she stood against the wall while he marked her book, if she answered his questions, accepted his rulings and went to bed on time, when she was told to and without a fuss, if she did all that, the next day they would go to London, to the munch.  How she behaved later would determine whether they went.

When they were settled he asked Emily to bring the book to him.  He turned to the page of his penultimate entry (before the 3 x 3 grid). 

‘Today the ‘B’ word was used inappropriately’.

“It is up to you tonight whether we are going to be going out tomorrow Emily”.

Part Four

“Let me look in your bag Emily”.

Emily handed her handbag over for inspection, the way she had gotten used to doing before they left the house.  She tried not to think about the time in her life when what she had in her bag was private.

He checked her bag.  Clean nappies, clean pads for inside, baby wipes, colouring book and pencil case with felt tips.

“Good girl Emily”.

He handed it back to her. He was old enough and wise enough to know a girl always felt lost without her handbag.

He picked up the pink glitter dummy with ‘Emily’ on and put it in his trouser pocket.  She tried to act as though she hadn’t seen him do that.  “Just in case I need it, just in case I need to calm my babygirl down”.

It had never been used before but the threat was always there.  They had come back on the train late one night before and Emily couldn’t get comfortable, she was tired and although he tried to hold her and make her comfortable she was irritably moving around.  He finally held her head close to him, and looking as though he was going to cuddle her he pushed his thumb into her mouth.  He had done this at home before and she had always known what it meant.  It was time to stop talking, it was time to settle down.  You couldn’t spit his thumb out without being ready for a beating, it was his way of calming Emily down on the spot when he thought she needed to be calmed.

She felt her cheeks flush bright red.  What is someone was looking.  What if someone noticed, how could he do this in public, but he did.  He was right, it calmed her down very quickly because she was desperate for him to remove his thumb from her mouth and the only way she knew he would do it, is if she settled immediately.  The humiliation and fear of embarrassment did settle her immediately.  He didn’t realise it was that, he thought it was the feel of his thumb pushed into her mouth and held there for her to suck on.  As soon as she felt it she calmed down and he was able to remove it.

There wasn’t much he didn’t know about how to control Emily, how to keep her settled, how to make her happy.

She ignored the dummy in his pocket, she didn’t want to think about it.  She was never sure if he was going to use it or whether it was just a threat, she couldn’t think about it now, she just couldn’t.

On the train she sat opposite him.  They had a table between them.  The aisle seat. People walked up and down.  She had complained that morning that he had wrapped her nappy on too tightly and as a response to her complaint he had pulled the tabs even tighter.  She felt conscious of her nappy so tightly bound to her and pressing against her sex.

He asked for her bag and took out her colouring book and pencil case.  She could chose the picture she wanted to colour in.

He handed it to her.  She decided not to bother.  What was he going to do.  Get home and beat her for refusing to colour a picture in her colouring book in?  Not even he would be that ridiculous.

She was not going to sit here, on a train full of people, walking up and down past her.  Already conscious of her nappy and not being allowed to use the bathroom.  No way was she getting out coloured pencils and colouring in from a childs colouring book as people walked along the aisle and would see what she was doing.  It was humiliating and she wouldn’t do it.

Seeing she was not going to open the book and sit colouring as people walked past them up and down the aisle, he ushered her forward so that he could whisper in her ear, he held her arm firmly as he spoke to her across the table.

“Emily... You know how I feel about you looking at other men, and about you making eye contact with other men...

Open your colouring book and sit nicely colouring, that way I know you are looking at the pages and thinking about something nice.

If you refuse to do your colouring book, I shall assume it is because you want to sit here looking around at other men... you know how I feel about that... and I will deal with that when we get home... Do you want me to spend the whole day while we are out getting upset over this train journey and me wondering why you want to be looking at other men?”

He let go of her arm, sat back against the chair and smiled.

Emily opened the colouring book, the pencil case, and began colouring in.

Emily and Him

She wanted to feel comforted, warm and safe.  She rolled on her side and like a spoon into his back.  She tried to get comfortable pushing herself into him.

In that state of sleep, near sleep, awake but not quite awake he was conscious of her pushing herself into his back.  He could hear the rustle of her rubber baby locking panties tight between her legs and locked around her waist.  He could feel the rubber pulled across the thick nappy he’d wrapped around her and done up tightly to prevent any accidents.  He felt comforted feeling the rubber against his bottom, the gentle rustling, knowing she was secure and safe.

Occasionally he would hear the faint ‘chink’ of two of the links in her chain accidentally clicking together as she moved her leg.  Tethered to the bed by her ankle cuff and chain, locked either end to prevent any temptations to get out of the bed.  Unnecessary as she was firmly nappied in the event of accidents and so there was no reason for her to not sleep comfortably and soundly.

She squirmed about.  Wishing she wasn’t in a nappy.  Wishing she could come and go from the bed.  Knowing that wasn’t an option for her.  She had been secured into rubber locking baby pants and tethered to the bed ever since the night she proved she could not be trusted.  Taken to bed as usual and wrapped warmly in her nappy, cuddled until she fell asleep.  She had woken wanting to do a toilet and had not wanted to wet her nappy and have to lie in it all night.  She could wake him to change her when she had a wet nappy, but waking him in the night always earned her a beating after breakfast if not on the spot.  For that reason it was advisable if she wet herself to get comfortable and sleep in it until the morning, without disturbing him. 

She didn’t want to lie wet so she very carefully pulled the covers back and crept out of bed.  She didn’t use the toilet so the sound would not wake him but she crept into the garden, removing her nappy along the way, to relieve herself.  Her plan... to relieve herself, slip back into the nappy and get back into bed.  He would be none the wiser and she would not have to sleep in a full nappy.

He woke, something to do with a subconscious knowledge that she was not lying beside him.  He liked to feel her lying beside him.  He liked to know she was safe, protected in his care.  If they went out she held his hand, she stood beside him, or she sat next to him.  She did not wander of and talk to others.  If he wandered off to socialise she sat still not making eye contact with others in the place he left her.  Knowing she was safe, which he could only be assured of if she was right beside him was his first priority.  Although sleeping he sensed the empty side of the bed, her side.  He stirred and reached out and she was not there.  He was naturally concerned and left the bed to find her, concerned she maybe unwell and he needed to look after her.

He felt deceived and let down when he spotted her through the kitchen window, squatting happily in the garden, a stream of hot filled wee in full flow.  He realised she felt very clever with herself and he in turn felt manipulated.  He was waiting for her in the kitchen when she came back in.

Seeing him she was terrified, but he said nothing.  He pulled her nappy back on and wrapped it firmly with silver tape around to make it tighter.  In bed he pulled her to him and wrapped himself around her, legs across her, pulling her tight into him.  He made no comment.  That he said nothing unnerved her more.  She wriggled to get comfortable and his only words of that night “Stop fidgeting”, taking her hand and holding it still in his.

After breakfast he went on the internet and order some ‘presents’ for her.  That night he locked the bedroom door and slept with the key around his neck.

After that, when the presents came, every night she was secured into locking rubber pants over her nappy.  Wrapped up in a thick terry nappy instead of the lighter disposable ones she used to wear at night, and which she wore in the day when they went out.  Now at night she was bound in thick terry nappies and nice thick rubber locking baby pants pulled over the top.  They pulled up to her waist.  He would then lie her across his lap and pull the chain in the waistband together, click it shut and click the lock.  He kept the key to her locking rubber pants on his key ring, with his front door key.  He kept the keys by the bed but she could not reach it.  On a key ring with all his other keys it would have made too much noise. 

When it was time for bed her ankle was cuffed and chained to the bed with small padlocks.  It was not a heavy chain, but it restricted her from leaving the bed.  It was long enough for her to move about in, it wasn’t particularly heavy, but what it did do was prevented her from getting out of the bed.  Now he knew she was safe, safe beside him.

Ever since the day he had found her in the garden, she had slept like this at night.

She wriggled into him, trying to get comfortable.  He didn’t know what had woken her, she had gone to sleep for daddy like a good girl but something had obviously disturbed her in the night.  Although not awake he was aware of her pushing into him, wriggling about, the chain clinking and the rubber panties rustling as she tried to get comfortable.  “Stop squirming Emily”.  She stopped.  Realising he was aware of her moving about and not wanting to wake him up fully and be in trouble for waking him, he froze and forced herself to go back to sleep exactly where she was, without moving again.

She had wet herself.  He thought she wet herself while she was sleeping, sometimes she managed to sleep through it, but part of her was always aware.  In the early days it would disturb her and she would get up and demand to be changed.  She was changed – and beaten, or... She was changed and promised a beating after breakfast which he always delivered on.

Now she said nothing.  She tried to sleep through it.  She would wiggle, sometimes it would cause her more discomfort than others.  She was always aware of wetting her nappy but sometimes she tried not to let it disturb her too much and she heard him tell people that now she wet herself in her sleep.  She didn’t contradict him.  Contradicting him was always taken as a sign of disrespect.  Even though she wanted to say, “I do wake up” when she heard him tell his friends, she kept quiet.  He had trained her to be respectful and respectful she was.

Some mornings she was wetter than others.  Some morning she still cried if she had been so wet she had had a disturbed sleep.  Some morning she was embarrassed, if he was kind to her she was embarrassed even more.  He didn’t fuss over her full nappy.  She was always so secure she didn’t leak.  Sometimes he knew she would get nappy rash but he would look after her and wash her and apply cream.  Sometimes she would cry, he would reassure her it was alright, as long as she didn’t wake him when she wet herself, it was alright.  He knew babygirls wet the bed at night.

She wanted to say, if you let me get up, if you let me use the toilet, if you.... – then she would say she didn’t need to wet the bed.  She didn’t say any of these things, she knew the answer.  She knew he would say he couldn’t trust her out of bed on her own in the night.

She wiggled into him behind and while he slept she thought of the evening before.

She loved being fucked by him.  More than any other girl loves being fucked by her Daddy.  She appreciated the freedom of being out of her nappy.  She loved being out of her nappy and he knew it.  He would tease her and taunt her with promises of time out of her nappy if she was good, if she kept dry after so many bottles or for so many hours.  He would watch her tense up and desperately try to stay dry, desperately try to be good.  He would keep her out longer knowing she was trying to stay dry for when they got home.  He would sit her on his lap in the park and rub her stomach, pushing gently over her bladder.  Assuring her if she was dry when they got home she could have time out of her nappy.  He heard her little noises as she desperately tried to hold on and he whispered in her ear “Shusss” reminding her not to draw attention to herself.

The balance of power in their relationship all weighed in at his end.  Other girls needed gold or diamonds to be happy, to be taken to Amsterdam or Berlin, to be brought new clothes or promised trips to the cinema.  Emily...  He could spoil Emily just by saying... and I’ll let you out of your nappy for an hour... two hours.  He knew she loved being out of her nappy and he used it to his advantage to train her to behave exactly as he wanted.

Some days in the park she would feel her nappy hard at the front and not make a fuss.  She knew if she didn’t make a fuss he would be nicer to her later.  Some days her bladder would be so full she would be crippling herself keeping it in, but she would, because she had been promised time out of her nappy at home later.  She loved the freedom.  Other girls took this for granted but she never did.

She knew when she was going to be fucked because he would remove the nappy and she could hardly contain her excitement.  Other girls liked being fucked, but for her, for her it was more than that, it was time out of her nappy.  It was time feeling the cold sheets against her bottom.  She would cuddle into him and move her legs across her.  She would turn over and have him snuggle like a spoon behind her, just to feel his stomach on her bottom, her bare bottom. 

After they had fucked she would be quiet and good, she would cuddle into him, her naked bottom feeling so good.  She wanted him to forget to put her back in her nappy.  She didn’t play up.  She said the things he wanted to hear, she behaved perfectly, she made no fuss, she was as good as gold, knowing as quiet and good as she could be meant more time out of the nappy.

He knew she loved cuddling him feeling the sheets against her bottom.  She flinched and sighed when he put his finger into her anus and she felt his hand around her bottom.  The sensation of having her bottom open to the air, the sheets, his touch, was never one she took for granted.  They both knew he could end it at a moments notice and did.  When he said it was time to go back in her nappy there was nothing she could do except lie down, raise her bottom when told and like a good girl go back in her nappy, even if she didn’t want to, even if tears welled in the corner of her eye, there was nothing she could do.  In the early days she had resisted.  She would end up across his lap with the hard wooden paddle brush slapped hard into her bottom, leaving her red and raw, and then she would be back in her nappy, stinging underneath, crying and holding her arms out for comfort.

When he said he was “nappy time” it was nappy time.  She had a choice, lie still and be wrapped up, tight plastic or rubber panties pulled over the top for extra security, sometimes making her hot and always rustling when she moved, or, make a fuss, move away, try to avoid going back in the nappy and receive a good beating with the paddle brush and then be wrapped back in her nappy with tears running down her cheek and no sympathy from him.

She had learnt to live with it.  In the beginning she fought it, but it didn’t get her anywhere.  In the beginning she looked at other girls when they were out in their thin cotton skirts.  Hers was always wool and thick, so as not to show the tightly wrapped nappy and plastic pants underneath.  On summer days making her even hotter.  In the beginning she was jealous of the other girls.  In the beginning she wished she didn’t have to be dressed like this.  Over time she had learnt to stop thinking about it.  Accept it.  She didn’t like it but she didn’t, or she tried not to, dwell on it.  It was just one of those things.  It was his condition.  She could leave and never have to wear a nappy again, that would be nice, but then she would be without him, and he loved her, he looked after her, he kept her safe, he held her at night and told her he loved her... told her she was safe.  It was a lot to give up, for what, because she didn’t like being in a nappy.  She would have to get used to it, because she couldn’t live without him, he kept her safe.

He didn’t change her after one wee either.  Nappies were expensive he told her.  The disposables had a strip which changed colour when they needed to be changed.  The coloured strip didn’t change colour after one wee.  It took three cups of water before it would register as wet and that, he thought, was about right.  She knew she would have to do at least three wee wee’s in her nappy before it was changed, before the strip changed colour.  Sometimes the strip changed colour after a heavy wee and she was desperate for a change.  She would try and hold the front of her nappy with her hands to make herself comfortable and he would smack her hands and tell her to stop holding her nappy.  It was a habit he strongly discouraged.  What if she filled her nappy when they were out and out of habit then started holding herself, how embarrassing.  So.. he discouraged it most strongly even when they were at home, it was a habit she had to get out of, even if they were at home.  Sometimes at those times she would become very irritable in her nappy and tempermental.  The strip showed it was wet but as he reminded her, the strip was just a guide.  The strip didn’t change her nappy, HE DID.  He decided when it was time, not the strip.  The strip acted as a guide, but he made the decision.  She would wimper and pull her hands around desperately wanting to hold herself, he would pull her hands back and tell her to keep them by her side, if she couldn’t manage that she would have to put them on top of her head.  If she carried on wimpering he would place her in the corner and tell her to stop stressing in her nappy.  Only when she calmed down would he look after her.  He would leave her there until she stopped jumping from foot to foot, trying to take her hands of her head and making little wimpering noises.  Only when she was still and quiet and had controlled her tantrum would he fetch her change mat.

She was allowed out of her nappy at bath time to clean her, at toilet time after enemas to sit on the toilet, for play time, and when she was being punished.  At all other times, unless by his discretion because he was spoiling her, she was wrapped up with her crunchy plastic panties over the top making herself conscious if anybody stood too close to her.

Some days were harder than others.  Some days she needed more comfort that others.   She comforted herself on his cock.  His cock was always warm and hard and filled her mouth as she sucked.  She didn’t take advantage, when she needed to suck his cock she always asked.  He didn’t play games, he knew she needed to feel his large warm cock in her mouth and he always said yes.  She never tried to pull it out without his permission, but he never withheld permission as some sort of power play, he didn’t play games like that. 

Some days they would sit in the lounge and he would spread his legs watching television.  She would sit on the floor, kneeling between his legs and suck on his cock through the whole film he was watching.  It gave her security.  She felt close to him.  She couldn’t demand her nappy came off, she couldn’t demand being fucked, or lying next to him naked, she had very little power.  The one thing she did have though was, he didn’t restrict her suckling his cock, as long as she was polite when she asked for it, which she always was.

He would watch television seeing her head working back and forward gently.  Suckling noises of a girl making herself feel secure.  Sucking it the cross between a lolly and a dummy, taking it full into her mouth and holding it between her lips and rolling her tongue up and down, suckling, gently, calmly.  She used to suck on her cock as though it was a life support machine, as though she couldn’t live without his cock in her mouth as often as she could, as though she only breathed when his cock was deep down her throat.

They were close.  Even the times her bottom was hot, stinging or sore, the times she had woken in her wet nappy and been unable to get comfortable, the time she wished things were different, but, now, kneeling on the floor before him, her cock filled deep in her mouth, they were close, they were a couple, they were tight and nobody could part them.

Today he would take her out.  All day, they might have lunch out, do some shopping, go to the cinema and go for a drink before home.  It would be a long day.  He wasn’t unreasonable, it would be too long for her to go for the whole day without a change of nappy.  She could bring her bag and at 4pm he would take her to the disabled toilets and change her.

Her bag was all she brought, it was all she had and all she was allowed to bring.  He had the keys to the house, he had the keys to the car and he had the money.  She would hold his hand and she would behave herself.  She brought her handbag and he instructed her to pass it to him so he could check it first.  He unzipped it.  All it contained was one disposable nappy, a thick disposable lining for the nappy (a Lillie pad) and a clean pair of plastic pants.  The bag was empty except for these three items.  Satisfied after he had checked it he zipped it up and handed it back to her.

They were going out, they were going to have a lovely day out. 

He held out his hand, she dutifully took it.

Sent to Emily ... Romantic

by James.

in the dark, alone, in half sleep, she let the tension leave her body. As she let herself relax she could hear the flood between her legs and feel the warmth of it spread against her thighs. As her diaper began to fill, she put her thumb in her mouth, almost unconsciously and without thought. As she gently pulled and released the digit between her lips, she felt her eyes begin to fill with tears. What she needed more than all of this was simply to be held.

A Memory

I loved it how you used to send me to your bathroom.

Make me stand in the corner of the bath and wait for you, nervous of every sound around me, never knowing which one would be you.

Your bathroom old, the ceramic cracked, the paintwork dull. It made it seedy, it made it more dirty, it turned me on more.

You only ever made me squirt in there, standing naked in your bathroom, in the corner of your bath, that dirty old cracked bath. I squirted too much for you to risk it in the bed.

I stood their cold. There was never any heating in the bathroom or if there was it wasn’t on when you used to send me there. I leaned into the corner, the tiles cold against my tits.

I heard you come in, I would gasp involuntarily, I don’t know why, I knew you were coming. You, your big hands, those massive hands that felt like a whole fist even when they weren’t.

Stay there babygirl, you’d say. Squashed in the corner, cold uncomfortable, hesitant, knowing what was going to happen and scared as though it was the first time. You pushed so hard, your hands, those big fucking hands, directly into me, slapped up against my G Spot, pushed harder and harder into the soft flesh streaming, flooding out like the taps in the bath.

I squealed and moved and you put me back, I screamed and you pushed harder, and harder, I screamed some more and felt I could hardly breathe. You called
me babygirl as though you loved me. I called you Daddy because for that time I did love you.

But while you were doing it, I called you nothing, I was too busy screaming. It came out in gushes so fast and so big you could hear it pelting against the bath, that cold bath, like rain hard on a window, like rain on a day you wouldn’t go out.

And when it was over my heart thought it would stop beating, and you turned me around. Gentle. You held me tenderly. Bigger than me, taller, wider, like a Daddy should be. You lifted me out of the bath as though it was nothing, as though I was a delicate bird whose wings had been injured and I would cry and you would hold me.

And you would call me Babygirl.

And I called you Daddy.

You took me to lie down, in that big bed. The bedroom which was always warm. You took the cover of that I didn’t like. You said maybe you didn’t like it either, you made me feel welcome. The sunlight used to flood through the window, it was always warm, it was a space in time where nothing bad could happen to me.

Sometimes you dressed me up, like a Dolly. You stood me on your bed like a Barbie doll and you told me to lift my arms up. You pushed me into a red rubber dress and it looked nice. You found me red high heeled shoes and you lifted me off the bed, like you lifted me out of the bath. I fluffed my hair up and we laughed. You dressed me like a Barbie doll. I was jumping on your bed, it was all bouncy. The sunlight coming through the window, it was cold outside, but inside it was warm and we could bathe in the sunlight, and I would jump on your bed, and we would laugh, and you would fix my dress and smoothe it down over my tits.

Even the first night you did that. I came to your house when I had only just met you. You picked me up in Leicester and we drove in that big car. It was dark. You played that music you liked, I remember that music. The street lights twinkled and all around was magical.

I had never been to a fetish club, I was scared, they might not like me, I might not look right, nobody might talk to me. This was my first time. I brought my basque and my fairy wings and you said I could wear what I liked, and already I felt safe with you.

But when we got to yours you told me to stand still and you undressed me. You produced a black rubber dress and I said I would not look nice in it, and you put me on it and you zipped it up at the back. It held my tits in place and I didn’t need any panties and it looked amazing. You made me feel like a dolly from the first time I met you.

And we went to Cesears, and I had heard of it but never been. You were a member and I wondered what this strange world was. I remember the car tyres as they screeched across the pebbles outside. The music was pulsating and I drank Vodka. You brought me more vodka and I felt as though I was in Disneyland.

You took me to a room which had a swinging leather bed, and you put me on it. It was warm, there was a fire in the corner, I had to much vodka, I was swinging even without the bed. I felt you unzip my black rubber dress the one you put me in. You did all sorts of things to me, you made it amazing. It was my very first time in a fetish club and you made it amazing.

Afterwards we walked to the demonstration on candle wax. I drank more vodka and more vodka. The room lit up, the music played in the background. I walked away from you and you came to find me, you looked after me, you took me by the hand and you took me back to the room. You made me scream again on that bed. I thought I was in heaven.

It was cold in the morning when you drove me home, the rain against the window. Me sober, the street lights closed, the cold wind around your car. I didn’t like it, I wanted it to be like the first night again.

Sometimes you used to protect me. Even after we had an argument. We had such a volatile relationship. We didn’t speak for weeks or months and you’d say, “Come here, I’ll just be your Daddy, I’ll just cuddle you, no pressure”, and that was what you did, you just were my Daddy and you just cuddled me, no pressure.

And after no pressure you bound me up in rope and my tits stood out like rockets. You put a tortoise rope bondage on me and it hurt between my clit and then it turned me on because it hurt, and then I said cane me, which I never do, because I don’t like pain.

And you caned me, and harder and more and more, and I asked for more and in the end You stopped. You stopped because you recognised I was so aroused I didn’t know what I was saying. In the morning I was covered in marks but you turned me on.

You probably sent me to the bathroom. I can’t remember everything we did. Only that sometimes you were my first, only that you were my Daddy, that sometimes you’d protect me and keep me safe from the world, and sometimes, we’d argue, bitter bitter nasty arguments, arguments that involved everyone, arguments that made us cry, volatile, nasty, me walking home in the rain, you asking to drive me, me saying no. Times we cried. Times we understood each other like nobody else did. Times I was your Babygirl. XXX

Emily and Felix Part III

By Tony and Babygirl

After he had showered and dried her, she followed him into the bedroom where her clothes were laid on the side, chosen by him as usual.

She lay down onto the pink changing mat and lifted her hips as he slid the nappy underneath her.  She was quiet and obedient not wanting to upset him after misbehaving earlier.  He secured the sides and then she slipped her feet through the new pink elasticated plastic pants.

Felix had recently taken her to a new store to buy them and she had stood silently beside him as he asked the young assistant, who could only have been sixteen or seventeen if they had any in her size.  The girl had gone off and spoken to her supervisor who didn’t look much older and she watched as they whispered and pointed at her.  She had wished the ground would open up and swallow her.  She felt her cheeks burning and knew she was bright crimson.  The girl came back and opened a packet holding them up for everyone to see, asking in a loud voice, “Are these what MADAM requires?”.

She was brought sharply back to reality by his voice, obviously cross.  “EMILY, stop daydreaming and get dressed.  Your clothes are over there, don’t be long”.

He left the room as she picked up the bra, she hated them too.  He always made her wear an uplift bra with no front.  Her nipples rested on the support uncovered leaving her feeling exposed.  She knew the outline of her nipples was visible to people outside.  She felt self conscious sometimes and tried to move as though she was invisible, behind objects, avoiding eye contact with anyone.  She could feel men’s eyes on her pert nipples showing through her t-shirts and hear the exhausted sighs of their wives and girlfriends holding their hand and insisting they sit elsewhere.  She never understood why he didn’t realise when he dressed her like this that men were always looking at her.  Attempts to make herself invisible only made her more visible when he ordered her to move, stand next to him, pull her hand to a more visible place, or pull the chair out to sit opposite a man she had been subtly avoiding because she felt his eyes on her nipples through a light coloured top.  He was always oblivious to this attention, oblivious to the reasons she was trying to hide and demanding she sit still properly and stop fidgeting.  Sometimes he was so unobservant of her surroundings it annoyed her.  She didn’t say anything, if she had it would come out as angry and she was always punished for talking to him in that voice.  Instead she tried to keep it inside her and he would ask what she was sulking about now.  That was the problem with his Emily, you never understood what she was going to be sulking about next, not even on a nice day out.  It was why he called her Princess.

She picked the bra up, tried to make it cover her nipples even though the attempt was futile.

The silk white blouse did little to hide the fact either.  Why did she chose these for her today, today when it was warm and she wouldn’t be able to wear a coat over the top to hide the transparency.  Why did he never think things through.  He must chose her clothes without any thinking, she thought as she reluctantly dressed in them, to the sounds of him telling her to hurry up downstairs.  He seemed irritated as though they had to be somewhere fast, she wanted to shout back, “Where’s the fire” but she didn’t dare.  In her imagination she said it, she pretended she was answering him back although of course in real life she would not have dared.

She slid on the white stretch slacks which immediately showed every outline of the nappy, which crackled as she moved.  She contemplated refusing to go out dressed like this.  Then she contemplated being restrained to the bed and beaten for insolence while she tried to scream through a ball gag fixed so tightly little whimpers were all that came out.

She would just get on with it, she still had a sore on her bottom from nappy rash a few days ago, she didn’t fancy squealing and trying to move away as the restraints held her tighter and she felt the cane smack into it.

She hoped she would stay dry and they would not be out for long.  If she wet the nappy would the plastic pants hold?  The white trousers would immediately show the wetness.  She felt panicky and her face flushed red with the anxiety.  She tried to smooth her trousers down but in the mirror she was sure you could still see a bulge.  Maybe it was only her because she knew it was there, maybe nobody else would be able to see it, she tried to reassure herself with these false even though she knew they weren’t true.  She tried different angles to avoid her nipples being seen through the white top, nothing covered the little pert bump sticking out.  Oh she fucking wished he would put more thought into the clothes he chose for her in the morning.  She stayed in front of the mirror trying to hide things, trying to pose from different angles, working out where to put her hands so her nipples wouldn’t be obvious or she could hide parts of the plastic pants over the nappy so it wasn’t obvious. 

He shouted up the stairs some more.  He had no idea what was taking her so long to get dressed.  He was glad he chose her clothes, imagine how long they would be if she had to chose her own clothes and get dressed.  Finally he heard her feet coming down the stairs, clickety clickety in the pink stilettos with the pink spotty bow on the front, making her wobble a bit, making her more feminine, little wobbly pink shoes which would make her want to hold his hand to steady herself.  The sound of her clicking down the stairs softened his heart a bit, she was sweet, but still, they were running late and he was annoyed she had taken so long.

When she entered the hall she could tell he was impatient waiting for him.  She could tell by his eyes, this was not going to be an easy day.

Surprised on the drive, she saw a works van.  He had never brought one home before.  They climbed in and drove three or four miles into town.  They pulled into the old community hospital which she knew had closed and had been amalgamated with the new built district hospital.  A large sign said, ‘AUCTION TODAY 11.00AM’.

Emily was even more puzzled.  His company was very successful.  He would never buy anything second hand, especially ex NHS furniture or perhaps computer equipment.

They entered the hall and took a seat in the front row, right in front of the auctioneer’s podium.  The auction started and seemed to drone on forever.  After two hours she needed a wee and started to fidget.  “SIT STILL”.

The next thirty minutes dragged on and then he said, “The next item is the one we are here for, we shall buy it.  You will bid for it and buy it regardless of cost, do you understand Emily?”  Red faced and speechless, unsure of what was going to happen but fearing the worst even though she had no idea what the worst was, she nodded, slightly lowering her head so he could not see the panic or the trembling.  She had never been allowed to buy anything before, or make suggestions, not even on her clothes.  She should have felt empowered at this being the first thing in years she had brought, but something about such empowerment made her feel it was a subtle captivity even though she did not know what to expect.

“Now ladies and gentlemen, we come to item 8460 in your catalogue.  A Gyno Examination table, complete with stirrups, side rails, custom restraining straps, IV drip pole / equipment hook and adjustment crank.  Equipped with black latex upholstery and less than six months old.

“I am sure it can be put to some use.  Where can I start the bidding?  £200... £150?”  “BID” he said, pulling at her arm.  She sheepishly held her hand up.  “Oh the lady in the front row has a use for this... £150 Madam... Any further bids?  Going once, going twice, third and final time.  £150 sold to the pretty lady in the front row.  Enjoy your new purchase Madam”.

They sat for a further fourty five minutes and she knew everyone behind her had seen her buy the table.  By now her nappy was wet and she worried ti would drag her trousers down if she stood up.

He stood to leave and taking her hand led her across the front of the auctioneer’s podium and down the aisle between hundreds of faces, mostly men but a few woman, all seeming to give her a knowing look.

Her slacks were bulging between her legs and she knew she was walking differently.

The table had been loaded into the van and they set off home.

Things carried on as normal when they arrived home.  She prepared a late lunch and got on quietly with her chores.  She polished, hovered, cleaned, washed the kitchen floor, hung the washing out, dusted.  Felix was a stickler for a clean and tidy house, he liked it done every day and there was no arguing that it was her job, she had sorted out whose job it was within the first few days of her coming to live with him.   It was not unusual for him to be doing something while she was doing her chores, upstairs on the computer, watching television or talking to friends on the phone, so that he was in the spare room upstairs was not out of the ordinary.  He had told her not to enter, but it wasn’t the first time she had been given instructions not to enter a room, he often gave those instructions when he was on the computer to.  There was nothing really out of the ordinary, not for Felix Silverman and Emily anyway.

Around 6pm he called her upstairs.  By now her nappy was sodden.  He had not changed it as he would normally and it felt saturated, cold and uncomfortable.  It bunched between the cheeks of her bottom and the front was hard and unyielding if she tried to sit down.  The strip in the front had changed colour a long time before she had been waiting for him to come down and realise she needed to be changed.  She did not dare call him.  She had learnt her mistake calling him down when he had instructed privacy “Just” to complain her nappy was full.

He felt between her legs and squeezed the nappy.  “You’re such a naughty girl.  Haven’t you learnt to control yourself by now Princess?  You know nappy change isn’t until after tea time on a Saturday”.

He then took her hand and led her into the spare room.  It had been totally transformed.  It must have happened whilst they were out.  All four walls were floor to ceiling mirrors.  In the middle of the floor stood the Gyno table.

“Remove your clothes Emily”.  She hated what she was wearing and it was a surprise that she didn’t pull her clothes off quickly.  In the strange surroundings and realising she could see herself everywhere she looked, she slowed down and was removed her clothes quietly, uncertainty and fear setting in.  Her sodden nappy was the only thing left on display. 

“Now hop up onto the table”.

She lay on the table, her legs hanging over the end.  It was very short.  He took her right ankle, raised it and placed it into a stirrup fitting.  He fastened the Velcro strap around it to keep it there, firmly tighting it to remove any possibility of movement should she get difficult.  He did the same to the left ankle.

She was now lying on her back with her legs closed but raised in the air.  He turned a handle on the side of the table and her legs were slowly drawn apart.  Wider and wider until she thought they could go no further and he gave one last turn.

Laying there in the sodden nappy on her back, unable to move, she felt uncomfortable.  Trying to shift around to find a more comfortable position.  It provided a little amusement to him.  He never understood why, when she was totally restrained, he would hear little noises and see little flickers her still trying to move.  She must have known she couldn’t.  She always did this.  She did it when she was restrained for a beating to, he’d watch her little bottom quiver in the air as she would try to move around but held tight and held in place she never could.  He heard little whimpers as she tried to get comfortable in her profoundly uncomfortable nappy.

“Oh, we forgot your plastic panties, never mind” he said.  He proceeded, in a very matter of fact way to snip the side with a pair of scissors.  He dropped the plastic into a tray between her legs.  Next he undid the side of her nappy and slid it from under her.  She felt cold, wet, exposed, vulnerable, and more than a little frightened.

He walked between her legs and sat on a little stood between her thighs.  She would see his every move in the mirrors. 

His breath was warm on her exposed sex.

Emily and Felix Part II

By Tony and Babygirl

“YOU NAUGHTY GIRL”.  She could tell he was very angry, her face flushed red, her eyes filled with tears.  “I’m sorry she said it was just my tummy was so full”.  “Then we will do something about your full tummy”.  How she hated those words; she knew what was coming next.  “Stay there and don’t move.  Lay in your own wee, dirty girl,” he said.  “I’ll be back shortly”.

Back shortly he was. He came back into the room with the enema kit.  She hated these times.  “On your hands and knees”,  he instructed, adding, “and stay over the mat.  We will give you a good cleaning”.  Exposed and vulnerable, she knelt, hands hiding her face feeling totally exposed to him. 

His finger coated in Vaseline slid into her tight bum hole, twisting and coating.  “We will use the 5” Bardex” he said in a no nonsense and I’m not standing for anything voice, continuing, “ensure a good clean and empty your full tummy”.  She felt sick, part of her was saying, get up and run and the other part was saying, run – where to, you’ll be back here and it’ll be even worse. 

The nozzle cold and hard slid inside her.  “We will start with a two litre warm soap”.  Two litres?  She could never take that, she would burst.  He opened the tap and the warm water entered her body.  It was quite nice at first and then the cramp set in.  “Hold it” he instructed,  whilst massaging her tummy, “it will pass, be a good girl”.  The cramping felt unbearable, the pain shot through her body.  She wanted to roll over and grab her stomach to ease the pain.  She remembered being told if she panted it would help, but it was so degrading to be in that position and having to pant.  Each time a cramp came it would gradually subside, but the next one was always more painful and the time between them would get shorter. 

“Is it nearly finished” she complained.  Like a five year old child irritatingly asking, “Are we there yet”.  She tried to put her hand behind to feel in the bowl, how much was left, he pushed her hand away with the instruction to be a good girl.  It was always the trouble with a Princess, they always felt they had to control everything.  A whin at the first little thing that’s slightly unpleasant, even if it’s for their own good.  Her stomach rumbling as the excessive amounts were pushed through her tight little hole, sobbing she buried her head in the pillow but still squealed and tried to move around each time a cramp came.  She lowered her legs and he smacked them hard to keep her bottom raised.  She tried to move away and he pushed the tube in harder and without care for her comfort.  She squealed and complained that she couldn’t take anymore and he told her to be a good girl or they wouldn’t be going anywhere later.  The pillow she buried her head into was now wet with her tears.  She tried to move her face to a more comfortable part but each part was wet.  She thought of panting and decided not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much pain she was in, or of degrading herself by doing it.

He held the nozzle firm and at a steady pace, regardless of her cramping fed it into her tightly pulsating anus.  He could tell when she was cramping but the attempts at moving away, which he counteracted by a hard smack at the top of her leg and holding her bottom firmly into the tube.  He wasn’t concerned about her squealing or her moving.  If she stopped complaining and got on with it, it would be over with much less of a fuss.  Mind you, he thought to himself as held the nozzle in tight with one of her squealing and “it’s too much” episodes, she was such a princess she’d always find something to complain about.

“Half way there” he said.  “Oh I can’t take another litre”, she whined. His hand slapped her bare arse hard, quiet.”

Her tummy was swollen she felt 6 months pregnant, stretched she was hot and sweating trying to take the rest inside her already full tummy.

“There”,  he said “I told you that you could”.  “Now hold that in whilst I remove the nozzle and replace it with a butt plug”.  The bardex slipped out easily to be replaced with a larger butt plug.  Now you will hold that for 15 minutes before I take you to the toilet.  FIFTEEN MINUTES.. she would die her tummy cramped again, and he held her against him rubbing her tummy whilst holding her tight.

Emily and Felix

By Tony

“How do you feel this morning Emily?”, Felix asked as he removed the wet nappy.  She shivered.  “I still feel under the weather” she said.  “Then I think this morning, before we put you in a nice clean nappy we should purge your body of all the toxins”.  He had never said this before and she really did not understand what he meant.  She laid there the rubber of the changing mat sticking to her bare skin.

As he came back into her line of sight he had a number of ‘medical’ looking things.  She shivered and not because she was feeling unwell but through the anticipation of what might be about to happen.

“Slide to the edge of the bed and pull the mat with you” he said.  “Then tuck your ankles against your bottom and open your knees wide”.  She felt so exposed.  He gently teased open the lips of her vulva and slid first one, then two fingers into her.  She felt secure and loved when he touched her... oh so... gently.

She felt something hard and cold.  He slid it inside her.  The shock made her bring her legs together trapping his hand.  “GIRL.... Open your legs and do not move otherwise I will tie them open”.  She tried to relax.  She could feel his fingers moving against her legs.  The cold hardness inside her started to open stretching, filling, opening her sex, wider and wider.  She worried she would tear.

His finger touched her wee hole, as he massaged her.  She liked the touch of his finger but felt so open, so exposed, so humiliated.  He could see right inside her body and she made more vulnerable knowing it.  His finger left her and came back but now it was slippery, it was lubricant.  Why?  He massaged it around her urethral opening.  She felt something soft but insistent propping her wee hole, it was sliding INSIDE her, it sort of hurt, and then it tickled like a worm entering her body.  All of a sudden she felt it push through an opening inside her.

“Ahh” he said, “Good girl, now we just need to inflate this to stop it slipping out of you and we can clean you out”.  She felt a slight strange sort of bubble grow inside her.  He pulled gently on the tube.  “Good, the catheter is secure, now let’s drain your wee wee”.

She could hear the trickle of her wee running out of the tube into the bowl.  Strange.  Her bladder emptying when she had no control over it, listening to the sounds her body was making acting completely independently of any thought she wanted.  When it had stopped, he set the bowl to one side, and opened the top of the bottle of sterile water they had purchased from Boots.  He would not tell her why they had purchased it but she now understood it must be for use on her, but how?

He filled a syringe and pushed it onto the end of the catheter and squeezed the syringe.  She felt a trickle of cold water enter her bladder.  It felt strange, it felt intrusive, it felt humiliating... He was filling her up.  He emptied the first syringe full and proceeded to inject a second, and then a third.  Her bladder started to feel full.  His hand gently rested on her tummy.  “Oh Two or Three more at least I think”.    Two or Three MORE she would burst.  As the forth syringe full entered her body she squirmed... “GIRL last warning”.  She bit her lip and tried to lay still.  As he injected the next he was rubbing her tummy.  OH she felt so full.  “This is the last” he said, “and then we will put your nappy on.  You must hold this inside you, like a good little girl, no accidents”.

As he removed the pressure on the bulb and slid the tub from her body she bit her lip trying to keep control of her bladder.  Removing the speculum helped relieve the pressure a little.

He reached over for the nappy.  “Lift your bottom Princess”.  Oh no, lifting her bottom had done it, her wee wee trickled out all over the mat.  As hard as she tried, she could not control it.  Abject degradation she sobbed stears, streaming from her eyes, her eyes reddening.  As the rubber mat got wetter and wetter and her little creamy white bottom soaking along with the bottom of her back.

“What did I tell you ?”

To Emily

From Peter in Denmark

You are a real Lady, you will wear high heels, because I ask you to do them (I am not necessary talking about stilettos) just high heels. And naturally you will wear your suspender and nice stockings as well, because our first meetings will be something special. When at home, normally, it will be fine if you are just wearing t-shirt, nappy and maybe a short skirt and walking bare feeted. Can be sweet and sexy too.

You ARE the kind of woman who needs to be vulnerable and humiliated, it is in your nature so this is how it has to be, and you know. And of course when you take the travel, you WILL naturally wear your nappy as I have told you AND you will make sure you will need to use it while you are traveling (holding back from long before you are leaving your home) and when we are together, why using the toilet when you got good nappies ? The bathroom is for washing, cleaning, teeth-brushing and so on. Not for your peeing and pooing. You ARE a Nappy-Lady !

This shows, already once again, our mutual opinions about you using toilet.
Naturally sometimes, when you feel (when we are outside or visiting other people) your bottom will need a very big and heavy "release", you will go for a toilet, or rather WE will, I will see and control, you act properly, which means you will sit down, but will not , I repeat will not, remove your nappy, just use it to its full potential. Maybe I will let you kiss my cock, while you are doing your "thing", to prove who is in charge and when your stomach / bottom is in control again, we will continue what we did before, probably hand in hand.

Of course when we are at my home, and specially the first time, I will kiss your lips softly and whisper poor your, when I see you have to sit and relax on a already well-used nappy and I will smile sweetly to you, when you are telling me you need to use it again and I will pour you some more wine, or suggest a cup of coffee (very good for the stomach "work") and a little later I will ask you to go with me to the kitchen to prepare some food for us.

Of course, you have told me you are feeling very uncomfortable in your wet and overfilled nappy and you tells you are afraid you soon will have to use it even more. I will of course, as the gentle and nice Male (for you) I am, nod and smile sympathetic, but "unfortunately" not think about changing right now, I got a lot of other things in my head, you know.

I do like you have tested the security coloring of your nappies. Good move. always good to know. But I will not let them decide when it is time for your nappy-change. After all. They are made for getting used and your security and you got ME to decide and help, when it is REALLY necessary, right ?

Of course, when you are complaining (fussing) about your wet nappy, I will lift and check, I AM a concerning male, you know, and if some tears are sliding down your cheeks I will kiss them gently away, and maybe give you a sweet soft encouraging spank on your wet nappy-covered bottom (=sweet ass) and ask you to continue what you (we) are doing in the first place.

Cuddling will always be very important in a good and serious relationship. So it will be in ours. I will probably rest like that, wearing very little, to feel your warm nappy against my skin. Sometimes when it is very messy to feel you and if you are using it even more and sometimes when I have changed you, and you are fresh and clean, while we are watching a DVD together and you of excitement or simple need already are using this fresh nappy (again!).

If you are coming here, you will be extra insecure, feeling extra poor, uncomfortable and even more relying on me, you know !

A good and sweet humiliating way to start, don´t you think so to ?

Emily and Daddy Part II

By J. and Babygirl

Emily knew what she was doing.  She thought if she drank all the squash and emptied the bottle Daddy would go get her some coke cola.  She preferred fizzy to boring squash. 

She was such a princess, but it didn’t work.  Daddy did not go out last night to the shops, now she has a full nappy and a full bladder.

If Emily started having a tantrum Daddy would put her in her special corner.  The one with a suction penis shaped dildo fixed to the wall, at her mouth height.  Ankle straps fixed to the skirting boards.  After fixing her ankles to them and making her put her hands on her head, she would open her mouth.  Instructed and unable to do otherwise she would slide her mouth over the dildo.  Daddy would attach a band around her head keeping her mouth in place over the rubber dildo.  Now she would be quiet whilst Daddy finished his crossword. 

The house is so quiet now.  Emily knows she cannot move from there.  She hears Daddy putting on a cd.  “This will help you relax” he says.  “Nothing more relaxing than the sound of running water gushing over a waterfall”.  He removes your hands whilst he places headphones over your ears, then puts your hands back on top of your head.

Emily and Daddy

by J.

Babygirl knew she would be needing a wee wee before bed but Daddy saw how much you drank so decided the one he put on after tea was still dry, so, after putting your butt plug in, decided you could stay in that one tillt he morning.

He was hoping that you would try to hold it in so he could watch you squatting over the nappy with a full bladder in the corner of the room, blushing as it streamed out, making sure it all went into the nappy and not onto the floor.

But... you did not manage it so now he watches you wobble about the room with a heavy nappy.  Will Daddy eat his breakfast quickly and then take you to be changed, or will he want to read his paper first.  The not knowing makes you anxious.

You wait and you wait, Please hurry up Daddy pleassssseeeeeeeeeeeeee.  He sees you suffering and does he decide you have suffered enough.  No.  He sends you to find him a pen.  He will do the crossword in the paper first.

He tells you to have another cup of tea, that’s the fourth one you have had since you got up.  You dare not wee anymore into the nappy as it’s already heavy.  He is filling your bladder up again, so that he can see you wee standing over the toilet.

That always makes him smile.

Emily and Nathan Part III

By Babygirl

She was warm and cosy.  He was warm.  She squeezed into him and she felt him wrap his arms around her even tighter.  She had been asleep for an hour, she was in the coming round dreamy state from sleep, where everything is safe and secure and warm.  All she could feel was his arms, holding her, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world and he would keep it safe.

She moved her leg to entwine with his and then she realised, bulk.  Confused in that dreamy state she looked at the time, it was 3.30pm, it was light outside, it must be the afternoon, not the morning. Slowly bits started coming back to her, but like jigsaw bits all over the place it was taking a while to fit them together.

Her nappy was sodden.  It had gone hard at the front and it was cold.  It was bulkier that usual, the plastic pants were tighter round the leg than usual, the more she gained consciousness, the more uncomfortable she realised she was.

Looking up she saw him watching her.  He seemed to be quite awake, maybe he had just been lying there holding her, watching her sleep, he did that sometime.

“You fell asleep” he said, gentle brushing back the hair from her face.  The long thick, curly dark brown hair.  She was recognisable to everyone by her hair, it was wild and untamed, strewn over the pillow like a lions mane.

She didn’t want to move but she could feel she was really uncomfortable.  Instinctively she put her hand between her leg, the nappy was rock hard and cold, she couldn’t move anything around to get more comfortable.  She wasn’t in plastic pants over the top they were rubber, which was why they were tighter round the leg.

“Don’t hold your nappy baby it’s not nice” he said gently, matter-of-factly, firmly as he reached for her hand to bring it back.  It was different at the top of the nappy, the pants, they weren’t only rubber they were different.  She felt around the waistline and realised there was a chain, a chain with a lock behind her.  He had put her in locking baby rubber panties over the top of her nappy.  The type she had seen advertised for “those who need encouragement to stay in their nappy”.

“I had to, your nappy was so heavy baby”.  She felt behind her instinctively, worried she had leaked onto the bed.  He liked that about her, he liked it that she knew even if she wet her bed, the bed he lay in had to be absolutely dry.  “It’s fine princess, I padded you well”.  It was all coming back to her now.

“You need to learn to stop stressing in your nappy” he said empathetically as he pulled her a bit closer, unworried by how bulky her nappy was, how hard it was inside for her or how wet she must be.  It was dry on the outside and she was his girl, and he would cuddle her.

All the bits were joining up now.  He had dressed her and taken her to the cafe.  He had told her toilet time would be 4pm.  He had brought her too many drinks in the cafe and she tried to refuse.  He told her to drink.  He quietly reminded her that he looked after her, he decided when toilet time was, he decides how much she drinks and all she has to do is obey his instructions and have a nice day with him.

She was wriggling about uncomfortably, her bladder was heavy.  Each drink made it heavier.  He told her to stop squirming and sit nicely.  He told her to sit up and put her hands in her lap and stay still but the pressure on her bladder was making it impossible.  He was glad she was trying.  He liked to watch her try.  Each time she sat up nicely and put her hands in her lap she would squirm away or lean forward.  Little tiny moans that only he could hear or understand.  The cafe was crowded. 

She had wished many times she could go out without being put in a nappy.  Nathan worried about her though.  He didn’t like her using public toilets because they were dirty.  The toilet at home was clean because he made her clean it and keep it spotless and that was the only place that was good enough for her to relieve herself.  He wanted her to wait until she got home.  Sometimes she couldn’t wait, in the past she had shown him up by wetting her knickers and so now she had to wear a nappy.   The other problem with public toilets was girls.  Girls standing around gossiping and giving each other advice.  He didn’t want Emily in there talking to girls he didn’t know, talking where he couldn’t hear them, saying things he knew they wouldn’t understand, giving her advice she didn’t need, influencing her and of course influencing her the wrong way.  Keeping Emily out of the public convenience kept her away from people he probably wouldn’t approve of.  As he also told Emily, he worried about her, he cared for her, he 39.

He wanted to know she was safe, safe at all times.  Everything he did he did out of concern for Emily, for her well being, for her welfare.  The only way to know she was safe was to keep her by his side all the time.  A nappy ensured she never had a reason to leave his side, and he would know she was safe and looked after.

So there she was, in the cafe, strapped into her nappy.  Her nappy to keep her safe, keep her away from dirty toilets and prying women she didn’t need to talk to.  Her nappy which meant he could keep an eye on her at all times.  Toilet time was 4pm – at home -  and he should have made her wait, but she clearly was going to carry on being a bit dramatic.  If he said there was no nappy change until 4pm, then there was no nappy change until 4pm.  He told her to stand up and come to his side of the table which she did.  He told her to bend lower and he whispered in her ear.  “You can go to the toilet, but you do NOT take your nappy of or you plastic pants, do you understand”.  She nodded.  She looked around nervously, hoping nobody had heard him.  He had spoken quietly, he had whispered in her ear but it was so personal, what if someone close by had heard.

She went to the toilet and lifted the seat up.  She didn’t know why she lifted the seat up, habit she supposed, all the same it felt more comfortable.  She sat down and she could not stop weeing, it just did not stop coming.  She wished now that she had gone earlier when he took her to the bathroom before her clean nappy, but it was so embarrassing.  She would have to stand there legs apart over the bowl and he would be just leaning against the wall and the bath, watching.  She tried to go but she couldn’t.  She asked him to leave the room and he told her not to be insolent.  In the end she gave up.  He said she would regret it.  She couldn’t go, she really tried, him standing there watching her just put her off, the more she tried the less she could go.  She wanted to sit down but he didn’t allow that, he wanted to see.  He wanted to know she’d done a good stream of heavy wee and was ready for her nappy but she couldn’t do it with him watching.  “You’ll regret it later” he said, putting her reluctance down to a little princess power play on her behalf.

Still, it was so good to get it out.  Her bladder had been so heavy and nappy or not she was relieving herself and it was so good.  At the end she sat on the toilet, the realisation that now she would have to get up.  She sat there a few minutes longer realising she didn’t want to.  Only then, only then when she realised she didn’t have to wipe herself, and there was no need to wash her hands, only then did she realise she had filled her nappy and would have to walk around in it.

Now she regreted it.  So heavy was the flow it seeped completely through the heavy pad, the pull up and the plastic pants.  She wanted to die with embarrassment.

She wore a purple cloak which she hurridly put around her to disguise the fact that it must have seeped through her skirt.  She walked from the toilets back to the table trying to look as normal as possible, dying a million times inside.  Wondering if anybody had noticed the stain on the back of her skirt, wondering if they could see any bulk, would they know she had wet her nappy?  She sat down unable to look at Nathan, she wanted to go home. 

“Can we go home please”, she asked, eyes looking at the floor.

“No”.

“Why not?”

“Pardon... When did I get answerable to you Princess?”

He knew what she’d done.  He knew she had filled her nappy completely.  It wasn’t really his problem, he had taken her to the toilet before putting it on and she had refused to go, she needed to learn that every action has a consequence.

“I’ll get you a drink” he said.

“I don’t want a drink” she said almost building up to Princess tantrum sulky mode.

He whispered in her ear quietly, “I will get a drink, you will sit nicely and drink it.  Do not show me up because you will regret it later”.

A half pint glass of mineral water then appeared before her, complete with ice, and a slice of lemon because that would make it nice for her.

“When you’ve finished, we can go babygirl”.

She stood next to the car while he opened the door and put the plastic cover over it.  She hated that at these times she had to wait for the seat to be covered in plastic.  Once finished she sat in the front seat and waited.  He fastened the seat belt around her and shut the door, as he always did.  When he got in his side, she heard him lock her door, she didn’t know that always felt so captive but it always did. 

She didn’t know why she couldn’t fasten her own seat belt, either but the one time she tried it he smacked her hand and all she knew was, she couldn’t.  She couldn’t shut the door and she couldn’t lock it, he did all that, he always did all that, he said it was because he cared about her.  She felt captive.

She was relieved to get home.  He was kind.  She knew she had wet her nappy too early but he had suggested she go to the toilet, otherwise she would not have dared.  She was relieved when he suggested going to the bedroom and told her to lay the change mat out on the bed.  He didn’t usually take her nappy of before time, but maybe in his old age he was softening.  She lay on the change mat and he went to the chest of drawers which kept a variety of nappies in different drawers and different plastic and rubber pants, different strengths and different sizes, depending if some were going to put on top of others for days when he took her out for longer.

He came back to the bed with one of the larger sized nappies, she was a bit confused but didn’t dare ask him, it was best not to question him, just let him change her, she couldn’t wait to get out of the wet nappy.  He told her to lift her bottom and she lifted her bottom.  He peeled the wet plastic panties of her and took them to the washing machine where he left them inside, she could wash them later with her skirt.  He told her to lift her bottom up again and placed the larger nappy with tabs on the sides underneath her.  She didn’t understand, she still had the sodden nappy on.

“Daddy.....”

“Toilet time is 4pm.  I let you go because I could see you were trying really hard to sit still and do as you were told.  It pleases me when you work hard to stay in your nappy without too much fuss.  However, nappy change is at 4pm, as I told you this morning”.

Emily was speechless.  Emily was furious.  Emily felt tearful.  Emily moved her bottom and his big strong hands simply pushed it back down again, over the very large thick padded nappy.  She couldn’t really move to get away, all the same, the little act of defiance in trying to move her bottom when she realised what would happen had resulted in a very heavy handed Nathan holding her down much harder than he needed to and making it very clear to Emily who was in charge.

She felt the tabs pulled round and the thicker larger nappy sealed the small sodden nappy inside with the pad wet through still lying against her clit.  In case the tabs were tempted to pull apart with the weight of it, he produced duct tape and sealed it together firmly.  No room for mistakes.

Emily wanted to cry.

Emily had forgotten how much she hated him.

Standing her up he told her to lift up her legs.  If there was a time Emily would struggle to get out of her nappy it would be now, he wasn’t stupid.  Emily could be very wilful when she put her mind to it.  She had no long term vision.  She would totally forget all her wilful behaviour would see her crying chained to the bed and being beaten later, she wouldn’t think of that, she just went with the immediate thought in her head at the time, instant gratification.  She had a lot to learn.

He pulled the waterproof panties over her but they felt different.  Firstly the crinkle sound was different and secondly they were tighter around the legs.  She complained about how tight they were around the legs.  He put two fingers inside and he could get his finger inside, so they were fine.  Emily had always been a princess.

They came up higher than usual, to her waist.  He turned her round and pulled something which pulled them in.  Then she heard a lock snap shut.  She lowered her hand and realised it was a lockable chain.  Locked round her waist so they couldn’t be slid over her hips.

She looked at the floor.  She could never look at him again.  She felt humiliated and degraded.  On top of that she was wet and sodden inside and on top of that she knew she would be kept like that for two hours.  He lifted her chin up to look at him when he spoke.  “We’ll go to bed Emily, have a cuddle, rest a bit, until 4pm” and with that he pulled back the bed covers.

Emily could hardly speak in bed.  She was uncomfortable.  She was cold between her legs and the nappy was hard.  She wriggled to get more comfortable but she couldn’t.  She put her hands between her legs to feel how bulky it was.  Although he would usually remove her hands straight away he recognised this was a new feeling for Emily, and although it was spoiling her a bit, he would let her hold her nappy for a minute before reminding her to remove her hands.

Her eyes were watery, he wiped the tears away.  He stroked her hair.

“Paul used to change me whenever I wet myself”, unsure of why she had chosen to tell him that, as though it was some sort of threat when the reality was, she had nothing to threaten him with and no power to do anything.

“Did he, do you think that did you any good Princess?”

Emily refused to be reprimanded and looked away.  She felt his hand on the side of her cheek as he turned her around to look at him and answer the question.  The minute he had turned her face to him she looked away again.  He took his hand away.

“Emily, look at me when I am speaking to you.  When I tell you to look at me, you look at me, and when I tell you not to make eye contact, you don’t make eye contact, this is not a difficult rule for you”.

Oh well, she thought, it won’t be a difficult rule for him to understand she wasn’t going to follow then.

She felt the duvet pulled back, the next bit happened very quickly.  There was a wooden paddled hairbrush on the bedside table next to the bed, but suddenly he had pulled her legs apart, held down the fleshy tender part on the inside of her thigh and smacked it full on hard.  She screamed out, firstly with the pain but also with the shock of the situation.  He smacked her again, hard and loud on the other thigh.  The soft tender flesh immediately reddening against the hard wood which he had spared no hesitation in beating down as hard as he could.  She screamed.

He put the hairbrush back on the table next to him and pulled the duvet back.

“You deserved that, now turn over and look at me”.

She turned over and looked at him.

“Paul did you no favours changing you each time you wet yourself.  What did it

teach you, nothing, it just spoilt you.  I look after you Emily, do you understand, I am not here to spoil you, I am here to look after you and looking after you means teaching you”.

Emily didn’t know why she was crying now.  She didn’t know if it was stinging on the inside of her thighs, having to look at him, being wet, she didn’t know.  She just cried. 

He reached out to her and put his arms around her pulling her closer to him.  She hated him.  Who else would comfort her?  Maybe she had done wrong, maybe she should have tried harder to wee in front of him before the nappy, maybe she should have sat still even though her bladder was full, maybe if she’d tried she could have held it for longer, maybe it was her fault.  He held her so tight, he stroked her hair, he told her she was his babygirl, he cared for her, maybe it was her fault, maybe she did need to try harder.  Moving her legs was uncomfortable, the weight of the nappies and the fact that she’d wet them.  He could feel the bulk leaning against him but it was dry under the locking baby pants, the rubber stretching nicely over to hold everything in.  He wrapped his arms around her.  She let him, she was crying, she didn’t even know now why she was crying, she just was and he was wiping the tears away.  She leaned into his chest.  She couldn’t do much else with such a heavy nappy between her legs and somewhere amidst her tears she must have fallen asleep with him holding her. 

Now she had woken, he had been watching her sleep.  Keeping her safe.

“Emily, I am going to go and get you a bottle of water, then while you are having a drink I am going to have a little talk to you”.  It was his favourite trick, it ensured she couldn’t answer back.  He’d restrain her often lying down and put a full baby bottle in her mouth.  She once spat it out and he smacked her with the paddle brush about 50 times, she had bruises on the inside of her legs and she never spat the bottle out again. 

He would keep it there until she finished it, it would keep her quiet and while she was quiet he could talk to her, it focused her mind.  Sometimes he thought when she played up she probably did need to lie down and have a bottle to calm her down.

Lying down he told her to put her arms by her side.  He didn’t want her wriggling about.  She lay flat on the bed with her arms by her side.  It was uncomfortable, she wanted to cuddle him, she wanted to be closer.  She had no choice. 

He had a metal band which went round her waist and attached to either side were hooks for wrist cuffs to be attached.  If she didn’t lie voluntarily, still, with her arms by her side, he would simply put her into that and then she’d stay in the same position not moving her arms, chained there.  It was the other option.

She lay still with her arms by her side, she took the bottle “nicely” (as he told her to).

He talked to her while she was drinking.

“Emily, at 4pm it is time for your nappy change.  We shall go to the shower and I will take off your nappy and wash you.  You’ll enjoy that.  I’ll also rub some cream on your bottom if you’ve got nappy rash.  When we come back, you will be punished for wetting your nappy.  You usually get 50 strokes for a wet nappy but because I suggested you going to the toilet when we were out, it will only be 40.  I do take responsibility for my part in it.  Nevertheless Emily, you still wet your nappy, and you still need to be encouraged not to. You ask me all the time when you can stop wearing nappies and the answer is when you are properly toilet trained.  I want to see dry nappies when it comes to toilet time, I want to know you’ve held it, I want to know you’ve controlled yourself.  When I take you to the toilet to stand over the bowl, I want to see a nice stream of wee wee coming down nice and heavy and you enjoying relieving yourself and I can wipe you.  I don’t want all this, you standing over the toilet this morning not doing anything, then you coming back with a wet nappy because you didn’t go earlier.  Later you won’t go because you’ve filled your nappy and so on and so on, and it has to stop Emily. I want you to work much harder at making sure when I watch you on the toilet you go, and when I give you a time in your nappy that you nappy is dry until that time.  We both have to work at this to make sure you are properly toilet trained.”

She finished her bottle.

“I promise I won’t do it again, just trust me this time”.

Another promise.  He wished he had had a pound for each of Emily’s promises.  All given when she was about to be given a beating.  It didn’t work, just talking, it never worked.  Once Emily was screaming and her bottom on fire, she would remember that better, it would be a better aid to toilet training than any of her promises ever were.

He took her hand, almost gently but firmly to the bathroom.  They walked in silence.  When he took the lockable plastic panties of the strip on the outer nappy had changed colour.  The strip was good.  One colour when dry and when it was soaking the strip would change colour so you could easily tell.  It was good he had put it on her, to soak the excess up, she really had behaved badly, she really did deserve the hiding she was going to get.

She stood in the shower and put her hands on her head without being told.  She didn’t squeal when he touched the spots with nappy rash on and they were sore.  She stayed quiet.  She stayed well behaved.  She convinced herself if she was really really good and obedient now she could get out of this.

He dried her gently, almost like she was his favourite china doll, and he kept his promise, as he always did, and rubbed cream into the sores on her bottom.  “If you learn to keep your nappy dry you won’t get these sores in future”.

It was all very quiet in the bathroom.  He didn’t raise his voice, she said nothing.  She did as she was told.  When he told her to turn around she did, when he told her to raise her arm as he dried her, she did.  She just did as she was told, quietly and meekly and he prepared her, washed, dried, creamed... ready.

Taking her back to the room he lay her on her stomach.  He attached leg spreaders between her legs, tied at the ankle.  In the middle there was a large metal loop which he put a chain around and tied and locked to the end of the bed.  She couldn’t move very far now.

Emily wasn’t one of those quiet obedient girls when it came to being beaten.  She wouldn’t lie on the bed and raise her bottom and just take it.  The girls he used to say, 100 strokes and each time you move we’ll start from the beginning again and they’d just take it.

Emily wasn’t like that.  She almost made him smile.  She didn’t mind misbehaving, she didn’t mind being naughty but she never wanted to pay the price for her misdemeanours.

He placed a pillow under Emily’s stomach while she was face down with her legs spread and attached to the end of the bed.  “Make yourself comfortable he said”.  She didn’t reply.  A desperate attempt to claw back a bit of power in a completely powerless situation, he had to admit, she did make him laugh.

After arranging the pillow under her stomach it raised her bottom to the optimum height.  40 strokes, if she was good.  Name calling or being difficult would get her more.  He was a fair man.  Wet nappies were usually 50, but as he had said, he took some responsibility for allowing her to use the bathroom in the cafe, so he’d deduct 5.

He used the cane.  Not lightly and not heavily.  He didn’t take a run and swing it.  He didn’t pitter patter either.  Just firmly, in one place on each side, but the same place, over and over and over and over.

At first she didn’t move and didn’t make a sound. 

Emily decided she wouldn’t respond.  Emily always tried this.  She took the first few and didn’t make a noise.  That would teach him. 

Again and again and again and again, over and over and over on the same spot, the same spot, each side.  She wriggled, and then she squealed a bit and then she squealed a lot.  Then she tugged at her legs trying to be free only she couldn’t because they were clamped to the bed.  Her little bottom wobbly wobbling each time a stroke hit.  Little muffled screams as she tried to bury herself in the pillow but each time he hit again she would come up for air and scream a bit louder.  Desperately squirming and wiggling trying to get away as though if she moved about enough she would release the chains around her ankles or wiggle the leg spreaders from their lock on the end of the bed.

Her little muffled screams getting louder but not loud enough yet.  He hit harder, firmer, a good whack, now she screamed, now she screamed really loud. 

“Good Girl”.

Her screams started joining up to one long howl.  She managed to find the space to shout that she hated him and managed to get the strokes back up to 50.  When he told her she screamed she really hated him again and got 70 for her trouble, if an extra 10 didn’t teach her he would double it.

He would teach her to respect him.  That was important to him. 

She needed to be taught to respect him.

After 50 he said he would give her a break and went off to make a coffee.  She lay still strapped up and unable to move, sobbing into the pillow.  She knew it was not over yet, the extra 20 for saying she hated him a second time.  He came back with his coffee and drank it watching her, watching the tears down her face as she lay on the pillow.

“You’ll need to change that pillow slip when we’ve finished”.

She turned her face the other way to avoid him seeing her.

She could think of some smart alec remark and be there all day.

She stayed quiet.

He didn’t hestitate to remind her that the last 20 were her idea, he hadn’t started out intending these.  If she had been better, behaved better, shown more respect.  Well she didn’t, she was asking for it, and now she got it.

He wondered if after it was all over she would call him a tyrannical despot again and hurt his feelings, like she did before.  Nobodies perfect he reminded her.

It was finally over, her ankles were untied.  Her little pert fleshy peach bottom marked and sore.  Although she was released she still lay there.  He applied more cream to the parts he had accidentally caught which he didn’t mean to because they were already sore from nappy rash.  She squealed like a pig when he caught those bits, he didn’t mean to but on the other hand, as he reminded her, if she hadn’t wet herself those bits wouldn’t be there.

After he had released her he lay on the bed with her.  Turning her over gently as he kissed her.  Hand between her legs, ready to push into her clit.  She closed her legs as though he hadn’t said the magic word to enter the treasure.  She wasn’t interested.  Some girls did this, he had heard of girls that did this, decided when their owner was ‘allowed’ or not.  It didn’t happen in his relationships, not with any of his girls and not with Emily.

She was his and she opened for him anytime he wanted her to.  That was all.  It was a simple rule and it was an easy rule to remember.

“EMILY”.

She relaxed her legs and parted them.  Realising the foolishness of trying to change the rules, especially when she was bruised and defeated.

He pushed inside her, pushed his fingers into her opening and slammed up against her clit.  She dropped a little rain unable to disguise the sensation of the pummelling against her GSpot with his fingers deeper and harder.  He pushed her legs open and lay her on her back.  She squealed breathlessly as the sheets underneath her rubbed against her delicate bottom.  He lifted her legs over his shoulder and entered her, hard and fast and shoved it right inside her as though he were aiming from her tonsils.

Her bottom rubbing on the cotton sheet, still sore, her system not expecting this, part of her wanted to scream as she felt his cock ram into her GSpot and the rain fall down hot and wet over his cock and part of her wanted to cry.  She tried to move but he held her firmly in that one position and tears ran down her face.

“Babygirl.... Don’t spoil the weekend”.

Emily and Nathan Part II

By Babygirl

She shouldn’t really have felt nervous.  After all, it wasn’t like this was the first time.  In fact, it wasn’t as though this scenario wasn’t played out nearly every morning.  Still she felt sick, she could feel her heart beating.  She was conscious of the thick pad, bulked up, hard, cold and wet in between her legs.  She knew he must be able to tell.  She still felt a sense of shame washing over her as though she must have been able to do something to stop herself getting in that state.  A sense of shame she knew he shared, for his comments (when he made them) implied the same.

“Come girl, my coffee will be cold by the time you’ve stood there long enough”.  He didn’t even sound angry, just matter-of-fact, as though this was normal.  She had known him long enough to know that, Him not sounding angry was no indication as to how he was feeling inside or what might happen to her later.  It was best not to prejudge though.  If she assumed he was angry despite being so amicable she would be reserved or sulky and be accused of having an ‘attitude’.  Whatever fears she had, she had to try and put them to the back of her mind and just get on with it, try not to think about it too hard.

She walked over to the side of the bed.  This was uncomfortable.  He patted the side of the bed for her to sit on, close to the bedside cabinet where she gently and reservedly placed his coffee.  Almost as though, if she placed it down really gently it would change his mood and make the rest of the morning gentle.

She was sweet in the morning, he thought.  Quite reserved.  He liked a woman that knew her place.

He remembered the remonstrations and tantrum he got when he bought her new plastic pants home.  The leg holes were so tight and she said the elastic pinched her at the top.  (Emily could always find a reason to complain about anything.  It was why he called her ‘Princess’ after the story of the Princess and the Pea).  He smacked the top of her leg full on and hard with a wooden spoon she composed herself quickly and quietened down.  He could tell her nappy was sodden.  He congratulated himself on the choice of plastic pants.  She could sit on the side of the bed and he knew she would not leak, even though the elastic left a little trail of bite marks around the top of her thigh where it clasped her to make sure she was safe. 

He spoke calmly, reassuringly, friendly.  As long term lovers who care about each other do.  She sat on the side of the bed quietly, her eyes lowered to the floor.  She could feel her heart beating and the palms of her hands felt sticky.  She tried to be as ‘normal’ as she could, the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself.

“I think I was right about those plastic panties wasn’t I Emily?”.

“Yes Daddy”.

“You wouldn’t be able to sit like this next to me after wetting the bed if you didn’t have them would you princess?”

“No Daddy”.

“I hope you’re sorry for how difficult you were  over them now?”.

Emily’s eyes waterered.  She tried to wipe them away before any tears appeared, she tried to do it without drawing attention to herself.  He was sitting watching her,  watching her every move, watching the way she breathed, the way she held herself, the way she answered his questions.

“Don’t cry Princess.  There’s nothing to cry about, we’re just having a little talk.  Sometimes you are so silly”.

Sometimes she was so silly.

“If you had waited till morning Princess, I’d be putting you in a nice dry nappy by now, that would be nice wouldn’t it?”

Emily was silent.  Emily knew the rules.  He didn’t have to keep fucking well reminding her of them every morning that she failed.  A dry nappy in the morning when he woke, meant he would allow her to squat in the corner and wet it, and then he would change it straight away.  A wet nappy in the morning meant she would stay in it till after breakfast, and then he would shower and change her.  She had tried.  When she felt the urge she would push into his back at night, winding her legs around him.  He didn’t like her holding her nappy, so she would lift her legs and try and place one over him.  She hoped the pressure of him bum pushed into her nappy would help stop her bladder from emptying.  She tried to sleep, she tried to forget the pressure on her bladder making her want to wee.  She dozed and woke and dozed and woke, each time she shifting position until finally he complained that she had woken him up with her fidgeting and told her to lie still.  Occasionally she made it, occasionally she was dry in the morning.  She was pleased, he was pleased.  She got to squat down and changed immediately.  She got to have breakfast in a dry and soft nappy.  SHE KNEW THE FUCKING RULES, he didn’t have to go on about it.  Her body stiffened as she waited knowing he was about to scold her again.  She turned to look at him.

“You can take that look out of your eyes right now young Lady, unless you want to start the day of screaming for Daddy”.

She lowered her head, she lowered her eyes, she sat still and listened to him.  She knew what he was going to tell her, but she sat and listened to it–all-over-again.  At the end when he had finished, she said,

“I’m sorry Daddy”.

“Do you mean it?”

She nodded her head.

“Tell me”.

“I mean it Daddy, I’m sorry, I will try harder next time”.

“Good girl.”

He told her to sit up nicely and she did.  She knew the routine.  He reached for the metal collar on the bedside table.  It was taken off before she got into bed at night and it was put on when she got up in the morning.  She sat still and didn’t make a fuss.  She lifted her long, thick, dark brown curly hair away from her neck and held it there while he reached round with the metal collar and she felt the cold against her skin.  She could hear as he put the lock through the link at the back and the jingle of the keys on his key ring as he locked it and she heard the little link inside the lock click.  Once she was sure the lock on the back of the collar was fastened, only then did she take her hands away and let her hair fall back down around her.    For some reason the sound of the keys being thrown back onto the top of the bedside cabinet, the keys which held the release of her collar, always sounded really loud.  She fluffed up her hair around her, after having held it up.  It was strange how the feminine side of you will always take over, always try to look attractive even though you’ve just been fastened into a collar.  There was no need to say anything, there was nothing to say, it was just the way it was, it was the way it was because he made the rules.  He related to women who understood the traditional ways, who served and who knew their place and who gain peace and contentment in that role.  She lowered her head and he lifted her chin up to look into her eyes.  He pulled the metal ring at the front of the collar towards him.  She could not resist as it moved her whole body.  He held the metal ring close and tight and without any space for her to move or squirm as he placed his mouth over hers and kept it there, probing inside with his tongue, so deep and for so long she thought she would not be able to breathe.  Wanting to move away and take her mouth away, little noises in her breathing, but still, she could not move, he held the ring firmly and kept her there until he had finished with her mouth.

To him the female was usually submissive in nature and it was therefore natural that homosapien women should be to.  A female who has been brought under the control and discipline of a good man, can thrive, she will lose her desire to gain the upper hand and her ability to be bitchy.  Emily knew her place.  Once her collar had been locked she stood up, without attitude, and collected his cup.  She walked to the kitchen where her first chore of the day was to make breakfast.

He lay back, he would doze a bit and then he would have a shower.  He would watch the morning television in the bedroom while he dressed, smiling when he caught sight of the cane in the corner behind the television set, thinking of poor little Emily’s eyes when she deserved it.  By the time he was finished she would have breakfast ready.

Emily padded around the kitchen preparing breakfast and laying out the table in the dining room.  She felt uncomfortable.  Although they had breakfast like this every morning and she should be used to it, still she wasn’t, and every morning felt like the first.  Her naked in just her nappy and metal collar and him sitting opposite her fully clothed ready for work afterwards.   She had in the past suggested she be allowed to dress in the morning to, but he always reminded her if her nappy was wet she would need to be changed so it wasn’t practical.

Oh yes, ‘it wasn’t practical’, silly her to have not worked that out.

Bastard.

So she tripped between the kitchen and the dining room.  The expertly laid carpets, the top quality carpets.  The wedgwood dinning service, the luxurious silk curtains.  Everything warm despite it being first thing in the morning.  If she left him she could not have all this.  She could have her freedom, she could sleep how she wanted.  She would wake in a small bedsit with threadbare carpets, cold probably due to the price of heating.  She’d probably have cereal and here she opened the huge fridge to find every food she could ever want for breakfast.  Nathan Niederquell was wealthy.  She never knew what he did.  He said it didn’t need to concern her, but she lived a lifestyle she could never have dreamt of in her wildest dreams.  It came with restrictions.  Sometimes she wanted to scream and stamp her feet and break out of them, sometimes she did scream and stamp her feet and she got put to bed early with a bottom she couldn’t sit on comfortably for a week and grounded.

She sometimes looked at girls in the street when she was out with Him.  How they ran about with their friends laughing, dressed how they wanted, coming and going.  Sometimes she envied them and then she would have to remind herself they were getting the bus and she was getting in the new car he had brought on the 1^st August.  They could wear what they wanted, sometimes she felt jealous, but then she would look at their clothes and realise they were cheap.  Hers were all the best make, the best quality, she was sure some of them were lined with gold thread itself.  He didn’t stint on clothes either, he brought her the very best, and he brought them often.  True she didn’t have any say in what he brought or what she wore, but it was the best quality, and these girls, their clothes were cheap, so what price their freedom, they could not have been as happy as she was.  She would smooth down the expensive material of the latest dress he had brought her to reassure herself how happy she was.

So she lay out the breakfast things, on the expensive Italian made dining table and upholstered chairs.  He liked the table to look nice, even in the morning, she laid it out as though royalty were coming to breakfast but that was how he liked it.  Lastly she put his newspaper by the side of his plate, sat down and waited for him to come.

He sat at the table.  He instructed her with what to fetch for him, and she dutifully ran around preparing it.  She felt awkward with the heavy weight between her legs and when he couldn’t see she would try and pull the plastic pants up in the kitchen to disguise it.  She winced when she sat down, there was no comfortable way to sit especially as by now she had a few sores from nappy rash developing.  She kept quiet.  The last thing she wanted was for him to hear her whimpering at the table, that always put him in such a bad mood for the day. 

She sat opposite him and ate.  She got up and down when he wanted more coffee or more toast, the caviar bowl or a new napkin.  She finished before him, she had nothing else to do.  He took a long time because he was reading his paper.  She wasn’t allowed to leave the table until he had finished so she just sat there.  She must make sure to ask him to order Cosmopolitan for her next time he was at the newsagents she thought wistfully, trying to keep her mind occupied, and then pulling herself into check least she share the joke and be reprimanded for cheek.

Accidentally she knocked her knife, it made a clattering sound on the plate which disturbed him.  He looked up from his plate, “Emily?”.

She apologised and lowered her eyes, trying to sit as quietly as she could.  He didn’t like to be disturbed reading the paper.

The hardness between her legs was causing her real discomfort.  She wished he would hurry up and finish reading the fucking paper, why couldn’t he google it when he got to work or get his secretary to.  She made strenuous efforts to put these thoughts from her mind in case they transferred into the way she looked or talked to him when he had finished.

She wriggled around uncomfortably on her over full, soaking wet, sodden nappy.  She discretly tried to wriggle the tight top of the plastic pants to stop them biting into her thighs.  He could hear all this movement in that silent dining room and it was disturbing him reading the paper. 

“Emily SIT STILL”.

She looked at him.

“Do you want me to come over there?”

“No Daddy”.

“Sit still, I’m not going to tell you again”.  He shuffled his paper in a way which made his irritation even more obvious.

Talking at the table was one of the rules.  It didn’t matter which meal.  He did not allow Emily to talk at the table.  It was time to eat and he did not want to sit there with a constant stream of her chatter.  He liked to wind down and read his paper.  Emily was to speak when she was spoken to.  It wasn’t a hard rule, it wasn’t a new rule.  It applied to every meal they had at the table.  Sometimes if they went out he wouldn’t take his paper so he would talk to Emily.  She was allowed to speak at the table if spoken to first.  She liked going out, mostly for this reason.  Only he read the menu and only he chose what she would eat, but, as he usually wouldn’t take a paper he would talk to her and she liked that.  At home however, apart from when he was giving her instructions on what to fetch for him, he liked quiet at the table.  She knew she was only to speak if she was spoken to first, that was how he liked his woman.

Emily sat absolutely still with her hands in her lap.  She dared not move.  She sat still until he had finished.  When he finished he asked her to bring him a coffee to the reclining chair in the lounge where he would finish his paper, adding, “as I am not allowed to read my paper in peace at the table today”.  She could clear the table while he was in the lounge, and that is what she did.

The lino on the kitchen floor was the best quality.  Emily had never seen such good quality lino in anyones house growing up.  It was even warm to walk on.  You see, if she left, she could never have a kitchen like this again.  If her friends saw her, wouldn’t they be jealous that this was her kitchen.  They didn’t have kitchens like this to wash up in, they would be so jealous.  She was so lucky, she really was so lucky she told herself as she washed the expensive Wedgwood plates which they ate their breakfast toast from.  That she somehow never got to see her friends anymore was something she had long since put out of her mind, after all, as he had told her, “Doubts are not things which will make you happy”.   He loved her and he cared that people were good enough for her.  He wasn’t sure her friends were good enough for her.  He also had a responsibility to keep her safe.  She was at her safest here with him. 

In the beginning although she didn’t see them she kept in touch by phone.  He gradually found something wrong with each friend as he checked her phone daily, and checked her messages.  She didn’t like it that he checked her phone.  If the phone rang she was only allowed to take the call in the same room as him and he would sit next to her.  She thought it was unfair.  If his phone rang he took it outside.  She never knew who he was talking to or what he was talking about.  She would have been beaten black and blue if she had dared to touch his phone and yet he went through her phone and all her text messages on a daily basis.

Over time, one by one, he found fault with each friend and deleted their number.  In the end he said it was pointless her having a phone, there was nobody he trusted to talk to her, nobody he thought wouldn’t lead her astray and some of the girls had very low morals.  She tried to stand her ground and insist on keeping the phone but then he asked her who mattered more to her, Him or her fly by night friends?

It wasn’t long before the phone was taken apart into little pieces, smashed with a hammer and put in the bin.  She didn’t dare cry.  She didn’t dare raise objections.  She belong to him now, he was going to look after her and she would want for nothing. 

Emily tried to put all these thoughts to the back of her mind.  He was right, having doubts about things would not make her happy.  When she had finished washing up she went to the lounge.  He put away his paper and took her hand.  “Come Princess”.  His mood changed, he was caring and sympathetic.  He was going to look after her now.  She was sure none of her friends were ever looked after in such a warm way, they couldn’t possibly be loved like she was loved.  You had to see all of it, you couldn’t just judge a relationship by one part of it.  She held his hand and he walked her to the bathroom upstairs.

She stood with her legs slightly apart and he pulled down her very tight plastic panties.  Her nappy was so sodden for the second time he congratulated himself on making such a good choice.  There was a little ring of tiny teeth marks around the top of Emily’s thighs, bless.  They kept her dry.  She would get used to it.

He rolled the nappy up and left it on the bathroom floor.  Whilst it was his job to change Emily, and she was not permitted to tamper with her nappy in any way once it was on, it was her job to dispose of everything after he had finished.  When he had gone to work she would clean the bathroom, as she always did.  Housework was a woman’s chore, it was a big house and Emily was kept busy all day.  He felt this was a good thing after all, the devil makes work for idle hands. 

Emily knew the routine.  She walked into the shower, the adjustable shower so that her hair and collar did not get wet.  “Hands” he commanded.  In the early days he would say, “Emily put your hands on your head”, and she would do so.  When he was washing her that was where her hands needed to be, or when she had been put in the corner to think about either her behaviour or the punishment she could expect to get for it.  As time wore on and she was used to the routine it changed to simply “Emily, hands”, but now he expected her to know.  When she walked in the shower or was sent to the corner he expected her to put her hands on her head automatically without being told, usually she did.  This morning she had a temporary lapse of memory as her mind was distracted elsewhere.  He brought her back to reality with a very commanding “Hands” and she lifted her hands up as fast as she could and stood, feet apart, still, waiting to be washed.

Her bottom was sore.  She had a few nice sores which looked like rose buds.  She hadn’t been beaten for a week, but the last time was so hard she still had the strips changing colour across her bottom.  She had sobbed like a baby.  She knew the rules, she had broken the rules, sobbing would not get her sympathy from him.

He had caught her holding her nappy, he didn’t like it when she did that.  For her, when she needed a wee but had been told to wait until a certain time, it helped.  If she held her nappy she could somehow apply pressure and it would help stop her weeing.  By doing this she could stay dry until it was toilet time.  He was so pleased with her when he pulled down a dry nappy and she loved his praise.  There was really nothing so addictive for Emily as having Him say, “I am so proud of you princess”.  Having a dry nappy and working hard to have a dry nappy meant he was in a good mood with her for hours afterwards and that brought its own rewards to.

However, ‘holding her nappy’ was not something he approved of.  He had good reason.  When they went out she would often be very tightly bound in a nappy, so tight it couldn’t be seen through her clothes or by outsiders (even though she was still conscious and guilty that it could be, but that was alright, it made her quieter and more compliant).  He had told her, if she got used to holding her nappy each time she was trying to stay dry, one day when they were out in public she would automatically hold her nappy and imagine how embarrassing that would be.  For that reason it was a bad habit to get into, even at home.   In bed sometimes she would hold her nappy desperately trying to keep dry for the morning but she did it as quietly as she could making sure she did not wake him.  Occasionally he did wake or was half aware of it, but he secretly loved the stress level he could feel coming from her, punishing herself trying to stay dry and tying herself in knots desperately trying to move as quietly across the bed as she could, to hold her nappy without him knowing.  Of course he knew, he felt the nappy rustle every time she moved.  He liked it and he liked knowing how frightened she was of being reprimanded.  He was glad he had taught her to respect him.

Anyway, often at night he would turn a blind eye to it, even though he knew.  He never told her he knew which meant every night when she tried to she went through this agonising display of it being a secret.   This time though, it was during the day at home.  She had asked to go to the toilet and she had told her to wait until the end of the film.  This was not an unreasonable demand.  He couldn’t be jumping up and down and running around every time she wanted a little dribble.  All she had to do was sit nicely on the sofa with him, cuddling up to him, until the end of the film and then he would take her to do a toilet.

To her it was unreasonable.  The film had only just started and it was a two hour film.  She foolishly huffed and puffed a bit for which she was chastised.  She then, thinking he was watching the film, decided if she held her nappy, just a bit, applied some pressure on the outside over the plastic panties, she would be able to hold on.  He saw her and was furious.  She knew how he felt about her holding her nappy.

She was sent to the corner, where she wriggled, kept taking her hands of her head, cried, moved about uncomfortable, and received a good hard slap across the top of her legs with a wooden spoon.  “I SAID STAND STILL”.  She stood still for the rest of the time in the corner, losing her position, with her hands on her head, crying. 

She was right to cry.  When he brought her out, after what seemed like hours, she was taken to the toilet and subsequently showered.  Afterwards he took her back to the lounge where he arranged her on the sofa.  Her knees into the back on the cushions, her front facing the back of the sofa so that she could lean her arms over and hold on if she needed to, he knew she was going to need to.  If she fell she would land on the sofa, but she would get up again, he would tell her how many lickings she was going to get and she would take it.  She could argue, and if she did, the number would be increased.  She deeply regretted her behaviour.  She cried tears streaming down her face before he had even begun.

She didn’t know what he did for a living.  He asked her if she thought he dealt in crocodile tears.

Well he didn’t.

He took of his leather belt, his thick, strong, hard leather belt. 

At the beginning she decided to be brave.  She decided she would not let him know how much he was hurting her.  She would not move her bottom and she would not cry, he could do his worst, he would never know he hurt her.

Sure enough the first stroke she did not move and she did not cry.  He was more angry that she was daring to defy him.  Nobody defies him.  She really need to learn that he was in control, he could always make things worse for her.  He could keep her in a wet nappy longer if she complained.  He could buy her tighter clothes if she complained they were too tight.  He could buy her thinner bras if she complained her nipples were visible through the clothes.  He could keep her out longer if she wanted to go home, and, he could beat her harder, he could beat her till she did cry, how dare she think she could defy him.  He deserved respect and he would make sure he got it.

By the second stroke she was pulling her bottom in, trying to make the third stroke easier, but he simply parted her bottom and told her to keep it out.  By the fourth stroke she fell on the sofa and he stood waiting for her to recover and get back in position.  She could not face getting up until she heard him say he would put another 5 strokes on if she wasn’t back in 10 seconds.  She held on to the back of the sofa and tears rolled down her cheek.  At first there were little short sharp cries in between the strokes, but as the belting continued the little cries seemed to join up into one long cry with no beginning and no end.  When he heard the little cries he told her to stop.  He told her he was going to give her something to cry about, and he did.

Now she was sobbing.  Like a baby.   “Crying is for babies” he said.  Still she cried.  She fell several times onto the sofa and he stood and waited for her to get back up. 

By the end her bottom was on fire.  He scrapped his nails across it and she whimpered.  He asked her if she had anything to say to him and through her tears she apologised.  He asked her if she meant it, and she assured him she did.  It was important to teach a girl respect.  If you didn’t teach a girl respect you weren’t really nurturing her.  Nurturing her meant taking the bad times as well as the good.  He had the patience of a saint.  He loved Emily.  He didn’t ask for much from Emily, all that he asked was that she did as she was told and that she showed him respect.

That was all.

He took her hand to help her off the sofa.  Her legs were wobbly, and her face, which he could see now that she was not facing away from him was awash with tears and her cheeks burning red.  He lay her gently on the thick pile carpet and taking a tissue wiped her tears.   He turned her over and examined her bottom, wondering whether it needed any cream and concluding  it didn’t.  If it looked worse later, or was became worse after she had wet her nappy he might put cream on it then.  He turned her back and wiped more of her tears away.  She was crying so much he didn’t think she would ever stop.  Emily had always been attention seeking, but he loved her and you take someone with their flaws when you love them.

He gently lifted her bottom to put a clean nappy on.  He was tender and empathetic in his manner.  Wiping her tears in his hand and whispering “Shssss baby”.  She heard him pull the strip of the thick pad he placed inside the nappy.  “Stay dry now princess because if you wet yourself, it will probably sting, alright?”.  She nodded at the same time as wiping more tears away. “Good girl”.  He pulled up the plastic pants and smoothed it all over with his big hands, making sure everything was covered and in place.  Firmly and gently he lovingly felt all over the plastic pants and rubbed her stomach and between her legs.  “That will keep you dry babygirl”.  He was sensitive and hushed her lovingly.  He picked her up and sat her on hislap on the sofa, where she fell asleep on him crying.  He held her very tightly and kept her very safe.  He stroked her hair and he whispered “Everything’s going to be alright”.  He didn’t know if she heard him but he felt her arms, weak from holding herself up earlier, hug him tightly, he felt her push her body into his and he let her tears dry on his chest.

The water splashed onto Emily’s bottom and the lines from that day, a week ago were still clearly visible, some purple and some black.  He scrapped his nails along the lines and over the sores.  Emily squealed.  She still wasn’t healed.  “Hey Princess, calm down, it’s alright, Shssss”.  He was just taking his responsibility to look after her seriously, checking to see how she was recovering.

She loved the feeling of him washing her.  Since being with Him, she wasn’t allowed to touch herself.  She never felt her clit or her vulva.  He put her nappy on and he took her nappy off.  He washed her.  He placed a nappy open, underneath her when they made love so that her dribbling would go into the nappy.  He touched and rammed his fingers inside so hard she squirted and screamed as she came. He put his cock inside her and he parted her clit.  He took her to the bathroom, he pulled down her nappy.  He made her stand over the toilet with her legs spread and watched her doing a wee.  He wiped her dried her afterwards.  He bathed her, he showered her, he dressed her.  Only he touched her.  He told her that girls touching themselves were dirty and it didn’t happen in his house.

She felt his hands, warm, the soap warm, the water warm, lathering up and pummelling into her vulva and clit.  She wished it could last forever.  She loved being washed by him.  Maybe she just loved the touch of human hand on her clit as she was no longer allowed, as she no longer had any control over when her sex would be touched. 

How many of her friends were washed by their boyfriends twice a day like this.  Exactly.

When she got out of the bath he wrapped her gently in the biggest, warmest, fluffiest towel you could ever imagine.  She thought of all those girls in the street with their so-called “freedom” and she knew they must get their towels from Primark.  She had done better than any of her friends.  None of them had towels like this.  If they could see her now, wrapped in this towel, in this bathroom, by this man who loved her.  All those doubts they expressed to her about him, they would all know they were wrong.

She had a lifestyle that she could never have imagined before.   He said they had probably been jealous, that was probably why they tried to put doubts in her mind.  She knew in her heart of hearts he was right.  Of course they must have been jealous.  Here she was wrapped up and kept safe.  She wasn’t even allowed out of the house in case anything happened to her.  How many girls get that kind of love in their life.

Jealous.

He was happy this morning, tender and approachable as she dressed her.  The short skirts he had had especially made for her, a designer had come to the house.  They didn’t quite cover all her nappy, nearly but not quite, no matter how much she brushed them down, for some reason you could always just see the bottom of the white nappy just an inch or so under the hem.  She thought it must have been a mistake.  He probably wouldn’t use that dressmaker again. 

Standing her up in her clean nappy he pulled on her leather chastity belt.  She didn’t wear it when they were together, at home or out, but when he left her to go to work he would fasten it on and lock it with another of the keys on his key ring.  She didn’t like it but it was too long a story to go into about trying to persuade him she didn’t need it.

He would go to work.  The nice thing about owning your own business is you could go in later than everybody else, you could chose your own hours.

She would stay at home and do her chores.  He didn’t approve of women outside of the home.  She stayed in all day.  The house was big.  She didn’t have spray Mr Sheen to polish the wood, she had proper wood polish that meant elbow grease and working hard to shine it up.  She didn’t have an upright mop and bucket for the kitchen floor, she had a floor mop and scrubbing brush and bucket.  She got down on her hands her knees and she scrubbed the kitchen floor.  That was how he liked it.  The old fashioned way.  Traditional.  A woman knowing her place and keeping it.  The house being kept nice.

He reminded her not to switch the television on during the day.  He didn’t like to think of his girl sitting at home watching television when she should be doing her chores.  He would be working so, so should she be. 

Emily had no key to the house.  The door locked automatically after you shut it.  You could open it without a key but once shut it would lock.  This meant that in the event of a fire or danger, Emily could always leave the house.  However, Emily could not get back in.  That fact alone kept Emily in the house, she could not go out for a walk just to experience the sunshine, because she would not be able to get back in the house, and he would know.  Besides, in her metal collar around her neck, even if she could, would she really want to?

He didn’t have any meetings after work tonight so he would be home at the usual time, he would expect dinner on the table. 

The lovely thing about a woman who was kept at home all day with nothing to occupy her mind but her chores is that when he came home, she was pleased to see him, she wanted to hear how his day was, she was anxious to please him.  He mattered and she showed it.

Emily and Nathan

By Babygirl

As they lay in bed she could feel him thrust into her, holding her tightly as though she was the most precious thing in the world.  She felt wanted, she felt special.  Each thrust seemed to go in deeper and harder, made her squirt more and made her cry with pleasure.

“When I’ve finished with you, I don’t want any fuss about you going in your nappy, understand?”

She wriggled and squirmed as though trying to push him off.  She didn’t want to hear that.  She wanted to believe she had the power over him, that he needed her.  She wanted to be free to wrap her legs around him.  She wanted to come and go from the bed in the night if she needed to relieve herself.

Although on top and holding her down by thrusting into her, her sudden wriggling at being reminded she would be nappied afterwards annoyed him.  He slapped the top of her leg really hard, so hard she squealed both from the shock and the strength of the smack.

When he put her into bed at night, that was where she stayed until morning.  She wasn’t allowed in and out of bed, she wasn’t allowed to be wandering around in the night.  When he turned over to cuddle her, she would be there, where he left her.  Neither did he want her messing the bed.  The powerful relies of cum that he would shot inside her, pummelling through her would slowly, with the force of gravity, peel down in the night to between her thighs.  Girls often wanted to go to the toilet and wash themselves at this stage, but he did not allow her to do this.  Neither would he allow her to lie in bed and mess the bed with it. 

She would be tightly nappied, she would lie quietly and co-operate with being nappied as well.  The wooden spoon from the kitchen lying next to her and she was wrapped up, she knew it would be used and used hard if she didn’t co-operate with being wrapped sightly in the nappy.

He held her extra tight as he thrust into her the deepest and last time.  She couldn’t move one muscle, he completely covered her, inside and out and he held her absolutely still as he loaded his cum into her in waves over and over inside.  Once recovered he removed herself and wiped himself with a tissue.  He did not wipe her.  She was uncomfortable, she wanted him to let her get up and use the toilet, to do a wee, to get rid of it, to clean herself.  He knew what she was thinking by the way she looked at him, “Take that look out of your eyes or you’ll get a slap before I’ve made you ready for bed”.  She shut her eyes.  She wished it wasn’t like this.

She heard his footsteps across the bedroom.  She knew what he was doing, he was picking up the rubber change mat they had brought in the baby department of Boots.  He had embarrassed her so much that day she wished the ground would open up and swallow her.  He had taken her hand and led her upstairs.  When he took her hand she couldn’t let go.  He held it firmly, caringly, but, if she tried to let go he would hold it tighter, he would tighten his grip the more she tried to let go, and now after all this time with him, she didn’t try, she knew not to, she knew it was easier for her, even if she didn’t want to hold his hand, to just accept she had to.  He said it was to keep her safe.

Before they left the house he had put a nappy on her.  A small tight one, a thick pad running up the middle in case she lost control, or in case (his  words) she decided to do a bit of ‘attention seeking’.  So that nobody would guess he had pulled up tight plastic pants.  He thought it was cute that he could hear them rustle a little when they were out.  She hated it.  Even when she was furious it disempowered her to sulk or run off.  How could she have any power in this with rustling plastic pants between her legs.  She was terrified all the time that people around her would hear.

Of course they never did hear, they didn’t know.  It was a busy town centre on a busy shopping day, she was just a girl out shopping, holding hands with the man who owned her, it wasn’t an unusual site.  Still, she was still self conscious about it.  In the summer he liked her in short skirts, not cotton, cotton would show the bulging, but wool, but nevertheless nice and short.  She complained someone would see her nappy so he would put thick tights over the top, so that even if her skirt lifted up nobody would know she had a nappy on.  Then she complained the tights were too hot as it was summer and warm.  He told her she’d get a smack if she carried on complaining.  He did his best to look after her but she needed the patience of a saint.  He told her if the tights were hot she could take them off.  She didn’t want to take them off in case anybody saw her nappy, well, it was her choice, he had given her the choice so now she needed to stop moaning.  Little girls’ attention seeking tantrums were tedious.  She didn’t stop moaning until he asked her if she would like him to take his belt off.  Then she stopped complaining.

Anyway on this day they walked into boots and he took her hand and led her to the upstairs floor.  Displayed were rubber change mats.  She wanted to walk out of the shop but he gave her hand a reassuring firm squeeze, just to let her know she could not let go.  He saw her blush, he could tell she was uncomfortable, embarrassed.  “Which one would you like?”.  He didn’t even ask her quietly.  She looked around nervously, what if someone in the shop knew it was for her, could they see her nappy, could they see the bulge under her pants, what were they thinking, how could he ask that so loudly.  She didn’t answer, she couldn’t believe he would embarrass her so much, she tried to tug her hand away and he squeezed it so hard it hurt and she squealed.  “Answer me Emily, which one would you like, I want you to like it”.  She wanted to go home. 

They didn’t leave the store until she had a pink change mat with a princess on it and for a treat, he let her carry it.  It didn’t fit in any of the bags at the shop, it was too big, but as the assistant said, it was light, she could just carry it like that.  As they left the store he said what a lucky girl she was and then he stopped and made her face him and “What do you say to me Emily?”, her face flushed with humiliation, it was crowded, people were passing, what would they think of her holding a change mat under her arm, “Thank you Daddy”.  “Good Girl.”

So now, full of his cum, full of her cum, desperately wanting to sit up and expel it all and wash, she lay there on the bed, listening to him walk around the room, knowing what he was fetching.

Within minutes she change mat.  He tapped the side of her leg to remind her to lift up her bottom and then slid it underneath her, Good girl.

He fetched the adult nappy, unfolded it on the change mat and smoothed it out.  Apparently, according to the package, it had been tested to absorb over 2 litres of water without leaking.  He pulled the  adult nappy underneath her, spreading her legs apart, not allowing her to move her legs anymore than was needed for fear that the juices inside her would leak out before she was bound.  He fetched a Lillie Pad.  He had got the thickest they did.  He smiled remembering her standing next to him in the chemist as he asked the chemist for the very thickest.  He tore of the strip and pushed the pad into the centre of the nappy.  Together they would press nice and firmly, reassuringly, against Emily’s bladder, she was still at the stage where she moaned about this, but one day, one day she would get used to it.  She could feel the padding under her bum, nearly an inch thick. Folding up the back and front of the diaper he pulled the sides tight before neatly fastening the tabs in the front. 
He told Emily to stand up.  The nappy with its added protection of an extra thick pad was wrapped around her hips. The plastic backing extended up to her navel and was designed to catch any leaks when lying down.  Next he pulled out a pair of translucent pink plastic panties and pulled them up over the nappy.  This would ensure any leaks were caught.  This would ensure even if she did not wait till morning, which she had been instructed to do, a night  time potty would stay firmly caught.  She cried the first time she wet her nappy at night.  The indignity of him waking up next to her and her nappy hard and full.  He cuddled her and reassured her.  He would have liked her to wait till morning but she really shouldn’t get in such a state, he knew little girls wet their bed, it was something they do.

The plastic pants rustled.  They always rustled.  After they were washed repeatedly they would become softer to wear, a bit looser, more comfortable and not rustle so much.  She found this more bearable as it was less humiliating each time she turned over, to not have that background rustling each time she moved.  Sadly for her, as soon as the plastic pants became worn, less audible, loser and more relaxing round her legs, he would throw them out and buy her new ones, always insisting she say thank you.

These were new.  As he told her to lift her legs to put them on they rustled out loud where they were so stiff.  The leg holes were small, they always were on new ones that had not been “worn in”.  They were tight to, the elastic was really tight and bit into her at the top of her leg, making her feel self conscious and always aware that she had rubber panties on over her nappy.  He pulled them up tight, round her middle the elastic bit in.  He felt them over her and at the top of her legs and rubbing his hands over them and pressing gently on her bladder he said, “They’ll keep you nice and dry”.

She wanted to slap him.  ‘They’ll keep you nice and dry’, why did he always say that, they didn’t keep her dry, they kept her wet.  They kept the bed dry though.  They prevented her from being allowed out of bed at all once she had been put in it, there was no excuses for her to get up.

The worse thing about the plastic pants was He insisted she hand washed them.  In the morning they would go in the washing basket but she was never allowed to put them in the washing machine.  He would make her stand at the kitchen sink with a pile of them and wash them individually by hand.  Afterwards she would beg to be allowed to hang them over the bathroom but on a hot sunny day he would make her hang them on the line in the garden.  He said they would smell fresher.  She objected, what if the neighbours saw.  He asked who matters more, me? Us? Or the neighbours ?  He didn’t worry about the neighbours, it wasn’t any of her business.  Even if they did see so what, they would know she wets her bed, some girls do that.  If she stood and argued about hanging her plastic pants out on the line she’d get a smack, and then she could hang her plastic pants out with a bruise at the top of her legs – it was her choice what she wanted to do.

Once he had rubbed his hands over her nappy and plastic pants and he knew she was nicely sealed, he told her to get into bed.  She lay there nude except for the nappy and plastic underwear.

It was hard to feel comfortable in bed.  She would lie and cuddle up to his back but each time she moved her plastic pants would rustle in the still night, silent bedroom.  Sometimes she tried to hold them and turn over so they didn’t make a noise.  “Don’t you dare tamper with your nappy Emily”.  She always ran the risk of him finding her with her hands over her nappy and she’d be punished for that the next day.  He put her nappies on and he took her nappies off.  She wasn’t to touch them, she wasn’t to fiddle with them, she wasn’t to “try and get comfortable” in them or any other excuse she made. 

Finding a comfortable position to sleep in, Emily could feel the thick padding between her legs, and she had to force to get her knees to touch. Under her bottom she could feel the layer of thick padding which spread from between the crotch, an effective design to catch any leaks when lying down.

He turned over.  He pulled her into him like a raggy doll.  He caught her hips with his legs.  He was taller and stronger than her.  He was 6ft 2 and to her 5ft 1 frame that meant he could pretty much move her around in bed as he wished, hold her down, even by cuddling, and keep her pinned where he wanted her.  It was almost like being trapped.  She didn’t dare reach down to touch her nappy and plastic pants, if he found her hand there he would smack her or punish her the next morning.  She stayed entwined in his arms.  She wimpered as his cum leaked out of her into the nappy and made it damp underneath her.   “Shusssss” he whispered stroking her hair.  She tried to wiggle a bit although caught in his legs, to make it a bit more comfortable, to try and move so that now it was damp she could find a more comfortable position.  It was hard, she tried little wiggles so that he wouldn’t notice, his legs held her legs pretty firmly.  Just as she thought she was going to be able to release a leg and so squirm into a more comfortable position she felt the full weight of his leg pushing her leg back to where it was and holding her firmly, still, damp diaper or not.  “Sleep now Emily – don’t stress in your nappy”.

A tear ran down her face.  She dare not move anymore.  If she took too long to settle he would bring it up at breakfast and she’d spend part of the morning standing in the corner, ashamed of herself.  Corner time wasn't easy, it sounded easy when other people said it, but it wasn't, not when he said it.  He made sure she was pushed right into the corner, her nose touching the corner and she could feel the walls either side on her cheek.  Wanting to cry as he told her how ashamed of her he was.  Feeling him lift up her short skirt and feel her nappy.  Knowing when she left the corner it would be to go to the bedroom with him and his stick and by the time he had finished, wearing her nappy for the rest of the day, rubbing against the lickings on her bottom, yes, as he promised, that would give her something to cry about.  She was never sure whether she cried from the physical pain of the "licking" or the overwhelming shame of being lectured to about her shortcomings.  He didn't care why she cried, all he knew was, if she cried, then it stood to reason the punishment would work.  Spare the rod and spoil the child. 

Without discipline you could never claim to truly love a girl.  All girls needed structure and guidance. 

She closed her eyes and tried to blank out the dampness confined around her.

She didn’t even have hair to “mop” it up with.  She didn’t like being bald, she didn’t like being smooth, she had refused to remove the hair.  He had said she was silly.  As she was in nappies of course she had to be smooth, otherwise how would he keep her clean.  Once a week he lay her on the plastic mat and covered her in depilatory cream.  It was smoother than shaving and lasted longer.  He held her there for 10 minutes while he covered her little garden.  Then he would take her to the shower and make her stand towards him.  He used the shower hose to shower off around her clit, and as it did, any pieces of hair just flowed away to the bottom of the bath, leaving her completely naked.  She felt completely powerless at this time and often a tear or two would roll down her cheek but he ignored them.  He was used to little girls tears, he didn’t let them dictate to him how to look after her.

Once showered he would dry her and put a clean nappy back on and then send her back to the bathroom to clean the bath thoroughly.

When her long eyelashes fluttered open the next morning, Emily looked at the clock. It was early, and he was still sleeping.  She needed to do a potty.  She wanted to get up but she knew she was not allowed.  She knew if she wet her nappy he would not change her until he woke up and one of the rules was, if she wet herself, she was to lie quietly till he woke up and not wake him.

Waiting for a moment contemplating what she was about to do, Emily tried to close her eyes and go back to sleep, she tried to hold on to it.  Her bladder was full and aching.  Slowly, she began to empty her bladder into the nappy. She could feel the urine run down the inside of her leg and under her into the absorbent material, so she rolled over allowing it to flow freely. Emily could feel the warm spot growing under her vulva, but slipping her hand into the plastic pants she could feel no leaks through the outer covering, only the thickness of the absorbent diaper.  After the initial warmth it turned cold, the pad and the nappy became hard, it was all uncomfortable.  Emily looked at the sunlight outside of the window and prayed desperately for Him to wake up and change her.

She wriggled but could not get comfortable.

Her panties were the bathroom floor.  She wished this was not one of the rules.

He was sleeping.  She put her hands between her legs over the plastic pants trying to get comfortable, trying to hold the wettest part away from her, trying to shift it about.

She felt a hand reach out to hers.  A big hand.  A man’s hand.  Warm and firm and authoritative.  He took her hands and moved them away pulling her closer to him.  He had been awake for longer than he let on, he could sense her wriggling about uncomfortably, wimpering quietly, looking at her little hands trying to make her nappy more comfortable.

“You wet the bed again little girl?”

She wanted to tell him not to be so fucking patronising.  To avoid tempting herself to say that she averted her eyes from his and lowered them.  He liked watching her lower her eyes, he knew she was exerting self control over herself.  She dared not look straight at him.  She was wet, she was uncomfortable, she blamed him.  If she spoke now she would say something she would be made to regret later.  More than once she had cried bitter salty tears and desperately tried to move her bottom inwards to make the strokes hurt less.  They never did and periodically he would lift her bottom up and stretch it out to make sure she felt the full force.  He was a disciplinarian and proud of it.  If a girl wanted to run her mouth off then she needed to be taught the consequences.  For all the people who claimed corporal punishment did not work, here was the proof, it did.  Angry at him for patronising her about wetting the bed, even though it was his fault for binding her up in a nappy and not letting her leave the bed, she said nothing. 

She lowered her eyes and looked away from him, to control her temper, to control herself from saying anything that would have meant her being punished later.  Her eyes were watery, her cheeks were flushed.  She felt ashamed of herself lying there in her wet nappy which had bulked up and, was now hard under the stretched plastic panties.  She wanted to get out of bed... to relieve the sensation of lying in the wet but, she knew she had to wait for his instruction to do so.  She wished she had waited till the morning before wetting herself.  She couldn’t help it though, it was so hard lying there with that pressure building up on her bladder.  Silent tears ran down her face and mingled with her shame.  He was proud to know that at least she knew she had done wrong.  Her little red cheeks covered in tears. 

“Look at me girl”. 

She could not look at him.  She wanted to get up and stamp her feet.  (There was no structure in place in this relationship that would allow her to get away with doing that). She felt wretched and she blamed him.  It made it worse to know that he would not blame himself but look for ways they could improve her behaviour and her self control. 

“Girl?” 

Now she had to look.  She had to compose herself and look at him, because he asked her to.  Not looking at him when he instructed it was a sign of disrespect, to not look up now could land her in more trouble later.  He waited patiently.  He knew she would not dare to keep looking away, not if she didn’t want him unbuckling his belt which was fastened to the headboard at the top of the bed, where he left it every night before they went to sleep. 

She lifted her head up.  Tears were streaming down her face.  She frantically tried to wriggle to make her full nappy feel more comfortable. 

“Don’t squirm baby, settle yourself” he said sympathetically. 

She stopped trying to move.  Her tears flowed freely now. 

“Are you ashamed of yourself?” 

She nodded, she tried to look at him but then looked away, he lifted her chin up and brought her face to his.  Her sweet little red cheeks, all those tears running down because she’d done a wee wee without permission, because she hadn't waited until morning.    The fear in those eyes wondering if he would understand,  or take this as another opportunity to teach her a lesson, encourage her to stay dry in the future.  He was ashamed of her too. 

He pushed his hand over her nicely stretched plastic pants, almost heaving but still holding everything in, keeping the bed dry but causing her discomfort as the soiled nappy was hard and cold and pushed heavily into her.  She squealed and he told her to calm down.  He could hear her breathing heavily.  “You’re a naughty girl aren’t you?”.  She said nothing, she looked away so he couldn’t see her crying.   He saw.  He wiped her tears.  He would punish her later for waking up in a wet nappy, but for now she needed comforting and he took her in his arms and soothed her gently, stroked her hair as her body rise and fell with her tears, with the pain of not knowing what would happen later but fearing the worst.  There was nobody else to comfort her now so she pressed herself into him, she put her arms around him and they shared that magical moment that a man can only share with his sweet submissive, her being totally dependent on him for comfort, for tenderness, and he gave it.

When she had calmed down and he had made her better he asked her to go and make him a coffee.

As Emily got up the sweaty used diaper hung off her hips, she felt self conscious, she wanted a shower badly.  She knew she could not enter the bathroom without his permission.  As he had made clear to her many times, she had privileges not rights.   Walking towards the kitchen to put the kettle on Emily could feel the diaper had expanded through the crotch when it absorbed her urine, and she was no longer able to close her legs completely even if she tried. This forced her to waddle slightly, and she could feel the inside of her thighs rubbing on the diaper's crotch.

She tried to sit while she waited for the kettle to boil, but then it was cold and hard and bunched up inside of her, so she returned to standing.

She made his coffee and waddling slightly she returned to the bedroom.  He was sitting up, eyes open, waiting for her to waddle through the door, undignified and powerless in the nappy she had soiled.