My First Messy Accident

My first messy accident

A Fair Trade

“I want to go to the bookstore,” Brynn said. Well, she didn’t say it as much as she whined it–she had a tendency to enunciate all of her requests as if she was a spoiled toddler. But, seeing as how this usually worked in her getting her way, it made sense why this trait stuck after toddlerhood.

“Why?” sighed Lia. “You’re going to wander around there for two hours, read the back of every book you pick up, and then leave without buying anything.” Lia wasn’t this blunt with most of her friends, but she had learned that this was really the only way to deal with Brynn. And even then, it didn’t always work.

“I know,” Brynn whined. “But Fi wants to go to the shore next weekend, so I really should have something to read on the beach. Come on. I’ll be quick.”

A louder-than-expected laugh burst from Lia’s mouth like a bark, causing her to blush a little. “S-sorry, but… We both know that’s not going to happen.”

“C’mon,” Brynn said. “What else did you have to do today?”

Lia glanced further down the street–the plant store, the record shop, and a used clothing store were all within view, and they all sounded better than watching Brynn shrug at thousands of books she knew nothing about. Still, she was a good friend. And she supposed, albeit begrudgingly, that it was more important she stick around for Brynn during this trying time.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Lia finally said. “Let’s look at some books.”

For the first few minutes in the store, Lia tried to hover in Brynn’s vicinity, doing her best to sound engaged when her friend read from the back cover of a book aloud to get Lia’ s opinion on it.

“...and that’s when everything goes wrong. Suddenly, Cynthia finds that her perfect life might not be so perfect after all–and her boyfriend may not be the man she thought he was,” Brynn read. “Does that sound good?”

“That sounds like every single book and movie ever made,” Lia sighed.

“Really?” Brynn asked. “I think it sounds kind of good. This one’s a maybe.”

“Alright,” Lia shrugged, holding back any comments she was tempted to make about Brynn being the most basic woman in the world.

From the corner of her eye, Lia spots a sign denoting the “Art & Design” section. The art bug had been biting again lately, and she was feeling eager to pick up a paint brush again for the first time in a while. Maybe, she thought, flipping through some of the art books might stir up some inspiration.

“Hey,” she said to Brynn, who was picking another book from the shelf to glance over. “I’m going to go check out some of the books over there, alright?”

“Sure,” Brynn said. “I’ll narrow it down to, like, four or five books and you can tell me which one I should buy.”

“Uh, sure. Can’t wait.” Lia briskly walked away from Brynn and into the art section, letting out a little sigh of relief when she could no longer smell her friend’s vaguely peachy body spray. She loved Brynn dearly, but Brynn could also be…a lot.

It was a book about Japanese woodblock prints that caught her eye initially, but while the art featured in the book was undeniably gorgeous, it couldn’t have been further in tone from the swirling psychedelic style that Lia preferred when making her own art. Next, she grabbed the book on Jean-Michel Basquiat. Again, her own painting style had little semblance to Basquiat’s (though, whose did?), but she often found his use of color and small details worked as a nice springboard for ideas she’d try to implement in her own work.

“Did you happen to see the Basquiat exhibit in town a few months ago?” a voice somewhere off to her side asked. Lia turned to see a woman standing near her, pulling books from the other side of the same shelf that she was currently looking at.

“I, uh, didn’t know there was one,” Lia said.

“It wasn’t very big,” the woman shrugged, pushing her blonde hair back behind her ears. She had a brownish-red sundress on that seemed to hug her slender body in all the right ways. God, she was tall. The woman continued: “They just had a handful of pieces on display at the art museum downtown. I’ve seen them before, but it was nice that I didn’t have to travel as far to see them this time.”

“I wish I knew,” Lia sighed. “I suppose it’s over now?”

“‘Fraid so,” the woman shrugged. “But you never know, they might do something like that again.”

“One can hope,” Lia said, craning her neck a little to see if Brynn was still scanning through books. It looked like she was.

“Are you just a fan of the arts?” the woman asked. “Or are you an artist yourself?”

“Both,” Lia smiled. This stranger was fucking beautiful. The kind that she just wasn’t used to seeing in person. The woman looked like a model. Or an actress. And she definitely wasn’t used to people who looked like this talking to her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she carefully considered how she should act. Was it better to seem cool, collected, and unphased by this goddess in her midst? Or did people who looked like this enjoy it more when they were more obviously worshiped?

Lia opted to start with cool and collected–thinking this was the better choice if they were talking about art.

“Is that so?” the woman asked. “What sorts of mediums do you work in?”

“Painting,” Lia said, feeling her cheeks warm a little. “Acrylics, mostly. I’ve always been kind of abstract, but I’m thinking that I kind of want to try my hand at something more–I dunno–impressionist?” She surprised herself at how she offered this much to the stranger. She never liked talking about her art. The last thing she wanted was to sound full of herself–she didn’t think she was talented enough for that.

“I wish that I had that sort of talent,” the woman smiled, showing her perfect teeth. “I think that’s why I enjoy art as much as I do. I can’t make it, so I enjoy using the work of others as gateways into worlds that I couldn’t imagine myself.”

“I like that too,” Lia blushed.

“I’m Agnes, by the way,” the woman said, extending her hand towards Lia. Lia shook it automatically, noting the softness of her skin.

“Lia,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You don’t happen to have any pictures of your art, do you?” Agnes asked.

Lia briefly bit her bottom lip. “Eh, well, I do have an Instagram where I share my work with some friends but…”

“I’d love to see them, if you’d be willing to share.”

Were this anyone else, at any other time, she’d probably try to find excuses as to why she couldn’t share her art. She’d probably fumble at her phone for a few moments before commenting on how her damn phone doesn’t have a good enough connection for her to access her account. But for Agnes–with her big eyes, perfect smile, and voluptuous tits that were gift wrapped in her tight dress–she thought she could probably be convinced to do just about anything.

“S-sure,” she said. “Let me just, uh, pull it up here.” Lia tapped at her phone and brought up the app, quickly scanning through her last few posts to make sure there was nothing incredibly embarrassing. She quickly deleted one of the photos–a piece she hadn’t ever been particularly happy with. The rest seemed good enough for now. Had she advance knowledge of this interaction, she probably would’ve culled her feed further. “Here you go.”

“Did you go to art school?” Agnes asked as she slowly scrolled through the photos.

“N-no. Self taught, actually.”

“That makes sense.”

“Oh, uhm…” Lia wasn’t sure if she should be offended by that or not.

“I mean that in a good way,” Agnes laughed, as if realizing how confusing that might have been. “Your style doesn’t seem bound by rules. There’s something very liberating about it. There’s something almost…” But Agnes doesn’t finish that thought, instead laughing a little to herself as she smiles. “I really like it.”

“Thank you,” Lia said. If she didn’t think it’d make her sound the opposite of cool and collected, she’d gush about how that was one of the nicest things that anyone has ever said about her work.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I follow your art, would you?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

“And…” Agnes tapped her chin for a moment as she passed the phone back to Lia. “Well, I know we just met and this all seems rather sudden and all–but I’m already thinking about how I’d like to own a piece of your art.”

“Really? I mean, uhm, I suppose any of my pieces are for sale if you see any that you really like.”

“What if I commissioned a piece?” she asked. “A new piece. Something that was only ever mine?”

Lia nervously swallowed. It was sometimes hard enough to sit down and make art that she was happy with herself–hence the little break she had taken from art in recent weeks. But she couldn’t even imagine the added pressure of creating art for someone else. Someone who was paying her. Someone who looked like Agnes.

But, again, Agnes was the kind of person that Lia didn’t think she could say no to.

“Sure. Of course. Did you have anything in mind, or…”

“Oh, if I had ideas I’d be painting them myself,” Agnes smirked. “But if you’re not doing anything else right now, maybe you’d let me buy you a cup of coffee and we could chat about it a little?”

These things never, ever, happen to me, Lia thought. But, again, she glanced in the direction of Brynn, who was amassing a small stack of books in her arms as she continued to make her way through the shelves.

“That sounds really nice,” she said to Agnes. “But I’m here with my friend, and…”

“Ah, of course,” Agness nodded. “I’ll tell you what–I’m going to friend you on Insta. And when I do, I want you to reach out to me there and tell me what your availability is like so we can meet again, okay? I’m very serious about wanting to commission some art from you.”

Lia’s face felt red and hot, and she had no doubt it was obvious to Agnes. Still, she managed to keep her tone good and steady as she replied: “That sounds great. It was really nice meeting you, Agnes.”

“Likewise,” Agnes said.

Lia briskly walked back towards Brynn, feeling like she was in a little bit of a daze. Had that just happened? Had one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen approached her at random and asked for some of her art?

“Oh cool,” Brynn said, “you found a book for yourself?”

Lia realized she was still tightly clutching the Basquiat art book in her hands. She remembered setting it down when she was showing Agnes her phone, but she had no recollection of picking it up again. Had she been that distracted by run-in with Agnes?

“Oh, uh, yeah. How about you? Find anything good?”

“Ugh,” Brynn groaned. “So many books. You’re going to have to help me whittle these choices down, okay?”

“Sure,” Lia said, though she already knew she’d be far too distracted to be of any help.

***

Agnes Van Lars followed her account about two hours later. Lia noticed right away–the notification came up on her phone while she was cutting into her lunch as Brynn sat across from her. She was sure her cheeks had turned bright pink again, and she quickly stowed her phone in her purse in an effort to not distract herself anymore than she already had been.

It’d be a few hours later, when she was in her apartment’s bedroom again, that she opened the app and clicked on Agnes Van Lars’ profile.

“Oh shit.”

As it turned out, Agnes was a model–though not the sort that Lia was imagining. Lia was picturing swimsuits and fur coats. Instead, Agness was wearing skin-tight leather ensembles while holding paddles and riding crops. Her bare feet rested on a man’s very happy face in one photo, and in another she was sliding a rubber glove over her hand while a different nude man was bent over a table.

Kink–BDSM in particular–were always a curiosity to Lia, though she felt like it was a space she was grossly uneducated on. She liked the photos on Agnes’ feed–the juxtaposition of power with good looking (and well hung) men making themselves vulnerable to her power and control.

None of the photos were too explicit–there was an artsy tastefulness about them, she thought. They often hinted at darker scenes and situations, but without actually showing them. Agnes had been wrong when she said she wasn’t an artist–this was art. She could look at any of these photos and find herself getting sucked into a world of shameful depravity. She could hear the crack of a whip as it lashed against a bare bottom. She could smell the sweat. She could almost taste salty skin on her tongue.

The minutes melted away as she continued to scroll down Agnes’ feed. Every picture was an entirely new trip for her. Then, hundreds of posts into the past, she saw an image that made her audibly gasp.

Whereas most of the photos–with a few exceptions–had featured Agnes exercising power over men, this one featured a young woman on her hands and knees and looking into the camera as Agnes stood tall in the background with her hands on her hips. The young woman’s makeup was running down her face. Her cheeks were bright pink and her hair was a mess. Sticking out of her mouth was a pacifier–like the things a parent would stick in the mouth of an infant. And the girl didn’t seem to be wearing much, though she did seem to be wearing some sort of undergarment that was far too thick and big to be panties.

A diaper, she thought. That girl is wearing a diaper and sucking on a pacifier.

The caption for the photo read as follows: “Poor little StephyLoo. After a particularly long session with Mommy, she couldn’t help but fill her diapers. See that sag between her legs? It’s even heavier than it looks.”

“What the fuck,” Lia said aloud. No, she wasn’t disgusted. She was almost angry. Angry that she had no idea that this was a thing that people–adults–did with each other. Why did nobody tell me about this?

But maybe she had known. Maybe it was one of those weird things that felt like a punchline to a joke whenever someone talked about it. “Yeah, well, at least you’re not one of those freaks who dresses up like a baby.”

She stared at the photo longer, taking it in and trying to imagine what that scene must’ve been like in person. What had happened to make this girl look like this? That look of pathetic vulnerability, coupled with shameful contentment. And when Agnes said that ‘StephyLoo’ had filled her diaper…what did she mean by that? Had the girl been made to piss herself? Had she…done even more than that in her diaper? That’s what a diaper–an adult diaper at that–was made for, wasn’t it?

Lia let out a little moan, not realizing that her own hand had slid between her thighs as she stared at the photo. She rubbed at her pussy through her pants, not sure how committed she was to completely getting off right now. But then she thought about herself and Agnes, back at the bookstore, and how she might’ve reacted if that conversation had gone a little differently.

“I want to put you in a diaper,” Agnes might’ve said. “I think you’d look just perfect in one.”

“R-really?” Lia would respond. “You think I’d be a good baby?”

“Oh yes,” Agnes would smile. “I think you’d be the best baby.”

“Okay, fuck it,” Lia said aloud, casting her phone aside as she pulled down her pants and panties. She was going to cum right now, and she was going to do it while imagining pissing into a diaper at Agnes’s command.

With her eyes closed, she was back at the bookstore with Agnes again. Somewhere on the other side of the store, Brynn was there too. This would be part of the fantasy, Lia thought–the idea that whatever happened, she could potentially be exposed to Brynn. She’d have to tread lightly.

Now, instead of just talking about wearing diapers in the future, Lia was actually wearing one. Fantastical-Agnes would know this too.

“How is your diaper holding up?” she’d ask Lia.

“Shh,” Lia would nervously say. “Not so loud…I can’t let my friend know about these.”

Lia wasn’t sure what it was like to wear a diaper. She imagined the thick padding felt bulky between her thighs, and so she pulled her comforter from under her and tucked a wad of it between her legs until it was so thick that she couldn’t close them. Maybe it’s something like this?

Back in her fantasy, Agnes was grinning while looking down at her–it was very easy for her to do that when she was so much taller than Lia.

“I need to check your diaper,” she said to Lia.

“B-but…here?” Lia asked.

The very thought of this caused her to bite her bottom lip and slip her fingers into her wet pussy. Adults–most of them, at least–weren’t supposed to be wearing diapers. They weren’t supposed to be getting them checked by other people–especially not while in public.

“You don’t want to get a rash, do you? Come here. Let me see.”

Lia wasn’t even sure what a diaper check looked like for an actual infant, let alone an adult. She can only make it up as she goes. She imagines Agnes’ hand sliding between Lia’s thighs, feeling the bulky padding of the diaper through her pants. A wet diaper, she thought, would feel different than a dry one. StephyLoo’s diaper was ‘filled,’ and hung from her hips like a sack. Maybe it was something like that. Maybe Agnes was groping Lia’s crotch in the middle of the book store in an effort to see how heavy it was.

“Young lady,” Agnes would say in a stern, motherly, tone. “Why didn’t you tell me that your diaper was this dirty?”

“I…I…” Lia stammered. Her cheeks in her fantasy were as bright pink as they were in real life.

“We’re going to have to do something about this right now,” Agness would say. “Come on. We’re going to find a public restroom, and I’m going to have to change you there.”

“But,” Lia would plead, “what if there are other people in there? They’ll see!”

“There’s nothing I can do about that now,” Agnes shrugged, grabbing Lia’s wrist. “I’m changing your diaper regardless.”

Fuck, that was good stuff. One hand pushed the wadded ball of her comforter tighter against her pussy, while she continued to finger herself with the other.

But this scene was missing something. She considered it for a moment or two, trying to imagine what would make this even hotter. She thought of the photo of StephyLoo (whoever that was) again, wondering if there were any other details she needed to import into her fantasy. The pacifier? Maybe. It was certainly a step in the right direction.

It suddenly dawned on her. It wasn’t what was in the photo–it was the photo itself. Someone else had to take that picture. Whatever humiliating events had transpired in that room with Agnes Van Lars, someone else had been there to witness it and capture it with a camera.

That was what she needed in her fantasy–to be witnessed in such a state.

“I–I don’t need to be changed right now,” Lia would protest. She knew she was wrong about this, but she wanted to see Agnes react to this defiance.

“Silly girl, you don’t know anything,” Agnes would sigh. With a firm tug on either side of the waistband of Lia’s pants, Agness would pull them down to her knees–right there in the middle of the bookstore. Her diaper was completely on display. “Look at yourself, Lia. Your diaper is completely soaked! And you’re going to try and tell me that you don’t need to be changed right now?”

The other patrons of the bookstore were tittering and snickering. Whispering to each other. People were pointing. Lia’s heart pounded faster, and her fingers went into overdrive as they caressed her wet skin.

And then Brynn would approach. Brynn, of all people–who was practically a giant whiny toddler herself–she’d be the one to see Lia in a dirty diaper. “Oh my god!” she’d shout. “LIa…did you pee yourself like a baby?”

“Yes, she did,” Agnes would say. “But…”

Lia would have to wait until another time to hear what Agnes would say, as it was at that moment that she came. It was an epic climax–the strongest she had had in recent memory. She felt herself squirting into the comforter–no doubt leaving an embarrassingly large wet spot that she hoped would dry sooner than later.

It would take a few minutes for her to recover. And when she finally sat up, the very first thing she did was send a message to Agnes Van Lars.

***

When Lia went to a bar, it was always a very particular kind of bar. She wasn’t really sure how to describe them. ‘Nice?’ They were either very clean, or made to look artificially dive-y while still actually being quite clean. The kind of place with a long list of craft beers on tap and a bearded guy behind the bar wearing a t-shirt with either David Bowie or Debbie Harry’s face on it.

This was different. This wasn’t a ‘nice’ bar.

Everything here felt kind of aggressive. The electronic music. The sneering face of the pale-looking bartender. The complete lack of a cocktail menu to offer easy choices. Even the lighting seemed both too dark and too harsh. It wasn’t her kind of place, which was what made it kind of exciting.

“Thank you for meeting me here,” Agnes said as they both took a seat in one of the booths. “I know it's a little loud here, but I think these are some of the best bartenders in the city.”

Lia looked over to the bar again, where two or three ghostly barkeeps were in the process of either shaking or stirring drinks for other patrons. She could sit and watch this place all day, trying to imagine the types of conversations people had here.

“No problem at all,” she said.

“Have you been here before?”

Lia laughed. “N-no. Never.”

“Where do you like to go?” Agnes asked.

“Uh… Boot & Barrel? Main Street Brewing?”

Agnes shrugged. “Never heard of them.”

Once more, Lia took some delight in how different their worlds were. If it wasn’t for their chance run-in at the bookstore, Lia wondered if there would’ve ever been any overlap in their lives. It was a strong argument for fate.

“So, uhm, you were interested in commissioning some art?” Lia asked.

“Indeed,” Agnes nodded. “You know, after we parted ways the other day, I went through your entire profile to look at all of your work.”

Lia blushed. Once or twice, she had considered further pruning her feed and culling the weaker pieces, but ultimately decided that was a slippery slope to go down. By the time she was done, she might’ve only been left with one or two photos on her feed. “What did you think?”

“I’m even more excited to work with you than I was before,” Agnes said. “There’s this quality about your work that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I feel like it’s always there. This sort of…energy. It’s very unique. Very special.”

“Wow,” Lia said. “Thank you so much.” Nobody has ever spoken about her art like this, so far as she knew.

“Well deserved, I assure you,” Agnes said.

“I, uhm, took a look at your profile too,” Lia said. She wasn’t sure if she was actually going to admit this or not, but she needed to change the subject from herself, and this was the first thing she could think of.

“Is that so?” Agnes asked, smiling. “And what did you think of that?”

“It was a little surprising,” Lia said sheepishly.

“How so?”

“It’s just…you know…” She paused and thought about how she actually wanted to respond to that. “It was different. I don’t know much about, you know, that kind of stuff. So it was very eye-opening.”

“You didn’t find it distasteful, I hope.”

“Not at all,” Lia said. “Quite the opposite, really. I thought it was all pretty fascinating.”

Agnes smiled. “I’m delighted to hear that, Lira. Really. I was nervous that you’d see my content and judge me pretty harshly.”

“No,” Lia said. “I liked it.”

They ordered some drinks and the injection of alcohol helped to steer more natural conversation. While neither seemed to have much in common with the other, on the surface, they quickly found that they had more subtle similarities. Just like Lia, Agnes confessed to having insecurities about her content. And, just like Agnes, Lia thought the act of creating was often more important than the finished product. They were getting along much better than Lia anticipated.

“Now then,” Agnes said. “I want you to make me some art. What do we have to do to make that happen?”

“This is a good start,” Lia smiled. “Maybe just tell me more about what you want and when you want it?”

“What about compensation?” Agnes asked.

“Oh, uhm… I mean, we don’t really have to make this, like, a transaction or anything.”

“Stop that,” Agnes smiled. “I’m going to compensate you for your time. I’d just need to know how much.”

The closest that Lia had ever come to assigning value to her art was when she had donated a piece to her mother’s nonprofit for a fundraiser–and even then, it wasn’t her who benefited from the sale. She didn’t make art for the money. She had a job that covered her expenses. The art was just about passion.

But she had an idea.

“So,” Lia said, taking one more sip of her cocktail for good measure, “I just wouldn’t feel right accepting money for my art. But…maybe we could, uhm, barter?”

Agnes’ eyes widened as she laughed. “Interesting. What did you have in mind?”

“Well… I could paint something for you. And then, maybe, you could take some photos with me? Like…the kind on your profile?”

Agnes nodded approvingly. “I like this idea, Lia. What kind of photos were you thinking? Did you want to stomp on some pathetic man’s face? Did you want to peg someone? Maybe you’d like to give someone a spanking. I could arrange for any of that.”

“A-actually…I was thinking that you’d be doing something to me.”

“Naughty girl,” Agnes said, shaking her head and laughing. “It’s always the ones you least expect, huh? What do you think you’d like? Need to feel a paddle on your backside? Nipple clamps? I just got this amazing straightjacket and…”

“I saw this picture on your profile that I’ve been thinking a lot about,” Lia said.

“Which?”

It was tempting to show it to Agnes, though she knew she probably didn’t have to. All she had to do was say ‘diapers.’ Of course, she couldn’t imagine saying that out loud in a place like this–even if she was sure that the loud music would make certain that nobody else would hear her.

Instead, she offered a name: “StephyLoo?”

“Oh,” Agnes said, looking genuinely surprised. “Really?”

Lia nodded.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think that sounds like a lot of fun. But I didn’t expect you to say that.”

Lia shrugged. “What can I say? It stirred something in me.”

“Actually, you know what?” Agnes laughed, rapping her knuckles on the table. “That actually does make a lot of sense, now that I think about it.”

“How so?”

“Do you remember how I said that there was something about your art that I liked, but couldn’t put my finger on why?”

“Yes,” Lia nodded again.

“See, I think that’s exactly what it is–it’s this sense of childlike whimsy.”

“Childlike?” Lia asked, momentarily dumbfounded. She’d never once considered her art to be childish in any way. She wondered if this was how people actually saw her art. Because if so, she’d probably share a lot less of it moving forward.

“Don’t take offense to it,” Agnes said. “I don’t mean that it looks like a child painted it. I mean that your approach–your color choices and even the movement of your brush strokes–gives your art a sense of uninhibited freedom. The same sort of freedom that I may attribute to, say, a child–as opposed to an adult who’s had all the whimsy drained from their body by the world.”

The longer Lia sat with Agnes’ words, the better she felt about it. She could see where Agnes might be coming from, and now she was feeling kind of silly for not seeing it sooner herself. She always felt like her art came from some part of herself that didn’t get expressed otherwise, and she now had words to describe that part.

“Thank you,” Lia finally said, her cheeks turning pink again.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Agnes said, leaning back a little in her chair as she sips from her martini glass. “What if I give you your, uhm, payment first? I’ll give you whatever experience you want, yes? And then, after, I’d want you to paint something for me. It can be anything you want, so long as it’s inspired by the time you and I spent together.”

Lia considered this for a moment. She liked the idea of it, though she always knew that the hardest paintings to finish were the ones she went into with any sort of purpose. It just felt easier to create when she could just follow whatever whim–however momentary–she was feeling. Then again, maybe this was the shake-up her process needed.

If nothing else, it seemed like a good idea to at least try.

“Yes,” said Lia. “I like that idea.”

“Well, that’s settled then,” Agnes laughed. “And with plenty of time to spare. Another round?”

Lia downed the remnants in her glass and nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

With the details of their arrangement settled, any remaining tension and uncertainty felt by Lia seemed to fade away. Despite her concerns that she and Agnes had little in common, she found herself having a good time with her new friend. They talked. They drank. Agnes even convinced Lia to dance with her–something that Lia never did in public.

And when it seemed like they were winding down and about to call it a night, Agnes gently tapped on Lia’s shoulder while smiling.

“Hmm?”

“I was wondering,” Agnes said. “You don’t have to go home right away, do you?”

“N-no,” Lia said. “But…where else would I go?” Only after the words had exited her mouth did she realize what Agnes was asking. “Oh…”

“I won’t be offended if you decline my offer. But I’m feeling pretty good right now, and I don’t think I’m ready to call it a night just yet. You could come over to my place. The drinks are cheaper. And…I have diapers.”

Just hearing the word made Lia feel a little smaller. She bit her bottom lip, thinking about StephyLoo’s pathetic face staring into the camera, and she nodded.

***

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85 notes View Post

kinkyberen

5 years ago

Janette was being punished for being rude to her stepmother and throwing a tantrum. She had been forced into a short pink dress and diapers with pink plastic pants over them. Worst of all her stepmother wouldn’t let her use the bathroom and made Janette hold it in when she had to go potty. It was becoming ridiculous as she hadn’t been to the bathroom all day and Janette was becoming desperate when her stepmother announced they were going on a trip. Janette was made to sit in a child’s car seat in the back of the car and they were off on their trip. When Janette asked where they were going she was shocked to hear they were visiting her real mom. Her mom lived four hours away, there was no way she could hold on that long. She was right as half way through the journey Janette found herself crying as she finally had to let go and pee herself in the back of the car. It was so wet and warm and disgusted Janette. She was no better than a real baby now with a wet diaper on. But her pain wasn’t over yet as she didn’t just need to pee. “I’ve wet myself like you wanted, now can we please stop at a bathroom somewhere so I can get this diaper off. I need to go number two as well,” Janette said to her stepmother as they drove down the highway. “Silly girl,” her stepmother replied, shaking her head. “You aren’t getting changed until we get to your old mommy’s house and as for your poopy, you’re wearing a diaper aren’t you?” The answer terrified Janette who was left crying in her wet diaper. An hour later with another hour to go Janette couldn’t hold on any longer and proceeded to poop in her diaper. It all happened very quickly, one moment she was holding on and then she felt a hot mess slide out of her butt. It was very squishy and stank up the car really quickly. All Janette could do was cry more as her stepmother said, “Well who’s a stinky girl? Don’t worry baby, I’ll get your old mommy to help me change your dirty bottom when we get to her house.”

Safe and Sound, an ABDL Story by CradleQuill (Reupload)

Disclaimer: All content is fictional, consensual, and intended only for mature audiences. All characters depicted are adults aged 18+ _

You woke up in a wet bed next to your partner. You were so ashamed. You hadn't wet the bed since you were a little kid. Your cheeks burned hot as you shook your partner awake, and he looked at you with sleepy, confused eyes.

"What is it, baby?" He asked.

You couldn't meet his gaze. Each time you glanced at him for more than a millisecond, your eyes darted away and looked toward the bed in shame. He placed his hand gently beneath your chin and drew your eyes to meet his. "Baby, whatever it is, you can tell me."

That was when he noticed the wetness. You'd soaked the sheets completely, his side of the bed included. He patted the bed, feeling the dampness left by your little accident. He offered a half-smile.

"It's okay, honey," he told you. "These things happen. There's no need to be embarrassed; it's really not a big deal." You leaned into his shoulder, and he pulled you into an embrace. He was so kind, so understanding. He was always such a prince.

You both undressed the sheets together, and he threw them in the wash while you tended to the stain. You knew he was right. It was just a one-off occurrence, and these things happened sometimes. You probably had too much to drink the night before. It wasn't like it was going to happen again.

And it didn't, at least not at first. But a week went by, and then another, before you woke up with wet sheets once again. He was just as understanding as the first time, but you were even more embarrassed. And you swore you could hear a hint of concern in his voice. He probably thought there was something wrong with you. He even asked if you were having nightmares, to which you responded no, you hadn't been.

Over the following month, the bedwetting became a more and more common occurrence. At first, it was just once or twice a week. But then, slowly, it progressed to three or four times. You were waking up wet more than half the week. One day, you came home from work and found a mattress protector on the bed. Your boyfriend was kind, he didn't mention it. And you didn't either because you knew it was for the best. You really did need it.

But the bedwetting didn't stop, and the mattress protector could only help so much. You could see it on your boyfriend's face; he was growing tired of waking up to a soggy bed and a sobbing girlfriend. If he even saw you that way anymore. Lately, he hadn't wanted to be sexual with you, and you couldn't blame him. Who would want to sleep with a bedwetter?

Each night, you grew more and more depressed, knowing you'd wake up with wet sheets once again. Until one night, your boyfriend stopped you as you were getting ready for bed. "Honey, we need to talk," he said. Those words struck fear in your heart and sent a sinking feeling through your chest.

You immediately began apologizing. "I'm sorry," you said. "Please, I know the bedwetting has been a huge problem. I'm sorry. I'll get it under control, I promise! Please just don't break up with me…"

He looked stunned at your sudden outburst. "Honey, nobody's breaking up with anyone, I promise." He guided you to the bed and sat you down next to him. "You're right that the bedwetting has been a problem, baby girl, but I won't leave you over it. I just need you to trust me. Can you do that for me, love?"

With tears fighting to escape your eyes, you simply nodded. He entered the closet and returned with a bright pink package of something you didn't initially recognize. Until he tore open the back and pulled out what was unmistakably a pull-up, like the ones for potty training. You couldn't keep the tears from flowing.

"I know, baby," he said. "I know it's embarrassing, but I think you need them. They'll help keep you dry. And look, these ones aren't for little kids; they're for bedwetters just like you. I promise this doesn't change how I feel about you. You just need some protection at night."

It took several minutes for the tears to subside, but you knew he was right. You needed this, and you did trust him, now more than ever. You stood up and slid down your pants and panties while he held the pull-up open at the sides. You stepped into the childish undergarment, and your boyfriend pulled it up nice and snug around your hips. At first, you felt a hot pang of shame hit your cheeks, but that sensation soon faded into something else. You felt… safe.

That evening, your boyfriend tucked you into bed and held you all throughout the night. You were the little spoon, and you felt his crotch rub up against your padded bottom. Each time it did, you felt that same pang of embarrassment wash over you as chills ran down your spine, but he didn't seem to notice. Eventually, you fell asleep.

When you woke, you immediately felt the back of your pajamas and all around your sides, but there was no wetness to be found. The pull-ups, or "Goodnites" as they were called, worked perfectly. You slipped your hand down the front of your pajamas and felt the soaked padding beneath your private parts. When you felt the padding, a jolt of electricity hit you, and your legs quivered. You were… turned on by this. There was no way you could ever admit it, but you knew it was true, no matter how much you didn't want it to be.

Quietly and slowly, so as not to wake your boyfriend, you began rubbing the padding between your legs. Little sparks of pure bliss tickled along your spine, and your mouth fell agape as you breathlessly wanted to moan. You didn't want to wake your boyfriend, but you couldn't stop. You just kept rubbing, and soon enough, you began arching your back and tensing your legs.

As you finished in your soaking wet pull-up, you looked over at him, still sleeping, unaware of how naughty and pathetic his girlfriend was behaving right next to him, all while sharing his bed, no less. He stumbled awake a few minutes later while you sat there in your shame. He found you there, still in bed, still in a puddle that was at least contained to your diaper this time.

"How did it go, sweetheart?" He asked. You looked at him with sad eyes but didn't answer. He felt around your butt and found no wetness, so without even asking, he checked the front of your pull-up with his large, stern hands. The moment he gripped the front of your diaper and gave it a good squeeze, you let out a little gasp as you heard the padding squish in his grip.

"It looks like these held up well," he said while rubbing the front of your padding. He had no idea what he was doing to you, but he was turning your brain into absolute mush. You wanted to say something, anything to make him stop. But then, when he finally did, you found yourself desperate for more. You'd already made yourself cum in your soaked pull-ups, but something ached within you to have him rub you until you arrived once again.

That was the beginning of your new, babyish routine. The few dry nights a week you had dwindled into nothing until you were soaking yourself every day. Each night, he'd help you into your pull-ups. And each morning, you'd wake before him, giving you just enough time to rub yourself in your squishy diapers. The danger of having him catch you and seeing how pathetic you truly were only turned you on more. You were losing yourself in your padding, and the worst part was you didn't want it to stop. It was consuming you, and all you wanted was to sink deeper.

The longer this went on, the more you'd wet, until your pull-ups couldn't hold all your pee anymore. Waking up in a soaked diaper and a wet bed made you feel even more like a helpless baby. And your boyfriend didn't stand for it long. Over the weeks, he'd started talking down to you like a child. So when he showed you your new thick, tape-on diapers with a silly design all over them, you couldn't even act surprised.

The thicker padding kept your sheets dry, even with your larger accidents. But they posed their own problems. Your boyfriend wasn't just helping you step into them anymore. Now, he was laying you on the bed, pulling the padding up between your legs, and taping you into your glorified baby diapers. And every time he changed you into one, you couldn't help but get wet in a different way. You knew he noticed it, but he never said anything, which confused you even more.

And with how thick these diapers were, you couldn't make yourself cum in them just by rubbing the front anymore. You would have had to slip your hand down the front. But your boyfriend taped them up so tight, and they were so crinkly, you were too afraid to try it. So each morning, you'd just sit in bed humping against your hands and not even finishing before he began stirring awake.

One day, while he was changing you into your diaper, your boyfriend stopped with your diaper still untapped. He looked at you, gazing lovingly into your eyes, and you could tell he wanted to say something. "What is it?" You asked.

"Honey," he said, taking a second to pause, as if to carefully consider his words. "I've noticed that your diapers… turn you on." There was no hint of judgment in his eyes, but the shame washed over you all the same. You hid your face in your hands and started crying as he hushed you and cooed at you.

"Baby, baby, it's okay. I don't mind it. I think it's kind of cute, honestly."

"Y-you do?" You managed to squeak out between sobs and sniffles.

He nodded. "Don't get me wrong, I didn't know what to make of it at first. I caught you rubbing them a few times, but I pretended to sleep through it. But lately, I've seen the way you hump your diapers in the mornings, and it's been turning me on, too, seeing you look so desperate like that. I never thought this would be something I was into… or that you'd be into. But here we are."

You couldn't speak. You kept asking yourself if you were in a dream as the world around you began to bob as if stuck in the current of a river. It was like you were a part of the world but distinctly separate from it at the same time. He smiled at you, seeing how desperate you were for him, how every inch of you begged him to come closer.

He left your diaper untapped and crawled into the bed and on top of you. He took the opportunity to slip inside you, and as he did, a burst of pee escaped your bladder and squirted all over him. He didn't turn away. He began thrusting repeatedly into you, and your eyes rolled almost into the back of your head. It was the best sex you'd ever had, and when he was done, he finished inside you and taped you up into your diaper. You could feel the mess he left there leaking out into the padding, along with a few more dribbles of pee.

He laid down next to you and pulled you into his arms. Every sensation in your body was euphoric. And as you stared into his eyes, they looked more soft and tender than they ever had before. "There there, baby girl. You did such a good job for Daddy, little one." The moment the words left his lips, that familiar static shock ran throughout your body, and you slipped further into a place that had been long lost to you, a headspace of complete comfort and quieted thoughts. You knew you wanted to be his little girl forever if you could, and as Daddy held you that night, you knew that the dynamic of your relationship had changed forever, but also for the better. _

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kinkyberen

2 years ago

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kinkyberen

3 years ago

Na-na-na-na-na! You’re stuck in diapers! Hahaha! I love seeing you reduced to this. It’s amazing what the regression centers can do, isn’t it honey? I didn’t realise how powerful hypnosis could be. You’re basically just a big baby now!

Awww, you don’t think so? You think you’re still a man? You’re still a grown-up? That’s funny, because I didn’t realize grown men still sucked their thumbs. I didn’t realize they walked with a silly toddle wherever they went. I didn’t realize they spoke in an adowable baby voice all da time. And I definitely didn’t realize they squatted down and made stinkies in their diapers while their girlfriends talked to them!

Hahaha! You actually couldn’t tell, could you?! Oh my God, this is perfect. You were messing your diapee without even knowing it! Sorry honey, but your days as an adult are over. Sending you to the regression center was the best decision I ever made. Cry all you like stinky pants! These changes are permanent.

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kinkyberen

2 years ago

THE ADULT CLINIC: POST OP MESSING’S

Katie was have a nice and messy weekend off from work and she was loving every second of it . Katie recently became a diaper dependent after undergoing a surgical procedure to do so at The Adult Clinic and have been messing her diapers ever-since . Every morning she would wake up in a moist and soggy diaper and lay in it until she would eventually change it . She was of course aroused by wearing them and they made her feel sexy and so young . Her boss at work couldn’t care less about it and now that she has a Doctor’s note supplied by the Adult Clinic to wear them they couldn’t do a thing about it there and her boyfriend also finds them kinky and loves the look and even when asked changes it for her . The only drawback of wearing them are the smell of them after she messes and inconvenient times she goes but she found ways to accommodate for the changes and has adjusted to wearing them . Katie doesn’t even regret her decision of becoming Diaper dependent and prefers it this way and wonders why no one else becomes diaper dependent.

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