The next time, with the diapers, was when the ageplay moved into the bathroom. Inspired by Charles' willingness to give these things a more thorough try than he had before, I'd written the diaper scene in Emily's Wedding-Trip (forthcoming) and showed it to him. I was very glad to see that it seemed to have given him some ideas.
I was reading the New York Times (in 2002, that didn't seem as quaint as it does now) and eating the bagel Charles had brought me, at the kitchen table, on a Saturday morning, when he entered the kitchen and said, "Sweetheart?" I looked up, inquiringly. "I have some commands to give--would you please meet me in my study in five minutes?"
I remembered that I had, as a sort of minor brushstroke, written in Emily's Wedding-Trip that fantasy-Charles likes to give fantasy-Emily his commands in his study. It sounds absurd, I know, but at the very thought that I would be receiving commands that way, I started to feel warm between my thighs.
"Yes, Sir," I said. He vanished into the room in question. I looked at the clock, and knew I wouldn't be able to go back to reading the paper. What if I arrived in his study wearing only a diaper? He hadn't specified my clothing, so I probably shouldn't change, but I was so turned on at the thought that it was hard to resist the impulse to surprise him that way. My hand was drifting dangerously close to the front of my jeans.
"And, No, you may not put on your diaper yet!" I heard him call from his study.
I felt myself turn crimson. "I. . . wasn't. . ." I spluttered.
"That's a laugh," he called back.
"Oh, all right," I said, huffily, to the table.
The five minutes were up by then, thank goodness. I stood on legs that were rather shaky for 10am, and went to his study.
"As far as I can tell," Charles said, "your diaper thing is about humiliation."
"Well," I demurred, "it's a very special kind of humiliation. . ." I was standing before him, as my fantasy-avatar does, while he was seated in his desk chair, which he had swivelled around to face me, as if I were a trivial erotic distraction from his man-business. Goofy, but wonderful.
"Yes?"
"I mean, it's humiliating to be told that you aren't mature enough to wear big-girl underpants, but it's humiliating in the very specific way that kind of throws you back to childhood. It's different from. . . say. . . being told that you have to go to the restroom in a mall and take off your panties and bring them back to your husband."
"Just as an example."
I nodded. "Just as an example."
"So what does the difference. . . do?" He had taken my hand, and pulled me closer, enclosing my thighs inside his, the way he knows I like. Now, with his right hand, he idly cupped my backside, making me emit one of those shameful whimpers that seem to be my specialty.
"It. . . glug. . . it means. . . I'm you're little girl and you're my daddy. . . and. . . oh my God, Charles, fuck you, I can't think when you're doing that. . ."
"Try, little girl. I know little girls sometimes don't know how to say exactly what they mean, because they haven't learned as many words as people who hold doctoral degrees. . ."
"Now is NOT the time to make fun of my Juris Doctor degree, asshole."
He spanked me. "It is if I say it is, little girl."
"Oh please just put me in my fucking diaper, Sir."
He unbuttoned my jeans, and pulled them down, and spanked me three more times. "No, little girl. I want to hear about what diapers mean." It was, in one sense, unbearably wonderful, but, in another, nearly unbearable.
I rested my hands on his shoulders, and looked down into his chocolate eyes. "Diapers mean that you have fucked me so mindblowingly well that you have taken possession not just of my present, and not just of my past, but also of my private, imaginary ideas about my past, which I call my childhood. Your cock makes me want to be a little girl in diapers, so that it can be you who tells me that it's time for me to wear big girl panties, because it's time I learned what my little private part is good for, when a big strong man like you looks at it lustfully, the way you do."
"Um," Charles said.
"And when I pee in my diapers, it means that I am still that innocent little girl, not yet toilet-trained, who needs a daddy like you to train me how to be good, so I can wear big girl panties and get fucked like a big girl."
"Um."
"And. . ."
"OK, Emily, you can stop now, and go put on your diaper. When you have wet your diaper, please come get me, and I will change you, and we will continue this. . . intriguing. . . conversation."
(If you like this kind of story, try the Companion to EXPLORATIONS!)
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